A/N: Well...I'm now a year older and have been sick all week! (It sucks really) But I have a new laptop so updates are nearly a million time easier! :3

Anyway I'm here with a brand new update that will bring us closer to the finish of this story! •Insert applause• And due to being sick I had to self isolate so time was a plenty to work on this.

Gucci Mane LaFlare - Thanks for the kind reviews as always. I'm glad that the quality is still ok despite the story near finishing (endings tend to suck for me). But enjoy this chapter anyway!

Till next time,

D.L.D


Heather's P.O.V

"So how has everything been?" I let out a sigh as I allow myself a break for the first time today.

Since my father's arrest, I've been busy keeping up an ok public image as well as making sure everything was smooth for my future after graduating and leaving this dump of a town. However I can't leave until I'm sure that my mother, and siblings, will be ok on their own. After all we were all very dependent on my father.

"Ok," My mother smiled as she neatened her bun and began to pack a satchel with supplies. "I've been adjusting to being back in the office, but it's worth seeing my kids happy for once."

She earned a hum and a mumble from her 'kids'. Marietta was busy getting ready for her afternoon shift at her Saturday job and Damion had just come back from his. From what my mother had told me they'd both been working hard on it. Marietta taking it a bit more seriously than Damion, had been dragging her brother to his job before it instilled in him to just go.

"So how are the jobs going?" I ask as I look at my younger siblings. For once I'm glad that I'm the older one, I never had to get a Saturday job.

"Sucky." Damion stuck his tongue out.

"It's ok," Marietta smiled simply, tying her curled hair into a ponytail. "The baby goats are cute but shoveling that crap gets tiring."

"And stinky," Damion quipped before rolling his eyes. "How much longer do we have to do this for?"

"The rest of your lives," My mother answered simply as she grabbed an umbrella and went to the front door. "I'll be back for dinner. Don't trash the house Damion."

She then left the building, causing me to look at my two siblings. They were acting, no behaving, too well for this to be real. Mother had to have bribed them.

"What did she give you?" I say automatically and one sighs as the other scoffs.

"Nothing," Damion shrugged.

"Ok she gave me a new curling iron," Marietta smiled sheepishly as she gestured to the device. "And she gave Damion a new phone - in return for us making an effort of course."

"Oh yes the effort," Damion frowned as he got up and headed towards the kitchen.

"So...you guys are ok then?" I raise a brow as I look at them.

"Yep."

"Haven't felt better."

"Ok, well I'm gonna leave you two monkeys to it," I say as I grab my bag and head to the door. "If mom breaks down again call Dr Phillips. Need anything else just call."

"Ok, ok we get it goodbye mother." Damion exasperated and I rolled my eyes.

That's my thanks for trying to be nice. Damn these hormones.

"Wait, I need something!" Marietta ran up to me, jacket over her shoulder and bag beside it. She smiled slightly. "Can I get a rid to work?"

"Of course you need one..." I sigh as I resist the urge to facepalm. "Come on then."

She lets out a celebratory squeal and I only shake my head.

Sometimes I wonder what I'm still doing in this town...


Geoff's P.O.V

"So you treat other people with trauma right?" I raise a brow, skeptical of the old woman sitting across from me.

She appeared like the usual old woman, glasses and greying hair with slight wrinkles and a cardigan that had a warm earthly tone to it, but something seemed off. She seemed too lively and curious to be the therapist that her card advertised her as. Too joyful and bouncy to be someone who is ready to deal with a story of blood and death while being mindlessly controlled. Something I regret, although not actively having a part in it.

But that's how sins work right?

You feel remorse no matter how much you're assured you did no wrong. No matter how much you want to move on and accept that what happened was beyond your control. But it keeps coming back, like a yo-yo to a string the remorse spirals back, sometimes taking longer than usual or being a jumble of mess, but always returning. Always finding ways to niggle into my mind through flashbacks and sudden thoughts.

"Yes, I've had quite a few cases from your experience too Geoff," Mrs Davey smiled softly, her clipboard resting on her lap.

The old bird had greying auburn hair, the colour still vibrant despite age and formal clothing reminding me of where I was. Her brown, almost hazel, eyes shone with a warmth that kinda reminded me of Bridge but other than that her appearance only made me more on edge. Reality is sinking in. I'm waking up from drifting and realising that everything will become very real as soon as I accept it. That once I open this chapter, I can't close it no matter how much I want to.

But I have to go through with it.

"That's good," I manage after a few seconds and begin to twiddle my thumbs, feeling awkward just lying there on the chaise lounge. A cliché moment in most sitcoms or shows.

"Well start whenever you're ready dear," Mrs Davey smiled, the gesture warm yet feeling pressuring as I glance at her. "We have an hour you know and it'll fly by the sooner you start talking. Talking can help speed up the process."

I nod, deciding to speak just for the sake of speaking. Well it started that way and soon and I was pouring out everything I knew on the situation. Like a broken fountain spouting water, the words tumbled from my mouth easily being recorded by the therapist who smiled and commented every once in a while. You may think it was annoying or belittling, but her words actually helped to clear up some things. They gave more insight into the problem and soon the weight was seeming to lift from me, the burden to continue after this event becoming a little easier to bear.

Then a timer goes off and small beeps fill the room. Mrs Davey sighs and then stops the beeping, a small smile still on her face.

"You did well Geoff," She nodded as I gathered my things.

"So when do you think this'll be over doc?" I ask, raising a brow and she chuckles.

"I'm a therapist not a doctor, dear," The older woman laughed, a serious look somehow surviving her fit of chuckles. "Healing is a lengthy process. It takes time and you can't just slap a band aid over a deep wound and call it a day. You have to wait for it to scab over and then slowly heal, the remaining scars fading as you accept it. Don't think that one session changes everything as it doesn't. I want to see you here every week, Geoff, doc's orders as you say, don't skip or the progress won't continue."

"I understand," I nod, trying to suppress a laugh at the kind lady's stern expression. It was such an odd sight to see someone so old and kind looking so wound up and serious. "But I thought you weren't a doctor?"

"It's an expression, Geoff, an expression," She sighed as she led me to the door. "Have a great week and remember to tell that wife of yours something nice each day. I'll be asking her."

She then closed the door, leaving me to process what had happened. It was then I realised that I had made it through my first therapy session and it wasn't that bad. In fact I looked forward to my next visit as well as keeping my promise - no duty - to tell Bridge something nice each day.

Fueled by the new positive energy, I leave Mrs Davey's office and head back home.

Slowly but surely I'm recovering and recovering means I'm healing.


Mike's P.O.V

"Ah Mike, a pleasure as always," Mrs Davey gave me her usual smile, glasses piled on top of her greying hair.

"Mrs Davey," I return her greeting, nodding slightly as I head inside her office.

As usual the chairs were all there, the comfy furniture looking even more inviting in its bright hues of greens, reds and blues. The desk sat to the side, papers and books strewn across it as well as letters. but what stuck out to me most was the machine hastily brought into the centre of the room, equipment prepped for my latest session.

Once again I was back for another MPD talk and since the last Chester had been gone. Erased. His influence and appearances had vanished, like a phantom in the night. All of the other personalities had also noted this and as such weren't too joyful to be or be around. Vito was having an inner turmoil, conflicted between disappearing forever or staying; Manitoba was like a drunken sailor, watching as his crew and ship sink before him; Svetlana had been crying profusely and mal was nowhere to be seen. Once again he had retreated to the depths of my mind, waiting for when he would be called and when we would face the worst of the memories.

The one that made him.

"You ready dear?" She asked, a slight tone of worry in her voice. She then frowned and placed a soft hand on my shoulder. "I know this is tough...but it's for the best."

"I know..." I breathe as I clench my fists and let her place the electrodes onto my skull. Once again I feel the slight buzz and shiver as I think about how this'll be another personality gone and another memory tackled.

Another piece of me gone...

"Ok, I'm turning it on," Mrs Davey spoke, her voice wavering as she passed me the cup of liquid again. "Good luck Mike."

"Thank you," I smile and down the contents of the plastic container.


I wake up in a room filled with bright pastel colours, rainbows and plastic tables adorning the area. Boxes of donated and old toys sat in the corners, all of them used for these visits that many children went to and never returned from.

Adoption.

It definitely is a scary process. Being passed between homes in the foster system; not knowing what friends you have or how long you'd be there; each day here was an unpredictable nightmare, only the toughest making it out to live normal lives. Others ended back up in the system - the crime system. Drugs, theft, murder; all crimes that elders in my homes had suffered and yet I had somehow survived to the age of six without any mishaps. I was still a happy child and I lived up to that. As a result many of my foster parents had a fondness for me - but none ever adopted.

"You must be Mike," A young woman with honey blonde hair came up to me, a kind smile on her face. She looked at the stuffed animal in my arms, the one thing I managed to keep from my distant past with my grandparents.

It was a zebra, the animal being a gift from when we went to the zoo. I dragged it everywhere with me, the animal reminding me of fuzzy faces and warm smiles; of cookies and endless happy evenings as I was read a bedtime story and kissed goodnight. In the system, things were harder. It was every kid for themselves and as a result most of my things had been gone, the zebra being my only companion.

"And who is this?" The woman knelt to be beside me, her eyes widening in awe. "Does he have a name?"

I shake my head, a clear indication of no.

"Well, why don't we call him Ziggy?" The lady smiled, chuckling slightly as she patted the animal. "I'm Medallia and it's a pleasure to finally meet you Mike."

I watch as she stands back up and talks with my social worker, Luke. Both go into a long conversation and I catch bits and pieces of it before being shot a smile from Medallia. She then went back to talking, making it clear that I shouldn't concern myself with this. That I should play and be a child while I could.

So while they spoke, I began to draw. I drew Chester, a voice that often appeared in my head and sometimes told me what to do, but he never was visible. Many said he was my imaginary friend, a way to deal with loss, but I think he's part of me. A part of me I can talk to when I feel lonely.

"Whatcha drawing Mike?" Medallia was back, leaning over me as she looked at my drawing. Her long blonde hair spilled over her shoulder, the scent of daises and other delicate flowers escaping with it.

"Chester," I say the name and continue to draw.

"I see," She took a seat across from me. "And who is Chester?"

"He's my friend," I don't look up from the paper, concentrating on colouring inside the lines.

"So I've heard," Medallia nodded, before smiling. "Well Mike, how would you like coming to stay with me? I've heard that the children in your current home aren't so nice and I only have one other child who is really kind."

I pause. The crayon stills and I look up at the blonde. Her green eyes are warm and kind, matching the pink lipglossed smile she wore. Medallia was young compared to the other foster parents I'd had. Many were middle aged or cruel, their homes no place to raise children with few being kind. I have many scars from unfair foster parents.

"I'd like that," I smile as I look at Medallia. "You seem nice."

"I'm glad you think that," The woman smiled and then began to talk about what it was like living in her home.

..0.

Time has passed. I'm now seven and everything seems to be normal for me.

Medallia is a nice foster parent, her kind ways and young personality really helping me to feel at ease within her home. She often helps with school work and bullies and makes the most delicious meals. She made Ziggy, my zebra, a bowtie and said that it was a nice touch. Everything was so amazing about this woman I was often calling mom. She was so nice and kind, looking after me and my foster sister Ellie.

But not only that was amazing, Medallia was a retired gymnast. She had been close to the Olympic gold medal when she ended up spraining something, as a result she signed it all away and retired to live in the upper middle class of this town. However the glory days are never far for Medallia, she often tells me and Ellie tales of her career and how she pulled off certain tricks that seemed impossible and soon I was learning them. I kept her tricks tucked away and often practiced with her and Ellie, ignoring the jeers from my peers and often impressing said peers when I went on the monkey bars.

So in short all was peaceful. Idyllic. Nothing could shatter the peaceful bubble Medallia had created for her small but happy family.

Well that's what I thought...

..0.

It was a rainy afternoon. Ellie and I were still at the school, waiting with our umbrellas in the pouring rain. Medallia had been late to pick us up for the past few days now, often saying she had to do some errands and completely spaced, so we were both accustomed to occupying ourselves. We played a game of I-spy, with Ellie taking her turn when Medallia finally pulls up.

Our usually smiley and calm foster mom was now a silent and worried looking mess. Her blonde hair was sticking to her face, drenched from the rain, and her clothes looked as if she'd thrown them on haphazardly. She had hurriedly ushered us into the car and soon began speeding away from the school.

"Mom are you ok?" Ellie had grown accustomed to calling Medallia mom, the trait earning a fondness.

"Yes, I'm just a little frightened, sweetie," Medallia focused on the road, her eyes staring straight ahead.

The entire journey was silent, the purr of the engine and patter of the rain the only sounds between us. For the whole ride I thought, my mind racing with possibilities and ideas as we pulled up by our home and Medallia rushed us out.

"There's some boxes in the hall, grab those and help me get them into the car," Her voice rasped as she unlocked the front door.

Being the obedient children we were, we began to help pack the things into the car. I peeked inside a few boxes and spotted some of my favourite things inside. The labels on the boxes also helped to give some sort of idea of what was going on. We were moving. Leaving.

But why?

I bite back the question as we load the things into the car and Medallia gets us to wait for her inside it. She heads into the house and silence fills the air.

Bang

My heart stops as I hear the first shot. Clear and resolute. A scream follows along with a cry.

Bang

I wince. Another this time. No doubt to the same person, hopefully not who I fear it to be.

Bang

...

Silence fills the air as Ellie turns to me, tears filling her eyes as she tucks her knees to her chest. Sobs are held in and I pass her Ziggy, deciding to keep watch in case the shooter comes our way. If they do we'll have to run or hide.

"Duck down," I whisper and Ellie does as told.

She sniffles as she ducks down, squeezing Ziggy. A million years seem to pass as we wait in that car, minds and hearts racing as we fear the worst had happened. That Medallia had been -

I muster the courage to leave. I grab Ellie by the wrist and gently guide her towards the house. The rain falls onto our clothes, soaking them into transparency and clinginess. The feeling is uncomfortable, unsettling, but I ignore it to see what had happened. To see if Medallia was ok.

We reach the front door and we spot it is left ajar. Blood is spattered across its frame, the red like tiny dots of sick decoration. The lights inside are off, the hall dimmed from the cloudy sky and lack of illumination. Pictures hang haphazardly from the walls, one of the three of us dropped, the frame shattered beyond repair. It was a nice picture, the memory warm and fuzzy in my head and when I recall it now it makes me feel terrible. It makes tears brim to my eyes and words impossible to utter.

Pain is brought when I think about it.

"I don't like it here, Mike," Ellie sniffled, her brown eyes brimming with tears. "I'm scared..."

"I know," I pat her in comfort. "But we need to check on Medallia. I'm sure she's fine but we have to."

Gulping, I lead her into the kitchen and instantly regret my choice. The normally white tile walls are now red, the words 'this is what you get bitch' messily scrawled in red over the blank space Medallia was planning to put a dream board onto. Blood is everywhere, splatters pools and even trails and footprints are left. A knife is laid out on the counter, the tip red and used for what I can guess is bodily harm.

Then there was the body. Right in the doorway.

Once honey blonde hair was now stained red, the colour tainted with her own blood. Glassy green eyes remained open, their warm depths lifeless and frightened. Blood was smeared over her body and face, puncture wounds visible on her torso and legs. A gunshot wound was in the back of her head and blood was still leaving the corpse, the red liquid staining the light flooring.

Nausea fills my senses and I try my best not to scream or puke, my brain feeling as if it might explode or worse. A thousand emotions race through me, each fighting to be dominant, but only one action takes over.

I cry.

Great tears of aqua pour from my eyes as I take in the scene, my arms rushing to the body. I cradle the corpse, willing there to be warmth, to feel someone hug back, but no-one does. Medallia doesn't laugh and smile and say it's one huge joke. She doesn't hug me back and tell me everything is ok. Medallia just lies there, dead like her long lost career in gymnastics. Both things she was gifted in, life and gymnastics, were now gone from her. Stripped away.

I wonder what it feels like to lose that twice...

But I guess I have. My grandparents and now her - an endless cycle of death it seems.

"I'm sorry Medallia..."

That's all I can say as the sirens sound and the police burst in.

..0.

"Oh Mike..." Svetlana sighs as she wipes her tears away, a hand landing on my shoulder.

"I know Svetlana, I know," I say as I look at the set of monkey bars in the distance. They were my favourite thing to go on before the second event. A way for me to show Medallia that I liked her stories about her glory days and that one day I'd help her relive them.

Medallia had been a good mother.

"I know it is hard to forget," Svetlana stood beside me, "Hard to move on."

"Tell me something I don't know," I frown as I sit down on a small rock. I place my head in my hands on focus on the monkey bars, the sky and land unchanging around them unlike the rest of my mind.

"But zhat is why you have to move on!" She grinned as she began to think of something. She then pointed to the monkey bars. "I challenge you to beat me on those."

"The monkey bars?" I raise a brow as I look at the playground equipment.

"Yes," Svetlana nodded, her mind made. "Beat me on those and we have a deal."

"Ok..." I get up and begin to make my way to the equipment.

I don't remember going over them, or even trying but somehow I'm on the other side and Svetlana is gone, her voice flickering in the breeze.

"Good luck Mike..."

And then I'm sucked back to reality. Sitting in my therapist's office, tears streaking my face.


Shawn's P.O.V

"Shawn you're overreacting," Jasmine sighs as she stands outside my dorm.

The spread has gotten worse, more people falling victim to the mysterious illness spreading about. More and more students have fallen victim to it and many of them have been continuing to head into class, coughs and sneezes only spreading it further. So I've been isolating myself only heading out to classes and to refresh my stock before things get to the worst stage.

"I'm not this is serious," I say as I think about whether it'd be a liability or not to let her in. The spread had been getting pretty large now and that meant not knowing who could be carrying said illness.

"Shawn everyone's probably just sick from Chef's food," Jasmine continued, her annoyance and fatigue obvious.

"I'm not chancing it," I say firmly as I turn my back to the door. "And neither should you. All outbreaks are underestimated until the whole population becomes zombies."

A silence followed along with a simple sigh. I then heard her rest a hand on the door, her forehead probably following suit.

"Ok, just don't starve yourself in there," Her tone was humorous, light-hearted. "I'll check up on you ok?"

"Yeah," I respond and then her footsteps sound.

Then I'm left alone. No-one to keep my company and the world falling apart before my eyes. That's when it all kicks in. When I realise that maybe I shouldn't hide away like a hermit crab for something this small. Not yet anyway.

So I open my door and bolt out, hoping to catch up with Jasmine.


Sierra's P.O.V

"Hello this is Sierra Campbell speaking," I give a professional tone, knowing that this caller is most probably important. After all it's not everyday you get a call from an unknown number just after releasing a hit matchmaking app.

"Ah I was hoping to catch you," The person answering had a British accent, the tone suggesting they were a manager or agent of sorts. "You are available right now, right?"

"Yes I'm free for the afternoon," I say, frantically typing a response to an email. I'd been doing so all morning, getting all sorts of offers and deals from bug companies. However I was waiting for a certain one to call me. One that I've always dreamed of joining as a reality or talk show host.

"Great, now I'd like you to come down to the office," The person continued. "I work for a company that produces shows, similar to how TLC and MTV work. I'm sure you've heard of it, we go by ARTC."

"America's Reality and Talk Channel?" I breathe not believing that they'd finally called. "As in the company that did Letter date and that show with the blind fiancés and stuff?!"

"That's the one," The person chuckled. The sound of typing filled their end and then someone talking. "I'm sending you a chauffeur. They'll pick you up and deliver you here where we'll talk about a contract. My bosses were wondering about doing a show on the mysterious Sierra Campbell and her matchmaking abilities."

"Well I'll definitely be there," I say, eyes still wide as I discard my email response and begin to head to my closet. I have to find something more professional to wear than my house sweater and leggings.

"Great, you should be picked up in an hour," The call then ended and I was left holding my phone.

My jaw was still open, my eyes blinking and mind wondering if this was really all happening. If the channel that produces those good trashy shows is actually hiring me to have my own trashy show. And when I say trashy I mean those shows like Teen Mom and My Big Fat Gypsy Wedding. The shows aren't actually trashy but the content can be argued to be so as it drags in viewers who gradually become addicted.

"Why are you just standing there holding your phone?" Staci poked her head in, a pizza box in hand.

"They called," I say.

"They did!" Her eyes are wide and she nearly drops the pizza. However Staci isn't one to waste good food and so caught it just as swiftly as it fell. "That's great! So what are you gonna do? Own a show, help out - "

"I have a show," I nod, slowly letting the words sink into me. I was going to have a tv series. An actual series. Not one of those YouTube series I did filming and editing moments of the school day. Not one of my special uploads on my blogs. I was actually having my own show.

Then I remember that I'm going to the main building in town. That I'm gonna be picked up in an hour. Panic begins to race through me as I think about how to present myself. I can't turn up like this, they'll think I'm just another college student who got lucky. I had to look professional.

"What's the panic for?" Staci asked, raising a brow as I began to hyperventilate.

"I need something to wear," I say as I head to my closet. "I'm heading to the building in one hour."

"Ok, I'll help," She sets her pizza down and begins to help me rummage through my collection of clothes.

I shoot her a grateful smile.

"Thanks Stace," I say and she simply shrugs.

"No prob," She scoffed, "Just make sure to mention me on that show."

I laugh. She really is a true roommate and friend.


Gwen's P.O.V

"About time you woke up," I laugh as my brother slowly makes his way through the meal the nurses gave him.

I don't get how he can eat it. Hospital food always disgusted me. The way it always looked like it had been messed with. The custard always looked way too goopy and slimey to be just milk and whatever else they put in it, the cake always crumbled as soon as you stabbed it and the rest of the food just as deformed and unappealing. Like Chef's food but more appetizing really.

"Are you admitting you actually missed me?" He asked, poking his food.

"No way, I was just worried about mom having to unplug you," I say slowly as I turn away from him, opting for the view from the window. Since we were so high up, the town appeared a little smaller. tall buildings looked like building blocks, the streets small strips of black littered with moving objects. "You know you were close."

"Yeah I heard about that," I heard him drop his plastic fork onto the plate, clearly done with eating. "Look I promise I wasn't messing with it again. My friends wanted me to grab them a bit from some new dealer so I told them I would. Problem was the dick beat me up and then mugged me thinking he'd find anything on me, but I was clean."

"How do I know your friends weren't giving you a joint?" I ask, peering at him and he sighs.

"Because rehab changes you," He answers simply. "Going through withdrawal symptoms, watching others spiral into madness and commit suicide over something as simple as a spliff changes you. You don't want to end up like those people. So I stopped, haven't smoked it in months you just assumed I did cause my room stinks of the stuff thanks to my friends."

"Not one?" I press. "Your room only stinks because they smoke it there?"

"Not one," He shook his head. "I was only getting it for my buds, never took a draw after a few weeks out of rehab. But then this shit happened."

I nod, understanding his reasoning and logic. After some of the stories he had written down in his letters, I can understand why my brother is so scared of being sent back to rehab. That place seems a little wild, and that's coming from someone who went to high school in a literal freak show.

"That's good to hear," I smile before punching him on the arm.

"Ow! What's that for?" He glared at me and I shrugged.

"For making me have to pay for your hospital bills," I say simply, "Oh and scaring the shit out of mom. If you do this again, I will personally make sure the job gets done on the crime scene."

"Got it," He gulped and I laughed. He even gave me a mini salute.

"Good," I nod with a smile. "Now rest up and heal because bills aren't cheap!"

He nodded and began to eat the hospital gunk (food) earning another smile from me. Looks like everything's going uphill from here, just as so many people told me after the trial. Maybe they're right too. But as I think back to Chris' Life Plans and endless schemes for all of his students, the small moments of happiness are gone and bitterness fills the air.