Chapter 4: Being Alone Leads to Late Nights

It had been a week since I had heard the news about never getting out of this insane asylum. It was also a full week that I had been holed up in my new room, only opening the door for food. I painted, I drew, I wrote, and I talked. Mostly to myself, but also to the skull. My only company for the first two days. But only the first two days. With each meal, came a bright smile attached to them. I made a point not to open my door more than a foot, wide enough to grab the metal food tray, but small enough so that neither of my new flatmates could see inside.

The first few days didn't amount to much, just refusing to get out of bed until they brought me food or in the dead of night when I got tired of the room. I spent the time I didn't sleep thinking and looking up at the ceiling. The perfect, taken-care-of ceiling. I had a lot to get used to, so I figured the ceiling was the first place to start my journey. Next, I knew I had to get used to my surroundings, meaning the room. So I'd sit up in my bed for the evening and look around. I found several things those days. Here were the main few: the bottom of my wardrobe on the inside was higher than the bottom of the piece itself, a small square opening just beside said furniture, the window had a latch, and there was a trapdoor on the floor just before the window. However, I didn't investigate any of these findings when nightfall came. Instead, I went on a quest for food.

These quests were very short-lived, however. Lockwood always came down, about 2 PM, but left back to his room soon after. Least, that's what I thought he did. I didn't pay much attention to where he was going more than I was staying hidden from his view. Turns out that George is a very heavy sleeper with snoring issues while Lockwood was a rather light sleeper. How they got along together boggled my mind. They were complete opposites of each other. One a rather dull creampuff while the other was a bright snowflake. I doubted I would ever see a pair like them walking through London, but it wasn't impossible. Just rare that two polar forces could work well as a unit. Then again, if the skull and I could get along, then maybe it wasn't that rare...

Anyways, back to my nights. Aside from not getting caught, I had an easy time finding snacks in the cupboards above the countertops. I didn't stay out of my room long though. Only a few hours or so. Avoiding Lockwood was a piece of cake, but too much night wandering could let me get attached to this place. I needed to stay detached, find a way to get out. I wasn't going to be a prisoner here for long, I just had to find a way to get out of the 'school grounds' long enough to find a road. But I needed a map or an atlas, some navigational system. I could tell we weren't out of the UK, that much was a given to due to murky weather and terrain, I just needed to know which way to go. And I knew exactly where I was going. London.

Cliche, yes, but it was my only known option. It was the only place my family would never look for me. They hated the city, with all its lights and street configurations. I, on the other hand, found it no different than a passing period in lower secondary school. Loud, noisy, and, if you kept to yourself, not such a bad place to be. I had actually dreamed of living in a place like London or maybe cross the Atlantic and study abroad for a long, long while. Maybe even stay there. As far away as I could get from home, where the only bright light was my elder sister.

That Friday was different. After I was brought my morning tray by Lockwood, thanked him, and closed the door, I heard the footsteps leave my door. I waited a moment or two, just until the footsteps were halfway before beginning to eat. What I failed to notice was how the footsteps stopped and turned back to the door, before stopping again at the door. What I did hear was the small rattle of the door almost like someone was leaning against it. It hadn't been long since the tray was brought, a few seconds maybe, so I thought it was just wind hitting the door. That's right, wind.

Oh, how wrong I was to think that.

"New leader in Zimbabwe, quite a controversial subject. They've labeled him a tyrant, but I don't know all the facts, so what's the point of believing one source, am I right?" I had almost choked on the muffin and jam I was brought. I didn't say anything, (even though I agreed) stunned by the fact he was just outside my door. I heard him turning a delicate, recycled page, and again, he started talking. His voice flowed, reciting the information with vigor and finesse. I don't know why or when, but as he talked I got out my paints and a canvas, setting it down on the windowsill and painted. His effortless reading driving my brush across the blank white canvas. I didn't know when he left, nor did I know why I picked up the brush in the first place. But when I stopped, I had created a dabbed a scene I had never seen before. Well, I had yet I hadn't. It didn't surprise me in the least, but what did surprise me was the accurateness of the colors, even though I had only seen the outside of it once.

Leaving it on the sill, I stepped back to take it in. It was raining in the picture and most likely evening. I hadn't used a lot of colors, mostly greys and whites. However, there were a few exceptions, like green garden hangers on the windowsills and even a red scarf. In the image there was a child, looking up at a quaint house in the middle of the London. Though not just any house. I shook my head and set the painting aside. I was not going to start this, not now. It was bad enough that I used to do this at home when Mary used to talk to me, so I certainly needed to knock the habit out of my system for the better.

Yet as I put the painting in the dark, farthest corner from the door, I began to wonder about Lockwood and the child in the picture. Why was the child just standing there instead of going inside the nice warm-looking house?

The second week passed, but gradually, I began talking to him. Sometimes even George would join us in our formal, morning or evening, banters about the news. We would have conversations about the morning news, them, behind the door, and I, with my brush in hand. so far I had painted four others and sketched another. The sketch was of the same house in the first painting, yet in a different setting. Still London, that was for sure, yet there wasn't just a child. Now there was a family, of four it looked like. The scene was merry and bright, no rain shown.

Yet the child in the red scarf remained in the same position as the first painting.

The others canvases were jolly as well. They all incorporated the same family, the same coats, the same child with the solid colored garment. One was of a picnic. The other was horseback riding. The third was the child running into a legion of seagulls flapping his arms, the scarf trailing behind him. The family watched, what I assumed was, contently, but all I could see were the smiles on there faces. I had painted the birds and a few feathers over their eyes. Why I didn't know.

I had found that when I painted, I lose track of what I am doing. I don't think about what I am painting, I just... do it. Sometimes the inspiration to paint will vanish for months, other times I feel as if I had to use page after page after page of paper just to fit in everything my hand wanted to draw. The scary thing was, I never drew the same thing twice, and nothing I drew was meaningless. Yet Painting was primarily more terrifying than drawing. The paintings seemed more realistic, more like memories or dreams.

But they weren't mine.

"Lucy, you still there?" I shook my head as if to momentarily snap myself from my thoughts.

"Yes, of course. You were talking about the terror plot, right? Very scary and they caught the guy?" I could hear a small sigh and a rustle of papers. The skull on my dresser was chuckling, and I knew it had not been the top of the conversation.

"That was the topic several minutes ago, currently I was on a volcano evacuation, which is rather alarming in its own right." Another rustle could be heard. "are you alright? you've been in there for days." I bit my lip. To be quite fair, I had been out several times at night and had left the room to take much-needed baths in the rather small (but large enough) tub. Then again, it wouldn't be bad if I left for a few. I pinched my arm and cursed quietly for even thinking about leaving the room. The room was safe, I didn't need to leave. I'd only get hurt by the thing outside the door. The person who has been begging to come inside.

I looked over to the skull, it still perched on the dresser, staring at me with its all-knowing look. I saw it begin to mouth the words of I Told You So and that is not just the name of a Paramore song before dematerializing and leaving me to deal with the problem that was an inquiring Lockwood. Then again, I could at least give the boy an answer.

"I'm fine and dandy, enjoying the view." Of course, I wasn't even looking out the window. No, instead I did something foolish. I decided to lean back against the door and slide to the floor. I could hear the faint breaths of Lockwood on the other side as I brought my knees up to my chest and ugged them. My chin did a balancing act on one of my knees as I got comfy and waited for his response.

"Enjoying the view, Huh? well, It is quite a spectacular site at sundown on the winter solstice. The sun hits the mountain peaks just right, and it seems like the night just sparkles and glows for the rest of the evening. Then again, not something that could be put into words exactly." This intrigued me. I suppose it gave me something to look forward to in my times here. The winter solstice. Not too long of a wait, but a lot can happen in that time.

"What about the summer solstice?" I could hear a distant chuckle rumble from beyond the wooden wall between us. I didn't know why, but a smile began to play on my lips. A small, itty bitty one, but it was present, nonetheless.

"Well, the summer solstice carries the exact opposite feeling. The winter is so cold the light seems to sparkle and scatter, like glitter when you blow hard enough to send it flying across the room." He paused for a second and added a small cough, "-Not that I have ever done that before- bit the summer is the exact opposite to the winter solstice. It's so blazing that the light begins to take on a new appearance to match. To be fair, I rather enjoy the summer view than the winter, but it is equally as extraordinary to see." It didn't take me long to picture both scenes in my mind, the same view is seen yet different feelings felt for each separate occurrence. If I wasn't intrigued before, I certainly was now.

"It sounds quite fascinating, I'd love to see it one day." Though the more I thought about what I said, the more silly it sounded to me. To see either of these natural peculiarities, I'd need to stay here longer than I intend. I wanted to be gone by the time school started and I was going to stick to my plan.

"Well, to do this, you would have to plan in advance. Get some snacks, drinks, a chair perhaps." Where on earth was Lockwood going with this? Then, his voice dropped, fading on the last word a bit. "But you can't do that if you never come out of that room." His voice was soft, softer than any other person in my past. Yet the silenced that followed wasn't uncomfortable like I had hoped it would be, just so I could give into my own logic in staying consumed with my fears. But it wasn't, in fact, it was anything but. I hesitated. Perhaps I waited far longer to give him an answer than he was willing to wait. I could feel the pressure that pushed against the door to keep the equilibrium between us dissipate and footsteps sauntering away. Pressing my ear against the door, I could hear a tiny sigh before he continued to head down the hall and ascend the stairs.

I didn't feel bad about not answering, but I didn't feel any good about it either.

So I kept painting. All the while thinking of boys that sighed down hallways and the one who chased after birds.

He didn't visit that afternoon like I hoped, neither did George nor did the skull. My head began to swirl like a spinning roulette wheel, begging me to place my bets to try to win big. My stomach wasn't faring very well either, sharp pangs hitting me in tempo with each other. I longed to talk to someone, or see something new and in my lonely state, I found only three things to be true. I should opt to buy more casual clothing, ghosts can cheat at poker, and I needed to get out of this house, if not forever then just for a moment. The sudden tugging on my chest began to throb as I glanced around the room, spotting no one yet wanting someone. Usually, back at home, this would happen while I was in my room some nights. What I used to do then was flee to Mary's room, then everything went away. The thoughts, pains, premonitional sketches; all gone so long as I was with someone. But maybe it wasn't people I needed. No, all I needed was fresh air. That's what it was. Lack of fresh Oxygen to the brain can make you think funny things and see funny things, so maybe that's it.

But how in the world was I going to do that without being noticed?

I contemplated just staying in the room, waiting out my irrational thoughts. Yet something drew me to the door, at the sound of the last door closing on the landing underneath me. Some yearning need that drove me to walk to the door also led my hand to the iron knob, twisting it slowly till it refused to turn any further. It only took me a few seconds before the door was fully open, begging me to step through the hole in the wall into the dark hallway with nothing but my eyes to guide me. My feet took my body through the passageway, yet it didn't quite register with my thoughts. my hand didn't leave the walls as I walked, not thinking, but not dreaming. The stairs were a bit difficult to navigate at night, but I was able to pass the second landing soundlessly. I skipped the bottom step and made it to the main floor. The still air was broken by my soft breaths as I crossed the living room. One last hallway to clear and I'd be at the door.

As I reached the said door, my hand delicately placed on the handle, my mind woke up. I found that I had no clue what I was doing, what I was planning, nor what I wanted. All I do remember was a smile crossing my features, mind perfectly blank, before I felt the cold air nip at my nose and send shivers down my spine. Though I doubted it was the cold air that sent the shivers, I pawned it off as the air's fault in my mind. Better than assuming there was something creeping around this house. As I stepped out into the night, I realized I only wore my nightie and undergarments. I smiled, not caring about the night air.

My body began to acclimate to the breezy night air instantly as I walked down the path, out the gate, and toward the courtyard. My feet, bare on the ground, felt the blades of grass, that had gone untouched for years, being crushed with each of my steps. My breaths were not visible, but I breathed as if they were. on the close horizon, I could see bright, sparkling figures under the moonlight, begging me to go chase them.

So that's just what I did.

With a bright grin plastered onto my features, I ran and ran toward the awnings with flowers all around and spectors dancing about them. I ran into my lungs hurt. I ran until I was crying, only small tears that I could not register why they fell at the time. I ran until I finally was able to reach out and touch one of the floating spectral figures. So close... A simple toe lift and my hand would phase through the cytoplasm of the joyous dead woman. She laughed with who I assumed was a close friend or significant other of hers. A touch and I could feel her. Just a touch...

Just a touch and I'd disrupt her happiness, something that didn't exist normally the world around me. I longed to feel her ectoplasmic dress that didn't exist to anyone except for me. As quickly as I reached out, my hand recoiled. I couldn't do that to her. See, the thing with the spectors is that unless they are disrupted, they are put on a constant loop inside the realms of their own world. They don't even realize that they cross into our world unless they are disturbed. Once out of their bubble, they are a bit disoriented at first, which could cause psychic anomalies, such as a storm, animal stampedes, even minor tremors in the earth where no tectonic plates lie. Basically, psychic anomalies were unexplainable natural occurrences. Afterward, they would always be aware of the world they never thought they could go back to. They would haunt the place and relive their past lives with no regards to their comrades. The man with her could still be laughing, thinking she was there, but she would never be happy laughing with him again. She would never have a smile done her warm features if she was 'awoken'. It's just how things went. The skull hadn't minded since it was alone and was already a conscious being, to begin with. Her, however...

It would have been one of my biggest regrets of my time in DEPRAC if I had touched her.

I don't know how much time I spent staring at them as they lived in loops, silent tears falling as I gazed at the beautiful, dancing figures. Some looping every minute, others seconds, and a few who went on for hours before replaying their actions. Children laughing, singing, and playing like normal kids do. Adults hanging out without a care in their world. I watched them and studied them till my eyes hurt and my toes and fingers grew numb in the wet, icy grass. I could feel the edges of my nightie that had been soaked by the grass and dirtied by the floor. I sat on the ground for a long, undisturbed by man and his machines.

That was until I began to hear footsteps coming from down the road.

In my fear, my concentration broke. The lights flickered on and off, dimming in voltage until they were no more. All that was left was the shadows of the wooden arches, moonlit flowers, and the gazebo with its rusty red awning. Quickly, I hid deep within the brushes of the undergrowth, flowers covering my body but not my field of vision. I held my breath, waiting for the oncoming footsteps to recede. Only my eyes moved while the pounding noise against the dirt ensued. My tears were gone, and heart racing in slight fear at getting caught. I still had no idea what the rules of this place were, so I didn't know if there was a curfew no one was allowed to break. But maybe they would cut me slack for being new?

I cursed at myself mentally for thinking such a low thought. I wasn't even going to risk being caught out at night, even if it was allowed. I waited, not long, but for what felt like ages before I was a figure. It was most certainly a man, but not one I had seen before. He was tall, square shoulders, but other than that, I could not make out any physical nor facial features I could identify. All except for his shoes. A leather, heel, fancy dance shoe. I may have come from a poor family, but I had always admired the rich from afar.

He stopped for a moment, looking around. My breathing hitched as he seemed to glance over to my direction. I remember briefly seeing reddish eyes before they looked ahead. Heal clicks I hadn't even heard were coming this way made themselves know on the gazebo floor. The woman who owned the Prada shoes was curvy but not robust. She seemed very agile yet her age showed through her movements. However, like the man, I could see nothing else but the silhouette and the shoes. They talked in hush voices throughout their small conversation. I could barely hear them and I was closer than anyone else around. The words 'New' and 'powerful' repeated themselves across their lips.

And just like that, the woman began to walk the other way.

The man, however, stayed behind. I felt my hands clench into fists as I waited. He sniffed sharply and continued walking past the gazebo where I lie in the tendrils and vines and down the long, dark road. Heading toward the house at the end of all of the other houses. Again, I waited for what seemed like ages before I deemed the night safe again. Coming out of the flora, I slunk back to the house of Lockwood and George. All the while thinking about the few words I had heard. I couldn't tell anyone about what I had seen. Not even George or Lockwood.

If I did, they would know I had left in the middle of the night in my nightgown barefoot to go watch ghosts be happy in the afterlife.

And where on Earth does that sentence seem normal coming out of ones mouth?

A/N: I apologize for the late chapter, I have not forgotten to update, things have just been crazy with school and home that I have been finding time to write hard. I am not dead either, and this update was extremely late. I am so sorry for the delay. I will begin to explain less and less and the chapters go on to keep mystery in the chapters. In this one, however, I cannot give anything out. You'll just need to keep reading.

Update: Ok, you all win, I will make a fourth, maybe fifth, chapter for The One Thing I can't Live Without. Just give me time since I hadn't expected it to keep going.

Thank You for Reading and Stay Tuned!

~Pheonix