Chapter 37

New York

"Sydney!" Mikal hissed, leaning to the side in his chair. To his left towered a large cut out of Rapunzel's tower (half finished, so it still looked like a 'paint by numbers' drawing). His red hoodie hung around his waist, scrunching up his white t-shirt (the stage lights made it far too hot for any sane person to wear layers). His glasses sat on his head, nuzzling the fraying curls of his thin cornrows and reflecting white from the spotlights. "Sydney!"

I rolled my head in the warm nest of my arms, wiping drool on my sleeves. "Oh, Mr. Clooney. I'd love to visit your mansion . . . " I mumbled, eyelids flickering. I wore neon green skater sneakers that I had lifted from a Nike store, baggy purple sweat pants and a matching neon pink tank top. In my one hand hung a paintbrush balanced between my limp fingers, drenched in robin-egg blue colouring. The hairs were squashed against my cheek and slowly the dye dripped down my face, streaking like war paint.

Mikal shook his head, frustrated, and poked my shoulder with his pencil. "Wake up!" He whispered as loudly as he dared, glancing at the director who stalked back and forth across the stage, critiquing the other students and slowly making his way towards us.

"No, I'm not trying to steal your car, Mr. Clooney. I'm just borrowing it . . . "

"MADAMOISELLE PENNYPOCKET!"

Mikal winced. "Too late."

The director, Monsieur Charbonneau (I like to call him Mr. Charcoal, since it sounds like a word in French that means Charcoal and it matches nicely with his black, black soul) was a thin man who strutted with the same cadence as a lurking spider and spent almost as much time maintaining his curly, greasy moustache as he did trying to hide the fact that he wore make-up. He slammed his hand against my work desk, creating a tiny earthquake that shook all my art-materials.

I jumped, the paintbrush falling onto my bottom lip. I coughed and immediately spat out the blue dye while Mikal kindly pat his hand against my back. "Bleh-yueck! Ptw!" I made a face, wiping my mouth frantically with the palms of my hands. I frowned, tongue sticking out. "Wuh wa tha fuor?" I asked our teacher.

Mr. Charcoal pinched the bridge of his nose, his nostrils widening so much I half-expected smoke to shoot out. "Madamoiselle, we raise curtain in a few weeks. We have not finished the props, our lead may have mono and YOU . . . " He made a claw-shape with his hand as he struggled to find the right words, gritting his teeth, his whole body trembling with frustration.

I glanced sideways at Mikal (who was suppressing the biggest 'I told you so' smile—jerk), searching for help, but he was too busy hiding his chuckling behind his wrist.

Mr. Charcoal quickly straightened, adjusting his violet dress shirt and smoothing back his conditioned hair. "You," He repeated, more calmly, "Are taking a NAP?" He growled out the last word, letting it hang in the air like a rude breaking of wind.

"Err, I wasn't napping." I said, wiping my face off innocently with the back of my hand (leaving behind a faint, bluish blotch). "I was, uh . . ."

"She was meditating!" Mikal chimed in.

Mr. Charcoal arched his brow and crossed his arms. He tapped his foot "Meditating?" He asked slowly.

I shot Mikal a look. How was I suppose to get out of this one?

"Uh, yeah. Meditating!" I nodded quickly, crossing my fingers behind my back. "You know, in case what'stheirface doesn't come back for, uh, that . . . uh, really important role (of-which-the-title-escapes-me)." Confidence growing, I leaped to my feet, only to bump the desk with my hip and nearly knock over an entire bucket of paint. I scrambled, quickly reaching out to stabilize it with only mild success. "Um," I stuttered, flustered as new globs of blue goop coated my fingers, "I figured I should get in the zone, find my . . . um, zen. The show must break a leg . . . er, wait, no . . . I mean, go on, right?" I smiled at him weakly, my temples sweating. (Not my best work, I'll admit).

Mr. Charcoal's eyes narrowed, staring down at me distrustfully. Suddenly, his demeanour brightened. "Oh, Dieu merci! Finally, someone volunteered!" He wrapped his arms around my shoulder and began forcibly walking me to stage left, eyes pinpointed on some bright future. "I was beginning to worry! C'est parfait! You do have similar build for a man, no one will notice you fill in as the Prince. What is your background in the arts? Have you ever starred in a . . ."

Wait! I thought, panicked. That's not what I . . .

But it was too late.

. . . meant.

As our teacher continued to interrogate me on my memorization skills and if I had any practice with a wire harness, I looked over to see Mikal silently guffawing on the floor, rolling back and forth with his hands over his stomach. I did my best to convey my thoughts of his traitorous behaviour with a glare, but he didn't seem to notice. "Uh, sorry. What was that, sir?"

"I said, how comfortable are you wearing tights?" Mr. Charcoal looked at me expectantly.

Mikal burst into laughter out loud, causing some of the other students to giggle in chorus.

My face turned beet red. Somehow, this was all his fault. He was such a pain.

I glanced sideways at him again, this time inconspicuously out of the corner of my eye. Well, at least he's kind of a . . . sort of a . . . cute pain.

Sydney's Dream

My eyelids fluttered and I groaned. I reached my hand up and held my wrist to my temple, trying to find respite from my pounding headache. It felt like a giant was squeezing and releasing my skull over and over again, like a sponge. Yellow lights star-burst behind my lashes and it took a moment for me to adjust. I sat up and looked around.

I was sleeping on a gigantic (seriously, it was the size of a backyard pool) four poster bed. Aquamarine silk sheets and tasselled pillows gently caressed my back and legs. It was like sitting on a soft, smooth, expensive cloud. The matching canopy above was made of lace, swirling and curling in snowflake designs. The posts and headboard were constructed of a pale marble. I felt extremely uncomfortable in the bed. I never liked beds, preferring to sleep in small, cramped spaces like the sofa in my old apartment, but the enormity of this bed and pillows made me feel like a porcelain doll on display.

The bed was in the centre of a circular room. Bright, crystal chandeliers twirled calmly, spinning on their axis like a motor above a crib. Elaborate floor to ceiling paintings lined the room's border, depicting swirling worlds of cloudy cerulean and violet, with sparkling diamonds sinking into the canvas like glowing snow.

I crawled out of the bed and stepped slowly, my bare feet padding softly on the cold floor. I felt extremely out of place here. It was like walking through Barbie's personal castle. I couldn't cast away the nagging feeling in the back of my mind that I was a dirty, mud-caked rat trespassing in someone else's house.

On the foot of the bed lay a golden gown. The bodice was ruched with straps that fell to the shoulders, lace trim and a heavy satin skirt, similar to the one in Beauty and the Beast. I lifted it up and inspected it, my nose twitching with distaste. Am I supposed to wear this?

Brow furrowed with confusion, I left the dress to fall in a puddle of fabric on the floor and explored further. I located a door and entered cautiously. Woah. Inside was a massive bathroom made entirely of white marble, like something straight out of ancient Rome. A mirror hung above a fancy sink bowel and a steaming hot bath bubbled, smelling of scented salts. The bath was a stand alone basin with golden clawed feet as stands. The ceiling was painted with half-naked cherubs, shooting their bows and arrows of love coyly in the sky.

I backed away and stood, lonely in the giant room, running my fingers through my hair. "What is going on? Are you trying to kill me with kindness or something, BB?" I asked, bewildered.

I scanned every nook and cranny of the room, but I found no cameras. If there were any, they were hidden extremely well. Is there even a point to taking a bath in a dream? I wondered. Still hesitant, I cupped the bath water, making a small rivet with the palms of my hands, and poured it over my head. The hot droplets of water danced down the length of my hair, neck and back. I sighed, eyes glazing over with relief. Perhaps one dip can't hurt. I deserve a rest, don't I?

Throwing caution to the wind (and the despised polka-dot dress to the floor) I let myself sink into the bath. My muscles all seemed to exhale at once, relaxing. The mud and dirt and black goo on my body rubbed off, drifting between the bubbles. I poured lavender oil over my head and washed my hair thoroughly. Feeling refreshed, I leaned back in the bath, waiting for the hot water to cool. My one heel was propped up on the far lip and my arms hung over the sides. I stared up at the cupid painting, counting the curls in their hair. I wonder if Mikal is really here? My heart panged painfully and I frowned. No, he must be some sort of illusion. But how did BB know what he looked like? He never met Mikal. Then again, he never met Uncle either. What if BB has been watching me this entire time? Studying my life unravel—like some kind of experiment?

"I made you special."

His sweet and venomous voice crept into my mind and I quickly shook it away. It did no good to dwell on the past. That was what all these tests had been about, ridding myself of my past wrongs or hang ups. I'll figure out the goal of this test and defeat it just like the others. And once I do . . . I'll kill Beyond Birthday.

I knew L would never allow me to take another life, not on principal alone. Even if it was the man who took everything from me. But I didn't care. L's moral compass of right and wrong was too narrow to serve my purpose. I had fantasized about revenge for a long time, I even let it slip to Light at the bar during the night of the storm, and I would feel no remorse for killing him. I'm not a bad person. My brow furrowed. I'm not like them. This is different. It's justice.

This ended tonight. One way or another.

Determination and cleanliness restored, I exited the bathroom, tying a baby blue towel tightly around my body. There was no way I was wearing another dress, no matter what. Instead I clutched the knot in my towel tightly and exited the dazzling bedroom in search of different attire.

The hallways were similarily decorated as the rest of the castle. The golden arches curved higher than necessary until the ceiling was lost in shadow. A string of twinkling torches (studded with rubies) lit my way. I investigated other doors, most of which were locked. A few led to rooms that looked like mine, others were for special purposes. There was large bathhouse, complete with a sauna filled with steam that rose from a maze of pipes in the floor. I discovered a small servant's kitchen, with a wooden island in the middle, fresh garlic hanging from the ceiling and a stove large enough to cook a cow whole was carved into the wall. A third was a small library, overflowing with books and scrolls and smelling strongly of parchment and ink (it reminded me of Light and put me ill at ease).

I started to give up hope of finding a closet. I had been walking for a while, scouring the maze of hallways and found no sign of life. I felt like a spectre, drifting aimlessly. Just as I was starting to panic, thinking I might be going in circles forever, I turned a corner and then immediately retracted, flattening myself against the wall. Chest moving violently up and down, I forced my elevated heart rate to calm down. Taking a deep breath, I peeked around the corner.

A skeleton, similar to the Knights from the ballroom minus the armour, was busying itself scrubbing the already shined floor. It wore nothing but a bright, pale apron. It's non existent joints knocked together without flesh and muscle to quiet them. It was clicking its jaw, nodding its head (skull?) to a simple beat.

I squinted my eyes at it suspiciously. It wasn't armed. Maybe it was harmless? I hesitated, then stepped forward. "Uh, excuse me, Mister . . . dead guy?"

The skeleton looked up sharply, then immediately jumped to its feet with surprising dexterity, still holding its sponge.

I took a fevered step back, but then it started to bow in short, quick bursts. I held my hands up. "Really, there's no need for that." (Not that I mind people bowing for me, in fact, more people should bow to my obvious superiority. However, it looked like Bones McGee was going to snap his vertebra if I didn't stop him.) "Um," I shook my head, stopping myself from staring (I tell you, those yellow eyes are WAY creepy), "Could you point me to the costume department or something?" I gestured to my towel. "It's starting to get chilly in here."

The skeleton straightened to attention and saluted me, then marched forward in excited, long gaits. I hurried to follow and nearly ran into his back (ribcage?) after he abruptly stopped. He sidestepped me, held his hand out to a small, wooden door and bowed again. I walked around him, staring at him strangely. "Um, thanks. You can, uh, go back to your business." I watched as the skeleton enthusiastically marched down the hallway.

So, am I royalty around here? (Hey, so not complaining. I could get experience ruling an imaginary castle of dead people, put it on my resume, then apply for world domination. It's a logical next step.)

Perturbed, I pushed open the door.

My smile could have blinded anyone who looked upon it. "Jackpot!"

New York

"I don't believe this!" Mikal exclaimed, abashed. He clutched my math test in his hands, holding it away from his body as if the red pen marks personally offended him. "How could you score so low? You did so well with the flash cards I made for you!"

His shocked voice rose above the buzzing noise of the cafeteria. The kitchen rang with the sounds of clanging pots and pans. Groups of girls giggled and tried to inconspicuously make lovey dovey eyes at their crushes - many were pinpointed at Mikal, who rose to sexy status after beating up Weinshouse like a nerdy knight in shined sneakers (not that I care, or anything) - and a few guys tossed a football back and forth across the room. The smell of day old tacos and BO floated through the air like a noxious (and confusingly delicious) cloud of smog.

I shrugged and stuffed another french fry in my mouth. "I dunno, maybe it's a stress thing." I swallowed. I didn't mention that during his tutoring I could see the answers to his flashcards in the reflection of his glasses (it's not cheating, it's taking advantage of my environment). Besides, he worked so hard on them.

Mikal shook his head and reached across the cafeteria table, eyes still scanning the notes on my test, stealing one of my french fries. "I don't think so, Sydney. Nothing stresses you out. If I recall there was a rumour last summer about a bunch of animals escaping from the zoo." He looked at me critically from over the rim of his glasses. "Apparently several eye witnesses saw you leading a charge on the back of a zebra across the square."

I pointed a fry at him. "Legally, I can neither confirm nor deny that statement."

"If you could survive lions, tigers and bears I'm sure a few simple fractions—"

"SIMPLE?" I scoffed. "Fractions were created by the devil to torture me." I reached onto my plate only to find it sadly empty, and looked up to see Mikal slowly lifting the last fry to his mouth. I snatched it from him and quickly consumed it, smiling victoriously with bits of potato skin between my teeth. "And there weren't any bears. Crocodiles though, lots of those."

He set the test down with a grave expression. "You have to take this seriously! What are you going to do come graduation? You're already half a year behind after being kicked out of so many schools. How are you going to get into college?"

I looked at him as if he had grown two heads.

"What?"

"I'm not going to college."

"WHAT?"

I crossed my arms and looked away, sticking my chin out and shutting my eyes. "What's the big deal anyway? College is for nerds. Who needs a flammable piece of paper declaring how smart you are? Not me. I already know I'm far more clever than everyone else here. And before you say ANYTHING, fractions don't count." The bell rang and I quickly got out of my seat, not waiting for a stunned Mikal to follow.

Mikal blinked and grabbed his books. Papers slipped from his binders and drifted behind him like a trail of breadcrumbs as he ran after me. "Wait! Sydney? Are you sure? What are you going to do after high school?"

I stuffed my hands in my pockets and trudged through the throng of students as they milled to their next class like sheep being herded into a pen. "Do? Like a job?"

"A career! A passion." Mikal laughed. "Don't you have one?"

I frowned and didn't answer. I hadn't really thought about life outside of high school. Sure, I pick pocketed in my spare time (although lately, after spending more time with Mikal, it was becoming more of a habit than an OCD'd need). On Tuesdays I worked at the fish factory with Captain Marcus and his retired crew. And if the mood struck I'd hang out and stand body guard for Dorothy and the other girls on her block. But other than that . . .

Mikal's smile faded as he saw my troubled expression. Suddenly, he slapped his hand on my shoulder and looked down at me with a warm smile. "Well then, I guess we'll just have to find your passion before exams. Don't worry about it. There's plenty to choose from! Obviously math isn't your strong suit, but what about art? Or . . . "

Mikal continued to rant about all the different majors I might enjoy. I looked up at him, doe eyed and confused. What? He wants to help me? A pleasant feeling tingled in my stomach and I quickly looked back down to my feet. I'm just hanging out with him as payback for rescuing me from Weinshouse. Once I've finished helping with the school play I'm gone. It's not like we're friends or anything. I bit my lip as the tingling surged in strength. My core tightened. Right?

Sydney's Dream

I checked myself out in a full length mirror located in the room, twisting from side to side to admire every angle. "Now that's what I'm talking about! I look so bad ass."

The servant skeleton had led me to an armoury. Inside hung recently polished javelins, pikes, chestplates, chainmail, gauntlets, helmets – basically, everything a nearly-naked girl running around playing the games of a serial killer in a hellish nightmare in desperate need of an advantage could want. I was like a little kid locked inside a toy store during Christmas time. I was free to go nuts.

At first I tried the same solid suits of armour the undead Knights had been wearing, but quickly realized there was no way my frame (I'm not saying I'm short, I'm just not tall, there's a difference) could support it (I also couldn't lift it, which put a dampener on my fashion frenzy). It took a few tries (and nearly poking my eye out with a lance), but I finally found something comfortable I could wear without being slowed down to a crawl.

I wrapped my body's areas that would experience the most friction (ie. my elbows, knees, knuckles and the soles of my feet) with bandages, and also covered my chest and hips in a bandeau/shorts fashion for modesty. I used strips of leather and some extra bandages to make a splint for my leg, and tied a set tightly around my middle, setting the wound on my side.

My torso was covered with a tanned leather breastplate, with bronze shoulder braces attached. A strip of chainmail hung down the middle of the breastplate and stopped at my waist. A leather skirt (gladiator style) was tied around my hips with a red sash. My knees were protected with matching bronze guards. My hands were left bare except for a pair of flat wrist braces that came to a point on the back of my hands, held there by entwining my fingers with a cloth that wove through the metal.

I chose to opt for a thin and light, steel shield and strapped it to my back, like a shell. I didn't bother with sabatons, too loud and too heavy to allow for movement, and instead fashioned myself some sandals with laces that crisscrossed up my shins.

"Who needs pretty dresses when you can kick ass in armour. Finally, an outfit deserving of my awesomeness."

I felt completely revitalized. I was clean, my wounds were slowly but surely healing, and I had protection. I felt like I could take on BB right then and there.

"Now," I rubbed my hands together, "All I need is a weapon."

I wasn't skilled enough to be any good with a lance or spear, and I couldn't muster the strength to lift any of the swords, all of them being taller than myself and as wide as a small tree trunk (believe me, I tried, it was my first choice). I dismissed the flails all together, more likely to puncture myself in the head than inflict damage on an enemy. That left the labrys, which was a short but effective double-edged axe.

Why am I so in tune with ancient weapon terminology, you ask? Mikal took me to Medieval Times on a date once, which nearly ended quite tragically. The show had to stop early because I was unjustly chased out onto the field during one of the duels after, successfully mind you, pulling a legit and valuable 'sword from a stone display' (which in my opinion makes me the rightful King of England, so technically Excalibur was my property in the first place). I was nearly trampled by a horse during their jousting scene. They made me volunteer for a month as a dummy in the torture chamber to make up for it.

The labrys was simple, the handle wrapped in similar bandages to allow for better grip and the edges sharpened to razor thin quality. It was hefty, but not heavy enough that I couldn't swing it with ease. (If it's good enough for Gimli, it's good enough for me). I practiced a few diagonal butterfly cuts, getting a feel for the weight, then strapped it into a knot in my sash. I took one last look in the mirror, eyes hard. "You can do this. It's not really him. BB is playing with you. Get in, find Mikal, and get the job done. You're Sydney Pennypocket, you're too cool to die here." I nodded to myself confidently and marched out of the armoury.

At the end of the hallway were a set of giant golden doors that reached all the way to the ceiling. As I neared more and more skeleton knights lined the walls, watching me silently. They didn't move or attack, only the yellow fire in their eyes followed my movement. I headed for the doors, all my systems on alert. I hesitated at the handles. My hand hovered over my weapon. My heart buzzed with anticipation. I shut my eyes and tried to push the reeling feeling in my throat back down into my stomach.

I raised my hand.

Before I could touch the handle, the doors opened inwards on their own. A crack of golden light shined through, pushing the shadows to the sides as it widened. I held my head up high, fingers tapping the handle of my labrys. "Hello, Mikal. Long time no see."

The Hospital

"Have you noticed how vain she is? Quite the little peacock." BB took another sip from his tea, one eye on the screens. He sat in his chair, legs propped out to the side, chest leaning against the backrest. He tilted forward and moved a chess piece diagonally across the board. "Bishop to A5. Oh dear, I do believe that was your rook. Such a shame, cut down in its prime." BB flicked the tiny castle off the board, watching it bounce across the room.

"Mmm. Knight to F4." L's one arm had been released to allow for better movement, but his other was still strapped tightly behind his back, along with the rest of his body to his own chair. He gently moved his subject to its new position, keeping his gaze focused on the game. His own teacup sat on its lonesome off to the side, having gone untouched and turned cold.

"Playing it safe, hmm? That won't do at all." BB attacked again, this time obliterating L's knight with his own. "She has no regard for the law, selfish too." BB glanced up from the game. "What did you see in her again?"

L counter-attacked, brushing aside a pawn from the board without pausing to think. "Sydney is a textbook kleptomaniac and a pathological liar who hides herself in a shield of egotism, deflecting others to a safe distance with pure obnoxiousness. It is likely a condition brought on by trauma in her childhood."

"You're blaming me? That's not very nice. Trauma can be healthy. She could have grown up to become a detective and solve other people's murders, like you. Though, on second thought," BB slapped his forehead, "You did turn out to be an obsessive, neurotic, friendless shut-in who distances himself from people by treating them more like clues. Uh-oh, watch out, your Queen is in danger."

"Are you really in a position to criticize others' faults?" L moved his Queen to safety and touched his mouth with his thumb, deep in thought. His bottom lip was cut and sore, and when he pressed hard enough it sent shooting pain through his gums and teeth. He applied additional force, using the pain to clear his head. "Is it not ironic?"

BB paused, staring intensely at the board as he made several calculated probabilities that could be the outcome of his next move. "Are you about to enlighten me with your years of wisdom, L? By all means, educate me. I'll be busy wiping out your defensive wall of pawns."

L, again and without looking, matched BB's move. "If you had left her alone to live a happy, normal life, you would not have created the one person who could defeat you."

"Who said she'd defeat me?" BB mumbled, eyes narrowing at the chessboard. "Are you even trying? I thought you wanted to win our wager?"

"I do not want to win, I have won. The result is already determined, though you will not see it for another seven moves."

BB let a wet laugh spurt past his lips, flapping them together in a bzzzing sound. "I don't see how. Look, I just captured your Queen." BB held up the chess piece, twirling it in the light between his thumb and forefinger. He closed his hand around it and clenched. He opened it again and let the dust of the Queen fall out. "Whoops, I guess you're not getting it back either, too bad."

L relaxed in his chair, placing his hand comfortably on his knee. "Checkmate."

BB blinked. He leaned his head back, affronted. "I thought you said another seven moves." He muttered gloomily.

"I lied."

BB frowned. "You sacrificed your Queen on purpose to win the game." He said slowly. "I didn't expect that."

"I wouldn't read too much into it. Now, the terms of our wager? You agreed to give Sydney an advantage in this final test if I won."

"Did you cheat?" BB was staring uncertainly at the board. He didn't say it out loud, but he could have sworn his opponent's last surviving knight had been one space to the left, where it was harmless and easily eradicated. It wasn't like him to miss something so vital, but L only had one free hand and had been under constant supervision, he couldn't have moved it.

"Did I?"

BB's eyes narrowed and he stared at L. After a moment of tense silence, BB shrugged. "A deal's a deal." He got up out of his chair and strode across the room, behind L and out of sight.

L cocked his head curiously to the side, listening as BB rummaged loudly through a set of drawers, tossing items over his shoulder. "What advantage will you give her?"

BB centred himself behind L, raising his arms over his head, holding a metal pipe. His eyes flashed crimson. "You're about to find out." He brought it down harshly, smashing it against against L's skull.

L's body careened forward, the chair knocking over the chess board and sending both detective and game crashing to the ground. L landed on his shoulder (the same one that BB had stabbed prior, which would have been extremely painful if he had not already blacked out), his cheek pressed against the icy concrete floor. The chess pieces rolled lightly to a halt.

BB circled L, bent down and picked up the knight that was used to defeat him. He rolled it in his hand thoughtfully. "Interesting." He said quietly. "Very interesting."

New York

"OUT OF THE WAY! MOVE IT! COMING THROUGH!" My sneakers squeaked against the marble floor as I dashed half-hazardously through the crowd of Central Station. I pushed my way past but I was slowing down, like a spoon through honey. The zippers of my baggy jeans ticked with each step, my knees poking through the torn holes in the fabric. My white sweat shirt was open, rustling against my army green tank and fanning out behind me like a cape as I made my getaway.

On my tail were a set of security guards in black uniforms. They whistled for assistance, hands on their belted tazers.

I dashed around the classic opal clock, cutting through lines at the information kiosk. Above me the teal ceiling curved high over my head, the golden constellations watching indifferently as the increasingly detrimental scene unfolded below (Orion almost seemed to make a point of ignoring me). A large American Flag back-dropped my flight and the soft yellow lighting of the station gave everything a glowing 'Midas' touch. In my hand I clutched two tiny diamond earrings I had lifted from one of the tourism shops, now soaked in my sweat. I made the mistake of looking over my shoulder to see the security guards' numbers multiply from two to six - and they were gaining.

Okay, Sydney. Time for one of your genius plans. Any day now.

The usual adrenaline zipped through my bloodstream, encouraged from the panicked beats of my heart. My veins and muscles stung, as if my body was pumping Redbull instead of plasma. I headed down one of the ramps to the lower levels and crashed through the food court. I was met with a solid wall of customers standing in line at the booths that bordered the dessert stands, snaking its way between the tables.

Only one way to go.

"EXCUSE ME! PARDON ME! SORRY!" I jumped from table to table, kicking over soda cups and squashing cheesecake slices with my feet. Once I reached the other side (mostly unscathed, my sneakers and the hems of my jeans were now splashed with an artistic combination of mustard and pastry) I hurtled through an archway and onto a platform.

I skidded to a stop at the terminal's edge, hopping from heel to heel. I had bought myself some time with my food court stunt, but I had broken one of my cardinal rules when it came to escape via subway.

My timing was off.

In front of me lay an empty track, black and lifeless, void of speeding metal and automated doors. The shouting behind me increased in volume as the barrelling guards neared. I looked left and right helplessly. The other passengers who waited gave me odd, concerned looks as my toes hung over the edge. I bit my inner cheek, tapping the closed fist that contained my prize against my thigh as I contemplated nervously. A cold breeze swirled around my legs.

I'm going to regret this.

I jumped into the track's pit and headed down the tunnel at a breakneck sprint, arms pumping madly at my sides.

The security guards slid into each other as they stopped, dumbfounded, on the platform. One brave guard took a step forward, ready to follow me, when his friend grabbed his arm. "Wait! The train!" He pointed.

Already I had passed the platform and was heading straight down the cramped tunnel, careful not to touch the track for fear of being electrocuted. By now the man's voice was far away, but it echoed over the platform like the tolling bells of a clock, deep and foreboding. I looked over my shoulder. All I saw were two bright lights glaring at me like the glowing eyes of a hungry monster, darkening everything else around them. The wind screamed as the hunk of cylindrical metal hit the breaks.

Yep, regretting it.

I only had a few moments to spare before I suffered the same fate as a bug on a windshield. Without second guessing myself I grabbed a clump of thick electrical wires and hauled myself up onto the wall. With all my strength I lifted my trembling body higher. I slipped and for a split second my body fell outwards, one arm off the wall, facing death by train head on. With one more strained pull I curved my body like a cat. Think thin, think thin, think thin. I flattened between two pipes against the wall and shut my eyes.

WOOOSHA-WOOSHA-WOOSHA!

I peeked through my lashes, opening one eye, then the other. I released a long winded sigh of relief. I stared down a sheet of silver metal, inches from my face. Heart pounding in my ears, I shimmied towards the ceiling between the wall and the train, wriggling like a caterpillar. By the time the train backed up and the guards were able to investigate, I had long since escaped into a duct in the roof—the kind that had been dug to let air navigate in case of a cave in.

It took hours before the search was called off, and I had spent the time lying flat on my stomach in the vent, fiddling with the two earrings I had gone through so much trouble to call my own. They didn't sparkle in the dim, purple lighting like they did in the shop, not appearing nearly as alluring. I adjusted my shoulders to keep from cramping, frowning at my prize. All I had wanted was to steal something pretty for myself, but as I waited for the search to end I felt as though they might as well have been a set of pebbles.

I had to walk home since the subway would by a hot spot for a few days, my body aching from lying still for so long. My neighbourhood sounded of crickets and distant sirens, and it stank of sewage and burning waste bins. I kept my hands in my pockets and my eyes on the sidewalk, crossing the street whenever I found myself on a collision course with people I knew it best to avoid. When I reached my building an old woman was leaning out her window, pink rollers in her hair and a green mask plastered on her face. She was tossing her slippers at the alley cats, yelling at them to scatter. With a pained and tired groan I made my way up the stairs and unlocked my apartment door.

The place was a mess, as per usual. Dishes soaked in week old suds was slowly growing into a daunting mountain on the kitchenette's counter. The den's carpet was covered with white crumbs and clothes were thrown in any available spot, cast over the sofa and the balcony. Our small, garage sale tube TV buzzed white noise, the picture warbled, depicting a midnight sermon. My Uncle was strewn out on his chair, what unwashed hair he had left clinging to his scalp. His belly peeked out from underneath his uniform (which he had forgotten to take off, again) and he had only removed one shoe. He was surrounded by a pile of cheesy bits and beer bottles.

I found a (reasonably) clean blanket and carefully set it over my Uncle's body. I gently brushed the crumbs from his beard and took off his second shoe. He mumbled Maria's name in his sleep and my chest panged painfully. I took another look around the trashed apartment, my shoulders drooping, exhausted. With a sigh I grabbed a garbage bag.

It took another few hours to clean, but by the time the sun started to wake I finally finished. I locked both my arms into two straight planks, my hands placed on the counter, barely able to keep myself standing. Luckily it was a Sunday, so I didn't have to go to school. With a grunt I sifted through my pocket and took out the two earrings again, rubbing them between my fingers. Their crisp cut edges shined in the yellow dew of the sun's rays, sparkling like tiny drops of fire. I sucked on the inside of my cheek, contemplating.

Making up my mind, I hefted myself up onto the counter and rested my head on the cupboard. I picked up the phone and dialled.

RING . . . RING . . .

"Hello?"

"Hey, Mikal. It's me." I whispered, keeping my voice low so I didn't wake my Uncle.

"Sydney?"

I managed a small, tired smile. "Why do you sound so surprised?"

"No reason, a little early though, isn't it?"

I peered at one of the earrings, squinting one of my eyes at it as I tried to catch the light just right. "Sorry," I mumbled, "Did I wake you?"

I heard laughter on the other end. "No, actually. I stayed up all night programming another level to the game I'm designing."

I made a face. "I didn't know you make video games."

"What did you think I was programming?"

I shrugged (which I realized was stupid, since he couldn't see me), I slapped my forehead and answered. "I dunno, the Matrix?"

More laughter.

". . . "

"Something else on your mind?"

I cleared my throat. "It's . . . well . . . it's April first."

"And?"

I swung my leg, my heel gently hitting the counter. "It's my birthday."

There was a pause. "I know."

My brow furrowed. "You do?"

"Yep."

BEEP . . . BEEP . . . BEEP . . .

I stared, confusing, at the dead phone in my hand. Did he hang up on me?

CLACK.

My head turned sharply, pinpointing the noise. A small rock clattered to the cement floor of my balcony. Slowly, I strode over to the door, upon inspection finding a small scratch. I let the pad of my forefinger run down the pane of the door, following the thin white tract of the scratch. I flinched as another small rock was tossed against the panel. Quickly, I cast it open and hurried outside. The cold morning air washed over my body like a frozen spray. I shook it off, rubbing my arms raw for warmth, and leaned over the balcony's railing.

Standing in the alley, two tickets clutched in his hand, was Mikal. He grinned up at me. "April Fools!"

I blinked.

"Happy Birthday, Sydney!" He shielded his eyes from the sun with his hand, squinting. "Ever been to a Yankee's game?" He called up, waving.

It took me a moment to adjust. Then, the biggest smile I've ever had broke out on my face, so large it nearly escape the confines of my jaw and fluttered away like a giant, white butterfly. "No, but I have a feeling I'm about to!" I exclaimed, bouncing excitedly. I waved for him to wait. "I'll be down in one second!"

Sleep forgotten, I ran back inside and tore through my chest of clothes like a tornado. I quickly tossed on a fresh set of jeans and my bright yellow, smiley face t-shirt. I brushed my hair, swirled mouth wash and grabbed a spring jacket.

Just before I hurried out the door, I paused, a glint catching my eye. Two tiny diamonds twinkled on the counter, waiting for me. I walked over purposefully and picked them up. I opened up my hand, palm up and stared at them for a moment. I clenched my hand into a fist, then held it over the sink. I opened my hand and watched as the two diamonds clinked, bounced, then disappeared down the drain.

Excitement bubbling inside me, read to burst like Mentos in diet cola, I practically fell down the stairs in my rush.

Out of breath, I held my hands on my knees. Mikal was waiting for me on my doorstep. "What took you so long?" He asked, amused.

"Eh? Nothing, nothing. You know how girls are—make-up, hair bla bla bla." I grinned. "So, a Yankee's game?"

"Yes. Peanuts, foam fingers, hot dogs and all. The works. No one, Canadian or not, can live in New York and not see them play. It's blasphemous! I got great seats too. I figured we could take the metro and stop somewhere for breakfast then—"

"Oh, do you think we could take the bus?"

"Err, I guess. But why? The metro is faster."

"Oh," I dismissed the question with a wave of my hand and a small smile, "I just feel like taking my time today, that's all."

Mikal must have taken that statement very well, because he happily didn't press the issue.

And just as Mikal promised, the day consisted of peanuts, foam fingers, hot dogs, and fun. The kind of fun I hadn't had in ages. There was a ball that was caught (with my face, but so worth it) and kept in a keep-safe in my floorboard from that day forward, along with my ticket stub and a Yankee's replica baseball cap Mikal bought me as a present. The sun was shining and, even though it was cold, I didn't feel it.

It was the best day of my life.

It really was.

Sydney's Dream

I stepped forward, soaking in my surroundings.

A deep red carpet stretched the length of the throne room, ending at a raised pier. The mound was made of three giant steps, and at its summit perched a proud throne constructed entirely of diamond. It gleamed, swelling almost arrogantly in the candlelight. The room was just as large as the ballroom. The space was utilized by a long banquet table constructed off to the left, ordained with glorious stacks of steaming food, sugary deserts and two silver chairs positioned on either end. Two skeleton knights with beefed up armour stood loyally on either side of the pier, their broadswords pointing down and held centred in front of them, at the ready.

And sitting on the throne was Mikal.

He was leaning casually on the armrest, tilting his cheek onto his fist. He was dressed like a Prince, wearing a blue suit with gold trim and matching epaulette shoulder tassells. A rapier with a cupped hilt was positioned off his hip, sheathed. His shoes were shined to mirror-like perfection, his hair neat and tidy in its usual braided form. He looked healthy, his dark skin practically glowing. His eyes bright with intelligence and humour. Upon seeing me, he leaped to his feet and held his arms out wide.

"Sydney! You have no idea how great it is to see you!" He strode with quick, long strides down the carpet, closing the distance between us. Before I had time to react he wrapped his arms around me and lifted me off my feet, hugging me tightly. He laughed boisterously and set me down, but didn't release me from his hug.

My breathing was short and quick, my eyes flicking back and forth, confused. The side of my face was pressed against his chest, rubbing into the fabric. He sounded just like my Mikal did, he was the exact same height and build . . . he even smelled like him, a surge of familiar scents that overpowered my senses; his spicy deodorant, the leather from his dad's boxing gym, and the scent of fresh textbooks. For a second my body reacted naturally, relaxing. I closed my eyes.

"I missed you." He whispered.

Mikal brushed a strand of hair behind my ear and cupped my face. He leaned down and, without letting me pull away, pressed his lips against mine, sending all his energy into that one gesture. At first it was soft, but like an exploding supernova I gravitated towards him, breathing in when he breathed out, clutching the fabric of his suit tightly between my fingers. His lips were unusually cold, but they were soft and moved exactly the same as they did back in New York, in sync with my own.

This is wrong.

My eyes opened abruptly. I took a step back, pushing him away, trying to control my horrified expression. "You're not real." I managed a dry whisper. This is harder than I thought. My cheeks flushed red as a flurried mix of anger and betrayal and hurt and grief overloaded my mind all at once. I held my fingers to my temples, shaking my head, staring at the ground, eyes wide. What am I doing?

Mikal raised one eyebrow and lowered the other. He smiled, amused. "Very funny, Sydney. Of course I'm real." He looked me up and down. He sighed. "I should have known you wouldn't go for that dress I had made for you. I've never seen you in one so I figured it was worth a shot. Not that I'm complaining, you look like Xena in that outfit."

"And you look like the Prince of Denmark." I blurted, the remark coming out without filter before I could stop it. I stumbled back again, clamping my one hand over my mouth, feeling sick, while holding out the other to keep him at a distance.

Mikal looked down at himself. "I know! Isn't it great?" He spun on his heel, sweeping his arm out in a tall arc around him. "Everything you see here is mine. This whole palace. I control it! Here, watch." He snapped his fingers and two serving skeletons came rushing in, bowing vigorously. "Please show Sydney to her seat."

"Wait a second," I tried to move out of the way, but the skeletons were eager to please their master. They grabbed me by my elbows and lifted me off the ground, my legs milling as if I was pedalling a bicycle. They plopped me forcibly into the one chair at the far end of the banquet table.

Mikal sat in the other. "Try some of the food. I had them cook it just for you. I wasn't sure when you last ate so I figured I should be prepared."

My eyes blinked rapidly. "You had all this made . . . just for me?" I don't understand. Uncle and the ghost girl attacked me, they tried to kill me. Why isn't he? What sort of test is this? "And the dress . . ." I continued slowly, "And the bath . . . that was all you?"

"Of course! You looked like you'd been dragged through a garbage dump. I always used to say you deserved to be treated like a princess. Well, now you can! Eat up, the oysters are delicious."

"I'm not eating any of this." As soon as I said that my stomach growled intensely. I winced.

"I'm sure whatever you've been through has made you cautious," Mikal said kindly, "But come on, Sydney! It's not like I poisoned it. It's me!" He flashed me an innocent smile.

I pushed the plate in front of me away, letting the scraping sound of the platter on wood cut coldly through the air, and stood up. I gripped the edge of the table, staring at my fingers, my face dark. "No," I said, arms shaking, "It's not you. You're not real."

Mikal's smile faded slightly. "I don't understand, Sydney. Everything you want is right here. I'm here, this castle is grander than any house we ever could have afforded before. There are no drunk uncles, no police officers, no one with expectations or college to worry about. Sure, the skeletons can be a bit weird at first, but you'll get used to them. We can live here forever, we can finally be happy together. We can have a family. Isn't that what you want?"

My lips tightened, forming a thin, sad line. "It was something I did want, a long time ago." My face was flushing again, my eyes wavering with water. I tried to blink it away.

Mikal started walking around the table towards me. "Then what's wrong? Is it the oysters? I was trying to be fancy to impress you. That was stupid. I'll get rid of the oy—"

"STOP!"

Mikal halted a few feet away from me, taken aback.

My back heaved up and down, my fingers shaking so badly that the platters and goblets on the table started to clink together. "You're not Mikal." I whispered hoarsely. "You're an illusion, or a dream, or a lie. It doesn't matter. I get it now. I know what my challenge is." My face crumpled, straining as I held back a sob. "And I don't think I can do it." I croaked with a short gasp for air.

"Syd—" He started worriedly.

I glanced at him. "Please, I'm begging you, don't do this to me. Just go away. I don't care about getting revenge for my parents anymore. I don't care about Death Note. I just want to go home. Just send me home, BB. I'll leave you alone. I promise."

Mikal gave me a concerned look, tilting his head to the side the same way he did back in New York.

My chin trembled. Hot, thick tears escaped my eyes and poured down my reddened face. "Please don't make me do this!" I sobbed wretchedly.

"Sydney," Mikal took a strong step forward, holding out his hand. "Everything's going to be okay. You don't have to cry. We're together. Just tell me you want to be here too. I have to know you want this."

"I do! More than anything . . . more than anything in the entire world." I shut my eyes tightly and shook my head. "But I can't."

"Why? Everything's fine, it's—"

"No, everything is NOT fine!" I shouted harshly, eyes searching the room, trying to find a way out. I waved him away and stumbled like a drunk, my vision blurred from the tears. I kept my distance, heading towards the exit. My legs were growing weak, wanting me to turn around and run back into his arms, my body failing me.

By now I had dissolved into a blubbering mess. The tears wouldn't stop, streaming down my cheeks and chin relentlessly. My chest, neck and face felt hot and a knot in my heart was twisting painfully, tightening like the cog on a guitar, ready to pop its strings.

"Yes it is—"

"NO IT'S NOT!" My fists tightened at my sides. Almost at the door, keep going.

"Why not?" He exclaimed desperately.

Unable to control myself any longer, I spun on my heel and took a step forward, body trembling. "Because . . ."

Mikal grabbed my shoulders and spoke in a demanding tone, shaking me slightly. "Tell me!"

I let myself go, crumpling forward. I wrapped my arms around his body and held him close, so tight I thought I might break him in half. I buried my face in his chest. "Because—" I sobbed, a fresh batch of tears coursing down my cheeks. "Because you're DEAD!"

~End of Chapter 37~

4AM again. (As always, forgive my fatigued errors. If you spot something point it out in a review and I'll go back and fix it). I wish my body didn't require sleep, then I could keep writing, but my fingers are starting to feel numb. Looks like there is going to be a Part 3 after all. I hope you guys liked it! Review and let me know whatchya think. (Your reviews fuel chapters, fellow fans! You're the only feedback I get for any of my writing and it drives me to want to write more, I assure you. Review like your life depends on it!)

Or not . . . you know, free country and all that jazz. (I'm just saying . . . that's all.)

Forever your Faithful Fan,

~Satchelle