AN: Hi! Thanks for continuing to read. This is going to be a long story, so please bear with the character development. I've also written these chapters very quickly, so I haven't had much time to edit typos and such. Apologies. Would love to hear what you think, so review away. I'm American who has lived for some time in the UK, but my dialogue patterns may not be up to snuff. Please, if you're Brit, feel free to correct or smooth out sayings as they come up.

By the by, I imagine Syn as a cross from the bunny in Donny Darko and the Mothman. Kind of scary to think about. Bleh.

Happy Reading!

JJJJJ

Chapter 5

The scream broke through the office door, down the hall, out the front entry and into the gardens surrounding the estate. Jessica thought she was going to die, and only when she was well and truly out of breath, did the shriek reduce itself to a faint whistle. The creature instantly vanished, quickly followed by pounding of footsteps down the hall, people bounding into the office, voices asking, demanding what as wrong and why she was crying.

The girl said nothing, shaking like a leaf where she sat on the carpeted floor, hands coming down to clutch the book, letter and objects before collecting herself again. For all of her trauma, she could not bring herself to utter what it was she saw, instead leaving the office stiffly and everyone concerned behind. Wordlessly, she went to her room, closed the door, laid down on her bed and fell asleep. She slept through the rest of the day and into the night. It was only when her mother came to fetch her herself that Jessica came down for breakfast the next morning in time for her flight.

The trip back to England was a dream to her. All she could see, all she could think about was of the monster and Its voice in her head. Was this the shadow that followed her grandfather for so long? Was this the ghost that watched her from the corners of the room, the guardian she willed herself to believe in? She was convinced those red eyes would be seared into her retinas until the day she died. She hid the book in her satchel for her journey, kissed her mother and father goodbye and returned to the boarding house she never wanted to attend without complaint. The farewell was unsettling to her parents, who asked again if everything was fine before she departed.

The truth was, nothing was fine and would never be. Her guide was gone. Her grandfather was a constant pillar in her life where her parents were so often absent. He was her pen pal, her storyteller, her monster hunter, her chaperone, her protector. Through him, she met all sorts of wonderful people and learned so much about the world beyond the sheltered walls of her home. He made her want to explore and ask questions about everything; his answers, even if he did not know, were rewarded with more inquisitive notions that she would then search and read about the first chance she could. Who was going to be her partner in this voyage through childhood now?

The car pulled through the gravel drive before she was ready. The door to her side opened into a humid July summer day.

It was just as it had been at the end of May. The chauffer took her things to the steps where Miss Roberts greeted her. Mr. Ruvie and Mr. Whammy were already in the House, fielding greetings from the children. No one said anything to Jessica as she skulked up the stairs to her room, and she was fine with that. She did not really want anyone near her at the moment as she discarded her satchel on the floor and landed on the bed with a thump. She would stay there forever, if she had to. Until the end of the summer and then she could go home to her real bed and to her real house.

She thought she might have dozed when she could make out shuffling at her side. Turning part way, she immediately scrambled over the other side of the bed as though she was trying to flee from an insect she just noticed landing on her. The shadow was back, and this time, its attention was turned to the floor near her bags. The slim figure was as foreboding as she recalled from her grandfather's office, and she was half tempted to scream, but stopped herself when she realized the creature was not turning around, rather squatting, looking for something. In the dimness of Its skin, she could pick out the long arcs of wing-like appendages curled tightly against its back.

The creature stopped musing and peered over its shoulder. The gaze alone caused her stomach to drop and her voice to lodge in her throat. Suddenly, the book popped onto the bed, the sound of the entity booming within her head.

"You should be more careful with this."

Jessica stared at the book in utter disbelief. Working up the courage to speak was harder than she thought, "Who are you?"

"I am Syn."

She shook her head and asked again, "What are you?"

Syn turned more fully toward her, its head level with hers across the coverlet. In the light filtering behind her, Jessica could make out that the redness of its eyes was glowing. The creature possessed no eyelids.

"I have been called many things," the gravel pitch resounded like static in the hollows of her ears. She cringed a little as it enunciated each word like a monotonous list, "Ankou, Yama, Malak al Maut, Michael and Samael, Yenlo, Santa Muerte, Shinigami."

Jessica sat quiet for a long while, waves of adrenalin pulsing through her, causing her to shake uncontrollably, "I don't know what that means."

"The Angel of Death, the God of Death. It is the same."

"You are God?" Her tone was incredulous.

The creature remained still for a moment, "I am an envoy. A manifestation of a thought."

Her eyes widened. She could not possibly understand, so she asked a more logical question, "Are you going to hurt me?"

"No."

"Why are you here?"

"Because of the Book."

She looked at the black leather binding and thought to reach for it before addressing the creature again, "Is this your book?"

"No."

"But you are here because of it."

It paused, "I am bound to it."

Jessica found the courage to stand, albeit rather flimsily. Syn remained couched on the floor, staring ahead on the coverlet. Hesitantly, the girl reached across and snatched the volume from the bed. She opened the first page and glanced over the list of names before saying, "What is so special about this book?"

The answer was automatic, "The owner of this book has the power to call death upon anyone written on its page."

The girl slowly lowered the cover and stared at the creature. The entity had managed to follow its gaze from the bedspread to her again, and she immediately thought to pull something in front of her. Its face was too frightening to look at head on. Settling for the wardrobe, she probed again, "That sounds ludicrous. Who would create such a thing?"

"A creator watching over its flock."

For a moment, Jessica wondered if there was the smallest hint of acerbity in the answer. She felt like she could vomit, her head was spinning so, "Are you trying to tell me this book was created by God?"

"In a manner of speaking, yes."

She willed herself to look at the foul thing again. Syn's focus was on the prized object and not her, mercifully, so she closed it and let her hands drop to her waste, still clutching the leather binding tightly. The creature followed her hands, still unmoved on the floor. Mulling over the seriousness of the answer, she chose instead to challenge it, reject it.

"Well, I don't believe you." A steadiness surged forth Jessica did not know she possessed. She pulled the book back up to her chest and made sure she had Syn's attention, "How do I know you are not Satan trying to trick me into using the Book, and thus, trapping my soul?"

"Interesting," the creature pondered. The sound in her head lightened before coming back with a buzz, "You are not the first to ask such a question."

"So, I am not the first you've tried to trick, is that it? Is that why my grandfather had this, because you tricked him?"

"There is no trick."

"Then why did he have it?"

"It was passed to him, just as it was passed to you."

"What do you mean passed to me?"

"Your grandfather gave you that Book. It is now yours as it was his."

Jessica paused to catch her breath, sniffing as the thought of her grandfather passing such a wretched thing to her. Her words were determined, "Well, I don't want it."

Syn was not fazed, "That is not your choice."

"Take it back." She held out the book.

"I cannot."

"I don't want your little trap. Take it and go!"

It made a movement that could be interpreted as a sigh. The creature stood then, causing Jessica to take a reflexive step back until she hit the desk. It raised a single limb, pointing narrow, bony fingers in her direction as the sound in her head resumed, graveling out, "Human, you were trapped from the moment of your birth."

"You're lying." She tossed the object to the ground.

"I do not lie."

"I want you to go away."

Syn tilted its head, telling her, "I cannot leave."

"Go away!" The moment she raised her voice, the apparition evaporated, leaving the girl alone. Jessica's heart was pounding like a jack rabbit caught in a snare, and she quickly backed herself out of the room to find somewhere, anywhere else to be. Nearly running down the stairs, panic of what happened just beginning to surface, it was all she could do to not burst into Mr. Ruvie's office as a dissolved mess. Instead, the girl steeled herself and took to the front door for a walk; anything to get out of the home now so utterly stifling.

JJJJJ

For several days, Jessica was terrified to go into her room. She took the Book and stuffed it deep within one of her drawers, far away from sight. Tentatively, she kept the door open and slept with the light on. Yet, the shadow did not return again, and she wondered by the fourth day if her demand was honored.

But, she could feel the shadow, heavy and just out of view, and thought of the creature caused tremors to wrack her tiny frame. A stale thickness stuck out in the edges of the rooms she frequented, silent, still, watching. She knew it was Syn, this demon she must have summoned by accident, for the parcel was probably never meant to be opened in the first place. Perhaps it was one of those cursed items the radio would spout about around Halloween or in horror movies. The letter left behind in her grandfather's writing was a warning… If only he was still alive to clue her in.

One day, Jessica found herself in the sitting room staring out of the window in thought, willing for her circumstances to be different.

"So," the sound of Catelin's voice made the girl jump out of her skin. The teen held up her hands in defense, a mock expression of fright hovering over her rosy cheeks. She quickly composed herself and sat across from Jessica on the sill, "Mr. Whammy says you are staying for a while, regardless."

Jessica admitted, "Yeah."

The teen hummed lightly, "So do you think you have what it takes?"

"What do you mean?"

"The boarding school," Catelin clarified, smiling sweetly. "It's safe to assume you will end up here for secondary, anyway; what with all your family's wealth, you can just can buy in as patrons."

"You take issue with wealthy people?"

"I take issue with our delicate social system, class and all that."

Jessica furrowed her brow. Was this girl from some poor background? Was that why she was being curt with her all this time?

Catelin waved a fair hand airily, "Well, that is assuming you can pass the test."

She shrugged, shaking her head, "That's years away."

"Oh, not so!" The blond returned matter-of-fact, "There's a wait list."

"What does it matter?"

Her eyes lit with false concern, "You mean you don't desire to be one of the best and brightest? Your parents must be proud."

Jessica grit her teeth and looked back out the window onto the gardens, "I don't rightly desire anything right now seeing as my grandfather just passed away. Some courtesy would be nice."

"Oh please," venom cut into her words, despite her casualness, "At least you have a family. Imagine us having to watch you mope from room to room, skulking around like a shadow's following you."

"I'm not moping!" Jessica contended, jerking back to face the older girl. She could see the smirk forming on the blond's sharp chin.

"Oh of course, not," Catelin nodded in fervent agreement. "What is it, then? Privately mourning."

Jessica wanted to cry out in frustration at the other girl's unspoken words. Who was this girl and why was she being so vicious to her? Catelin sat on the sill, apparently happy with herself as she perused the roses in the garden. The younger could not stand it. She gathered herself, trying to best to hide the seething rage building just beneath her chest, and made her way to the double door.

Just as she was about to turn on the handle, Catelin chimed, "And just think – if you do manage to get in – think of whom you will have to compete with…"

Jessica glared over her shoulder. Catelin turned from her view to finish her thought, "You will never be one of us."

She flew from the room, wound up the stairs, whipped down the hall along the far side, and shoved the door open as hard as she could. The panel boomed against the wall, and again when it shut automatically to echo into the empty space. The library was barren, like always. Jessica let out a stifled scream, plopping down into a chair at the table before her. Her head fell to the wooden top, the cool surface like ice against her burning forehead.

Breathing in and out helped. Catelin was a bully; that was plain and simple. Did not need to be a genius to see that. She must be afraid Jessica rationalized to herself. She must be afraid of someone coming in and replacing her.

She was not one of them. Well, that much was obvious. But that did not mean she was a pariah to be ridiculed or ignored. What did she do that was so offensive, anyway, other than show up to the party? Against her will. She wanted to be there less than they wanted her!

"Bollucks."

Her thoughts were jumbled, and Jessica reached for a random book left on the table to help settle her mind. Pulling at the hardcover, she sighed. Jane Austen would do.

JJJJJ

Several hours must have passed in the dusty room. The sounds of remote clicking of a clock down the hall and gentle swiffle of the pages as they turned beneath her fingers were equivalent to car engines roaring on a busy street, the space was so still. Half of the pages she just skimmed, because she already read the book twice over, but the farther the girl pressed into the novel, the more her mind slipped past the anxiety biting her and into a semi-relaxed state.

The door opened, and Jessica peered over. A black mass of hair stark against a white shirt and face greeted her.

"B?"

There was no answer and upon further inspection, the girl realized that it was Lawliet entering the room. Readying herself for another round of who's-better-than-you, she firmly said, "Hello Lawliet."

"I am L."

She almost said 'of course you are' but thought better to bite her tongue. The boy approached, surveying the area with meaningful glances toward the hardcover in her hands. Sense and Sensibility. He sniffed and pulled out the chair across from her. Crawling up onto the seat, L crouched, his thin form slouching forward so that his fingertips could dance on the table according to some abstract tune. Slowly, his coal eyes lifted to Jessica's as she lowered the book and stared warily in return.

"Quillish informs me that my manners are poor," He said idly.

The linen binding drooped a little as she clarified, "You mean Mr. Whammy?"

"There is no other Quillish here," He replied, his eyes narrowing. "In fact, in the whole of England, Quillish is rather rare name, an estimated thirty currently reside in the United Kingdom, ninety-eight percent born between nineteen-o-eight and nineteen-forty-two, and only one with the last name Whammy. He is rather famous, you know."

Jessica could feel her expression balking, "How do you know all of that?"

The boy shrugged, disregarding the question with one of his own, "You are from an upper class family."

"So?" Her brows knit down like he just spat an insult, "Does that mean I can't be here? Is that what Catelin told you?"

There was no reply. L simply continued to stoop, looking at her as though he were trying to gage something. As the silence prolonged, Jessica could not help the irritated snort that escaped, shaking her head and gritting her teeth.

Finally, mustering a sigh, she snipped across the table, "Why do you sit like that, anyway?"

"It helps me think."

She raised a slim eyebrow sardonically, "How so?"

"My cognitive function increases by sixty percent when I sit like this."

She had to laugh. It sounded too ridiculous, especially coming from a nine-year-old's mouth, like a kitten sounding big with its growl. She produced a snotty grin and shot back, "Still, it's rude."

"How so?" L had long stopped his finger tapping and regarded her, a blank mask over his face.

"It's not rocket science," Jessica felt more and more the urge to shout in his face, slam the book on the table, and run out of the room. This boy, who had not said more than five words to her in the weeks she resided at the House, chose this moment to break her seclusion with his inane mannerisms. Her words were clipped, "Your feet are where your bum should be."

"That bothers you."

She made a face that went with her words, "It's poor manners."

"You know much about etiquette, then."

L had not phrased his retort as a question, rather an established observation. Jessica sat up and checked her behavior, only realizing now how much she may have gone askew herself in her exasperation. Her grandmother would be rushing in to amend the situation by now. A stern lecture would follow. The girl thumbed the page she was reading and answered more calmly, "My mother's been shoving it down my throat since I was five."

"I want you to teach etiquette to me."

Her eyes snapped back up his. L had not moved, had not blinked. The quiet demand caught her off guard and she questioned, "I'm sorry?"

"I want you to teach etiquette to me," the boy repeated. After a moment, he added, "Please."

"Why?" She was wary now. Why would this child genius choose to approach her now, someone so obviously not like him?

It was simple, really, "You know the proper methods, and I need to improve on my manners."

She swallowed and rolled her eyes, "Social skills too from the looks of it."

There was a pause before his voice picked up again, "That is true."

Jessica considered him but lacked any patience to deal with such a stress in the moment. The incident in the sitting room was still vivid in her memory. Huffing, she picked her book back up, making sure the binding covered his face, "Well, to start, sit down with your bum in the chair and be quiet."

She assumed he followed her instruction and after some soft shuffling and a brief scrape of the chair against the wood floor, the room became silent again. For a few blissful minutes, anyway.

"This is uncomfortable."

"It's not supposed to be comfortable," she growled, turning a page she had not been reading.

"You are irritated with me."

Jessica slapped the novel down, and the resounding bang made the boy across from her unconsciously jump. Her eyes were pleading, prickling with tears as she exclaimed, "L, I just want to be left alone. No one likes me here."

After the initial shock of her outburst wore off, L tilted his head to the side, carefully watching his fingers as they traced the table edge, "A likes you."

"Well, I don't like it here!" She bellowed, which was rewarded with another wide-eyed jerk from the boy. Slouching herself, she muttered into her hands on the table, "It's cold and lonely."

An awkward silence filled the space that left the boy across from her fidgeting. Jessica assumed it was because he did not know what to say, and why would he? He could not even sit in a chair properly. The best he could do was make observations that probably were never meant for her in the first place. That, and make up nonsense about obscure British names.

L continued to adjust himself in the chair, nodding slightly as his thoughts formed words, "It's not too bad, once you become used to it. Solitude can be good."

"Yeah?" She blinked a few times to quell the threating tears, "I'm not used to solitude."

"You feel abandoned."

Another observation that unnerved her. He was as bad as Syn, except he voiced his thoughts, while the specter simply watched her and spoke to her in her head. The mere vision of the demon lead her to think of that stupid Book, which lead her to think of her grandfather, dead and buried and gone. She could sense the bile want to climb up her throat.

"My parents just dumped me here when I need them the most. How do you suspect I feel?" Jessica glared at the boy and then stopped, placed her hand to mouth and sat back in her chair. Internal chastisement washed over her in waves of guilt, all the while the boy across from her continued to fidget, his eyes choosing to study the binding of the book between them. Slowly, she amended, "I'm sorry. Here I am complaining about my parents and you don't even have any."

L glanced up, apparently unaffected by her comment, his face still blank, his voice still flat, "Quillish is like a father. The only father-like figure I remember, anyway."

"You don't remember your family at all?"

He shrugged, "They died when I was very young."

Jessica nodded, her face red with shame, "Then you came here?"

"No."

The word, although given in the same calm manner, carried more meaning with it than the girl expected the boy to give. Hidden within the word were multiple people, multiple moves, multiple trials. Perhaps such trauma early in his years caused L to be withdrawn, or perhaps his introverted nature resulted in his many moves. She did not know. She could never know.

"That must have been difficult for you," was all she could really say.

L perked up with a hint of smirk that vanished as quickly as it formed, "It was more difficult for them, I would think. I was not the most cooperative child."

It was then that Jessica recognized why he chose this moment to visit her in the library. L was attempting to reach out, even if his presence was less than desired. He was asking for her help, although disguising it for something he could use. Perhaps that was what he was capable of at his age. She could expect no better from someone who may never have had a stable home or a proper life. She was acting no better than Catelin, believing herself better than those around her. It was silly. Her grandfather would be disappointed.

Jessica folded hands in her lap and nudged her head at L, "You need to sit up."

L straightened himself against the back of the chair.

"And take your hands off the table."

The fingers edging the wooden surface disappeared. Jessica pursed her lips, contemplating the child across from her. His dark eyes were serious, calm. His pale profile soft and relaxed. He looked like a doll he was so still. An ungroomed doll. She quirked her brow, affirming, "And you need to brush your hair."

The smallest of smiles graced his lips.