KaterinaPetrova-Winchester: Well, I didn't want her to go through that whole thing again, and while I was researching for it, I found most people who get brandings usually say how it wasn't that painful. It's kind of supposed to be exaggerated in the AU anyway. Stick around and maybe you'll see her go back! Thanks again for all your reviews!

Timbre: Thanks for your review! I may not do any sequels but this is going to be divided into parts, and will most likely have a ridiculous amount of chapters, lol

flyingmole: You'll just have to read and see! Thanks for your reviews!

Amy90: I thought it was about time to send her home, lol, and hopefully the next few chapters aren't going to be too predictable!

Enjoy guys (: and remember to leave a reviewwww! (Please)

17

I always kept my hair black and white even after staying in California for so long. The agent my relatives paid for had advised me to dye it one colour more than once, saying my stubbornness was the explanation for the amount of callbacks I never received.

But how could I? That hair was the only thing I had left to reassure me that I had actually gone to another universe and spent three weeks with people who became so much more important to me than anyone ever had in all the years of my life. I couldn't just do something so insensitive to their memory like dye my hair back to brown.

I guess it sort of sounds like they died. In all honesty, it felt like that. It felt worse, because it wasn't like I had anything of theirs that I could occasionally look upon and remember them by. I only had the memory of them. And my hair. I had my hair as well.

During all this time there was more than one occasion that I considered going back to school. A 22 year-old waitress of Lee's Steak and Seafood in Los Angeles wasn't necessarily my idea of someone who radiated success, and I wasn't actually expecting to become famous through my disastrous auditions.

I couldn't just sit around all day doing nothing but going to a dead end job and coming back home just to sleep or watch TV. I was miserable about the fact that I would never see the Savage brothers again—let alone be with them, but that didn't mean I had to wallow in self-pity, hoping for something to send me back.

I guess the most irritating part was living in such a different world. I may have only spent three weeks with the brothers, but I had experienced so much with in that time. I watched my own skin burn off, I saw Meg Masters and John Savage die, and told a girl who was capable of killing me that she was being stupid and childish for acting a certain way. All these things changed me, and gave me a new—sort of dark—perception on things.

Now here I was, living life day-to-day, with heaping amounts of paranoia plaguing my thoughts. There was more than one moment where I suspected a co-worker of actually being a demon, and I'd been called "devil-girl" from time to time because of my strange brands and their obscure meanings people didn't understand.

That was the thing. People didn't understand. They would go about their lives like there wasn't anything ugly out there. But there was ugly out there, and I'd seen it. Never mind the terrifying nightmares I'd been getting, that made my aunt pay for weekly therapy, because I wasn't already enough screwed up as it was. I had felt victimized in some form or another almost any day that I left my house, and fine—maybe there weren't demons and ghosts lurking around, but there were still bad people out there doing bad things.

About a month after I had been living on my own, with my uncle helping me pay for rent as I was job hunting, I had been mugged on my way home from an interview with my would-be agent. It was strange though, because my attacker never took anything from me, and was most likely only harassing me through his drunkenness.

Still, I had never been so afraid in my life (except for when maybe that clown threatened to break my neck), I felt the need to do something about it, and my uncle agreed. So once I had my feet planted firmly, I began paying for reality-based self-defense night classes while working as a hostess at the restaurant during the day. When I became a full-time waitress, my constant obsession urged me to resort to kickboxing videos from the local library.

Why did the world have to be full of these people (if not demons and vengeful spirits)? With in the past few years, I'd encountered too many weirdoes, and I got that L.A. was a big city where bad things were bound to happen, but even going to college in the big city that Seattle was, I never felt the need to take the precautions I was now.

It wasn't until much later that the idea came to me. Maybe I was going through all of this to prepare for the next visit. Maybe the reason I couldn't go back was because I wasn't ready to, and all of this was some kind of training.

After a while, the idea just became a little ridiculous to me. What was I talking about… training? There was no preparation for my next visit because there wasn't going to be a next visit. I had somehow left the only world I ever felt like I had belonged, and there was no way for me to ever go back.

At least that's what I thought for three years, before everything had changed.

One night in mid June, I was serving, and growing ridiculously happy that my shift was almost over. One of the last two guys I was waiting on grabbed me by my wrist as I was setting down his check.

"That looks like it hurt," He said referring to the star branded on my wrist.

"You'd be surprised." I said taking it out of his grip. He put his credit card in the folder and handed it to me, as I turned to leave.

"Wait!" He called.

I turned back trying to smile as best I could after this long day.

"How can I help you?" I asked.

"What time do you get off?" He wanted to know.

I laughed nervously.

"Later." I replied turning away. "Let me know if you need anything else."

I walked past another man who I knew heard everything, because he was smiling uncontrollably despite his best efforts to focus on the papers before him.

When I returned to bring back his card, the man stopped me again.

"Hey, seriously," He told me. "You're cute, I'd love to take you out once you're free."

What was he; like thirty?

"Thanks for the offer," I said. "But I'm really not interested."

"But you haven't even given me the chance." He argued.

He was really bothering me now.

"Look," I said. "It's awfully nice of you to offer, but I'm tired and I really just want to go home."

"What if you gave me your number and we did this another night?"

"What if you left me alone?" I replied. I

heard someone chuckle behind me.

"Hey, you don't have to be like that." The man said.

"Listen, sir," I said trying to be polite enough to keep from making a scene. "It's been a long day, I'm tired, and you're making it really difficult for me to just do my job, and frankly, I think you're a little old for me."

He only scoffed and pushed past me.

"Alright fine, your loss."

Oh, I was so sure.

When I had finished waiting my last table, I went to grab my jacket and bag from the back and after letting the manager know I was going to be late the next day for an audition, I walked over to the bus stop.

On my way, I could hear footstep following me, and was abruptly stopped from behind. Alarmed, I reached in my purse for some pepper spray (you can never be too careful).

"I'm sorry!" The man apologized quickly. "I didn't mean to startle you."

I recognized him as the other guy I was waiting on who kept laughing as I was rejecting that sleaze-ball. I was really confused as to why he had approached me out of nowhere, so I was kind of looking at him funny for a while.

He laughed at my expression and let out his hand for an introduction.

"I'm Matt Philips," He said with a smile as I hesitantly shook his hand. "I'm a producer for this new show that we're starting."

This wasn't really surprising for me. I'd served dozens of directors, producers, even actors at the restaurant. It was one of the many high-end places of L.A. so the fact that this guy was a producer of some new show wasn't really at all that intriguing.

"I never do this," He told me, "but I heard you talking about an audition, so I figured you were an actress, and I saw you with that guy. I gotta say, I really like your style."

He pulled out a pen and business card from his coat pocket and used the wall as a hard surface to write some information down.

"I really think you should come audition at noon tomorrow. It's our last day for auditions for this role." He said handing me the card.

"Uh…"

"Before you reject it, it's a really interesting role, and the writers are still doing a bit of work on it. The girl is a little younger, but I think it would be great fun."

"But-"

"And it's only an audition," He assured me. "There's not a guarantee that you get the part, and even if you do get the offer, you can always say no."

I really didn't know what to say. I had never been offered to audition for anything. I hardly even went to auditions and usually just used them as an excuse to come to work late. I only started the whole "aspiring to become an actress" thing to give my family some reason to allow me to stay.

I didn't know how to act.

"You are an actress right?" He asked.

"Yea," I replied. "But this is definitely a first."

"For both of us." He added.

"Right, and I'm not sure I'm what you're looking for. I mean, I don't usually tell producers this, but I'm not even that good at acting to be honest." I said.

"Good." He said with a smirk. "If that was real, genuine you back there, you won't need to do any acting."

"I'm not even sure I could make it," I told him. "I have another audition tomorrow at the same time."

"Well," He said putting his pen away, and adjusting the bag on his shoulder. "I think you should really give this a shot, and I'm sure whatever one you decide to go to will be the right choice."

"I'm going to miss my bus," I said. "I should really get going."

"Right, thanks for your time." He smiled.

I turned the other way and began walking focusing most of my attention on the card as the bus began slowing down by the curb.

"Wait!" He called from behind.

I turned back.

"What's your name?" He asked.

"Elyse Adams." Apparently.

"Well, hope to see you tomorrow. Thanks, again."

"Thank you!" I replied as I got on the bus.

When I got home the first thing I did was call my agent who was all for the idea of going to this other audition. Her mentality was that if they scouted me out, then there was a higher chance of me actually getting hired…for once. Also, this Matt Phillips person happened to have a lot of titles under his name, so if I were to get this part it would be huge.

I was still so unsure about the whole thing, and my agent was bothered by my indecisiveness she even called my aunt to inform her of how stubborn she thought I was acting. I knew I should've never let Emily choose my agent.

To say that I was forced to go would be the understatement of the century.

"If you don't listen to her," Emily threatened. "I will go to California myself, bring you back and send you to school back where you belong!"

Where I belonged. Right. As if such a place in this universe existed.

"The only reason why this woman still has you as a client is because I'm paying her to!" Emily continued. "If you would start making some actual money off of your auditions then maybe she would have another reason to keep you."

Well, ouch, Emily.

Whatever, I guess this just meant I had to go to this casting call. I told myself it wouldn't have been the worst thing in the world to try it out.

"I'm glad you finally came around," Carrie (my agent) told me. "I'll send Mr. Phillips your headshots and sad excuse of a resume, and hopefully that won't change his initial thought of you."

What was this? Let's Be Mean To Elyse Day?

The next day I was out the door at 11:30 and when I took the bus over to the studio where auditions were taking place, I found a line of girls seated against the wall, growing terribly nervous as one girl after another walked out either thrilled with the fact their turn had gone so well, or sobbing because they knew they blew it.

I didn't even get how I was what the producer was looking for. None of these girls had qualities that resembled mine. For one, their hair colours were all normal, and most of them looked like models. I, on the other hand, had just done my usual daily make-up and was about as alluring as road kill.

I just wanted to get this over with.

I had to call my manager at work to let him know that I was going to be later than I thought, because this audition was taking longer than expected, which turned out to be an understatement because I went in at 2:30. Two and a half hours after I was told to show up.

When I walked in, there was a panel of tired people who looked like they had about enough for the day. One of them looked vaguely familiar but it wasn't the same person I met the night before. They sorted through the series of headshots and resumes and found mine.

The guy I had bumped into earlier was slumped over the desk so he didn't look at me at first. The moment a casting director said, "slate" I told them my full name and my agents name and immediately his head popped up, his once frustrated demeanor turning into an excited one.

"This is the one I told you about." He muttered to the woman next to him, loud enough for me to hear.

I hoped I didn't have too much to live up to as I picked up the script placed before me. Everything I was supposed to read was highlighted. I glanced over it, seeing the titled was blacked out, and a number of J's, D's, and Z's in front of characters lines.

"Go," The casting director said before I could really read anything.

"Are you going to use that thing, or just carry it around like a pretty handbag?" One of the people from the panel read tiredly.

"Oh right." I read. My character then lifted up a weapon and shot something. Uhm… okay. "Did I get one?" I said after and appropriate pause.

This was weird.

"The last one actually." The panel member said.

"Not half bad." Another panel member read. "What do you think?"

"Well," I read. "Z-Zach… Savage…" I could hear my heart pounding out of my ribcage. Holy crap.

"What do you think?" The man repeated trying to get me to say my line.

"Oh my God." I whispered.

"Is something the matter?" The casting director asked.

"No!" I cried realizing I was blowing this audition. "It's just that this is… this is The Hunt."

The man I slightly recognized straightened himself out on his seat and leaned forward.

"You've read them?" He asked intrigued.

I remembered who he was. He was Edward Konz. He was the writer of The Hunt Series, and he was watching me audition for a role in a television show that was based off of his books.

"It's like my favorite book series of all time." But that was obviously not why I was freaking out.

I was freaking out because I had been written in the script. This was myself that I was auditioning for. How could that be? All of this already happened. How could it be happening again? Why wasn't anything making any logical sense?

"I'm so glad to find a fan." He said. "We've gotten a few girls who said they've read a little bit about the books, but none of them are actual fans of them."

"I've been in love with your books since I was fourteen years-old." I told him.

I looked at the panel seeing some faces that were actually impressed by this fact.

"So you know all about the Savages, do you?" Matt Philips asked.

Now I recognized his name. It was written sometimes on the episodes he co-wrote or directed.

"Yea," I said with a smile.

"Well," The casting director said. "Why don't we finish up your audition and then you could tell us a little bit more about yourself."

I nodded, still a little worried.

I mean, I know I said these lines, but that didn't mean I could reenact them. I crossed my fingers and hoped not to turn this into a disaster.

"Go," She said.

"What do you think?" The panelist for Zach's character said.

"Well," I read grinning at the fact that I was quoting myself. "Zach Savage just said my aim was 'not half bad', and I'm guessing that's the closest thing to a compliment I'm getting from either of you for a while."

Oh good God. I wasn't going to cut it. I sounded like such an idiot. I couldn't believe this. I wasn't going to be able to act as myself.

When I was done with my lines they asked for me to be seated. I did as I was told and looked a little more over the portion of the script they gave me seeing it was different from what I had actually experienced. That didn't make sense. I mean the character I was playing was referred to as Jane, not Cru Ella.

"If you aren't impressed with the script," Matt said. "It's still a work in progress, and we know that this character wasn't in the books but we wanted to experiment just a little."

"Right," I replied. "I think it's better to have a bit of a difference. Fans aren't going to want to watch something if they already know what's going to happen."

"I like your hair." The casting director said cutting me short. "Very Cru Ella Deville."

"I get that a lot." I said.

"Would you be willing to dye it for the role?" She asked.

My face turned red.

No.

"I'm kind of used to it." I replied.

Yea, I wasn't going to get this part. How ironic.

She only laughed.

"Well if we do see you again we could always just discuss it then." She said.

No one was touching my hair.

"I noticed you don't have a lot of experience." She said glancing at my resume.

"Right," I said. "It was kind of hard to juggle so many things at once."

"But you don't go to school." She pointed out.

I didn't realize audition was synonymous with interrogation.

"My first year in L.A. I was taking self-defense classes, and working as a hostess part-time." I explained. "So it was a little difficult trying to fit auditions in there."

I received another set of impressed reactions.

"So you're pretty fit, huh?" She asked.

"I guess you could say that." I replied.

She leaned down and began scribbling on a notepad then looked at me.

"I also noticed you have these really neat markings on your hands." She said. "Those must have hurt."

"Just a little." I said. "I actually have five."

"Where? I just see the star and the candle."

"I have one on my shoulder blade which is a feather, and another on my neck, and that's a scroll. The other one is on my ribcage, and they're scratches."

"What do they mean?" She wanted to know.

"They are signs of my personal spiritual traveling." I lied. "I completely made them up, but each symbol has its own meaning that's personal to me."

"Very interesting." She said not sounding the least bit interested. "Well hopefully they're nothing make-up can't cover up."

I didn't get it. If they didn't write the brands there in the first place, how did I ever get them? This stupid transitioning phase was really starting to frustrate me. Could something at least try to start making sense?

"Elyse, it was nice meeting you," The casting director said extending out her hand. "We kind of held this audition for a bit longer, so we'll give you a call if we're interested."

I shook her hand and received a "nice meeting you" from Edward Konz before exiting the room.

That couldn't have gone any worse. If the casting director wasn't such a bitch maybe I would've at least come off as though I tried. But the woman wanted to change my hair. My hair.

I just didn't understand how this worked.

Was this happening because I went to the universe, or did I go to the universe because this was happening? Obviously it was the former, because I went to the universe first and when I got back The Hunt no longer existed, and was apparently being rewritten to have me in the script. Okay, so just another paradox.

With all this in mind, I still went to work happier than ever. At least something else was happening to reassure me that my visit was real, and that there was a chance, no matter how miniscule, that I would go back. I wasn't really sure how but I was positive it would happen.

It would still be undoubtedly weird watching someone else play me on TV.

I received a call from Carrie on my way home from work. She was eager to know how everything went.

"I'm going to be honest," I said. "I don't think I did too hot."

"You don't sound particularly upset." She said.

"I guess I just saw it coming." I said.

A beep came through my phone.

"Hang on," I stopped Carrie. "I think Emily is on call waiting."

I went on the other line.

"Emily," I said. "I don't think I got it, okay? So could you please get off my ass about it?"

"Is this Elyse Adams?" Matt's voice asked.

"Ssshit." I whispered to my self.

Something like this would happen to me.

"Yea, sorry." I apologized quickly. "I thought you were-"

"I would hate to be Emily," He said with a chuckle.

"Yea, " I said with a nervous laugh.

"It's Matt Philips. I'm sorry for calling you late today." He said.

"9 o'clock isn't too late." I assured him.

"So, Ed and Sarah loved you." He told me. "And they want to see you back at 10 in the morning day after tomorrow. I told them that I would make the call."

Really? Ed and Sarah liked—no loved me? Who were Ed and Sarah and why did they love me? Not to sound sorry for myself, but what was there to love? I completely blew that audition.

"I don't want you getting too excited though," He clarified. "This is only a callback, so there is no reassuring that you are going to get the part. There were a lot of other girls we called back as well."

For some reason I felt that if I had gotten so far with my really bad acting abilities, I could actually do this. I could actually get back to Zach and Dave.

"To be honest, Elyse," Matt continued. "You acted exactly how I thought you would, and completely off the record, you were probably the most memorable."

"Oh," I said.

"Oh?"

"I mean, wow, this is great news." I said not sounding at all enthused. "Seriously, I'm just in complete and total shock. I'll probably scream once I hang up."

"I hope so," He said with a chuckle. "I'll give your agent a call tomorrow, and let her know."

No need. She was already waiting on the other end probably hoping it was a phone call for callbacks.

"Sounds good." I said.

"Have a good one."

I ignored his advice and decided I was going to have a great one.