Never Alone Version Two

I'm writing Never Alone, my first completed Movella, again as I want to make it even better. I might even send it to a publisher. Here goes...

After a young thrillseeker gets bored in the summer holidays, she comes up with a fun-sounding, if strictly illegal, boredom-buster. Break into, and take photos of, some celebrities homes. Will Smiths' place= Too easy. Casa de Jennifer Aniston= She could do it blindfolded. However, a dare from her best friend leaves her getting caught by the owner of Mansion Number 3. If that wasn't scary enough, the owner died when she was 12.

Now, 15-year-old Diana has a huge secret to hide, and an even bigger one to uncover. Both could leave her the same way as her ghostly companion.

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8. I Suppose I Should Help

 

The grey light of dawn crept over the carpet, hitting me square in the eyes. It really hurt, as I'd been awake all night looking for, fighting with, and talking to the ghost of the mansion. I said I was gonna kill him again, but it turns out that someone beat me to it after several attempts.

"So you were murdered?" I asked, treading delicately. Being murdered must be one of the most traumatic things to ever happen to someone.

"Sure was. Took them a very long time to get it over and done with. I was paranoid about when they would for over 25 years." He replied.

I was sitting cross-legged on the bed, talking to the resident ghost.

"Can I ask you something?" I asked.

"Go ahead."

"If you were murdered, then how come you don't have a knife sticking out of you, or a gunshot wound?" I asked, noticing that he had no marks on him whatsoever. Apart from the bruises I gave him yesterday.

"You don't have to shoot or stab someone to kill them. There are a million and one chemicals out there that will kill someone, without showing up on a standard post-mortem examination. Even a standard anaesthetic will kill someone if they're allergic to it." The ghost explained, stretching out his arm. A tiny red pinprick stood out in the crook of his elbow, right over where the main vein is.

"Is that where...it happened?" I asked, noticing every tiny detail in the wound.

"Hypodermic needle full of a strong anaesthetic, right in that vein. Apparantely whatever killed you is supposed to feel colder than the rest of you."

"Is that code for "Do you want to touch it?" or something?" I asked.

"It's actually a ghost thing. I spoke to another ghost who mentioned it, and her heart feels so much colder than the rest of her. Her heart failed, so it made sense."

I put my hand out and gingerly touched his forearm, just below the mark. He wasn't as cold as I thought he would be, but whatever he's made of felt very smooth. I ran my hand up to the mark, not quite touching it, but close.

"What are you made of?" I asked, with my fingers resting on his arm.

"If you believe paranormal enthusiasts, then ectoplasm. I don't think that's all true though. Why'd you ask?"

"It's really weird. Slightly cooler than body-temperature, but not too cool. It's so smooth aswell."

I brushed my ring finger over the wound, and felt a spike of ice stab in my finger. It was like an icicle had sprang up from the crook of his arm, piercing my finger. Clearly the female ghost was right when she said it's colder.

"Ah, God that's cold." I remarked, pulling my hand away. There was a frostbite burn on my finger, even though I must have only touched the wound for a split-second. How cold must it have been to do that in such a short space of time?

"It's weird, how it did that. Do you know what temperature you are?" I asked, looking at my frostbitten finger.

"Haven't got a single clue. So will you help me?" He asked, putting his arm down. There was a slight spark in his eyes, dancing brightly in the black pupil. Almost like he was pleading with me.

It was going to be so dangerous though. There were so many accounts of this society he mentioned, and the people they'd "influenced" or killed. Marylin Monroe, John F. Kennedy, Natalie Wood, Elvis Presley, Tupac Shakur and Notorious B.I.G. to name a few. These "Illuminati" guys are a force to be reckoned with. If what happened to the ghost when he was alive is true, then I am dead. Having a firework aimed at my head, sounds like a bad move to me. Combined with a plan for a nervous breakdown, then finally...well, you know, sounds like a plan for a painful death.

Sounds like the best thrill ever.

"Alright, I'll help you. Just promise me one thing. Never try to scare me again."

He actually laughed, call it a miracle.

"Where should we start? I mean, where does the Illuminati come from? Nothing simpler than going over and beating up the leader." I asked.

"Hold up there! You don't even know what I need your help with. It doesn't involve getting in a fight, by the way, so don't get too excited. I need you to find something out for me." He said, placing a hand on my shoulder. The bruise mark on his shoulder was nearly gone. I saw it yesterday, when it was clear as day. Must be a ghost thing.

"If you need to find something out, then look on the net." I replied.

"Two problems with that. First problem: I can't pick anything up or touch anything. I'll just go straight through it. Second problem: I have some sort of impact on electricals. I can't explain it too well, but I basically drain all the power out of them, just by going near them. Like what I did with your camera."

"But what about yesterday? Your hand grabbing my ankle was certainly solid enough."

"You're the only person that can see me, so it's only logical that you can feel me aswell."

He had a point there. "So, what do you want me to find out, and why do you need to know it?"

"I need to find out why I was killed. It's the last thing I need to know, the last piece of the puzzle I need to find, before I can move on."

"Move on?"

The atmosphere changed then. There was a slight streak of sorrow twisting and writhing through the air, after I mentioned moving on. "You don't have to answer that if you don't want to." I added, noticing the change in the ghost.

"No, it's fine. It's just...oh, never mind. It's a ghost thing."

The atmosphere had a new ribbon streaking through it. The deep maroon coloured ribbon of tension, weaving and braiding itself with the ocean-blue coloured sorrow, and the bone-white ribbon of death. It's an okay colour combination, but not an okay trio of emotions and situations.

That wasn't just me being descriptive. I could actually see the coloured ribbons weaving in and out of the walls. For each emotional change, the colours seemed to change. Only one colour stayed weaving it's way through the walls; bone-white for death. That won't be leaving any time soon.

"I get what you mean. So where do we start?" I asked, as the maroon tension weaved its way out of the multicoloured braid. One thing I'm good at doing, is breaking tension.

"Well, I worked the Illuminati into nearly everything I did, so we need to look for most of my works. I warn you though, some of the most well-known works, look completely different from the Illuminati's point of view. Give me the name of a song I did, and I'll let you know if it offended them."

A new coloured ribbon works its way into the braid. Pale lilac, for awkwardness. It's not coming from him though, but from me. I don't know anything about him except what he's told me, and that I can recognise him in a crowd. That's literally all. I couldn't name a single thing that he did, if my life depended on it.

"Erm-"

"Don't say it. I already read your mind, so I know what you were gonna say. Makes things a bit more difficult, but still manageable."

An extra ribbon wove its way into the braid. Indigo, for desperation. I couldn't help knowing nothing about him. I'd been too busy skidding down ziplines and diving into the ocean to find out about someone that I'd had nothing to do with. Until now, that is.

"Seeing as I'm a first-timer, where should I go to find your works?" I asked.

"Could try the town museum? That's always been a good place to start."

"Which one? There's at least 10 in Malibu alone."

"There's only 3 that will have what we're looking for. I'll know which one when we get there."

"Just one thing. I don't want to break the law. I've done it three times already, and that's enough for my liking."

"I'm making no promises about making you break the law, but if you have to, I will promise that I won't let you get caught. Fair enough?"

"Fair enough." I replied, hoping that this wouldn't end with me dying.

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