Apologies for the long author note, but I would prefer you read it.

This is rather personal, and I don't think I should say so on a public site like this where no one really knows me. But I need to say something. Usually, I would wait for Wednesday to post this, as I planned. But this week will be busy. This posting every three days thing won't stick.

Grandma died Saturday night. It's rather horribly coincidental how the chapters of this story tend to mirror what's happening in my life. For example, the last chapter with Anna's clothes? That day I was helping a friend's mom work on my dress for prom. We're sewing a custom one that I designed myself. And the eye thing? That friend's mom used to be an eye surgeon. I know the best writers pull inspiration from real life, but I first wrote this chapter long before Grandma died. Almost six months ago. She's been sick for a long time, years, and it's just unpleasant how my plan for this story had such bad timing for this chapter. Her funeral is this Friday or Saturday (March 10th or 11th, 2017). My prom is Saturday night too.

I'm well aware of the five stages of grief. Denial, Anger, Bargaining, Depression, and Acceptance.

Of them, Denial seems the most ridiculous. How do you deny what's so clearly in front of you with such irrational stubbornness? I can see how now. I know she's gone. But saying so is just words. I can't feel it. I haven't even cried yet. Plus, I almost hallucinated that she was breathing when I visited with my Mom and Dad. Maybe I skipped to depression? I feel blank. Empty. Ambivalent. The only emotions I feel are concern for my family's mental state and concern over my not being able to feel anything.

Essentially, I am James in this chapter.

Thank you for your prayers if you send them. I'm not looking for pity, only making an observation. I am a Christian too, so I'm optimistic I'll see her again. I just don't "feel" that optimism. It is there though.

I'll try to update Friday if possible because I will not be able to update at all next week. Working a camp.

Dear Luna Bass,

There isn't a specific phobia of revenge itself but there is a fear tied to the belief that ghosts and dead spirits are inherently malevolent. Phasmophobia- fear of ghosts. So you could easily tie it to fearing someone coming back to enact revenge after you've killed them or wronged them. However, poor Anna isn't the only spirit of Halloween that's been wronged in life, and she's certainly not the worst case. Helgamine and Zeldabourne are more likely to represent Revenge.

Lock, Shock, and Barrel are even more likely.

And yes I have a backstory planned out for every important citizen character. Even a lot of the minor ones. It's helps me understand how I write everyone.

Guess again! I like hearing theories. And I'll give a hint a few chapters from now.

Corona Pax

Thanks itsone00 for your awesome review! It means a lot to actually hear someone likes my story rather than relying on the statistics page. Oddly, you're not the first person to tell me my writing has a very real feel to it. That's almost word for word concerning the "real" description. So I guess that means there are some merits in those comments. To answer your question, yes, Anna remembers her dreams, it's been mentioned at least twice, but I've purposely glossed over that little fact quickly. And yes, something big is coming and you'll learn a little more with this next chapter. As for Jack's reaction? Why would Anna even tell him? ;)

I'll post a copy of this answer in the next chapter, by the way.

Till all are one,
Corona Pax

Chapter 13

Funeral and A Devil's Deal

Eulogy

Annalise Grisholme met her death as she lived her life. Always looking out for someone else. I wasn't quite sure what to say when Mr. Grisholme, Harold, asked me to write the eulogy for his daughter. My girl. My Anna. But his girl. His Anna first. Then we made a deal that we would both say some words for her. I may have agreed to that because I didn't want to be alone up here. I look at my side and keep expecting Anna to be there. And when she's not, I break inside a little. She was always there for me, in some ways that I didn't even now until recently.

I remember when I broke my leg two years ago. Just in time for Freshman Prom too. My date decided to go with someone else while I was stuck at home. Anna called me and said she couldn't go either because her grandma was in the hospital.

She suggested we keep company over the phone. We talked for hours, and I'm still not sure how I managed to hang up.

I can't believe no one told me this, but Anna was never at the hospital with her grandmother. She was at her very first prom that night, with a dress and everything, and learned I was the only one in class who wouldn't be able to go.

Sarah tells me Anna came out into the hallway and sat on a chair outside the principal's office talking with me for hours, missing the entire dance. I feel awful about this. If I had known…she probably would have stayed to speak with me anyway.

Anna knew how to make anyone smile. She loved her family. Her brother and sister mean the world to her. She…sh-she w-was the bravest young woman I ever had the honor to know. And I loved her.

I love Anna. I still love her. I love her to the moon and back. Nothing can change that. I now I know I'll never see her again in this life.

I lost the one woman I wanted to spend the rest of my life with.

I propose to Anna that night. The night she died. And she said yes…

We were going to marry after we both got out of college.

An hour later I can almost hear her screaming from inside a burning building as firemen hold me back.

Why would they do that?

Why?

Mark trailed off as he stared at the words on the piece of paper and broken down into quiet sobs. He laid his head down on his desk, squeezing his eyes shut so tight it hurt. He could smell the wood from his desk and taste the salty tears as they ran into his mouth. He imagined hearing the soft clinking of silverware from downstairs as his parents ate dinner silently after Mark had mumbled that he wasn't hungry.

"Why?" he whispered.

Paper went flying before drifting down to join the other three dozen crumpled sheets.

The pencil cup and books collided with the wall with enough force to shake a picture off the wall.

Mark stood up and kicked his chair over before collapsing into a sobbing mess against a wall, his fingers entwined with his hair.

This isn't the way it's supposed to be.

He shouldn't be throwing a fit like this. Anna wouldn't want him to act like that.

Grow up, Roman. Everyone dies. The trick is to live every day like it's your last. Then what regrets will you have?

That's fine and all for the people who die. What about the rest of us?

"Mark? Are you okay?" his mother's voice drifted through his locked door.

For a single moment, Mark looked up in surprise, thinking it was Anna's voice before reality sunk in again.

"I'm fine. Just dropped something," he said shortly.

"...Honey…you know your father and I are here if you ever just want to…." Jennifer trailed off as she couldn't finish her sentence without choking. She took a breath.

"Baby, I know you miss her. We all do. But I promise everything will be okay." She waited for a response. A sound. Anything. But nothing came. So, she left.

She went downstairs and was surprised to see her husband at the door with a young man outside.

Rick looked up as Mrs. Deaton approached. He smiled.

"Hey. Mrs. D! How's Mark holding up?"

Mr. Deaton gesture to the teen, "Jen, this is one of Mark's friends from school. He told me he lives a street over."

"Mark didn't look too good today. I just thought I'd check in and all," Rick said.

"That's sweet of you…?"

"Rick."

"Well, Rick, it's good that you want to check in on him, but I don't think Mark wants company right now."

"Yeah. I figured. Would you mind passing my condolences on to the Grisholme's too? Anne and I weren't close but…"

"We can do that," Mr. Deaton said. "Thanks for stopping by."

"No prob."

As Rick left Mrs. Deaton turned to Mr. Deaton. "I thought we had met all of Mark's friends."

"Don't worry about it too much, Jen. The funeral's Saturday. We don't need to be grilling Mark about his friends."

"I know…"

Mark eventually wrote an acceptable eulogy, though he did reveal that he had asked Anna to marry him that night.

Mark and Anna's friends already knew, of course. As did their parents. However, there were still many people left surprised and some broken-hearted by the news.

Harold could barely speak as he delivered his own goodbye.

Jillian and James wore blank, yet pained, expressions unbefitting a couple of children.

Thida cried. There isn't much more to say about a mother who lost her child.

They opened up the floor to let anyone who wanted to say a few words do so.

Mark didn't hear many of them. Instead, he stared at the tombstone…no…memorial that the Grisholmes had chosen to put in the family plot to give people a place to visit her.

They couldn't bury her…there wasn't enough left.

Instead, they had the rest of her cremated and put in the urn that sat on a small pedestal at the front.

He wanted to die. He felt sick.

He wanted her back.

There was a crowd. An excellent turnout. There were so many people who knew her from school or around town.

Mark always knew that Anna was a bit more popular than she ever seemed to realize. Everyone wanted to speak with her. Or about her.

Even Chelsea had something nice to say.

Grace.

John.

…Sarah…

Mark actually tried to listen to Sarah's speech. It was short, but Sarah was Anna's best friend.

Sarah loved Anna like a sister.

She said so.

They locked eyes mid-sentence and Sarah stumbled over her tears.

"She always knew what to say to make me smile. But she was never afraid to tell me when I was wrong," she finished.

Mark looked away and tuned out again.

None of this was right.

There was murmuring.

Mark glanced up at movement beside him as James helped Jillian up, letting his sister lean on him to keep her bandaged foot off the ground.

"Hi everyone," James said while Jillian stared at the ground in silence. "Anna was my sister. I'm not sure what else you want me to say, except that I'm sorry."

Jillian squeezed his arm.

"We're sorry." James' voice was oddly calm, and he spoke with resolve. He had the look of someone much older than eleven.

"I refused to leave Jillian, and I shouldn't have left Anna. That isn't what brothers are supposed to do." He ignored his father motioning for him to sit down. "She saved us. There's no other way to put it. And we asked her to. When Jillian was trapped in a closet, and I couldn't get her out, we sat on both sides of the door and asked each other what we wanted more in the world. To distract ourselves. We both said that we wanted to live."

Jillian leaned in closer to her brother, tears getting in her brother's sleeve.

Their mother sobbed harder.

"We both prayed that Anna would save us. I don't know why we didn't cry out for Mommy or Daddy."

Thida and Harold shut their eyes and held hands.

"We asked her to save us and then there she was. She didn't say a word at first, then she told me to get out of the way and rammed the door. She broke it when I couldn't."

His face remained blank, "I'm sorry because she would still be alive if it weren't for us. It's my fault."

"Ours." Jillian's whisper was barely heard.

James ignored her for the first time and stared at the audience who looked horrified that he would think such a thing.

"Because we cared more about ourselves than her, she died. What I don't understand is why you speak as if you were best friends," he spoke toward the large group of high schoolers near the front. "Half of you hated Anna."

"James. Sit down," Harold ordered, his voice cracking.

"No. You all called my sister a freak. Insulted her. And you decided it's okay to stand up here and gush about how great of a person she was? I heard some of you earlier, joking as if this was suicide. How dare you?"

Some of the teenagers looked mortified that they were overheard. By Anna's little brother no less.

"She did something so incredibly brave that you decide that you're so jealous of her death that you try to smear it? What's wrong with you?"

"James. That's enough. Sit down with your sister," Harold interrupted, standing up and grabbing his son's arm roughly, almost making Jillian lose her balance as well.

James kept talking as he sat down, listing off some names in spite. "Chelsea. Samantha. Ara. Jackson. Luke."

Jillian tugged on his sleeve, telling him to stop.

He trailed off after a few more names to the sounds of ashamed crying in the back. He didn't care. About anything. He felt so…empty. There wasn't sadness, nor anger, not really. He just didn't care about feeling anything. It was easier to pretend he was mad, but really, he couldn't care less how guilty he was making other people. Anna was gone, but it was like he was refusing to feel it.

Mark tuned out again.

He wasn't sure how long he sat like that, but eventually, he was startled by someone putting a hand on his shoulder.

"Dad?"

"Almost," Mr. Harold Grisholme muttered, "Your dad asked if I could get you."

"Is it over?"

"Yes…"

Mark was quiet, "I'd like to stay a while longer if that's alright."

Harold nodded. "I would too, but I think the twins need to go home."

"Don't be so hard on them," Mark scoffed, "James said what we were all thinking."

"He hit those girls and boys deeply. They didn't need that guilt."

"Maybe they did. And I hope those murderers feel worse than that."

Harold paused, knowing who Mark was referring to.

The students who started the fire.

A day after it was put out, one of the boys came to the police station in tears and confessed to setting the fireworks under the table.

He and his three friends were preparing for a long court battle, courtesy of their parents.

Harold sighed.

"You have a car. Don't be too long. Please."

Mark nodded as Anna's dad walked away to rejoin his family.

Jillian and James silently watched Mark from the car.

Harold stopped to say a few words to Mark's parents before they went their separate ways.

They already took the urn, so he stood before the tombstone staring at the name etched on its face.

He reached into his pocket and held Anna's ring in his palm.

They had found it near Anna when going through the wreckage of the school. He had almost forgotten she was wearing it. He had just given it to her seconds before after all.

He closed his fist.

"I'll make this right. I promise," Marcus Deaton whispered angrily.

Some distance away, two figures stood watching the young man from the shade of a tree in the corner of the graveyard.

One of them, let's call it a 'he,' stared at Mark with almost a bored expression. He glanced at his companion, let's call it a 'she.'

"How was the journey?"

The other one glanced at him before focusing back on Mark.

"You know," she replied.

"No one attempted to stop you?"

"A few Fallen taunted her as we went through the Veil. She won't remember."

"Expected."

"Hmm."

"That all?" the first one said.

"Hm."

"Chakis?"

"Like you said. Expected," Chakis said.

"Did you restore her?"

"Yes," Chakis replied. "She has all her emotions now."

"Oh, my beloved brethren. Admiring my work?"

The first two figures looked at the third who approached.

"You've done your part. Be gone Fallen."

The third smiled deceptively, "We aren't done yet. And the term is 'demon' these days, I believe."

Leaves rustled.

Chakis looked up noticing a presence was listening.

"The wind listens."

"Perhaps I do," the Wind said sharply.

The first figure ignored the demon for a moment, much to its annoyance. "You never had a vested interest in the matters of The War before. You simply did what was commanded of you."

"I do care when one of your spiritual battles concerns my friends."

"Jack," the first creature nodded.

"Of course," the Wind seemed a little peeved.

"This is our concern presently. You are not welcomed. Not yet." The angel raised his hand, and the wind was silenced, the air now still as leaves floating around them dropped like stones.

The first angel now looked toward the demon.

"Why do you stay? Is there not another act of evil to commit?"

"Ha. We aren't done with Jack yet. His suffering is not yet full. I've been assigned to this, but the Master is very interested."

"And the girl?"

"A tool. Nothing more. She's weak, and her mind is fragile now thanks to you."

Chakis glared at the demon, "She's stronger than you. Continue to underestimate her, and you will fail all the sooner. I am aware that you intended the death of the children as well."

The demon bristled, clenching his fists. "We are not done with them yet. Any of them. Jack will suffer for his impudence. They all will. Our Lord will prevail. This is but a skirmish. We will still win."

With that, he left quickly before the other two could smite him.

Chakis looked toward the stony countenance of the angel she stood beside. She then looked back toward Mark as another human, another male teenager, walked up to him.

Rick.

They knew him. He didn't know them, though.

They watched the exchange, knowing where these events would lead, many years down the path of time already laid out.

"Is it my place to know Our Father's plan?" Chakis asked humbly.

The other was quiet for a moment.

"Keep watch and guide. Lend your strength. They are to be tested. All of them."

"…Understood."

"You did well Reaper. The outcome lies in the human souls."

"If I may, don't you find it strange how Father offers forgiveness to humans and not us?"

"Careful."

"Not heresy, brother. Only awe. Forgiveness? Mercy? What are these?"

"Things we were not made to grasp."

Chakis nodded.

The Wind was finally allowed to return, but the entity only found empty space under the tree where the spirits once stood watch.

It tossed a few leaves about in frustration. It was strange, being almost as old as creation itself and still having a limit to its patience.

The consciousness left before it heard the conversation of the two boys that stood by Anna's gravestone.

"What are you doing here?" Mark asked, a little confused when he looked behind him to see Rick.

The older teen shrugged, "Just came to pay my respects."

"You should have come earlier. Everyone's gone."

"Not you. Besides, I don't like crowds that much."

Mark scoffed, "I didn't expect you to care enough about Anna to come. You don't even really know either of us."

Rick shrugged again and pulled out a cigarette pack. He lit one, ignoring Mark's glare and offered the other teen one.

Mark declined, not surprisingly.

"We had lockers next to each other, seems like enough of a relationship to pay my respects to. Anyway, how are you holding up?"

"What do you think?"

"That bad?"

Mark stared at the ring in his hand.

Rick took a long drag of his cigarette and whistled. "Nice ring. That's rough man."

"Why do you care?"

"Geez. Can't a guy be nice?"

Mark huffed and stared straight ahead. "Sorry."

"Forget it. I guess you don't want my help."

Mark turned around to look at Rick in confusion. "Help? With what?"

Rick stopped walking, a grin on his face. He wiped it off before turning back, "Bringing her back, of course."