Disclaimers, ratings, name, etc can be found in prologue.
Author's Notes: I HAD to feature Angela Walsh! She was played by Christie Clark, who also played Carrie Brady on Days of Our Lives and I am (much to my own dismay and embarrassment) a soap watcher - always loved Carrie!
Also, I am so close to 100 reviews I can just taste it…
More warnings…
WARNING: BAD LANGUAGE
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Chapter 14
Angela Walsh did not look like a guidance counselor. Truth be told, she looked much more like a student and, incidentally on her first day at Springwood U, was often mistaken for one.
Her features were very youthful, with a soft, clear complexion, pinned up hair a sugar brown. Currently she wore a very smart brown suit jacket and matching short skirt. Beneath the jacket was a cream colored blouse and on her feet were short suede high-heeled boots.
She gave the appearance of a warm, kind person. Which was entirely the opposite of the girl who sat across from her in her office. Samara Morgan, or as everyone else knew her Rebecca Kotler, wore all black and was deathly pale. She was distant, cold, even borderline frightening to certain individuals.
But not Angela. Angela didn't notice anything strange or unusual about the girl before her save for the fact that she was terribly quiet and even that was not uncommon in the presence of a guidance counselor. Of authority. Angela sat up and cleared her throat, adjusting the notepad on her lap, "So, Becca, is there anything you want to say?"
'Becca' did not speak and Angela let out a laugh, tossing aside the notepad, "Fair enough, I don't feel like playing doctor anyway."
She leaned forward, "Look, Becca, I'm not going to lie to you. I'm not going to force myself on you, pretend to be your buddy, condescend to you or any of that bull. I've had enough of that in my time."
Samara's head lifted a fraction of an inch and Angela took that as permission to continue, "My goal here isn't to try and dig out the deep, hidden root of your problems. That's something you have to do, all on your own. See, I believe we are in charge of how we are, you know? If we want help, we'll get help but if not, fuck it."
She waited to see if Samara would react to her language, sometimes some people did, shocked. They thought by her dress and looks that she would be more reserved. They were wrong, and a lot of the time the looks on their face when she shattered their first impression of her was really funny.
But Samara gave no such reaction and Angela went on undaunted, "Unless a person is willing to do something, it's pointless. You can cry and preach and yell at someone all you want but that doesn't mean you're going to fully sway or convince them unless they want that. You're right because you say you're right and you're not wrong until you say you are, savvy?"
Once again, no response, she sighed, "Not that I know it all. I'm just me. I try to be as real as possible but - hell- what is real, right? You know what I say? Have fun. Life's too short. That in mind, let's do something fun."
Angela shot up from her seat and Samara watched her go. While she had no outside reaction, inwardly she had to admit she was somewhat amused. Angela's techniques were nothing like the brooding, smoking, clinical doctors at the hospital her Mother had subjected her too. God, how she had hated those men. Wanted them to suffer. She wanted Angela to suffer too.
But she also wanted to see what she was up to. Since possessing Becca's body, Samara had been a host to many new experiences and sensations, one of which was an idling curiosity that she never remembered really having in pure spirit form nor in her former life. It was not unentirely pleasant. But she did miss killing. Her and Freddy would have to speed up their plan. After all, how long did the video watchers have left anyway?
Samara shook her head, since taking hold of the body, her mind had been somewhat foggy. Being a spirit allowed omnipotence. Being in a body made one limited.
Angela returned grunting slightly, what she had with her made Samara's nostrils flare, her fingers clench into the arms of her seat, eyes fading into black.
It was a television.
So, the lady doctor thought to cure her problems the same way her father had, hmm? Lock her up with a television, its flashing images and soft glow there to wash away all her troubles, eat away her brain. Radiation seeping into her skin. Here was the face of her best friend and most hated enemy.
The fucking idiot box.
Even in the body, Samara could feel her powers well up inside her like a great storm. Water began to leak out of a few near by electrical sockets, trickling slowly but growing in power. She would kill this woman. She would suffer by her bear hands in this new body.
Angela, oblivious to Samara's emotional change, sat down the TV with a huff , back to the girl as she drew out another funny plastic box, hooking it up to the set. She flicked a few knobs, unaware that Samara had risen from her seat behind her. One of her hands reached out, fingers clawed, face slowly becoming covered with large, thick veins that stuck out - skin so pale, top lip pulled back in a sneer and eyes slanted angrily...
Samara was about to sink those fingers into Angela's shoulder when the woman turned, grin in place, "How about we play a game?"
In a flash, Samara's vein covered face was normal, water disappeared and all was back to normal. It happened so quickly, Angela didn't even notice a change, save for that Samara was standing now, almost hovering over her. Samara was confused.
A game? She didn't want her to watch television?
What kind of game was there on a television anyway?
Once again the curiosity returned and Samara took her seat. Better she control her temper anyway, she mused, save victims for herself and Freddy. But still, she was slightly out of place. She had never stopped in the process of destroying someone. What was going on? What was this body doing to her?
Angela handed her a funny looking hunk of plastic, holding one of her own and remarked, "I just got this Playsation 2, I'm better with Nintendo 64 so I'm not any good with these controls. You'll probably beat the snot outta me."
Samara could not even wrap her mind around what the woman had just said but watched avidly as the screen came to life and showed a cartoon. But not a cartoon, it was different…more clunky and - and digital. Sort of how she appeared when she came out of a television and came upon her victims.
It was very dark too…gritty, grimy. A melodic, heavy tune played and the title came up, reading 'Twisted Metal: Black'. Angela spoke again, "I always loved this song, 'Paint it Black', I think I prefer the Stones's version but either one is catchy."
Samara was once again unable to answer. The game began and slowly but surely Samara figured it out. She had a worldly knowledge that surpassed human beings but things like this did not dwell within the basic, ancient things she knew of the world. Why would it? This was stark and dumb and silly.
What did it have to do with the world? Still, Samara fumbled with the controller and towards the end actually started doing pretty good with driving the fake vehicle on screen when a bell sounded. Angela put the game on pause, "That's the end of our session. You must be relieved to get out of here, huh?"
For once Samara actually did give something of an answer, shrugging. She honestly didn't care either way. She could have gone on playing the game or she could leave. Either way it did not matter. Though if she had a choice as to what she could be doing right now, it would probably be to kill someone…or do some more exploring in this body.
Shit, she was getting lost again. Rising to her feet, face as blank as usual, Angela walked her to the door, "I'll see you again tomorrow. We can try talking again or play more of the video game…or hell, maybe we'll go on a drive, it's been real nice out lately."
Samara slowly drifted out as two new faces approached, they both looked very tired but otherwise worse for wear, "Ms. Walsh?"
"Please, call me Angela, Ms. Walsh is still too weird."
"Ms. Walsh is too weird?"
Angela nodded, "I only graduated college myself a few years ago, I don't quite feel like an adult yet, so hearing Ms. Walsh is sort of strange."
"I understand, my name is Maggie Burroughs and this is my associated Doc-"
Her eyes widened, "Maggie Burroughs? I've heard of you. Didn't you write a piece in the New Yorker on Childhood Psychological Trauma?"
Maggie flushed, "Yes, that was mine."
"I used that in my final essay when I was in college, got one of the highest scores in the class, so I supposed I owe you," Angela said with a laugh, then looked at Doc, "And you - I've seen your picture before…the dream expert, right? Wrote a lot of radical stuff about dream demons and theories…very intriguing stuff."
Doc chuckled, "You really seem to have quite a handle on who we are, Ms. Wal - Angela."
She grinned, crossing her arms, "I had to and more importantly, I should. I studied really hard to get my bachelors and this position. I wanted to know all I can to help these kids. I don't think I'm doing that swell of a job but most people say I've been getting good results."
"True," Maggie returned softly, "I spoke with the Dean here, your record is unprecedented for one so young. He said that your technique is that you bond with the kids…"
Angela shrugged, "Sort of. I'm not that much older than them so I understand them a wee bit better. I try and that's about all there is to it. Trying."
Maggie was about to ask something when Angela's phone rang, she held up one finger, looking apologetic, "Gimme one sec. I gotta take this."
Angela picked up her phone while Maggie turned to Doc, he looked at her with concern, "You're exhausted."
"Can't be helped," Maggie sighed, rubbing her forehead, "I hope we can handle all of this soon - get it out of the way."
"We can't rush into this blindly, Maggie," Doc cautioned, "We need to find out what's going on, come up with a plan before we go barging into danger. Especially if we want any chance of possibly helping that girl."
Maggie nodded and looked at Angela, listening into her conversation as she spoke into the phone, "What? Yes, yes I did get your notes on Rebecca, Dr. Harris. Yes, she showed up for her first session. What do I think? I think she's great! Quiet but….no, no I don't think you'll have to put her back into Westin. No, I think she'll be fine. Look…just give her some time, okay? She didn't get out that long ago and the adjustments…yes, I understand. Yes, I know. Look, I've got to go, I have company…yes, I'll fax you my notes. Thank you."
Angela hung up the phone and ran a hand over her face; Maggie walked over, "Problems?"
"I just," Angela sighed, "I don't like the idea of locking kids up."
"Sometimes it's better for them, for their safety," Maggie whispered.
"Rarely," Angela stressed, a line ticking in her jaw, "Most of the time it's just people not working hard enough, to understand. Taking away someone's freedom, locking them up - taking away emotions and caring…how does that help them? It doesn't…it just makes them desensitized and then…"
Angela sighed and shook her head, pushing a strand of hair behind her ear, "Look, I'm sorry. You came here for a reason, how can I help you? You're not here to…take my job are you?"
They all shared a good laugh and Doc shook his head, "No, No, Maggie and I actually are currently employed in Paris, live there as well and we are writing another piece-"
"That's right," Maggie jumped in.
"An essay."
"Together."
"In the New Yorker." This they said simultaneously when before the words had merely been switching off between them.
Angela's eyes flicked from one to the other, "Married?"
"No!" Maggie gasped and Doc actually blushed, she waved a hand, "No, just friends but - you know, two colleagues working together…"
"I see," she said, "Well, what's it about?"
Maggie cleared her throat; "We want to do an essay…more of a survey really on teenager's dreams and to do that we need to find out where the local teenagers hang out. The high school was really no help, they were completely oblivious as to what their students do and they were the ones who suggested that maybe you-"
"Actually," Angela said and turned to her desk, picking up a guitar pick, "A student stopped by earlier, Paul Disher. He invited me to see his band play at the local club. Real popular with the college kids, imagine high schoolers can get in too - Springwood is always hungry for cash."
"You know about the area?"
"Yeah," Angela said softly, eyes downcast, "I know a bit about it."
She shook her head, "If you and Doc would like to join me, I was thinking of going, check out the nightlife myself…"
"Sounds perfect." Maggie said and worked out the details with Angela. Once that was done the duo headed out, talking to one another candidly.
"She seemed to be holding something back, some sort of secret." Maggie muttered.
"Hmm, too bad, she seems nice enough…and she is helping us, a lot more than most of the people in this town," Doc sighed, "Want to go to the police station and hospital now to check about any possible accidents that could have involved the girl we saw?"
"Yeah, in a bit," Maggie whispered, looking around, "I'm just getting my bearings."
Doc looked around too, "It hard being back?"
Maggie smirked dryly, "It's a nightmare."