Lie to me,
Convince me that I've been sick forever,
And all of this will make sense when I
Get better

-- Evanescence

After all is said and done, everything signed, the Mediator stands, straightening his tie.

"Well, that's that," he says, gathering his things. "You may start your Attendance, Miss Clarke. Be aware, though, that I will have to report your little display here."

I don't look at him, picking at the edge of the table.

"My Lord," he says to Oberon before exiting, who gives a regal nod in return.

Please... you're in a damn wheelchair.

When the Mediator is gone, silence fills the room. I feel his eyes on me.

"Are you still drunk?" he asks after a beat, and I hear his smile in his words.

"No."

"Good. I want to start right away. I will give you the rest of today to gather your things."

I nod.

"Are you even curious about where we are going or what we will be doing?"

"Not at all," I drone. "I'm here to help you. That's it."

"Hmm, helping me may be a little more trouble than you are expecting."

I finally look up at him. "Any trouble is fine by me."

He tilts his head at me, an amused look on his face. "Well, alright then."

"Do I need to take you anywhere before I go get my stuff?"

"No, I have someone coming by."

"Good, because I don't have a car right now."

He sighs, but simply says, "I've got another meeting today before we leave. You have to be quick, car or not... if only you humans could open portals."

Ignoring that puzzling last bit, I rise to my feet. "I'll go now, then."

Before I am around the curtain, he says, "Try to cheer up, Sasha. Who knows? You may grow to be as fond of me as you were Miss Star."

I clench the fabric in my hand and force myself to bite my tongue, then wrench it open and leave.

I need to get my things, but there is something else I need to do before I go.

I have to say good bye to Vik.

An Attendant never knows if and when they will return, and I couldn't bear dying without seeing him one more time.

I take the bus back to my apartment. I look at all the passengers, the people who live their lives day to day not knowing anything about what is actually going on in the world-- how their days of freedom are coming to an end.

I watch two kids playing, a brother and sister, laughing and looking out their window, their mother scolding them everytime they stand up on their seat to get a better view. They don't know that one day they will be enslaved by Demons. None of them do.

Where are these Gods that I have heard about? What are they doing to help humanity? Or do they even care? Maybe the Gods are just an even greater company, sitting on the sidelines, letting whatever happens happen. Nice and neutral.

I turn my gaze from the children out my window, watching houses and trees and stores pass by in a blur, all melding together senselessly.

What is it all for?

My lids grow heavy, the puttering of the bus like the cradling arms of a nurturing mother I never once experienced. My head lolls against my window, the cool glass soothing against my temple...

⛥⛥⛥⛥

I'm in my mother's apartment.

Our apartment.

It's a disgusting little place, with no light, the curtains always drawn, and the sickeningly sweet smell of fermented beer and stale alcohol permeate the air.

Mom's on the couch, passed out. She's always passed out when she's home.

Rumor sits at the kitchen table with me, her chin in her hand. This is strange, because Rumor never once was at our apartment. She smiles sadly at my mom laying on the couch, then looks to me, blue eyes glittering.

"Don't you think you should run? You know he's coming."

"What does it matter?" I reply, stirring my cereal around and around.

She shrugs. "It's your funeral."

I hear him wake from his stupor, that wheezing cough he always had, the thunderous steps, coming out of the bedroom. He's holding a bottle of whisky, and his face is scruffy and flushed red from drink. He's got no shirt on, exposing his barrel chest, and his belt has already been undone. My mom's boyfriend... or whatever he is.

His glassy eyes look over to my mom on the couch, making sure she's really passed out, and then he stalks towards me.

"You should run, Sasha," Rumor says again, but when I look back to her, she is gone from the table, nowhere to be found.

His hand clamps down on my arm, and he leans down, whispering in my ear with his whisky breath, " Your mom's asleep. Let's have some fun..."

⛥⛥⛥⛥

My eyes burst open as I am awakened by my own shrill screaming, and when the fog of sleep clears, I realize that the whole bus is looking at me in confused fear.

I pant, feeling the sweat and tears fall down my face as I look around. My gaze snags on the image of the two children, owl-eyed and huddling against their mother for protection from the lunatic howling on the bus.

I get up out of my seat staggeringly, careful not too look at anyone, and when the bus driver tries to stop me from leaving, I bat his arm away, unable to bear being touched. "Let me out, please," I choke out.

He complies, letting me off, at a nearby stop.

"What a psycho..." I hear someone whisper as I exit the bus. I avoid all the stares that observe me as the bus drives away, focusing on fightig the panic attack.

I wipe at my face, pulling the wet strands of hair away form my eyes. My heartbeat is like separate punches battering my chest over and over, and my breathing is shallow and pitchy.

I hate when this happens. I hate when I lose control like this.

It wasn't even that bad. He didn't beat you, he didn't kill you. He even bought you presents, remember? The doll you always wished mom would get you?

Except it did hurt. Worse than any beating. And all the presents in the world can't make up for what he stole from you... you're all broken up inside because of him, a voice that sounds like Rumor's whispers from the dark corner of my mind.

I shake my head, trying to stop thinking about it. I must be losing it.

Repression. Don't think or feel. Be a tool.

I wish I had a drink to numb me, but I settle for the next best thing.

"Mary had-had a l-little l-lamb," I sing in a whisper, leaning against a telephone pole. A couple strolling by give me a weary look and pick up their pace as they pass by.

Is singing a nursery rhyme at this moment completely stupid? Oh yeah. But since I was young, it's the only thing that calms me down during these erratic moments, as ridiculous as that is.

While leaning against the pole, singing my nursery rhyme through huge swallows of air, a hand comes down on my arm.

Let's have some fun

I whirl around, bringing an elbow into the side of Terry's head.

He gasps and falls to the ground.

"Whoa!" I exclaim, completely thrown off. "Terry?"

He looks up at me from where he's strewn over the curb of the road. "This is gonna be the norm for us, pretty soon."

"What are you doing here?" I demand, because it's implausible that Terry of all people would end up on some undetermined street that I have chosen to have a mental breakdown on.

He gets up, dusting off his jeans, avoiding eye contact. A splash of red coats his neck and ears as he speaks. "I, uh... was following you."

"You what?"

"I wanted to see where you train... I wanted to see what it is you do, because I want to do it too."

Any sense of panic has been banished by the flooding of anger filling me. "Terry..." I speak slowly so that maybe he'll understand this time, "go back to the suburbs and stay out of my business. If I ever catch you following me again--"

"I have a car," he interrupts me, hooking a thumb towards a blue Prius. Of course he owns a Prius.

I look at him, completely exasperated. "So?"

"So I'll give you a lift." He nods his chin for me to follow him and starts towards the car.

"Did you not hear me?"

"You need to hurry, right? And I need you to owe me a favor. I just want one lesson in return. Please, I need to know how to defend myself."

I start following after him, but only out of curiosity that I really can't afford to be having right now. "What are you so afraid of? Why must you protect yourself?"

He moves around to the driver's side, waiting for me to get in first. I sigh and hop in. I need to get home, but I won't be returning the favor. My favor to him will be staying away from him.

Starting the car, he begins. "I got involved in some shady business."

"Drugs?" I ask.

"Kind of..."

I look at him, raising my brows.

He looks away, and I see that he has some reservations about telling me everything. "You've come this far. Trust me, whatever you tell me, I'm in no position to judge."

He swallows, keeping a steady eye on the road. "I was... transporting... blood."

An eery feeling shivers down my spine. "Blood?" I press.

"Yes... blood for Demons. To... drink."

I grip the edge of my seat, but try to appear nonplussed. "And why would you do a thing like that?"

"It paid well."

I let out a loud sigh. It's always about money.

"B-but I swear! I stopped when I saw it!"

"Saw what?"

His forehead has begun to perspire, beads of sweat gathering. "Their... warehouse full of people. Their... stock."

I turn fully in my seat to give him a horrified stare. "What do you mean 'their stock'?"

He turns his amber stare to me, looking grave and ashamed. " The Demons are harvesting humans."

I squeeze the edge of my seat harder.

I don't know what compels me. I know I shouldn't get involved. But still, I hear myself utter the words.

"Show me."