Samantha made it approximately 3 city blocks before she was lost, 7 before she was scared, and 10 before she admitted to either. She had just turned around and decided to turn back, cursing herself for not having gone in a straight line, when a flash of light drew her attention to a darkened alleyway. Looking just in time to see a glowing figure slam against the alley wall with considerable force, she stared as she tried to see what had thrown him.

But there was no one there; just an unconscious boy, sliding to the ground, radiating a strange, eerie glow. Stepping closer to get a better look, still slightly afraid to touch him, she saw that he was wearing faded, torn jeans and a baggy, pink, T-shirt, both of which looked like they had been set on fire. In spite of the state of his clothes, the boy himself, other than being unconscious, didn't have a scratch. That, of course, wasn't to say he looked fine. He was a way tooskinny; she could see his ankles below his pant leg, and he was wearing a belt around a waist that didn't seem much larger than Samantha's own. It couldn't be healthy; he was so pale, and his prominent cheek bones made his cheeks look sunken next to his triangular jaw. One eye was covered by grey hair falling in his face, the strands shifting between lighter and darker shades. She guessed that he was blond, and the weird light was throwing odd shadows, in fact, when she looked again his cheekbones didn't appear quite so well defined. Literally; he was practically blurred around the edges, less like an out of focus photograph, and more like a pen drawing whose ink had begun to run, or a strange boy whose essence was leaking out of him in strange rays of light. She looked again at the pink shirt and the grey hair, realizing that he wasn't radiating light; he was leaking pigment.

That couldn't be good, wondering if she should call an ambulance, she realized she didn't have a cell phone (she never left the house, and who would she call?). She supposed she could try to find help, but who'd believe her anyway? "Help, I've found this kid who's fading into nothing!" He'd be gone by the time she got back anyway, but she had to do something!

Maybe she could wake him up! She reached over to move the hair out of his eyes, but instead her hand passed right through his hair, like an optical illusion at a 3D movie. Her fingers felt like she'd spent an hour in the snow without gloves, and she jerked her hand back in surprise. A faint, white, wisp that glowed with the same aura that surrounded the boy followed her hand away from his head, as if tied by a string to her fingers. Okay, she was afraid for her well-being now; she scooted away as the tendril wrapped its way around her fingers, glancing fearfully at now practically transparent, unmoving, figure in front of her. She was on her feet, ready to run, but she couldn't just leave him; she'd watched too many superhero movies and not enough horror films.

But he didn't look that bad, she realized; sure, his hair was now entirely white and she could see the concrete through his torso, but she could clearly see his outline, and most of the light oozing off him seemed to be concentrated around the thin stream that connected them like a rope. No, more like a leach, Samantha realized as she began to feel light-headed; while the original tentacle remained wrapped around her wrist, a thin layer of light now seemed to covering her arm. Okay, maybe that's a bad thing… her vision swam before her eyes, and she wasn't sure if she was blacking out or if whatever the substance wrapping itself around her was had covered her eyes. She tried to step back, to run, but she tripped, blind, not even feeling the pain of the concrete scraping her skin, drawing blood. She was scared, no, terrified; she was helpless and there was no one to help her, she was alone…. So alone... Her parents didn't know where she was, and she was so lonely… they probably wouldn't care anyway… her dad would probably find her and all he'd care about was that stupid- … something…

But he would care, he'd be so sad when he found his only remaining child… but she wouldn't care, yes, that was it, she wouldn't care, because she was angry. That's why he hadn't even bothered to leave a note before…

But she had left a note… angry? This wasn't her present, it was… a memory… someone… someone else's… memory…

The boy! Instantly another memory: looking at herself in the mirror, only, it was the boy from the alleyway staring back. His hair wasn't white, it was black, and he was shorter, healthier… an older memory... there were people outside; a party? … his birthday… there was yelling, a large man, and …standing up to him?... her, no his sister.

Jazz… that was her name, and… Danny? Short for Daniel, she guessed…

More memories flooding by, his home, his sister, the funeral, school… School! He went to school! Memories of teachers, bullies… where were his friends? Nothing, except… a boy… not quite his friend, but he'd tried to be… the memory got clearer

"Fuck off," she heard herself say.

"Dude, I'm just trying to be your friend here."

"Whatever…"

Well, that wasn't very nice… he should apologize… should be his friend, or at least paid attention to what he was saying…

Pain… regret…

Resolve?

She opened her eyes suddenly and found herself lying on the alley, face down. Standing up, she blinked as her eyes adjusted. The alleyway was pitch-black; the sun had dropped below the level of the buildings, and the strange glow had vanished. She looked around for the kid-Danny, she reminded herself- when she saw an outline a few paces off. To her relief he appeared to be breathing; his chest rising and falling, though he didn't move otherwise and she figured he was still out cold. As her eyes adjusted, she noticed that his hair was actually black, and he wasn't that thin, sure, he was scrawny, but not starving as she had originally thought. In fact, he was almost unrecognizable as the same young boy who had moments before appeared just an inch from death.

A stick lay a few meters off, and Samantha picked it up, edging closer to Danny, not wanting a repeat of the previous incident. When she was close enough to reach, she prodded his arm with the stick, and, thankfully, his arm offered resistance, rather than passing through the stick as it had her hand. Now was probably a good time to go get help, or call the police, but images of the hurt kitten she had found when she was nine kept popping into her mind; when she showed it to her parents they had immediately taken it out of her hands and sent it to an animal hospital, but she had never seen it again. She figured once she brought an adult into this situation, she would be thanked, then sent home and would never find out exactly what had happened. It was a selfish, impractical decision, one that could easily result in Danny's death; she had no way of knowing if he needed serious medical assistance, but the truth was; Samantha was curious. She had succeeded in finding her way into what she thought of as an adventure, and besides, his condition didn't look too serious…

Oh, how wrong she was….

xxxx

Sorry about the wait; I got inspired for the next chapter, but I had trouble figuring out how to lead into it. Anyways, here it is! Any reviews are welcome, and I'd especially appreciate any criticism on my writing style (Danny's profanity stays, though) or word choice. Thanks, hope you enjoy it!