A/N: Boo, no emails... Anyway, thank you Bujyo for your review. I honestly appreiciate the reviews you've sent me over both my main stories; they've been great. This one's for you. I promise you'll get your answer soon. Warning, this chapter is darker than the others.

People have been asking why they have dreams for years. Are they fantasy or another reality? If we die in a dream, do we die for real? How do we know they are dreams? What if they are reality, and what we perceive as reality is us asleep? For me, dreams have always been comforting, a sort of medication for the trouble I had gone through earlier in the day. In my dreams as a kid, my dad would have taken me with him. As a teenager, I went running off into the sunset with a prince charming. Now, as an adult, I would kick my mom and my sister out. The things that stop me from kicking them out now don't exist in the dream world. There would be no guilt, no pity. That's the nice thing about dreams; it can happen even if it can't happen. I only wished I could spend all of my life asleep. I don't want to any longer because I have someone who gives me a reason to stay awake, but thats another matter for another day.

Tonight's dream was different than any other dream I've had before. It was like a vision, but more than what I saw earlier today. One thing I've learned, when you die, and come back, you rarely come back alone. Something comes back with you, visions of things you don't understand, connections with people who wish to harm you. Sometimes other things come back. My dream was like an out-of-body experience, like I was looking at a movie rather than having a dream.

The first thing I saw was a woman. Not just any woman, she was wearing a silk floral print dress, full makeup, a pearl necklace and earrings. She was pregnant, very pregnant. She was shopping in an outdoor market, and the smell of ocean and breeze told me it was on one of the shoreline towns of New Jersey. When I saw her, I knew everything about her.

Her name was Evelyn Ward. She was married to a man who spent every moment he could making her life miserable and inflicting as much abuse as he could on her. His abuse didn't leave a bruise on her fair skin. His abuse was worse; it was emotional and mental. He called Evelyn a whore, a slut, worthless unless she opened her legs. He told her that she kept the house filthy, and he refused to let her get a job. The biggest thing of all, he made her always wear a dress, jewelry and full makeup, so even her body was a sign she belonged to him.

When I first saw her, I felt mad. She let herself be abused, every nasty comment, every little jab at her self esteem, she just took it? She had once been a strong, confident woman, so why did she allow herself to be abused? She had a baby coming for Christ sake!

How would you know what shes going through, Mary. The only person who knows is her.

I know if I were abused I wouldn't sit and take it.

You might not have taken Mark's abuse, but you did get abused and took it. Your abuse was neglect, by a gambler who left you and a drunk who only cared for a drink. You desperately wished for their attention. You didn't fight back.

Now I was depressed. My conscious was a bitch. I watched Evelyn as she navigated through the maze of people, tents, and tables. I watch until she came to a wooden table, under a large white and blue stripped tent. An old crone, probably alive when God was born, sat behind the table. On it were a series of porcelain figurines.

Evelyn looked at the statues, until she came to a dancer statue. It was standing on one leg, the other one bent behind her with her hands clasped above her head. It looked like it could come to life at any moment. Gingerly, she lifted the figure up, and turned it over in her hands. She set it back down, and turned to the sales woman.

"How much?"

"That depends," the crone said, smiling a wicked smile. God, she had no teeth, and her mouth was a gaping black hole. "How much you got?"

Evelyn reached into her purse. Her husband gave her an allowance to spend on herself, all in cash. She pulled all of it out, both bills, and placed them on the table. The woman looked at them, and laughed. "Sorry sugar, not enough."

Evelyn gasped. "But, please! I need it. I had a little figurine like this, when I was a little girl." It made her happy, it reminded her of a happier time. Slowly, Evelyn pulled out a check book, the one her husband gave her for errands only. "Do you except checks?"

"You're my favorite," Evelyn whispered as she set the dancer statue on the wooden entertainment center, which set beside the TV in her house. Each of the shelves on the entertainment center were lined with little figurines. When her husband was in a good mood, he would buy her one. When he decided she had been disobedient, he smashed one of them under his foot.

Speaking of the devil, it was at this moment he decided to come home. When I saw this man, unlike Evelyn, I knew nothing about him. He was average height, average weight, with sandy hair and girlishly long eyelashes. I didn't know his name, or his story. I knew he was married to Evelyn, by the band on his finger. I assumed that he was a lawyer, because he wore a suit, carried a briefcase, and was a shit-stain on the map of life.

"Hello Clark," Evelyn said, smiling. "I thought you would never get here." Clark set down the briefcase.

"I noticed dinner hasn't been prepared," he said. "I thought we had a discussion about this. I want you to prove you do have some value."

"Y-yes sir, I'm sorry." He nodded. "I-I'll get to work."

"See that you do." Evelyn nodded hopelessly and walked out of the living room. I followed her, into their kitchen from which I could still see the living room. Evelyn didn't go to the fridge, rather, she went over to a knife block, and toyed with the largest knife. I could see Clark, and he had picked up the dancer figurine. "What is this?

"Oh that?" Evelyn asked, turning to see Clark. "Oh, I bought th-that tod-d-day."

"Your allowance covered this?" Clark asked, his voice filled with suspicion.

"W-well, actually no." Evelyn gulped. "I used the checkbook. Before you get mad, it was only a little more than my allowance, and it reminded me of my childhood. It made me so happy, assumed you would-" Clark pushed the figurine onto the floor, and crushed it under his foot.

"You disobeyed me woman!" Clark growled. "This is for your own good." He knocked off another figure, and smashed it. Evelyn collapsed to her knees. She didn't cry, she didn't really move.

"I-I can't do this any more."

"What did you say woman?" Clark asked. He dropped a child figure that looked suspiciously like Charlotte, and prepared to smash it.

"NO!!" Evelyn screamed, as she leaped onto her husband. In her left hand, was the knife from the kitchen, which she plunged repeatedly into his stomach.

I screamed.

"Charlotte, calm down."

I stopped screaming and panted slowly. It took me a moment to remember where I was. I was next to Marshall, wide awake. He was sitting up right, and holding my quivering body to his chest, slowly stroking my arm. Sunlight was streaming into the room.

"You're safe, Charlotte. I'll protect you, I never let anything happen to you." I looked at him, my brown eyes tearing, and I completely believed him.

I looked at the clock on the bedside table. It was time to get ready for my funeral.

A funeral is a glorified ritual that humans have created ever since the dawn of time. So much ceremony goes into the simple act of putting someone in a pine box, and dropping them down a hole. Obviously, I don't like funerals. I never understood why everyone has to come out to be reminded that this person is dead. Funerals are just a chance to be miserable a second time. If it isn't enough, you have to pay for that misery.

It's ironic that as much as I hate funerals, I was attending my own funeral, from some other area other than the casket. I sat next to Marshall wearing a royal blue dress, the darkest dress Charlotte owned. My funeral would give me nightmares I would have for several years to come.

Albuquerque was exceptionally beautiful today with the thunderstorm threatening to break hell loose. The sunset poked through the line of clouds sending a reddish-orange tint in the air. All the colors, like the grass or the cars, seemed to be brighter and clearer. All of this beauty did nothing to cheer the mood up however. All everyone could see was rows of tombstones. It's a scary thought that when you die, you end up under a tombstone in a sea of tombstones. The scariest part, however, was my body in a casket.

My face was pale, like the color of fresh white paint. My hair was combed rigidly straight. My eyes were closed, and my face showed no emotion. Everyone but the man next to me thought that this was my calm look, but this man and myself knew I was only calm when I was tearing something apart or threatening to shoot someone. The way my body looked suggested that I was sick or nervous.

I was in a long sleeved, frilly, white dress, wearing terrible lipstick, and long ear rings. I wanted to shake my head in disgust. If these people wanted to see the real me, I would wear a T-shirt with the words 'FUCK OFF' written large and colorful. I'd have on my favorite old jeans that Jinx hated and I caught her trying to throw them away, and I kept them for that very reason. I only wear jewelry when I absolutely had to and if it was my choice, I would wear no jewelry but necklace Marshall gave me the second year we were partners together.

"She looks so lifelike," I heard a few people say softly.

"No I don't!" I responded, even though no one could hear me.

I was surprised at how many people showed up to this funeral. I looked around and saw my mother wearing the black equivalent of the dress my body was wearing. She was wearing sunglasses, not to hide eyes red from tears, but rather to hide eyes red from several nights of binge drinking. I had seen her a few times since she found out I was dead, and she had been drinking even more, if it was possible. I kept expecting her to kneel over at any moment.

Marshall was completely still, no emotion on his face. I knew the truth. The morning was spent as a robot besides for a few minutes after my nightmare, and the last six days were alternating between blaming himself or crying. When he wasn't crying or wallowing in self blame, he was signing my adoption papers. As my body wasn't 18 years old, I had to have a parent or guardian take care of me, and Charlotte still needed U.S. Marshal protection. He had me with him constantly. He talked to me (Charlotte) about me (Mary). I was going to be unhappy for the rest of my life.

Which I deserved to be.

The majority of Marshall's and my witnesses were there, even though I pissed more than half off every time I came to check on them. It shocked me that they wanted to see me one last time just to say goodbye. I feel like shit for treating them terribly.

Finally, it was time for everyone to go to the casket and say their last goodbyes. As Marshall and I stood up, Jinx and Raph did as well. This would not be good.

Marshall walked toward my casket, and whispered softly to my corpse. "I still can't believe you're dead. I missed you so much, and I never got to even say how much I loved you."

I was anger for two people grew as Marshall whispered to my body. The asshole driving the truck and Seana. I was trapped in a six year old body, and there was nothing I could do about it.

"Get away from my precious daughter!" Jinx screeched.

Raph stood angrily next to Jinx and growled, "That's my fiance, not your's. I demand you leave now."

Marshall scowled, then smirked. In one fluid motion, he gave my mom and Raph a one finger salute, bent over, and kissed my dead lips.

As they stood there, mouths hanging open, the two of us took off, away from the coffin.

"Wow I can't believe I just did that," Marshall mumbled. "It went better than I expected, though."

"How did you expect it to go."

"Marshall!" A loud and chirpy voice exclaimed. Both Marshall and I froze, and shuttered. Jaye. It had to be Jaye.

"Hello Jaye," Marshall said, as he turned around, trying desperately to hide his grimace.

Jaye ran up to us, smiling happily, wearing a dress that was brighter than the sun.

"Marshall, I never expected to see you here!"

"You never expected to see me at the funeral of my partner?"

"It's been a good funeral."

"A good funeral?" I cried, "What does that even mean?"

Jaye was one of those girls who would have many women punch her out. She was someone I would bet would deal with her emotional problems through binge drinking and promiscuity. She had a face full of freckles, a smile that could light up a room, even if you didn't want it to, and a small button nose. Her short, red hair, curled on the ends, and shined in the sunlight so bright, I could see my reflection in it from the ground. Jaye's personality was somewhere between quirky and needs medication. As soon as I spoke, Jaye looked down.

"Ooh, I didn't know you had a kid," Jaye cooed, picking me up. As I struggled against her bony fingers, so cold I could feel them through my dress, she pulled me really close to her face. "Oh, you are just so adorable."

"Oh, you are so fucking stupid," I said in the same type of voice as her. One of the few good things about being mute. Jaye smiled, and placed me back on the ground. I brushed off my body rapidly, to get her skin cells off of me.

"So what brings you to Albuquerque, Jaye?" Marshall asked. Jaye was one of the Phoenix WitSec inspectors and we had crossed paths a few times.

"I'm going to be your new partner! I was thinking we could go check out witnesses together-"

"Thank you for offering, Jaye. I don't mind helping you figure out your way around the city to see your witnesses, but I can't do that with you right now. I need to do that alone. I can't be with other people."

Jaye's smile dropped. "Are you sure?" When he nodded, she sighed. "Well, if you ever need a shoulder to cry on, I'm here for you."

"Dear god!" I cried. "You're hitting on him, at my funeral?

"Aw, you dear child."

"Charlotte. Her name is Charlotte."

"I think Charlotte likes me."

"NO! I don't!" I exclaimed.

"I'm sorry Jaye, I can't. I've got to go." Jaye nodded and we finally reached my favorite part of the funeral. The part where we leave. I remembered Randall, Gabbie, Ben, and Caleb who was going to dinner with us tonight, and chuckled. This will be fun.

A/N: Wow, my chapters are getting longer and longer. This one is almost 3000 words! Biggest chapter I've ever written. I hope you enjoyed. Its gonna get better. Next we get Randall a hotel and things get well... odd when Gabbie convinces Marshall that he should get Charlotte a dog.