A/N:

I am beyond ecstatic that so many of you want to come along on this journey with me!

Just to make you aware of a few things, this story will have lines heavily inspired by the short film made about Alice's beginning (The Mary Alice Brandon Files) but where things weren't as I imagined it, I have naturally added my own stuff.

For example, the names of Alice's parents are from that short film so I can't take credit for that.

With that said, I hope you'll enjoy this next chapter in Alice's journey towards immortality, love, and family.

Title: Origins: Living in my Future

Author: MarieCarro

Beta: Alice's White Rabbit

Pre-reader: BitterHarpy

Genre: Supernatural/Mystery

Rating: NC-17

Summary: Mary Alice Brandon had always been different. She seemed to know things that had yet to happen, and the people in town avoided her at all costs. But the cries of "Witch" or whispers of "Changeling" wasn't her biggest concern. Someone much closer to her than the townsfolk couldn't accept her differences, and it put her in life-threatening danger.

Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.


CHAPTER 1

MONDAY, NOVEMBER 19th 1917

"Miss Brandon, be so kind and stay behind. I need to have a word with you," Ms. Howard said with polite words, but her tone was stern. She always spoke to me in that manner while the other girls in my class were talked to with honey-sweet words.

"Yes, Ms. Howard," I said and obediently sat back down in my seat.

I had learned early to be obedient, however, not by my father. It was when I started to become aware of how the people in town looked at me and whispered behind my back. As long as I was quiet and pretended I didn't constantly feel their stares burn the back of my neck, the snickers weren't quite as loud.

Once the classroom had been emptied, Ms. Howard approached my seat with a clenched jaw and hard eyes. There was a piece of paper in her hand, and when she angrily put it down in front of me, I recognized it as my most recent test on arithmetic. It had a score of a hundred, but the grade on it said I had failed.

"Ms. Howard, I don't underst—"

"I don't tolerate cheatin' in my classroom, Miss Brandon," Ms. Howard said and crossed her arms intimidatingly.

"But I didn't—" I started, but I was cut off by Ms. Howard's open palm connecting with my cheek with a resounding slap. Ms. Howard never slapped any of her other pupils, but it wasn't the first time I got to feel its sting. Father had given his permission for more severe punishments as I was a "wicked girl" and needed to be "disciplined".

"Don't talk back with me, young lady, and don't lie," she spat out. "Now, I don't know how you got your fingers on the answer sheet, but if I catch you again, I never want to see you step another foot in my classroom."

She snatched the test away and turned her back without another word. With a stinging cheek and tears in my eyes, I silently got up and left.

I pulled my coat tighter around me and kept my eyes cast down as I walked to my bicycle, trying to ignore the snickering and whispers following me wherever I went. The sounds had been there for as long as I could remember, yet I never got used to them.

Each word felt like the lash of a whip, but while being called a "witch" no longer affected me, hearing people refer to me as "freak," or "abnormal" hurt the most. They hurt because I believed them. I wasn't normal, and I'd never been.

There had been a time in my life when that thought didn't bother me. I liked being unique because Mother treated my ability like a gift and not a curse. Lately, I'd started to question it though.

So very often, my dreams and visions weren't of anything good. It was warnings of tragedy, yet every time I'd made the attempt to tell people, they shunned me and everything backfired.

Once, I'd warned my Aunt Margaret that her son Michael was going to be in an accident, and unfortunately, he wouldn't survive. Maybe I hadn't worded it right—I'd only been seven years old, after all—and it resulted in Aunt Margaret complaining about my behavior to Father, who in turn had punished me for lying by locking me in my room without dinner.

When my vision then came true, Aunt Margaret blamed me for it and decided to cut ties with my family. They still lived just a few blocks away, but they never visited us, and we never went over to their house.

Things hadn't exactly improved after my little sister was born either. At first, everyone was cautious around her as well, but when it was revealed she didn't share my ability, she became the beautifully rare flower of the family. Whereas my name caused people to turn the other way, Cynthia's made people smile.

I was so caught up in my thoughts I didn't pay attention to my surroundings, and suddenly, I collided with something. When I looked up, to my chagrin, I saw Dorothy Everett glaring back at me, her arm hooked around William Collins' elbow.

"Excuse you! You should pay attention to where you're goin'! Or was it another one of those 'visions' of yours?" Dorothy cackled and William smirked.

His amusement cut my heart because I had harbored a crush for him for some time. I knew it was a silly dream of mine when I imagined him knocking on our front door and asking for my father's blessing to court me.

Father had made it painfully clear no young man in town would ever want such a strange girl as myself for their bride, and it appeared he was right.

But the realization would never take away my dream—a dream I wasn't certain was just a fantasy or if it was one of my visions. All I knew, and hoped, was that my perfect match was out there somewhere, waiting.

"Aren't you goin' to apologize?" Dorothy continued with a sneer.

I wouldn't claim myself as a shy or particularly quiet person, but a few certain people just brought it out of me. Around them, I rarely talked, but it wasn't because I didn't want to. It was always because I'd learned silence didn't put me in the same complicated situations as when I opened my mouth and accidentally said something I shouldn't.

Dorothy happened to be one such person, and she always enjoyed pushing my buttons.

"Enjoy your life while it lasts," I mumbled to myself, just quietly enough for the couple in front of me not to hear the words.

"What was that?" Dorothy asked deprecatingly.

I put a sweet smile on and blinked innocently. "Nothin'," I said with exaggerated graciousness.

Dorothy scoffed. "You are so freaky. There's somethin' seriously wrong with you." With a tug on his arm, she and William crossed the street to the other sidewalk, and I looked after them for a moment to prolong the effect my evident strangeness had on the only girl I could truly say I hated.

With a sigh, I mounted my bicycle and crossed Mullet Lake, but once I came to the crossroads where I usually turned right to go home, I turned left and headed toward the beach. I had a favorite spot I liked going to—secluded and hard to get to unless you knew the way. I could be alone there and allow myself to think.

Father hadn't liked it when it had been clear I had to attend the public high school in North Biloxi across the lake because his reputation was already hanging on a thread. The gossip about his daughter "the witch" attending a public school with the poor kids was already circulating, and it made him very irate on a daily basis, hence why I always delayed going home until I knew Mom and Charlotte, our cook, were putting dinner on the table.

The less time I spent around Father where he could see me, the better.

I had to leave my bicycle by a tree and walk the rest of the way, but when I finally reached my spot, I saw that I wasn't the only visitor there today. Luckily, it was a visitor I never minded sharing my spot with.

"Hi, Wilson," I said softly to alert the boy of my presence, but he still startled and looked over his shoulder with wide and frightened eyes.

"Christ, Alice, you scared me," he said before once again relaxing and looking out over the water. He'd only looked at me for a second, but I'd still noticed the swelling around his eye and the split lip.

"I'm sorry," I apologized and sat down next to him. "Are you hidin' again?"

A humorless laugh escaped him. "When am I not?"

"Was it Ellis?" I asked and looked at his injuries. "Or someone else?"

Wilson looked at his hands, and a tear fell down his cheek. "Someone else," he replied. "There're always new ones—younger, more aggressive. Soon, I won't dare to leave my house without wonderin' if I'll get a bat to the back of my head."

I grabbed his hand in mine, and my pale skin was a stark contrast to his much darker complexion. "You can't stay in Biloxi, Wilson. Why doesn't your family move up north? It's supposed to be better for you there."

"Supposed to be ain't a guarantee," Wilson disagreed and looked at me with sad eyes. "I stopped believin' in fairy tales many years ago, and the stories of the free man in the north is definitely one of them. And this is home. My family has lived here for generations." He sighed and slowly retracted his hand from my grip. "Better to stay here where a Negro like me knows what I have to expect."

"I hate when you call yourself that," I mumbled.

"Why? It's the truth."

"Because it's a word created by hateful people. Doesn't matter if it's true. The same people call me a witch. Small-minded, judgmental people with shallow lives is what they are," I said and clenched my jaw angrily.

I used to be a very happy person. I could remember feeling excited about the smallest things as a child, but that part of me had long since been repressed. Nowadays, I was more bitter and melancholic than anything.

A smirk grazed Wilson lips. "Well, you are a witch, so they're, once again, not lyin'."

Wilson was the only one who could call me a witch and make me laugh but only because I knew he didn't think I was a freak. He accepted it when I told him about my dreams and visions because his family had always believed in supernatural and higher powers.

He was my only friend in all of Biloxi, and our paths had crossed one day when I'd seen him surrounded by three much larger and older white boys, yelling and threatening him. I'd been so enraged by the sight I'd stepped in-between, my less than five feet barely reaching the instigator's chest, and said I would curse the lot of them unless they left Wilson alone. I was the first white person who'd stood up for him.

I hadn't had a single thought of my father's reputation that day, and he'd made sure I paid for that later on.

In the end, Wilson's tormentors never stopped, but we became very good friends. Sadly, we could only meet in secret, lest word got back to my father.

My spot wasn't visible from the regular beach where Wilson wasn't allowed to go, and when I had showed it to him, his eyes had gotten blank because he could both see and smell the ocean up close.

"I got in trouble with Ms. Howard again," I admitted once our laughter had died out.

"What was it this time?"

"She accused me of cheatin' on my arithmetic test, but I didn't. I studied very hard for it, so when I dreamt of passin' it, I didn't believe it was a vision. I must have subconsciously written out the exact answers, and she failed me." I hugged my legs to my chest and rested my chin on my knees. "I should just give up on school. All my teachers hate me anyway."

"You don't need school. Your father will marry you off soon enough," Wilson said confidently, but the statement made me scoff.

"No, he won't," I disagreed morosely. "He's said it himself. No man wants a witch for a bride. I'll be a spinster, and children will run past my house in fear that I'll curse them if they get too close."

"Sounds to me as if you're the one who needs to get out of Biloxi."

I tilted my head to look at him. "You know, for a few weeks now, I've had this feelin' that there is someone out there waitin' for me." I looked back out over the ocean, and my eyes were slightly drawn to the west. "But at the same time, it ain't a new feelin'. Only as if the time is growin' closer."

"Growin' closer to what?" Wilson's tone was cautious, and I didn't blame him. I sounded crazy even to myself.

I let out a soft laugh to smooth it over. "Who knows," I said, and then stood up. I couldn't stay away from home for too long or Mother would start to worry. "I need to go home."

Wilson nodded. "I'll see you around, Alice."

Cynthia was sitting on the porch steps playing with a doll Father had recently given her when I entered our front yard.

"Hi there, Sunshine," I said, using our nickname for her as Cynthia's smile was in contest with the sun itself.

"Alice!" Cynthia exclaimed happily and jumped up to hug me. Despite her being only eight years old, she was only a few inches shorter than myself, and while I always tried not to let it get to me, it was another one of those things that made me feel abnormal.

Neither Mother nor Father was particularly short, and so when I stopped growing once I reached my short height of 4'10, they had naturally wondered whether something was wrong with me and took me to a doctor.

Nothing at all could be found, and the doctor's conclusion was that there must be someone in the family I had inherited it from, and I was, simply put, a short person. I didn't mind it so much until it became clear Cynthia had inherited her future height from Father, and it was yet another reminder to me how she naturally fit into the family where I did not.

"How's your day been?" I asked and retrieved the discarded doll from the steps. "Did you get into a lot of trouble?"

Cynthia giggled at my joke. "I don't get into trouble, Alice! I'm a good girl."

"You definitely are," I agreed and placed my arm around her shoulders as we walked into the house together. "I haven't missed dinner, have I?"

"No, Lottie's still puttin' it on the table." Cynthia ducked out from under my arm and twirled around. "Look at my new dress. Am I pretty, Alice?"

I cupped her cheeks and smiled. "You're as pretty as a magnolia in May," I said honestly because she really was. There was no denying that Cynthia was the pretty sister, and since she never had to endure Father's cold or harsh side, she blossomed even more every day.

She would never have to worry about not getting married, or hearing whispers behind her back, or worrying about being accepted. She would never have to endure my hardships, and while that struck a sore chord in my ever-growing bitterness, I never took it out on her because it wasn't her fault.

Together, we steered our steps toward the dining room, and as always, when Father looked at me, I kept my eyes down. For the entirety of the meal, I only spoke when spoken to while Cynthia carelessly chattered away.

When I retired to my room for the night, I let out a deep breath and prayed I wouldn't have any dreams.


A/N:

I don't know how many of you caught it, but pull up a map and check what lies south-west of Biloxi … approximately 767 miles ;-)

I hope you like my Wilson because I like him a lot :) He is and will be a huge comfort for Alice many times over and he's her only friend.

What are your thoughts about this chapter? I'd love to know!

And until next time, as always,

Stay Awesome!