This is Part 1 of my book on Gray Bennet for the August Whodunit contest. This is a third-person backstory of Gray, therefore is set prior to the events of Delilah Black's 65th birthday celebration.

Enjoy!

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From her early childhood, after the death of both her parents, Delilah Black's niece has been haunted by visions of the dead who like to follow her around. They like to tell her things, things she shouldn't have any business knowing, but Gray's learned to stop listening a long time ago. To listen would be to invite terror into her mind.

~*~

Gray Bennet was never one for crowds; she cowered at the very idea of being given attention. Many suppose this is due to her... shall we say, less-than-privileged childhood.

Her parents were simple people. They valued integrity and rectitude far more than wealth or fame. They were proud to be poor, proud to know that what they had, they had earned by means of moral uprightness and honesty, which was more than many rich could say.

(That is not, however, to say that all rich people have earned their keep through unethical means. It is merely to suggest that those seeking wealth or fame are far more likely to resort to desperate means to secure themselves a place in higher social circles than those who are perfectly content to be honest and trustworthy. And, well.. poor.)

Though it is to be said, at least once, that Gray Bennet is no ordinary child, and she was not raised solely in the innocent ideals of her parents. Mr. and Mrs. Bennet had, after all, passed when Gray was but a young girl of about seven, having been enveloped in the fiery blazes of a deadly car accident. For the majority of her life, she had been brought up by Delilah Black, her uncle, and her nanny-of-sorts, Miss Joy Lukas.

Gray had but once seen her uncle prior to the day of her being collected from the busy orphanage she had lived in for hardly a week, and it had been as a small toddler on the ratty couch of her parent's cramped apartment.

Her parents had long withheld any dry remark or gleam of information on the man that her mother once called a sibling. The two had had a falling-out many years back, and the feud had never been resolved. Thus, Gray had no clue as to what she should expect when she met the man who called her his "niece".

Give him a hug, he's family! One voice shouted in her mind.

No, a simple 'thank you' would work. You don't want to seem overeager, do you? Another part of her brain screeched at her.

Ugh. You don't even know him, do you? Why show gratitude when you've seldom met the man? A third voice joined in on the madness.

Gray went with the third option. Muttering a soft 'hello' and casting down her eyes, she greeted the only family she had left.

Good choice. The voice sounded smug.

Gray's uncle, in turn, greeted her with a nod and a harsh, "Grab your things. The car is out front." She did as he said.

The two had then set off to the mysterious man's "house" in a sleek, gray car. Little did she know, her future home was not a "house" but a Victoria-era manor, set against the quiet fields of a large estate. The Black Estate.

And little did she know that the voices fighting in her head were not simply a figment of her wild imagination.

Though he did amuse himself with the companionship that is provided when taking in a young ward, Delilah Black adopted his stranger-of-a-niece for a purely selfish need: survival.

Mr. Black was the founder and owner of a business that was... how should we call it... not entirely legal. He knew of many a man who would not hesitate to claim his abundant fortunes if he were to be, say, found dead in the night, or caught in a "fiery car accident", as Gray's parents were.

Thus, he required an heir. And an heir he had! When word of Gray's parents' unfortunate passings reached the Black Estate, Delilah did not hesitate to pluck Gray from her abounding misery and bring her to his manor to be trained as an heir to his throne of lies and deceit!

But alas, she was not so perfect as he had hoped. For she bore a grave secret, one that was less a secret and more the topic that no one dared to bring up for fear of paranormal retribution or something along those lines. And so Gray took to wandering the grounds of the manor, attempting to clear her mind, for at least a moment, of the disturbing images, thoughts, ideas, and memories that collided and intermingled with her own sanity.

Though Mr. Black came to be a great father-figure in Gray's life, he never truly treated her as a daughter. They didn't watch movies or go on walks together. Instead, he told her about his life and taught her business lessons. He was noticeably distant towards her, yet she still kept him in the highest esteem in her thoughts. He had saved her from a lonely fate in the orphanage, after all. Gray's main parental authority was Miss Joy, who taught her her lessons and comforted her when the voices started up.

But Gray always wished for another companion, one who was her own age and who didn't treat her (though lovingly) as a helpless child. She wanted an equal.

And so, when Gray was nine, Mr. Black brought another young girl to the manor. Her name was Tracy, and she and Gray became immediate friends. Tracy was originally very quiet, but with a little nudging from Gray, Tracy became wild. She felt the need to explore every bit of the estate with Gray's hand clasped firmly in her own, Tracy practically dragging the poor girl along. Tracy was not afraid to get dirty, running around the grounds, tripping and rolling as she went. And Gray loved it.

But Mr. Black did not allow Miss Joy to teach them both, and so Tracy was forced to be taught by the servants in the basement. Gray longed for her friend, but she knew better than to argue with her uncle.

And, also when she was nine, though a little before she met Tracy, Gray was sent off to a summer camp so that her uncle could take care of "special business". She knew exactly what kind of business that was, she didn't need the ghosts for that...

When she arrived at the camp, she was warned by all whom she met to stay far away from Murray Zain, for he was "weird". Well, she thought, no one can be weirder than me.

Too true. A voice cackled in her head.

She was about to get up from her table to sit next to him, but her vision shifted, coming from where she knew Murray had been sitting. He looked eagerly into the eyes of another child in the room, lifted his finger, and began counting. His eyes.

"One... two... Two? Two!" He squealed with delight. Did that surprise him, that there were two eyes on a child? Gray wondered. Why did he count if he always got the same answer?

He supposes that the only true way to know the number is to count. So he counts.

Gray's vision was once again her own, and she slid into the seat across from Murray. "Why do you count eyes? There's always two."

He blinked at Gray, confusion etched across his face. "I like to make sure." Why does he lie? Gray questioned. Perhaps he's just scared of my reaction...

So they talked. They talked about their lives and families and ghosts and numbers. Gray talked more about herself to him than she ever had to anyone before. Murray Zain was her very first friend, and he taught her to embrace her gift, to explore it, even if it frightened her at times. She brought him to the Black Estate to visit sometimes. He loved it there, he said that there were so many things to count, so many numbers to discover.

Other guests came and went to the manor, some staying longer than others. Gray hardly paid attention to any of them. She could hardly pay any attention to them, for with strangers came secrets and wicked thoughts and memories and pain. Whenever guests came to the manor, Gray took to wandering the gardens in solitude, laying in her bed alone, and exploring the already-explored-hundreds-of-times abandoned west wing of the manor in peace. Though, when others came to her looking for company, she didn't dare to say 'no'. She did, after all, like people. She just didn't like their minds.

On the outside, Gray Bennet was a quiet, shy teen who bore the weight of the entire Black empire on her shoulders, but on the inside, she was empty. Utterly and completely empty. After years and years of maintaining her composure in the midst of her uncle's rude guests and snobby business associates, of masquerading as a petty socialite girl, she had snapped. She could hardly tell who she was anymore, because the voices overpowered everything.

The voices often crossed her own mind's boundaries, allowing her to see into the hearts of others' wickedness. She could gaze through others' eyes and see their actions. She could see into their thoughts, their behaviors. Their souls. But soon Gray could hardly tell which memories were hers and which were others'. She could not control it, she could never control it. The voices controlled everything, for she was only a vessel in their plots, a pawn in their game...