Never Alone

I remember reading a newspaper article about a random pattern of break-ins in the Beverly hills area, that just suddenly stopped after the second one. I decided to create the story of the break-ins, but with a twist.

A young thrillseeker has a new way of getting her rush. She decides to break into some celebrities homes.
The first few are easy, until she gets caught by the owner of a huge mansion. If that wasn't scary enough, there's one tiny thing to take into account.
The owner died 3 years ago.

Now Diana has a big secret to hide, and a bigger secret to uncover. One that could leave her the same way as her ghostly friend.

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11. Based

I could already tell we had landed in Austria; everything sounded different. Voices carried on in german even though a 15 year-old girl and a famous ghost had just landed in the centre of Vienna, almost like we couldn't be seen.

"You can be seen, well now you can. I just gave back your visibility." Michael explained.

"Thanks. So, where do we go now?" I asked, not bothering to keep my voice down.

"That music was by Mozart, so I guess we start in the Mozarthaus. The house where he was born." Michael explained, seeing my confused expression. I can't speak german, so I can barely understand anything here.

"Great, so it's that simple."

"Well, you do have to find out why they killed me, so yeah. With your skills and pure gutsyness, it should be that simple. From what I remember of a tour I once did, it's this way." Michael said, leading me through the streets of Vienna.

"I've never been outside of California before, so this is all new to me." I made conversation, as we crossed the quaint streets. I half-expected to see an Artful Dodger-esque character come running from an alley, carrying some stolen goods.

"You were like that a while ago." The demoralising part of me said, reminding me of how I stole something from the Grammy museum.

"I've never been anywhere without the paparazzi trying to blind me with those camera flashes. It's a welcome change for them to not be here." He replied, looking grateful for not being able to be seen., "You don't believe anything they wrote about me, do you?" He asked.

"I don't know what they wrote; like I said, nobody remembers you. It's like someone took an eraser and rubbed you out of the world." I replied. It's true though. Nobody has ever heard of him in my school. Or in the group of boys I regularly cliff-dive with.

"So, you never heard any of the three songs I wrote about the media?"

"Nope. Not one line."

"Or the court charges designed by the Illuminati to give me a breakdown?"

"Negative. Not one bit of the trial."

"Nothing at all?"

"The only things I've known out about you, are what you've told me and done with me." I explained.

Michael seemed delighted at that, "So, there are several people, who I could meet, and not have to worry about being called a "Shameful Demon" or worse?"

"Clearly yes. None of my diving-buddies would do that, or want to. Personally I can't see why anyone would wan't to. You're an awesome person." I honestly replied.

"I have to meet them before I find out why I was killed." He said, sounding eager.

"Why before you find out?" I asked, pulling out my purse and finding all my money had been converted to euros.

"It's an after-you-die thing. I'll explain it later."

Typical Michael, clear as mud. I paid at the door and went through to the Mozarthaus.

It was quite plain. Simple wooden furniture and plain iron hinges, but nice, in that olde-English style. The only two decorative features, were a huge piano the same size as Michael's one, and a black-and-white tiled band on the floor.

"Remember what was included in the Illuminati checklist? Black and white tiled floors. Follow the tiles and I bet you'll find something." The encouraging part of me said, as I watched the tiles snake down a corridor.

"Michael, see that?" I whispered, pointing down the tiled corridor, "Are you thinking what I'm thinking?"

"There's something to do with them down there. Go for it!" Michael replied.

I crept down the corridor, keeping a close eye on the tiles. The band snaked around a right turn, then a left, another left and then down a staircase. A very long staircase. I went down about four flights before I got curious and looked over the side.

There appeared to be at least 16 more flights to go, and then God-knows what else after that. I carried on walking down the stairs, keeping a very firm eye on the tiles. I eventually managed to reach the bottom, turn a sharp left and reach a fork in the path.

"Any clue which which way to go?" I asked, peering down both passages.

"Follow the tiles." Michael said, carrying down the corridor to the right. I followed him down the corridor, around a gentle left, then a sharp right, before a steel door blocked our way. Through two mesh windows, I could see rows and rows of boxes on shelves. This had to be the Storage and Files room.

"Jackpot!" I whispered, pushing the door open as quiet as can be. I crept through as quietly as possible, as Michael took a look down the first row of boxes.

"This is clearly the right place. Look at all the names here." He whispered, running a finger along the boxes. Something was bothering me though. I couldn't quite place it, but it was there. "Wow, if I had known it was this easy, I would have done this ages ago."

Easy. That was the problem. It was far too easy to get here. Surely a murderous secret society wouldn't leave their files in such an unguarded place. "Michael." I hissed, warning him.

"Have you found anything to do with me?" He asked, turning to me. His death-induced pale skin got even paler when he saw my frightened expression.

"Not exactly. There's a big problem: it was too easy. I feel it was a trap." I replied, running over to grab his hand to pull him out of there. As I pulled him towards the exit, the door slammed shut. I pulled hard at it, but it was locked.

"Now how are we going to get out?" I asked, as a glass ball full of grass-green liquid smashed on the floor at my feet. The splash caught most of my front, and I began to feel dizzy.

"What the...what is this stuff?" I asked Michael, as the wall began to spin. I sank to my knees, trying to clear my head, and putting myself closer to the majority of the liquid.

"I don't know, but it's clearly very powerful. You have to get away, quickly."

Michael sounded like he was talking to me underwater; my head felt so fuzzy. I tried to stand and get far away, but my legs were as weak as overcooked noodles. I managed to push myself onto one knee, but the force caused me to lose my balance and smack into the puddle of green liquid. It got all over my face and into my hair and up my nose. It was so strong-smelling, that, no matter how hard I resisted, I couldn't hold onto my consciousness and it slipped away as easily as a kite slipping free of it's string.

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