My first shot at a Daisy piece. I'm not too sure if it really works or not, but I'd love to knowwhat you think.

Disclaimer: Dead Like Me and its characters are the creation of Bryan Fuller et al. and copy written under MGM/Showtime/etc. No infringement of their rights is intended. The stories written under the penname Gabigail, however, do belong to me. None are written for profit and are intended for entertainment purposes only.
Characters: Daisy
Genre: Not too sure

Hard to Let Go of the Past

I've always loved the sensation of walking onset the first day. It's something akin to that feeling of falling in love for the fist time; only you get to experience that same rush over and over. Film sets are always an array of people, dashing here and there talking about scenery, lighting, camera placement, and marking the significant places for the actors and actresses to stand.

"Miss Adair, right this way please." Someone, probably the director's assistant, directs me towards the rear of the set where the dressing rooms, makeup rooms, and storage area is located. "Your makeup chair is over there." She says gesturing towards the row of chairs and I smile my thanks, "your wardrobe assistant is Colleen." She adds with a smile, which I return before heading towards the makeup chair. Settling myself in the chair, the makeup artist quickly covers my clothing with a protective sheet and begins to work her 'magic'.

Nearly jumping out of my bed in fear, for had I allowed myself to sleep another moment, I would have once again experienced my death. You'd think that after all of these years, I'd eventually be able to move away from my death and forward, towards fulfilling my quota and moving on. But recently with each Post-it I have come to doubt that I will someday soon have my experience with the great whatever that will finally free me from this mundane, undead existence. Quota, how unfair is it to never know how many or how long you have. It's almost, on some level, as if I were still alive.

I try and put such thoughts aside as I decide to prepare myself for my day, which usually consists of me meeting Rube and the crew for breakfast and Post-its at the waffle house. After which, I will most likely go shopping or to a movie to pass the time on the days where I am obligated to collect a soul or more. Of course all of that depends on deaths plans. All of which, like many of us, I don't think I'll ever understand.

I suppose for someone as happy or perky as I, you might wonder why I speak of death and my own death in particular. Well I suppose it's because I, Daisy Adair, perished in a huge fire on the set of Gone with the Wind, I was, well sometimes still am an actress, but seriously, who ever gets over their own death? I've asked Rube on many occasions, but he never has any answers. You'd think he would, after all he's been dead far longer than any of us.

My fascination with my own death might coincide with some of the rumours I've heard about the set being haunted. While I've always respected Vivien Leigh, she was never supposed to play Scarlett O'Hara. Once in a while I'd hear people whispering in the shadows that some unknown American actress was supposed to take on the role, but I never caught her name. I'm glad that Vivian got it though, I had met her a couple of times at some star-studded event, while on the arm of some handsome, rich man. I just wish I had the chance to actually work with her onset.

Making my way down the street in the theatre district I cannot help but think of how this person on my Post-it is going to die. I wonder if it's a she or he, and if that person is an actor, or an unlucky member of the audience, like I recall reading in Gaston Leroux's The Phantom of the Opera. She died when the chandelier crashed in the middle of a performance of Faust, how horrible that it would be for someone's first and last experience. I hope it's not an audience member who is experiencing live theatre for the first time.

I lift my chin as I enter the theatre and hand the usher my ticket. Well at the very least I get to catch the performance, I cannot smile as I walk through the beautiful old building and enter the auditorium. How am I to find my reap? I wonder as I take a seat, thinking that it's possible that the person sitting somewhere around me is on my Post-it. I open the program that had been given me upon entering the theatre and read through the players names. Oh no, I think as I spot one that resembles that on my Post-it.

This can't be, I think as I quickly sneak behind the boxes and through the curtain that leads backstage. Dancers are going through their stretching routines as the orchestra is doing scales, and some of the singers are also warming their vocal chords. I'm careful in locating the woman who resembles the picture in the program. She's sitting on a worn out sofa, probably going through her mental ritual before the show begins, one she has probably followed for however many years she's been doing stage acting.

"Kiera Livingston." I say sweetly, hoping that I'm not disturbing her.

"Yes." She replies smiling.

"My name is Daisy Adair, I've been a fan for quite some time and I was wondering if I might have your autograph." I lie and get out a pen from my purse. She nods and signs the place beside her photograph. "Thank you so much." I say and take her soul as she returns my pen and program.

"I hope you enjoy the performance." I wonder if they will be her last words, or if she will get the chance to be on stage.

"It's my first time seeing Mamma Mia." I say, hoping that I don't sound like a weirdo or anything.

"Well then. You're in for a treat." She replies as I nod and smile.

"Thanks again." I say making my way back out to the theatre and my seat.

I don't know why I feel extremely anxious. I normally don't have trouble with my reaping duties, heck I've been reaping for over sixty years. This shouldn't be getting to me the way it is, but then I cannot help but wonder if it's because it's a fellow actress. As the house lights go down, my eyes return to the stage and the opening notes of the overture begin. I'm familiar with the music as I do recall experiencing the whole ABBA frenzy that happened during the seventies.

The set is fairly simple I don't see anything in that regard that could potentially kill anyone. Glancing at my watch time ticks away for the young woman on the stage and she doesn't even know it. Her voice is beautiful, pure and full of the emotion of the moment. It's then that the wisp of a gravelling catches my eye, following it, I see what's about to transpire. A shame really, the show really is good. Then it happens during Dancing Queen. The set responds adversely to whatever they had programmed it to do and it falls upon Kiera Livingston quite honestly crushing her. It is a pretty heavy looking set, the other two manage to scramble out of the way.

It's funny how they always find you; that somehow they just know that you're the one they need to see before, as in this case, their final curtain call.

"Daisy?" I hear her voice as she makes her way towards me in the dark. I manage to squeeze through the people in my row and meet her in the isle. No one seems to notice me as I hold out my hand towards her and she takes it. Unnoticed we slip out into the foyer that's very ghost like, as I'm sure most have heard that their leading lady has been killed by a piece of scenery. "I'm not quite sure what's next."

"Oh your lights will be here any minute."

"Will I be happy?" she asks hopeful.

"I'm sure you will be. Everyone always seems to be as they are engulfed in the white light."

"Thank you so much for being here for me. At the very least I didn't die alone. That has always been my biggest of fears." She says just as the lights present themselves. I smile as I watch her slowly being pulled towards them. She smiles as she sees something within that she recognises and I start to get a funny feeling in the pit of my stomach. A longing that I wish to follow her in. Yes, I've heard all about Betty and her jump into the lights, but I think for me its just that Kiera's death is reminiscent of my own. Yes, I died in a fire, but I was an actress too, and I loved every moment of it, as much as Kiera, or any other actor or actress. I don't go back into the house, I decide that I've seen enough and head to the front of the theatre to hail a cab home.

Closing the door behind me, I remove my coat and shoes. George is sitting in the living room reading, something I'm not accustomed to seeing her do. Looking up from her book, she smiles warmly.

"How was it?" she inquires as she puts the book on the coffee table, it's then I notice that's it's a fairly old volume, something I know that we didn't have here.

"Rube lent you a book?"

"Yeah, he thought I'd enjoy it."

"And?"

"It's really good." She replies sitting up. Patting the empty seat next to her I sit beside her. "Are you okay?"

"Yes and no. My last reap reminded me of my own death. I don't think I've ever taken the chance to really get over it. I mean, sure I get a day off for it, but I've never really bothered to think about it."

"Your reap made you remember?"

"She did, and how I wish I hadn't been locked in that basement."

"Locked in a basement?" George's nose crinkles as she looks at me in disbelief.

"I had been set-up or something to that effect. I don't remember her name, but we got into an argument and she shoved me into the basement, I think she wanted my dress or my part or something and figured if I wasn't there, she'd get it. Get it she did. You know? Now that I think about it, the door locked from the inside, but I couldn't unlock it. There was a fire and I'm not sure even sure how that started, but here I am today." I explain. It's funny, but the more time George and I spend together, the more we seem to understand each other and it's no longer conversations of cold, biting remarks. We've become more and more like sisters.

"Are you sure you're okay?" she asks, as she reaches out and covers my hand with hers in a comforting manner.

"I will be. Just need to get ready for bed is all. Wake me tomorrow so we're not late?"

"We wouldn't be late if you didn't spend so much time primping yourself." She says with a smile. I know it's in jest.

"One day Georgia, you'll understand." I reply as I make my way to my room to get ready for bed.

"As God as my witness, I'll never go hungry again!" Vivian Leigh says closing her script as we sit around the table for yet another run through. "Daisy was that okay?" she asks picking up the glass of water.

"Perhaps a smidgen over the top." I reply as we head back to the set and into makeup.

"I just love your eyes. They are a lovely blue and just pop when you wear that dress." She says with a smile. "Too bad its only Technicolour. It lacks something when it's translated to screen."

"Well at least I get to wear this beautiful dress." I reply as the makeup artist applies my rouge.

Heading back to the set I run into Evelyn. I suppose she saw Vivian and I talking in makeup, I'm not entirely sure.

"You really are something!"

"Pardon?" I ask not wanting anything to ruin my wonderful day.

"You just had to have him didn't you?" she demands.

"I don't know what or who you're talking about." I reply, honestly unaware of her problem with me, as she speaks she pushes me back towards the basement door. I cannot fight back in any way, ripping a costume is never a good thing. I'm not sure how it happens, but she manages to open the door and pushes me through it, I hear a click, but know that she couldn't have locked it from her side and I try unsuccessfully to unlock it.

"Someone let me out!" I call as I pound on the door until the sides of my hands hurt. Tears of frustration make their way down my cheeks. I sniffle and sit on the top step. How can someone who at least has a role be jealous of me? What had I done that upset her so? I wonder as the tears continue. Suddenly I smell smoke and I can see the flames as they continue to consume the furnace.

"Help! Someone. Please help me!" forgetting the pain, I hammer at the door hoping that someone will hear me and help me. I'm gasping for air and my legs give way beneath me, I crumple to the floor in a heap in front of the door. "Please! Anyone! If you can hear me, I'm trapped." I call with what must be my last breath. I'm suddenly surrounded by a darkness, then light as I'm no longer in the basement and standing beside a woman I recall passing on my way to makeup with Vivian.

"Who are you? Where am I?"

"I'm Megan and you're dead. Soon to be undead."

"Oh my!" I cry out, as I'm jolted back to reality by that shock that resonates throughout your entire body. I'm sure you know the one that I speak of. The one in which your falling and falling and falling, and somehow you finally hit the ground, whatever that is. That's about how I'm feeling right now and very cold and clammy.