Will you always attend my midnight tea parties
As long as I set your place?

Eight: White Rose

She rolled up in the parking lot in her Jeep, claiming a spot nearest to the front. Peering outside the window at the horizon, she frowned at the warm tones cast by the setting sun, hoping for moonlight and sensorially soothing dimness. Throughout the trip here, she'd teetered between flaking or rescheduling. Sam didn't know if she could mask well after what transpired, especially since it involved groundbreaking discoveries that nullified the laws of physics. She had abided by those laws, interpreted her Judaism as mostly metaphorical but still valuable, waded through life as a staunch pragmatist… Until now.

Suddenly she's questioning everything, marveling at the hours wasted studying. For what? A thorough understanding of the world? So much for that.

Worse yet, it calls into question her Voice—the one she only mentioned once in a therapy session, only to retract the claims when she experienced the side effects of anti-psychotics. 'Oops, silly me, I mistook intrusive thoughts for auditory hallucinations, that's all!' But had that really been it?

Her fingers gripped the wheel, knuckles turning white. "Subconscious pattern-spotting," she muttered. "Sharp intuition. Thin-slice judgements. That's all."

Or maybe she had been a pragmatist in denial all along, clinging to a vain hope of semi-normalcy? After all, wasn't she different enough already without even trying? Wouldn't a 'gift' like that only serve to isolate her further, invite more ridicule from the general public? Look everyone, an autistic Savant with schizophrenia! Let's all gawk at her and treat her like a charity case!

She winced, nauseated by her imagination alone. It reminded her so much of her mother's love-bombing, only for it to be withdrawn when Sam deviated from her assigned role.
"Okay," she cautioned herself, leaning back against the seat. "That's enough. Breathe. You're going to trigger a meltdown if you dwell."

She inhaled deeply, counted the seconds in her head, soothed by the grapheme colors. A few rounds later, she opened her eyes and summoned the appropriate character in her head. Samantha, the forensic psychologist primed for an interrogation, except she wouldn't make it that obvious. Collect data on the leads, visit the library if necessary, and leave with nary a trace. Or so that's how she preferred it, but her therapist insisted on her keeping friends. Trying to be a good sport, she'd entertain the notion.
At last she stepped out of the car, embodying this persona that was almost her but not quite. According to her acting coach, even posture had to be minded. Unfortunately, that tended to be the most difficult aspect for Sam, unless she dissociated into a character who could.

And so, that's exactly what she did.

A server led her to the table, where she found Tucker sitting with a bespectacled ginger, a buxom woman with curly black hair falling to her midriff, and a Latina who proudly flaunted her midriff in a pink crop top.

"Hey guys," she greeted, taking a seat next to Tucker.

Tucker brightened immediately. "Sam!"

"Hi. I'm Valerie," she introduced, radiating with a fiery orange, the color of vitality and humor.

"And I'm Paulina," the other girl greeted, enveloped by a hot pink that tempted Sam to recoil.

Tommy introduced himself as well, though he proved mostly soft-spoken at a glance.

"Where are you from?" Valerie asked.

"Chicago."

"Oooo," Paulina simpered. "Why'd you leave?"

Sam shrugged. "Long story short, my parents gave me a place."

"Oh yes." Paulina's eyelashes fluttered, to which Sam blinked once. "You're a Manson. I've heard of your parents' company, but—" She glanced at Valerie, as if hesitating. "You don't look rich? I don't see you wearing any top brands?"

"I'm not interested in looking the part."

"Oh." Paulina looked slightly nonplussed.

Were she not masking, Sam would remark on the value of spirit over material.

"How's the security system working for you?" Tucker asked.

"It's working perfectly," Sam said, which had not been untrue. "Thanks a lot."

Tucker flashed a grin and obligatory, "You're welcome. I actually work for Valerie's dad."

"Oh, that's cool."

"I wanna know more about your house," Paulina chimed in. "Have you seen or heard any ghosts yet?"

"Uh." She deliberated on what information to share if any. "No, I haven't. It's supposed to be haunted?"

"Yes!" Paulina nodded vigorously, surprising Sam with her level of interest. "I saw one."

Her eyebrows rose. "Really?"

Valerie looked askew at Paulina. "Are you sure wanna talk about this?"

"Of course!" Paulina dismissed her concerns with a flippant wave of her hand. "I've partied there before, you see, and… Long story short, a ghost rescued me!"

"Did he?"

"Who said it's a he?" Valerie asked, eyeing her up and down.

Taken aback by the comment, she balked for a few seconds too long. "I don't know, I just assumed its gender. My bad."

"No, you were right!" Paulina nodded, clearly less suspicious than Valerie, who eyed her strangely. "I caught a glimpse of him while I was drunk and nearly passed out."

"Sounds like some party," Sam commented.

"You don't know the half of it," Tommy at last butted in. "Hasn't anyone told you about the legends?"

"No one's elaborated yet."

"Do you know the Guys in White, for starters?" he asked.

"I'm very familiar with fringe conspiracy theories, especially ones concerning aliens." Had she not been recently traumatized by a ghost, Sam would've been bouncing with excitement. Were she unmasked, she would be info-dumping too, but instead she jiggled her foot under the table to release the energy. "But hold on, what's that got to do with the ghosts?"

Tommy pulled a grin. "Plot twist: According to the rumors, aliens are ghosts."

Valerie shrugged before cutting in, "Well, that or they deal with both aliens and ghosts, assuming they even exist, of course."

"So who all believes in ghosts-slash-aliens here?" Sam asked, looking around with her eyebrows slightly raised.

"I do," Paulina replied instantaneously.

Tucker hesitated. "Um… I don't know. I don't wanna discount what Paulina went through but I haven't seen anything myself."

"I'm skeptical," Valerie admitted, earning a dainty little frown from Paulina.

"I believe Paulina," Tommy said, blushing when she threw him a smile.

"Have your security cameras picked up anything?" Valerie asked.

Sam repressed her frustrated scowl. "No."

"Maybe we could install sensors," Valerie mused. "Ultra-sensitive sensors, latest technology. What do you say?"

"I don't see the harm." Although her built-in sensors were far more effective, in her opinion.

"Would a ghost set that off though?" Tucker asked.

Valerie glowered, confusing Sam with the reaction and making her wonder if the two shared a history. "How should I know? I haven't been studying the occult like Paulina has ever since."

Her gaze shifted to he girl in question, secretly enthused by this revelation. "I didn't take you as a spiritual or nerdy type, to be honest."

"That ghost changed my life," Paulina explained, clasping her hands together as if in prayer to her nameless deity.

"What happened exactly?"

Paulina faltered. "I…"

"You don't have to say anything," Valerie gently reminded her.

Sam held her hands up. "Sorry. I didn't know it was a touchy subject."

"No, you're fine!" Paulina swiftly reassured her. "I'll just say… I had only been half-awake, but I saw him exit someone's body."

"Whose?"

Silence took over temporarily, everyone exchanging wary glances.

"His name's Dash Baxter," Paulina murmured. "He said that the ghost possessed him to…"

Sam's eyes widened a fraction of an inch, gathering from context clues exactly where this could be going. Alas, Paulina lapsed into silence once again.

"…I'm sorry that happened," Sam poked the silence after a long, long moment. "I, uh… That feels lame but I don't know what else to say."

"I appreciate it," Paulina said, crossing her arms in a self-soothing gesture. "But don't worry! Nothing happened because of my prince!"

Sam cracked a smile. "Your prince, huh?"

Paulina tossed her hair over shoulder, eliciting a giggle from Sam. "Of course!"

"So how did he save you, exactly?" Sam asked, appearing nonchalant despite the mounting anxiety. Had he assaulted her? Was Dash lying?

Paulina struggled for a moment before answering. "I saw when he entered Dash. I could tell."

"Okay," Sam said, unwilling to ply for the details, despite how her good cop routine bid it. "So you think I'm safe in that house?"

Paulina nodded. "Yes! I do."

"Gotcha. So what's it got to do with the Guys in White?"

"Rumor has it the Fentons were working for them," Tommy explained. "They had an underground lab that blew up."

"Seriously?" Sam asked, eyebrows rising nearly to her widow's peak. "Would that be in the records? The house blowing up?"

"They traced it to a gas leak, apparently," Tucker said. "But everyone knows they were contractors for the government."

"Could be a big whopping nothingburger, y'know," Sam replied. "People love to tell stories."

"Then we should get a psychic!" Paulina suggested. "Like Babazita! She knows all about the local ghosts."

"Uh." Outwardly Sam hesitated, but inwardly she understood the boundary. "My religion wouldn't allow that unless I have a rabbi overseeing it."

"Oh." Paulina deflated. "Sorry."

"S'fine."

"We could still use ghost-hunting equipment," Valerie offered. "I mean, if you want—or if that's allowed."

"It's… kinda frowned upon, but…" She exhaled gently, realizing that exceptions would have to be made, however reluctant she was to defy her faith. "…Yeah. I could try that if you guys wanted?"

"Yes!" Paulina cheered. Sam couldn't help but smile at the enthusiasm, though she wondered if Paulina cared about her at all outside of her house.

"So we're doing this?" Sam glanced around, catching everyone's gaze with inquiry. "You wanna Scooby-Doo gang up on my house?"

Everyone nodded. Sam suspected they had been planning for this all along, but she didn't particularly mind.

"Alright then. So… onto brighter topics, do y'all share any poetry here?"

"Mmm… Tommy does." Tucker chuckled. "Paulina got booed once for being too peppy and never tried again."

Paulina harrumphed; Sam almost laughed again.

"What about you? Do you write any?" Valerie queried.

Sam grimaced. "Used to. Writer's block."

Apparently suicide attempts will do that to you.

"Maybe this place will help! It helped me," Tommy remarked.

"Yeah, maybe," Sam granted for the sake of niceties, but she seriously doubted it.

Through the din of the lounge, Sam heard someone, not through sound but through color. Such phenomena were usually reserved for her family, senses attuned by paranoia. She looked up, sighting a man in an expensive suit approaching the table, middle-aged but very much a 'silver fox' type.

"Valerie, Tucker, it's so good to see you!" he greeted, and Sam laser-focused on his every twitch and nuance.

Black. That's all she could see. Deep, potent, all-encompassing black, only a trace of redness tainting its monochrome. Almost identical to her mother's but a few shades off.

"And who might you be?" Vlad's gaze tracked to her.

"Sam."

"Hey Vlad," Tucker said, apparently familiar and utterly fooled by his charm. "She's living at the White Rose estate."

"Oh, I did hear someone was moving in," he said. "How are you holding up?"

"I'm alive," she replied, sounding displeased.

"Gotten any jump-scares yet?"

She arched an eyebrow. "Just you."

He gave a hearty laugh. "Are you calling me intimidating?"

"You have presence."

Tucker side-eyed her, apparently puzzled by the shift in tone. "We were actually planning for a ghost-hunting excursion at White Rose."

Vlad chuckled. "Sounds fun. What are you going to do? Ouija boards?"

"No," she said simply.

Valerie cleared her throat. "We're using my dad's tech."

"Interesting. Maybe one of you will capture it on video."

Paulina smiled. "I bet he'll do it for me!"

"So how do you know Tuck?" Sam asked.

He grinned brightly. "Oh, I paid for his scholarship."

Greeeaaattt... So Tucker owes a debt. Likely she'd upset him if she tried to warn him away.

"Oh. Nice."

Vlad nodded. "You know, you could also try for a ghost hunt at my mansion. Have you heard about the Dairy King?"

"You've seen a ghost?"

Vlad chuckled. "Well, no. I'm not sure I believe the legends, but I can be a good sport."

"I wouldn't mind tagging along, I guess," Sam replied, reluctantly fascinated by this new realm of possibility. "Anyway, I'm actually not feeling well. Must've been something I ate." She stood up from her seat, hoisting her purse over her shoulder. "Sorry guys, I gotta dip."

In reality, Sam couldn't endure Vlad's aura for a second longer. It overstimulated her; her nerves were on fire.

"It was very nice meeting you, Sam," Vlad said, lips almost twitching into a frown.

Why are you so eager to be around me?

"Hope you feel better!" Paulina said, others echoing in agreement.

"Thanks." Sam waved half-heartedly before making her exit. Halfway through the door, she heard it-that Voice that was not really a voice, a burst of color that spelled out a message: He wants the crown.

What? What crown? Sam froze, then glanced back. Vlad had continued the conversation without her, summoning pleasant smiles from the table.

"Fuck's that mean?" she grumbled, rushing out the door to hopefully delay her meltdown.

Her mind raced as she drove through a winding road, headlights illuminating the pine trees flanking her on each side. Simultaneously she'd been focusing on her breath, staving off the meltdown that creeped up her spine. How to process this? How?

'My parents were working on top secret projects for the government,' Danny had said, just like the rumors about her house. Coincidence? She thought not. If Danny were connected somehow, it would certainly explain why he avoided the question of the rumors. But then, what could be the connection? Had Danny died? If so, could he appear human? How did he become a prince of ghosts?

You have to manipulate, teenage Sam whispered. Don't you see? You've got no choice.

Fuck. She's right. Sam could very well be in danger.

Why not just leave then?

And go back to her? Admit that you can't live on your own and be trapped forever?

No. Quite honestly, she'd rather die.

Growling at her wayward thought-loops, Sam approached a fork in the gravelly road, intending to turn left. Only for a flash of green to swipe across her vision, impelling her to slam on the brakes abruptly and yelp at the effectual jostle.

"Fuck was that?!" She peered over the dashboard, frantically searching for the culprit. Spotting nothing out of the ordinary, Sam tuned in with her ears. Could it be Phantom tailing her? She couldn't hear a heartbeat.

"...Am I simply psychotic?" she wondered aloud.

To answer her question, someone or something slammed into her passenger side with enough force to topple the Jeep. Naturally she screamed, listing until her head hit the window, suspended only by her seatbelt. Sam settled against it, unbuckling only for the unknown force to coil around her neck. She'd scream again if she could, but her windpipes were bound by an unseen, slimy appendage. It lifted her into the air, somehow pulling her straight through the windows. She clutched the tentacles, trying to pry herself free, but it slammed her into the trunk of an evergreen, one if its limbs scratching her arm on impact and spraying blood. She almost managed to peel off the tentacles when the ghost appeared, an amorphous green blob that resembled a squid, but with enough humanoid facial features to glare at her with red eyes. Sam choked; her vision began to fade. Was this finally it? Her arms fell back to her sides, surrendering to death, suddenly elated despite the pain.

Then she heard a howl close by. Someone else stepped into the ring, a wolfish character in tattered green cloth, pouncing on her assailant. Released from its grip, Sam fell several feet to the ground, gasping for air. Once her vision cleared, she looked up to see the anthropomorphic wolf locked in a fierce battle with the squid-like creature. Claws and tentacles clashed, the wolf growling and the squid shrieking, the latter of which stabbed her eardrums. Gripping a branch for support, Sam hoisted herself up to stare dumfounded at the scene unfolding before her.

'You're on suicide watch,' Phantom had said. Should've been homicide watch, apparently.

Within a minute, her rescuer proved victorious. It clawed at the air, which somehow tore a hole through the fabric of reality. A gash opened to reveal a neon-green, watery texture like she had seen in her dreams.

"No," she whispered. Had she accessed the super-conscious somehow?

With the squid tangled in its tentacles, the wolf leapt through the portal with her attacker in its clutches. She glanced back at the Jeep, wondering how she'd make it home. Until suddenly the wolf returned, bounding out from a newly opened portal towards her. Sam yelped, scrambling back on all fours, wondering if it had simply been squabbling for a meal. To her relief, it halted in front of her, nostrils flaring and hot breath puffing over her face.

"Hola," it growled.

Sam stared wordlessly.

"Vamos tu casa."

"My house?" Sam breathed, to which it nodded. "...Okay."

Again it clawed the air. Despite her trembling, she took its proffered paw.