Fixed and Consequent

[Desdenova]

Journal Entry 9, Eighteen Four

My birthday is October 31, like dad. Jackie was born on Valentines. Alice was born on Easter, which is why they named her Alice after all. Jackie was already named for dad, part of mine is for mom, Alice got the other piece of it.

I?ve accused them of planning so we were born on days they wouldn?t forget, because Mom can (and has) forgotten her own birthday. They both kind of stare at you if you ask when their anniversary is. June or July second, I?m not sure, they?ve celebrated both days, sometimes in the same year. And on September 13, which is Mom?s birthday.

We were all a little premature, Alice the least of all, so obviously (well, I said) they should have more till they start getting them over term. Mom actually looked a little thoughtful at that, I mean, it?s logical, and no matter how bizarre something is, if you have at least some logic to it, she?ll think it over.

Dad just upsided me and told me to nag Jackie to get married and have babies. Jackie, however, twisted her napkin up to tie it into a noose and held it up where I could see it, but Mom and Dad couldn?t, and I?m not stupid. Anyhow, we?re not supposed to talk about killing each other at the dinner table.

It?s so rare that I will be a year older after a year has gone by. We always celebrate my birthday, but it?s almost like being dead. You?re older, but you?ve not aged any.

I remember being depressed for a long time, I convinced myself that I?d died a long while ago, and like a lot of ghosts, just didn?t remember how or why or when. After all, they?re always the same unless they?re mad.

It was after a long series of illnesses. They couldn?t get me stable, I was in the hospital so long, I almost didn?t remember being home. Something happened, I don?t really know what, but I know they explained it to me.

They always explain what?s going on in Pediatrics, which is good on one hand and terrifying on the other. Knowing what?s going on and then knowing that you know almost as much as they do, that?s not really comforting.

I know I went code blue, and I know they rushed me into the operating room, but they didn?t put me under. I remember the surgeon saying ?I can?t do this?. Another one came in, but it was Dad. Dad?s eyes are vivid green, you can?t mistake them, and I?ve never seen him like that. Grim, like he was ready to gun down the entire East Coast mafia come hell or high water with nothing but his Colts.

He talked the whole time, mainly giving the first surgeon hell. I guess he deserved it, but when you think about it, someone who?s been a mortician for as long as Dad has is going to have steadier hands than anyone. Dad was going to be a surgeon, long ago, and after an accident, dropped out of medical school.

But, that was then. He?s been a lot of things, and I guess Mom convinced him to go back. There?s a photo in one of the oldest albums of Mom, she looks like an angel, and on the back, she wrote ?you?re good, baby, the best, don?t waste it.?

That would have done it, Dad hates to see skills wasted. It?s just funny hearing or seeing Mom call him baby, or worse, doll baby. He just grins and gets a little red.

I think, looking back on that operation, they were trying to drain fluid off of my brain, but it hadn?t just collected in the outer membranes. I don?t remember having meningitis, but they had me drugged pretty heavily. I remember saying I didn?t want a drain, because I?d seen a lot of kids with the drains, and they said that sometimes, they can cause stroke.

Dad told me not to worry about it, he wasn?t leaving till it was done right. I wasn?t scared, because he wouldn?t leave till it was done right. I told him I was seeing my aura, but it was different, it was all white and shining, like I was standing in the big lime lights at my Aunts theater. He told me to talk about her, and I think I did, a little while, at least. I could hear her play, so beautiful, but when I hummed the tune to her later, she was quiet and then said that she couldn?t play that here.

It was all so pretty and comfortable, I just watched it all. The light moved, like Aurora Borealis, just white. I know it must have been some crisis, but I don?t remember people moving around and being agitated, like I?d think they?d be. Maybe I just didn?t hear it or feel it.

That?s all I remember of it. I remember opening my eyes again, and it was so much like the ghosts describe about pulling off the veil... But I heard Mom, she cried out, and I?d never heard her do that before. She couldn?t pick me up though, which is what I wanted. I didn?t realize at the time I was literally tied up in IVs and oxygen and moniters. All she could do was reach through them to me, and that scared me.

It was like when the best Dad could do was make someone look good in a coffin, but if you lifted the body, well, it was bad. He?d have to make it so the family could only reach in and touch. I think that made him a little sad, or maybe mad that he couldn?t make it perfect. It didn?t happen often, but it did a few times.

I know sometimes he?d lie, they?d forge the documents, make it look like wow, they found all of your loved one after all; or that he?d sculpted a deathmask in latex.

I got better, obviously, and finally went home, but a few years later, I convinced myself I was really dead and they were playing along with me that I wasn?t. I couldn?t go to school, or anywhere, and I wanted to. I couldn?t leave the cemetary, just like a lot of ghosts.

Dad found me crying my eyes out, watching the kids go running past the cemetary. I suppose I was scaring the hell out of them, and normally, I?d think that was funny, but I was jealous that they were all ...Normal.

Normal, normal isn?t, I grew up with that, but I wanted it. I still do. It embarrasses me and sometimes, I?m ashamed of it, but it is there. Anyhow, Dad found me, and I finally told him I knew I was dead and I wish they?d stop pretending.

I know now how much that had to hurt Dad. He?d said he wasn?t going to leave until it was done right, and I didn?t believe it after the fact. I know they wouldn?t lie to me, but things happen.

But Dad just smiled, and said he understood. He took out one of his scalpels and poked my finger to show the blood, then reminded me that even the undead don?t bleed. Unless you cut them right, and that made me laugh.

He said he always wanted to be normal, too. Just one of the other kids. It was hard, his mother died when he was really little, she took a big part of his father with her, and his aunt did most of his upbringing, and she was psychotic.

Just things that happen. It?s no ones fault, but it was there. It shaped how he was and is. He took me to the rose garden by the house to sit a long time. He said that was where he could hear his mom and dad the best, though they had long gone on. They didn?t leave their ghosts behind.

It was scary enough to hear his mom had died so young, but then that she didn?t leave a ghost, but he explained that she believed in heaven and all that, and that it didn?t matter if she left her ghost or not, your loved ones never really leave you. That?s why she took so much of his dad when she left.

He told me to listen, in my heart, because they were there and loved me even though I?d never known them, and only ever saw their photos. I could see he heard them the moment we walked into the garden, and after a while, I could, too.

I don?t remember what I was trying to say, I?ll try again when I can do it without getting so upset.

[Desdenova]

Journal Entry 10, Eighteen Four

My birthday. Eighteen, finally. I don?t really know how long it?s been, I suppose I can count back to when I was born, but I don?t want to. Anyhow, Jackie?s fifteen years older than me and will break my neck if I make her older than she wants to be.

We always have a big party on Halloween, because even the weakest of ghosts can touch the world of the living easily in that time. It?s always loud and raucous, and somewhere along the line, Uncle Bill?s got his head off and goes bowling for ducks on the pond.

Sometimes he nails the swans, they get madder than hell, and they know just who to chase around. Once Mom?s dog stole his head and it took us weeks to find where she?d buried it.

Mom always reminds Uncle Bill he?s going to have a lot more reality but he never listens and is tanked by eight pm, it?s never later than nine before he?s pulled off his head to go march down to the reflecting pool. He never listened when he was alive, either, which is why he can pull his head off.

I don?t know what he?s got against the ducks, though, it was him not making sure the paper mills cutter was disconnected before sticking his head in there to move an obstruction that got his head cut off. It?s not like he was pecked to death by ducks.

I took Anna along with me, she dances well and though she didn?t know the story, was happy to portray Christine to my Eric. I think Dad was a little disappointed that I had a ghost for a date, I guess it?s kind of like dating someone you work with. I suppose I could have gotten Fern to come with me, but somewhere along the line, you have to listen to her go on and on about the joys of macrobiotic green living, and it?s easier to keep from smacking her one at work.

Fern might even be pretty if she ate real food and didn?t look like a bag of bones with a shock of green hair on top. I thought dyrads were supposed to be curvier than that, but then again, her stupid tree probably eats better than she does.

There?s not usually a lot of living people at those parties, though Mom always lets crashers in because she?s got what Dad calls a ?cute little sadistic streak?. Midnight it?s literally a scream when the masks (and sometimes faces) come off.

The day of the dead is always quieter, that?s when we can talk to the ancestors who didn?t stay behind as ghosts easiest. They?re always there, but it?s easier. Sometimes, you can see them, but it seems to depend on how well you know them.

I started being able to see Dads parents a while ago, as well as recognize their feel, but Dad?s right, it?s always easiest in the rose garden. I think that, because of their beliefs and religion and all, that was the only true earthly touch outside of us that they left.

Sometimes Dads aunt, the one that raised him, will be there, and it gets tense. I suppose they had things between them that just won?t ever be resolved, though they understand each other well enough now.

It?s never done, there?s always another chance, to make peace. Mom says that, but I know a lot of times she?d like to wring Aunties neck, too. Well, metaphorically speaking. Auntie doesn?t ever manifest enough for a good neck wringing, and Dad never forces more out of her. I guess that?s the understanding they have.

I?ve been lucky, I?ve seen so many people pass on, but never anyone in my family. Though I know they?d be right there, it?s never really the same. Ghosts exist by different rules, after all, and even more different if they?ve gone on to a specific belief.

I started to realize that it was really hard for most people to be able to look past the grave. It?s always an ending, but it?s a beginning, too. I guess it?s easy for me to believe like I do, I?ve had people get mad at me because I say it.

I think that they?re not done grieving, and what I?m saying is taking that away. But it doesn?t make sense, either, because what they want the most is to have a connection to their loved one, though I guess what they really want is their loved one back. I guess that?s not so hard to understand at all.

I would want them back too, I think. The soul is a powerful thing, but your moms hug, real and warm; you don?t have to be of a spiritual mindset to be able to feel it.

I know sometimes, I?m sad I didn?t get to know a lot of people before they were dead. Sometimes I?m sad when I go back to the cemetary and the children I played with when I was little are still children. Will always be children.

A lot were just waiting for their moms and dads, but a lot, they don?t know where their parents are, but they?ve made what they need from those that are there. Which is good, because most of them are from the Spanish Influenza epidemics of 1914 and 1917, their parents must be long passed on.

They?re happy, though. So I can?t really be sad for them. Maybe they?ll never grow up and try to make their dreams happen, but the dreams can?t die because they already did. It?s always on their horizon, it?s never gone away and impossible.

The only dreams that really died are the ones that their families had for them. I?ve seen how hard that is on them, and I wonder if the deaths of those dreams hurt as much as the loss of the child.

When Amber passed on, I remember one of the other parents in the ward suddenly marched out, and she blocked open every door she passed, every one, even though it was after one in the morning. She walked back in and pulled open the doors to Ambers room and spread her arms and announced, ?You can go wherever you want to now, Amber, all the doors are open?.

All Amber wanted was to walk out of the hospital on her own, she walked in that way, and it seemed only fair that she leave that way. Her body couldn?t, but with all the doors open, she could.

She was so brave. It hurt she didn?t make it. Every time I see sunflowers, I see her again. She didn?t leave a ghost behind, but I didn?t think she would, she wanted to be an angel if she couldn?t be alive. Angels can have sunflowers and denim and big floppy hats. Well, they do now.

I wonder who she got to be an angel for. I think I?ll ask next year. I have to quit writing things that make me cry, the ink?s getting splotched. If I read it again, I wonder if I will again. Maybe I should get a computer.

[Desdenova]

(Musical Interlude: Now)


A dulcimer. Psaltry of fine wood and fine craftsmanship, elegant in its simplicity. Sweet tones skipped from the deft touch of plectrum, humming melody like the hoofbeats of fairy horses, rhythmn powerful as the inswept tide.

His voice, deep, rich, familiar over lyrics he knew as well as if he had written them. He hadn't. You didn't need to write the song already written, didn't need to write the song that already spoke your heart.

"All I see is your face, all I hear is your voice. I'm looking every where when you're not here. You're a dream a part of me, thoughts in my heart, in my arms you'll always be..."

"I see you stand before me, a smile for all that you are, ready to accept each and every new day. You're a dream, a part of me, thought in my heart, in my arms you'll always be..."

"Only a fool could deny you, your heart so brave and true, it's you I really love, and I'll try to prove With each and every new day, more and more, it grows that way, it's you I really love and I'll try to prove..."

"All I see is your face, all I hear is your voice..."

It always came to coda. And then it would end.

The dulcimer, slid from his thigh, the plectrum dropped. Dark gaze so somber through the tears.


("You'll Always Be" c. 1994 Park Place Productions)

[Desdenova]

Journal Entry 11, Eighteen Four

I dropped my dulcimer sometime after that. I could have screamed. I?ve had it all these years, and I?ve never so much as broken a string, but I dropped it while I was clearing out the parlor. I was mad enough to blame a ghost, and felt like a moron when Jackie popped in to visit and said ?but Punkin, there?s no ghosts in here.?

Punkin, Jackie always calls me that, but it?s not ?pumpkin? like most people think, it?s Punk-kin. Shorter than ?my brother the punk?. Jackie?s convinced I?m going to starve to death if I don?t set myself on fire, living by myself; she always brings groceries and goes over the house to point out all the death traps and she?s going to send over a work crew and bla bla bla.

Whatever happened in this house must have been good, even when Jackie ignores my complaining and goes to hire a crew, they won?t come. I?ve asked the ghosts in the cemetary, but all they know is that the last caretakers were card carrying lunitics, and left in the middle of the night ages ago.

They said there had been an investigation by the local constabulary, but no one knew about what or for why. Just that after a while, even people coming to look at the house for a thrill stopped coming by. Jackie shook down the lawyer that gave me the cemetary, but he didn?t know what went on, either, he?s just a shark that takes over accounts from older lawyers as they retire or die and tries to dump the ones that don?t make him money.

She did find out he was blackmailing a duchess or something, she left that with me in case I need money for some emergency. Jackie?s worse than Mom and Dad for spoiling me, honestly.

The work crews can?t say, either, just that ?It?s a bad place and ill omened?, probably in some incomprehensibly rustic accent. Which means they don?t know, either, and are mindlessly keeping alive some boogie story their elder siblings were telling and never finished because their Moms smacked them for being morbid.

Anyhow, Jackie took the dulcimer to be repaired. It?s actually nice when she?s here to visit. She?ll go out and then she?ll wake me up when she gets back, just like she used to when we were all living at home.

Sometimes, she?d come home drunk and barfing, and I?d help her. It scared me the first few times. I know we weren?t hiding anything from Mom and Dad, because sometimes, I could hear Mom snickering. Jackie learned real fast that if she drank too much, all she?d get was me and I?d always demand hush money.

Other times, she?d be upset with her date, and she?d drag me into the kitchen because I would just fall back asleep if she didn?t feed me. Chocolate, usually. Chocolate seems to calm a lot of people down, though you?d think it?d be the other way around.

She?d tell me all about it, but I still don?t understand it all. Or at all, really. She liked this guy, no ?liked? and I guess there?s a difference, but only in the stress she put in the word; but then he didn?t like like her and like liked someone else and...

I wondered if guys talk to their sisters like that, and if their sisters understand it. All I could ever say was Mom and Dad like each other, and they don?t have such huge fusses. Anyhow, they?re not that fond of chocolate.

One time I said that, and Jackie jumped up and yelled ?you?re right! You?re absolutely right! Mom and Dad love each other and they don?t go around making each other crazy!?

Which was kind of ?ew? to me, because ew. I mean, I know they neck and have sex and all that, after all, there?s three of us, but ew. Then again, they?ll give Alice and I twenty each to get lost when they want to be alone. So will Jackie. It?s always good money when Jackie?s got a boyfriend.

And it?s a moot point, too, because any reputable psychiatrist would commit Mom and Dad in a flash.

Anyhow, this was a huge revelation to Jackie, but it was just what is. Though I wonder what they were like when they were courting. I know Dad had a contract to kill Mom, but something happened. It must have been good, too, he?d been taking hits for a long time before he met Mom.

It was strange, because Mom was afraid of dead things then, which was kind of wierd, all things considered. She got over it, obviously.

Maybe it was just that they weren?t making each other crazy.

[Desdenova]

Journal Entry 12, Eighteen Four

Love?s a big deal around here. Who loves who and how. Which is really strange when you see someone that should be strong and honorable and dignified acting like a moron. The men that start acting like spurned little girls when a woman doesn?t fall for them in a few days, you can almost lay odds on when they?re going to turn up with a gay lover.

The ladies never do that, or hardly ever, they just assure the newly gay man that he looks fabulous covered in glitter and ribbons. Again, I think it may be proxy revenge.

Then there?s the ones where love is more final a death than death. You can always tell when they finally got the object of their affections to have sex, they vanish for weeks and months at a time, except for the ones that pop up after a week or so knowing they?re already pregnant.

That amazes me. Not just that they can know after apparantly a few hours that they?re pregnant, but that they haven?t even lived a month with their beloved, haven?t even dated them that long, in many cases, and yet they?re going to get married, so naturally, they have to have a baby.

You could get rich designing maternity wedding gowns around here except, as at home, announcing the premarital pregnancy heralds the vanishing of the would-be groom. This plays over and over and over again, and none of them ever learn from even their own mistakes.

Anyhow, I had to tease Cam about her would be beaus, too. She?s so strong, she?s usually sensible, and yet she was attracting the biggest Bozos I?ve ever seen in my life. At one point, it was all drows, and I would snicker and whisper ?Drowgraine? to her and she?d hit me, but she?d laugh, too.

Some of them made me mad, because instead of being the strong people that had been attractive, if she wasn?t swooning in love within a week, they turned into the biggest sissy whiners in creation. I thought Zane attracted losers. Well, no, I guess they?re about even for that.

It?s stupid, too, because Zane and Cam certainly aren?t loser bait. I could understand it if they were the usual ?I?m a total sex goddess? idiot running around here, with their boobs and butts hanging out like someone stuffed a lily white hog into a bottle of Coca Cola.

I couldn?t even respond to one girl like that. She was wearing a skirt that didn?t have enough material to make a handkerchief, and it was still slit, fishnet stockings and six inch heels, a bustier that made her look like she had a butt on her chest, introduced herself as a goddess of lust seeking new worshippers, and she looked me straight in the eye and said ?I?m not a slut?.

Am I missing something?

I mean, it?s not as if that choice of clothing can possibly be comfortable, and it?s certainly not attractive. I realize that you should not judge people on their clothing, and if someone wants to make themselves look as disgusting as possible, that is their perogative, but it?s kind of hard to think that someone claiming to be a goddess of lust, looking for new worshippers, and who dresses like that isn?t possessed of somewhat loose morals.

I mean, if I was a god of lust, I?d just wear what I normally wear because if you?re a god, you shouldn?t have to be uncomfortable. People would still worship you as a god of lust because that?s what you?re a god of and you could schlep around in sweats and bunny slippers if you wanted.

Anyhow, Cam and Zane aren?t like that at all. I?ve gotten mad at a few of their beaus, but I try not to say anything.

Love just never seems to be what I think it should be here. Never. I guess it?s not what I think it is anywhere, but I don?t think I should change my mind. I have things I want to do before I even think about that, since love is a lot more than I ever thought it should be.

I?m getting ahead of myself, I do that a lot, I guess it?s just what I?m thinking, what?s happened, when I do sit down to work on this. I?m trying to be chronological, but it?s not really happening exactly that way. I guess that?s kind of interesting, shows how my thoughts go.

[Desdenova]

Journal Entry 13, Eighteen Four

I've left stuff out, which if I did all the entries in a computer, I could just edit, and all that as I realize I'd forgotten things. But I always did remember where I edited when I used one for school, and I like using a pen and ink more.

I forgot all about that till now, looking at my inks and pens and all. The glass pens. I met a really nice woman, Chinese, she had a small curio shop. She was doing her accounts, and she had one. They?re wonderful to write with, but they?re not very good for the fine lines I need for drawing the charts up.

I don?t really advertise that I do the charts. It can be unnerving, I?m good at them. Sometimes, what I see in them is disturbing. People will take things like that and forget it?s a guide and the stars are ever changing, and turn them into hard and fast road maps. Which is almost like killing them.

On the other hand, it?s a lot of money for not a lot of work, other than drawing the figures, but I like that. I always get ink on my cuffs, though. So, I don?t read all that I see when I give them the charts. Just enough to get them started. If they want to read them more completely, well, someone else can.

My first customer, as it were, she scares me. I?m afraid she?s going to crack and take a pot shot at me. She?s a well known and respected astrologist and psychic. As it turns out, what she?s really good at is exploiting the work of those who are astrologists and psychics.

Which doesn?t matter to me. Once a week, one hundred dollars for one general chart and one specific, that?s a breeze. Which was a life saver, because I had to buy a generator for the house so I could repair the carbide gas plant and the light fixtures.

That was kind of nasty, cleaning out the pit. There were some bones down there, some smashed from the calcium carbide block. No one knew who they belonged to, so I took them to the little town west of here. They didn?t know either, and I even told them I had taken over the cemetary.

The constable called in a detective, and I showed them where I found the bones, but all they could figure was that however long ago, the cemetary had a live in and sloppy mortician. So, the detective had DNA samples and all that done, but being as they were half petrified with the calcium, it was inconclusive. They just gave me back the remains and I buried them in a nice box out by the fountain. I just marked it ?July? because that?s when I found it.

I put in a propane tank too, and now that it?s winter, I?m glad I did. I?ve only got one fireplace working, and the furnace is still rusted solid. It took me months to rebuild the wood stove, and I usually use the ice box, just not in summer, the ice melts and makes a huge mess.

I know it?s all pretty primitive, but it?s so much easier for me to relate to. I guess after all that time of the highest of high technology that was keeping me alive... Well. An ice box, carbide lights, a wood stove... It seems so much more real.

My other steady customer is Dame Arlene. She?s something else. She?s ancient, she looks at least eighty, flamboyant and completely alive. She?s not human, I?m not really sure what she is. She drives a big Deusenburg and scares the hell out of me when she insists on giving me a ride.

She likes to dress up like a poor old woman and go around seeing who will be kind to her. Which reminds me of old stories of good fairies and witches and angels. I?ve never drawn a chart for her, she has me draw charts about once a month for different people. She never has me read them, she says she can. I?m not really sure what she?s intending doing it, but she pays well, and it?s nice to sit and have a cup of tea with her before I go.

Oh, then there was the time Matilde got mad at me. Well, she does, but she blew like a hamster in the microwave that time. She?d been working on an experiment for over a year. She asked me to come in and help her get the tests ready.

While I was waiting, I read her notes, and I noticed that if she replaced the iron cauldron she was using with a non-reactive container, like Pyrex, she could simplify the entire process by ten steps and get a more accurate reading.

The next thing I know, I?m a frog. A FROG! She turned me into a FROG. And screamed at me, snatched me up off the floor and threw me into the employees atrium! There?s a pond in there and all, but that?s also where the company day care center often turns the kids loose, and the kids chased me around the moment I got out of the water!

Matilde wanted to yell at me more, so she turned me back, but I took off running the moment I could. Zane explained that I probably should have been a little more politic in telling Matilde about the cauldron thing. I told Mom, and she just laughed and said I had internitis and I should learn to send memos or keep my big mouth shut.

Well, so what if I do have internitis? The Four Winds is a think tank and research center, right? We should be able to freely express our opinions on each others work without fear of being turned into amphibians.

But then Matilde got in trouble for turning me into a frog, and I felt bad. Though not bad enough not to demand fair warning for when she had PMS, because hers is just what you?d expect from a wicked witch.

Then after that, Cam and I were talking to Fae, and I don?t remember just how it got there, but Cam slipped me twenty bucks to go buy a Barbie to give to Fae. I got one, and when I came back, I cast a small animate spell on it.

It moved when Fae took it and, Wow. I thought Matilde went off. She blasted that sucker into sub molecular particals. At least she didn?t blast Cam and I. Fae made me stand there so Cam could pat my butt, and I?m really not sure how that made anything up, but it seemed to satisfy her.

As long as she was happy, I suppose, I just am glad that it was someone I trusted, because I don?t think I could have stood for someone I didn?t know touching me anywhere.

[Desdenova]

Journal Entry 14, Eighteen Four

Someone killed Cams brother. It was just her and him, Sam, all of their lives, she said. Her parents aren?t any good, and then, she lost her brother. She tried to act like she was just mad he got himself killed, but if he was the only true family she had, well...

It was hard for me to hear. Her parents failed her, she was lucky enough to have a brother who loved her just for being Cam, and he was taken away. She was robbed.

I listened to her some, and then she suddenly got up and almost ran away. It?s always hard to know what to do when someone does that. Sometimes you follow after them, other times, you let them go.

It happened before with Lola. A man that used to be her lover was making a jack ass of himself with her, and she suddenly stalked off. Her footsteps stopped in the alley, so I followed and listened to everything.

That was easy. Because she did stop. Cam, she wasn?t going to stop. Lola seems to have always had people who care about her to go and get her and listen and all. Cam, I guess she had Sam and that was it.

And he was dead.

I?m no authority on wrong and right, but... that was wrong. Fate doesn?t steal, fate aims you on your course. Of course, Cam and Sam are Catholic, so it would be God never closes the door without opening a window.

I guess I got aimed, or was outside the window or something. So I didn?t know if she?d stop at all, if she wanted to talk, if she?d just deck me to get me out of her way. I just did it.

I?ve been proud of that. I didn?t know what was going to happen. I could have gotten beaten silly and I even expected it, but I still went after her.

I gave her a flower. A camilla. It?s a simple spell, but it took me a long time to master. I think because it?s out of a white mages grimorie, and I always have some trouble with both light and dark magics. But, I made it, and I handed to her. She just stared at it.

Then she cried. I ...I mean, she cried. I?m not good at hugging, I don?t think I?m really comforting, and I hadn?t learned how to make myself purr then. I never really thought it would be necessary. I purr when I?m happy or comfortable, and sometimes when I?m scared, that?s just how it is. I started to realize that night, well... It comforts me, it might other people, too. Not everyone can purr.

I never thought it was odd, we all do, except for Dad. He?ll kind of rumble, but it?s not a real purring.

All I could do was listen and hold her up. Mom says, oh, baby, that?s a lot more than you understand. I guess she?s right.

I don?t remember if it was that night, or another one, but I promised Cam I wouldn?t let anyone turn her into a zombie. She?s from New Orleans, that?s not really such a strange thing. I promised her that if she died, I?d make sure she was buried and stayed dead. It was important to her. It?s important to me, too.

No matter how much I would want someone I loved back, if they didn?t want to be back, it would be wrong.

I wanted to stay with her that night, because I was worried. Cam lives bottled up inside, so do I, but I have family that I know I can trust. I would have, but she insisted no. So I just walked her home and kept watch as I could.

A few days later, she gave me Sams watch. She told me a lot about him. I miss knowing him. Next year, I?ll try to find him. They?re Catholic, so he?ll know to listen on the day of the dead. Even if he?s not left behind a ghost. There?s no veil to pull off if they?re in Heaven, they?re watching and touching hearts.

It?s just got to be very difficult before the hurt?s faded enough that they can be felt.

I?m afraid that the hurt won?t fade if it?s locked up inside, and she?ll never feel Sam reaching back to her. It?s worse and worse, though I?m getting ahead of myself again. I think I?m going to ask Cam to show me where he?s buried, and see if he can hear my prayers.

I should tell her, and Zane too, I love them just for being who they are. They?re sisters, so... maybe they already know because they?re family, probably they already know, but I do have a lot of failings of character. So I?ll tell them.

[Desdenova]

Journal Entry 15, Eighteen Four

There?s an old fable, the fox and lion. A fox saw a lion for the first time, and was so terrified, that he lay down and almost fainted with terror. The second time the fox saw the lion, he shook badly. The third time, the fox walked right up to the lion and said ?how do you do??. The moral was ?familiarity breeds contempt?.

Pretty sophisticated stuff for a fox and a lion in such simple lines. It used to confuse me, too, because the fox wasn?t contemptuous of the lion at all, he was very polite. That was before I looked up the words.

So, the fox is terrified of the larger, more powerful, and certainly louder lion; which is perfectly reasonable. Yet, as time goes on, the fox realizes that while large, powerful, and loud, the lion isn?t going to hurt him. As long as they treat each other respectfully.

The lion?s way is already to be powerful and loud, someone who isn?t, the lion really can?t understand, just as the quiet and mild one isn?t going to understand the lion.

The fable also says, in ways, pull yourself up by your own bootstraps and beard the wolf in his den. To me, anyhow. The fox could have been killed by his panic. Understandable, but letting an emotion rule your actions can be deadly.

Horam did scare me at first. A lot. But I realized, it wasn?t really him that I was afraid of. It was the way people manipulated him into violence. When there wasn?t someone there pushing his buttons, he was a quiet, stoic, strong being of great dignety and wisdom.

And I was pushing buttons, too, that I didn?t realize I was pushing. Just being afraid. That?s not a good way to be around some beings. It pulls on their senses and triggers the predator response.

But I?m not prey. And I?m not a coward.

The big Bambi eyes look works pretty good on Horam, though he insists he eats human children and all that, and who knows, maybe minotaurs do, but Horam stops almost in his tracks and starts snarling and muttering about ?they? will get mad if he creams the little brat.

I didn?t know who ?they? were then, but there was no way I was going to tell him that. I?m also not stupid.

But... One night, I watched. One of the tavern ?I?m so innocent let?s go have mad passionate sex? girls was harrassing him with her girlfriends. As if Horam was really nothing more than the village idiot. He finally walked away.

I asked him... Why are you here? Why are you here letting these morons treat you like a buffoon when you?re obviously a warrior, a veteran...?

Horam only has one eye, but I could see a lot there when I asked. There was pain there that never came from a battlefield. I think he?d infinitely prefer if it was. It wasn?t.

Somehow, he couldn?t go home. I know where he?s from, the company has a few shops there, of course, but it?s not the same time. Krynn. You have to anchor to a reality like RhyDin to meet people from different eras.

Horam can?t go home. Sometimes, it?s like a monkey wrench banging through my brain. He can?t go home. He has to live among people that don?t understand him, that consider him an animal, that insist on infuriating him to prove they?re not afraid of him.

It?s wrong, but... It has become his fate. Fate doesn?t cheat or steal or anything, and he believes in a set of gods, anyhow, and I guess those gods can be quite nasty. But Fate doesn?t cheat or steal, so... He just hasn?t found the path he needs to take again.

He tells stories of being in the great games. Gladatorial combats and wars. You can see it in his face and even in the way he?ll move in memory of the events. He?s a great story teller. Sometimes, Zane and I will sit all night and just listen to him.

I brought him some books about the Coloseum in Rome, and he was really pleased with them. He said it showed that humans had hope of civilization after all. A lot of people stared at me when I said I brought the books for him, because it never dawned on them that he could read.

He carves, too. He made the most wonderful birdbath from the bones of a giant, I think, for Tyg. He?s an artist but he doesn?t really think he is. I think it embarrasses him.

You don?t get to meet real live larger than life hero sorts, I mean, like the singing sequin cowboys. No modesty. Just flat out, arrogant, visible, heroic figures.

It must have been like this, being a little kid and getting to meet Roy Rogers in person at the height of his career. Big. And the same thing off screen as he was on. Except Roy Rogers wasn?t swinging around an ax and smashing a porch to splinters, and he wouldn?t eat his horse.

I think they buried him in Apple Valley. I?m going to go and see if he?s there. I don?t think he?ll have left a ghost, but I know he had to have left a lot of himself behind. He was just too big to completely go away.

[Desdenova]

Journal Entry 16, Eighteen Four

I don?t want a girlfriend. I don?t want to catch any pretty little fillies. I?m not gay.

What in hell?s name is wrong with these people? Are they from the Television Planet where you turn sixteen and are assigned a partner whom you are expected to have wild, unrestrained sex with until you find another, and another and another, then you get married and you vanish to be replaced by another sixteen year old?

Logan?s Run is the stupidest book I?ve ever read, and now I?m living there.

A lot of the people from my highschool had girl and boy friends, yes. Not all of them. Actually, less than half. Most of those were very well supervised, and there was sex, sure, but I came to find out later most of them were lying and the ones that weren?t regretted it.

We talked about things other than sex. Even in college, drunk frat boys with no parents to come down on them, they had other interests. They could hold a conversation that didn?t boil down to sex.

And yet, in RhyDin, there?s this sick, hackneyed teen girl philosophy that you must have a mate, you must be in love or lust, you must be doing all you can to attract someone if you don?t have them, and if you do have them, you must be pulling out all the stops to have ever wilder sex to keep them. Oh, and then get pregnant.

Female or male!

It is all most of them think about, even a lot of the straight hetrosexual men who should be old enough to know better. It?s rediculous. Don?t they have lives? How can they stand to be lead around by their genitals?

It?s like they have no future at all. They exist only with a set of charactoristics pinned onto a sex.

I know I beat this horse so often, but it frustrates me so much. Almost every day, someone?s questioning my sexuality. Why doesn?t a handsome young man like you have a girlfriend? Oh, then you?re gay. Why not a boyfriend?

What?s handsome got to do with it? I?m not terrifically nice, I don?t have a great personality, I get obsessed with my work, I would rather play rotten tricks on my friends, family, and coworkers than to gaze in someones eyes and whisper words I don?t feel.

I don?t feel it. I don?t want to feel it. I thought it would be nice to have someone that would make me smile now and then, that would dance with me, to care about, listen and talk about the stars, work, just things. I thought it would.

But no, that?s not good enough. Not good enough at all. A kiss, no not on the hand, on the lips and get your tongue into the act. A touch, it?d better be on one the places covered by your bathing suit. A dance, no clothes, horizontal.

Care? There is no caring. I have to care that they need to get laid right now, because I?m totally wrong to not want that, too. Even if I did want it, what do I know about it? Sure, Mom and Dad explained all the basics, but they explained how to drive, too, and I can?t do that, either.

Just push me further and further into that imaginary bedroom, block every path, strip me down and what? What then? Why worry about it, I?m a teenaged male, I?ll abandon everything just to get sex. I should be grateful and thrilled.

Well, I won?t. I?m not grateful or thrilled. It infuriates me. How can someone say they care that much for you, and not even bother finding out what it is you really want? Or to ignore what they?ve already been told?

How can they say they care, when they know I?m disabled, and they don?t stop to think that it affects me at every level I have?

And I don?t really care. I?m me. That?s it. And even if I did, oh, Spirits, wouldn?t that be a sight? A siezure. That much touching, it makes me shudder just thinking about it.

It was fun to look at a pretty girl and see her look back and smile and blush a little. It was fun. Now I know what it means and what they want and I?d rather stab myself through the eye.

If that?s normal, I don?t want to be normal. I don?t think it is normal so I guess it doesn?t matter. I just want -- I just wish people would get off of my back about it.

I just want to live.

[Desdenova]

Journal Entry 17, Eighteen Four

I guess that last entry kind of explained the entire month of November. Except it?s an ongoing thing that still drives me to distraction. I don?t mean to get so angry, but... Spirits, it?s ...just too much sometimes.

I agreed to a study, to be a test subject, in fact, for it. The abnormal brain. I really didn?t think they?d find anything to help me, but I knew it will help others. I suppose that?s altruistic, but I have to admit that even though I knew they wouldn?t find anything, I had to keep just a shred of hope.

I have to hope. I hate that I do. I can?t stand it if I don?t. It?s part of being alive, I know, but it hurts like hell with every failure, and I can?t stop myself from trying.

Feathyre came with me a few times. I know that had to have scared her a lot, but she didn?t get too antsy. She?s a hippogriff. Usually, she?s a hippogriff. She?s sweet, and fun, ...and I don?t really remember how I met her.

She was just there one day, I suppose. She?s very lovely, and I can understand her. The language is similar to the gryphons, and I liked being with them, too. I?ve never been able to whistle, so I can?t really talk back to her, but she understands English.

It was hard. It was such a huge step back for me. I had to stop taking my medication, and I didn?t even know what I?d be like after that. I was afraid I wouldn?t know myself.

Everyone kept saying, oh, if they?re really your friend, they?ll understand but please. It?s not very realistic to expect anyone to tolerate it if you become someone else entirely. I didn?t expect it, I just hoped I wasn?t really that horribly different.

Jackie stayed with me. She tried to make it as easy as she could for me, but it just didn?t change that I couldn?t take care of myself. Sometimes it seemed like all I did in a day was recover from seizure after seizure. Jackie would pull me out just so I could get some peace, some rest, but... it was still hellish.

Even without the Keppra, they?re really not that bad, I suppose. My seizures are usually incomplete partial, which is basically, I don?t usually lose consciousness and I don?t stop breathing. You have to be thankful for what you can.

I know, well, I usually know when they?re coming. Bea knows better. She?ll give me usually about ten minutes to stop whatever I?m doing and get somewhere safe. She almost taught herself to do that, it was amazing. It took longer to housebreak her than to teach her to speak up when she smelled the chemical change.

I?ve seen myself have a seizure, on home movies, it?s... Spirits, when I saw it, I was just... so amazed that my family takes it so well. I guess you get used to it.

I?m standing in the kitchen, talking to Dad. I started getting a look on my face like I was getting a migraine, kind of detached and confused. Then I went rigid, and it looked like I was staring at the most terrifying thing ever created. I groaned or... something. It?s a horrible sound, but it?s just air being forced past my vocal chords without modulation. Still, it chilled my blood.

Then I just kind of crumpled down and back, landed on my butt and then rolled back, it was bizarre because I was still so rigid and tense. Dad says he thinks I retain enough touch with consciousness usually to do that, to sit and roll rather than to just collapse. So I usually don?t hurt myself.

After that, I shake a little. I reach around, like I?m blind, and I guess I am at that point. It?s like I?m trying to go back to what I was doing, but I don?t really remember what that was. I go so pale, my lips will be white.

That?s really when it?s most dangerous for me, because I can get up and walk, but I don?t know what I?m doing. That time, though, Dad just knelt down and put an arm around my shoulders and told me to take it easy, I was fine.

There?s kind of a snap-focus, I think. I know I see it. It?s like I?m watching television, and the screen goes berserk, then black, and then berserk, and jumbled, and suddenly, bam, it?s clear again. I blinked a few times and said ?did I have one?? and Dad just kind of chuckled and said ?yeah. Get up and walk a bit, you?re still taking the trash out.?

I was kind of wobbly for a while, and even though Dad was pretty easy going about it, he watched me like a hawk. Then I took out the trash. Jackie was filming it, and I think that she wanted to make sure she caught one on the DVD so I could see what happens.

It really was a relief to see I wasn?t ...just ...gross or... I?ve seen grand mals, and they?re so violent. I?ve had them, just not in a long time. All I know of the ones I?ve had of those was that they took me hours to recover from instead of a half hour or so, and I felt like I?d been slammed against a wall.

But there?s nothing. I look so terrified, and there?s nothing. I don?t remember anything. I?m not afraid afterwards. I don?t feel anything, or if I do, I don?t remember it.

Maybe it?s a door opening in my mind that shows me hell and it?s so horrifying I can?t remember it when it slams shut. Maybe. Nanna says she?s never felt any doors opening there, and that?s what she does.

What?s weird is my eyes, my irises, really, start to work after I have one. The intensity of the muscle tension forces them to close even though normally, they won?t.

I like their color, they?re kind of mottled, splotches of blue and the same vivid green of Dads eyes. Alices eyes are like mine, too, but they work better. Jackie?s got jungle-cat eyes, they?re such an even, eerie blue emerald color.

That lasts a while, but it?s kind of disappointing. I know how to see with my pupils wide open like they usually are, but I don?t know how to see how I should. So it?s a little hard to get around, and by the time I?m used to it, the irises are frozen again.

Maybe one day... Maybe. I?m doing it again, but I just can?t stop it.