AN: I feel like crap. I said some things I shouldn't have said to my friend. Oh well. I can take another blow.

Reviews:

lucifer16985214: *Laughter*

SuperKassu: You're correct; I've avoided Laughing Jack thus far, but he's entered the scene now. We'll see how it goes. Languages are my thing as well. Lea's more a math type.

[5] Recreated.

September 12, 5:30 pm

10. Lea

Rosaline bursts into my room without warning on a Friday night. Her hair is blown from the wind, face red with the rush of the stairs. The trapdoor bangs loudly against the floor and Poe bolts off my lap and under the bed. He hisses at the girl from his hiding place.

Flash on the Jack-in-the-box in my closet and apprehension spikes through me. My eyes flicker to the door of the closet, but it's closed tight.

With a yawn I close the novel. It's not Huck Fin—that's still sitting on top of the nightstand—I'm required to read this one for English.

Rosaline is still focused on the kitten whose eyes are gleaming in the shadows. She looks at me as my feet touch the floor.

"What's up?" I ask.

"We're gonna play a couple board games, if you want to come."

"Who's 'we?'" I ask, looking at the spread of books on the bed.

"Me, Taylor and Minerva,"

Poe growls and I reach under the bed to calm him down while I give her offer some thought. Part of me really wants to stay in this room, but I know that if I do that I'll feel lonely. I also know if I go downstairs I'll be miserably left-out, but maybe it will helps this weird heavy ache I have in my chest.

"Okay," I say standing up. The kitten scrambles onto the bed and leaps onto my back, digging claws in to grip as he climbs to my shoulder. I wince slightly but otherwise ignore him.

Rosaline stares as I step past her and onto the sloped ladde to the landing below.

Downstairs I find Minerva and Taylor, the sallow girl. My heart does a little flip-flop, as it always does when Minerva smiles at me.

Taylor grins at me, "You've got something on your shoulder."

Poe meows in an offended way and the girl blinks in surprise. I life the cat off my shoulder and he pads away into some dark corner to chase spiders.

"What are we playing?" I ask, trying to ignore the feeling of their stares.

"Nothing," Rosaline says, and steps forward to lay a crystal pendulum down on the table.

I look at the glittering object and fight back the urge to smash it into a thousand pieces.

"I have candles too," Taylor says, producing them from her backpack.

This time I don't stop myself; I reach out and snatch the candles, "No."

"What are you doing?"

I blink, "I'm not sure."

Minerva is giving me a weird look, not like I'm acting crazy, but like she's surprised I know this stuff.

"Janey's too young to play anyway," I say, nodding to the girl. She's sitting on the couch in the next room, "and then you have an issue."

"How did you know we were going to play The Midnight Game?"

"I didn't. What's the Midnight Game?"

"A summoning ritual," Minerva says, "and you're right; trying to play it is dangerous."

"Yes, but she knew," Taylor insists, pointing at me.

I just shrug, "Stuff comes through, weird stuff."

"Stuff like not playing the Midnight Game?"

I shrug again and put the candles down on the table.

"Can you actually remember anything?" Rosaline asks, like she knows it's rude to ask but really wants to know the answer.

"Yes," I say, "Some things. It's all random."

"Really?" She sounds intrigued now.

"I shiver under their gazes, "It's just a room, a huge room with concrete walls and ceiling, and I thing I remember someone dressed all in white, and another person on the floor behind them with-," I cut myself off, then glance around at their faces, and finish, "with their neck broken."

Rosaline grins, "Let's see if we can get something else."

"What?" I say

"Rosey," Minerva says, scowling.

Rosaline waves her off, "Don't worry, Minny, I know what I'm doing."

"I don't understand where this is going," I say, twisting the ring on my right index finger.

"It's just a bit of hypnotism; don't sweat it."

I swallow, "No thanks."

Rosaline blinks at me, "Why not?"

"Stuff comes through; weird stuff."

"Like what?"

I bite my own tongue. I'm suddenly very nervous, twitchy. I need to use the bathroom and I'm hungry, not to mention tired. Sleep is not something that comes easily to me, so if I would rather be doing that it must be bad.

Minerva comes my rescue, "Forget it Rosy. We don't know anything about where L is from."

I blink; L?

"But don't you want to know?" Rosaline asks.

Minerva hesitates, looking at me. I can tell she really does want to know. I do too, but this doesn't seem right to me. It feels wrong.

I shake my head, turning away from the three of them. I twist the ring on my finger again, feeling the slight grooves of the chain-like engraving; tiny circles crossed through with X's all the way around the band. The familiar chill is creeping up on me, making me shiver for no reason.

I move into the next room where Janey is watching TV and coloring on a piece of paper. I sit behind her; on the sofa, and close my eyes.

Taylor and Rosaline are already on to other things; boys, school, movies, dances. I listen to them for a few minutes, wondering at the pure normality of their lives; the almost stereotypical layout of their characters. I can't wait until they're out of this story.

Then Janey is poking my knee with her small warm hand. I open my eyes to look at her.

"I drew the clown," he says, holding up a piece of paper.

I clink—that incident was over a week ago—and look at the picture.

It's don't in green crayon and depicts a tall figure with an untidy mane of hair and a long pointed nose below two beady eyes. The rest of his body is a confusing mess of stripes and checkers from the start of his sleeves to the cuffs of his pants.

"That's pretty good," I say to Janey because it is, and then add, "Are you still dreaming about him?"

"He's not a dream," She says indignantly, "he lives in my closet and talks to me at night."

"Of course," I say, "my mistake." Did I accidentally stimulate her mind into creating an imaginary friend? I remember the Jack-in-a-box in my closet; I didn't create this.

She pushes the picture into my hands, "He wants you to have it."

"Thank you," I say, then add, "tell him so too."

"Okay," She chirps, and goes back to another drawing of the clown. In this one he appears to be juggling.

I get up and cross back through the kitchen area, past the girls at the table. They all glance at me and lower their voices. I climb up the stairs and then up the sloping ladder, pause before I push open the trapdoor. My fingers tap the wood and I hear the sharp click of the closet door. It's only then that I open the door.

I set down the drawing, promising myself I'll tack it up later. I reach out and pick up the journal from the nightstand. I can't read it; it's all gibberish, but just holding it makes me feel better.

I let my fingers run over the page edges as they flow past. I can see the handwriting that's not my own. It's neater, to my vague embarrassment, and the writer curves their letters at the end into little curly cues. I can't read it; it's all gibberish, but holding it makes me feel better.

I put the journal down, letting it fall open to a well-worn page. It appears to be some kind of written-out conversation between the two scripts, mine and the others. I take the novel from the pillow and bring it with me back down the stairs.

On my way past the table Minerva says, "Pizza's coming," moving a monopoly piece to the exact center of a square with the tip of one finger.

Janey gives a little cheer from the next room, and I say, "Awesome."

Rosaline is one her phone, and when Minerva plunks the dice down in front of her she looks up in surprise. She rolls, then looks up at me and offers her phone.

"Here," She says, face sour, "Neil wants to talk to you."

I take the device and feel a thrill of shame as I realize how slim and compact it is compared to mine upstairs. Not that I can unlock mine, or even remember to charge it regularly.

Rosaline's deleted most of the messages from their previous conversation. Most of them. She's left a short exchange for my benefit.

"Isn't Lea staying with Minerva?" The first received message says.

"That weird chick?" Rosaline's typed in return.

"Ya, bit odd."

"She's here. She blew off my hypnotism gig."

"Think I can come over there?"

"Hang on, let me ask Minny," On the next line, "Minny said no."

"Why not?" Winking face.

"Her sister's here. She's only five, and no one else is home besides us."

There's an apparent skip here, and the next message is received.

"Come on Rosy."

"No."

"Then can you let L use your phone?"

"Why? You got a crush on her?"

"Not a crush, per se," Winking face.

"Ya, sure, fine. I'm giving the phone to her now."

I sit down on the couch and find myself chewing on the side of my thumb as I contemplate the messages. I'm getting mixed signals.

A new message pops up on the screen.

"Hey," Winking face.

Unsure what else to do I type back, "Hey."

"This is Lea?"

"Yes."

"You haven't been in physics."

"They put me into AP Biology instead." I type, "I like it better."

"You're not an AP snob now, are you?"

"No. I'm still in regular English."

"I've noticed," Winking face. He goes on, "Where'd you get the clothes by the way?"

I shrug even though he can't see me, and type, "Somewhere Minerva dragged me."

"They're hot,"

I blink at the screen, then type, "What?"

"They make you look hot."

I type, "blame Minerva," delete it without sending, and instead type, "Are you drunk?"

"Buzzed," winking face.

It's a miracle he can type so well, I think, then remember autocorrect.

"You're still hot," He says.

Again I'm faced with uncertainty. I watch the tiny line blink without typing anything for a few seconds. Then, finally, I say, "Thanks."

"My god, I am so horny," comes the reply.

I glance up to make sure Janey is still coloring. She is, and isn't paying attention to me.

"So?" I tap out.

"So I could come by and pick you up."

I think about candles and rice and read thread looped around stuffed animals. "I'll pass," I type, "I don't want to leave Janey alone with these three."

"Please?"

"No."

"A date then. Next weekend?"

"No. I'm watching the kids while Minerva and her mom go to visit her grandma. She's in a home. Alzheimer's."

"Why aren't they taking the kids?"

"It's her father's mother."

"Right; forgot about that. Weekend after that?"

"Sure," I type, and immediately my mind starts kicking out a hundred reasons I should have said no.

"Awesome," winking face, "I'll try to keep my friends out of the way."

"Okay."

"Talk to you later?"

"Sure. English on Monday."

"Got a phone?" He asks.

"No," I type, because it's basically true.

Frowning face, "Too bad. See you Monday, sweetheart."

"Okay, Monday." I wonder why it's so hard for people to use three little letters.

"See you in my dreams."

I blink at that, hesitate a moment, then fiddle around until I figure out how to delete the entire conversation. I get up and give the phone back to Rosaline.

"What did he say?" She asks.

I shrug, "Stuff about classes, Physics, English."

"Uh-huh," She says, unconvinced. She glares at me.

I shrug and go back to the sofa and my book. Kip, the dog, comes in through the back door. He growls at me, his fur bristling. I ignore him and open the novel.