Amber takes a sort of "mi casa es su casa" approach to possession. That's why she keeps referring to it as "her body" when it's clearly not.

Saturday, October 18th, 2008

Cobo Hall, Detroit, Michigan

In all honesty, the World Skee-Ball Championships were probably the last place on Earth Amber Chavez wanted to be. Sure, she didn't mind the game, but that wasn't the problem. The problem was all the bright flashing lights, loud music, and crowds such an event attracted. Within five seconds of stepping into the building she was overstimulated and irritated to the point where her eyes were watering. Never in a million years would she choose to spend time in such a place. Hence why it made the perfect hiding spot.

Her meeting with Dean had gone on far longer than she intended – mostly because she had to re-explain everything to him as she had accidentally wiped his memory. She was still kicking herself for that mistake. It showed her exactly what happened when you're trying to manage too many spells at once. If Strange was still alive in this universe, he'd be so disappointed in her.

Regardless, Amber was left in a bit of a pickle. The spell that she had used to obscure her presence and seal the room from any onlookers – including the almighty – only lasted about thirty minutes. She had easily run over that time limit. Her only hope was to cloak herself, possess someone else, and hide out in a crowd for as long as possible. That way, she might be able to throw Him off her scent.

Thus, she tried to lose herself in the crowd, both physically and metaphorically. That wasn't easy, though. Hypervigilance had been instilled in her from an early age. She couldn't stop looking over her shoulder, expecting Him to pop out of nowhere. Add to it the other stressors she was facing, and you got the perfect recipe for an anxiety attack. Maybe even a complete meltdown.

Eventually, she ducked into a room off to the side of the event's main concourse. Although it was still loud and lights were flashing everywhere, there were far fewer people in this room and that alone was enough for Amber to consider it a good place to catch her breath. Pressing a hand to her chest, she breathed in deeply and then slowly let it out. That first breath felt nice, but before she could take another one, a heavy plastic ball slammed right into her chest. She wished the cry of pain she had let out would have been a little more dignified.

The ball fell to the floor, but Amber wasted no time crouching to pick it up. She looked around, trying to figure out what happened. The room she was in had at least two dozen Skee-ball machines set up, ready for anyone who wanted to play a game, so long as they had the necessary seventy-five cents. People were intermittently spaced around these machines, tossing their balls onto the track, hoping to get a high score and a large payout of tickets. Most of these people were families and children, and they were all too enraptured in what they were doing to even take notice that Amber had nearly taken a cannonball to the chest.

Looking up, it was easy for Amber to spot the culprit. It was a little girl – ebony skin, about five to six years old with her hair tied into tiny braids and decorated with multicolored beads. Her dark eyes were round and wide, and her posture was completely stiff with shock. Easily, Amber could tell that this was an accident. With a deep breath, she walked over to the girl and got down to her level.

"Hey kid," she said. "This yours?"

The girl swiftly and jerkily nodded her head, taking the ball when it was offered to her. Amber saw the girl's mouth move but didn't hear exactly what she said. The girl was muttering in the way that all small children do when they think they're in trouble, and the cacophony that surrounded them wasn't helping things. Despite that, Amber felt safe in assuming that it was an apology.

"It's alright," she assured. "Just be a little more careful throwing those balls. Underhand rather than overhand, okay?"

The girl seemed to relax a little bit as she nodded. Before anything else could be said, though, an adult's hand the same shade of black as the girl's swooped down and took the child's hand tightly.

"Sage, get away from that creepy old man."

The girl made no protest as she was pulled away. Amber furrowed her brow but nonetheless got into a standing position and waved at the mother and child's retreating backs.

"Nice meeting you, too!" she called, but they didn't look back. Honestly, Amber couldn't blame them. If she was a mother and saw a homeless man talking to her daughter, she'd probably have the same reaction.

Since the spell she used to possess people was Enochian, she had to follow the same rules as angels did when trying to do so. Namely, the person she was trying to possess had to give their permission first. It was annoying and it made her feel a bit like a telemarketer. Sometimes she had to ring multiple times to get the person to pick up, and once they did, she had to sell them on the idea of being possessed. It was much easier to convince someone who was already desperate to take the deal.

Hence why she ended up possessing "Bud." That wasn't his real name. He had forgotten that. "Bud" was just what she was referring to him as for lack of anything else.

Having already decided to go to Detroit, Amber used the power of the Mystic Arts to seek out someone willing to be possessed. She found Bud in an alleyway a few blocks from the expo center. He was homeless, hadn't eaten in three days, and the only thing he had to drink in that same time was rain water straight from the gutter. So long as Amber was willing to take him to some food, she could do anything she wanted with him.

As a result, after she charmed her way in without paying, she immediately charmed her way into getting free food. Earlier she had gotten a cheesy pretzel and a soda – something Bud seemed to be pleased with – but that hardly counted as a substantial meal. That simply wouldn't do. Amber wanted him to have a full stomach before she left his body, and though rude, the mother's remark was enough to remind her of Bud's circumstances. She needed to find him a proper lunch. She at least owed him that much.

Resolving to find a food court or a hot dog stand, Amber started to turn around, only to almost immediately walk into the person standing directly behind her. Shock registered before any form of politeness could take hold. She recognized Him instantly.

"You," was all she could say before a snap of fingers had her falling to the ground. Unable to brace, she hit the back of her head on the concrete floor. The loud sound of her skull cracking filled her ears. She tried to move her right hand to reach back and assess the damage, but she couldn't. The hand completely refused to budge.

It wasn't just the one hand, though. The entire body remained unresponsive. She couldn't twitch, move a muscle, or even blink. Her chest continued to move up and down with every breath she took, but that process seemed to be automatic rather than anything she could control. Her eyes remained locked on a spot in the center of the ceiling until her vision began to blur and her corneas began to burn from a lack of lubrication.

If her attacker said anything to her, Amber didn't hear it. It was lost to the din of the convention around them. There was only one thing they could have said, though, that would have mattered to her, and even that wasn't hard for her to figure out on her own. She was locked in.

For those who have never heard of it, Locked in Syndrome occurs in humans when the brain stem is damaged, completely paralyzing the person. However, the rest of the brain is undamaged, and the person continues to have full cognitive function and awareness of what is happening around them. What was happening to Amber was sort of the same thing only with some key differences.

With a snap of fingers, Bud had been killed. His spirit had completely left his body, leaving Amber behind. Ordinarily that would hand possession of the body to her outright, but at the same time Bud died, a block was put on her magic. This left Amber unable to control the body and unable to end the possession. Essentially, she was locked in.

A concerned crowd began to gather around her. She felt one person press their fingers to her neck, while another screamed for an ambulance. In her heart, Amber had wanted to cry. A million things ran through her mind – half of which having to do with her plans, a quarter of which were concern for Jack, and the final quarter being desperate pleas for her wife to come save her. Despite all of that, she still found a way to let guilt slip in.

I'm so sorry, Bud, she thought. You didn't deserve any of this.

Locked in Syndrome is a real thing. I first heard about it on House, M.D. when I was thirteen or fourteen and the idea completely horrified me. Most people get terrified watching scary movies, I get terrified watching medical dramas. Such is the nature of my mental illness, I guess.

So, that's it for this story. The next story in the series is going to be "Samhain." I don't know when it's going to be released as I haven't started working for it yet. I have an original short story that I want to finish and another fic that I want to get started on. It might be a while.

Remember kids, possession is nine-tenths of the law.

SPECIAL THANKS TO: chocolatevanilla1, Beth_Mac, Twyla Silverthorne, and the guest who left kudos on AO3!

PLAYLIST: (1) "Anyone" by Demi Lovato, (2) "Going Under" by Evanescence, (3) "Eye of the Tiger" by Survivor, (4) "Unforgiven" by Metallica, (5) "I Think We're Alone Now" by Tiffany, (6) "The Voice" by Celtic Woman, (7) "Be Calm" by Fun., (8) "The Arcade" by Hyper Crush

Originally uploaded on 4/24/25.