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.


9. I'm Not Gonna Steal Anythi-Spoke Too Soon


Typical. Bloody typical. The right museum, just happened to be the last one we went to. To make me even more annoyed, it happened to be the most expensive one in Los Angeles. $27 to get into the Grammy Museum, really is taking it too far.

"Look on the bright side. At least you haven't broken the law yet." TG said, searching through the red-carpeted halls and crystalline display cases.

The ghost hasn't told me his name yet, and I haven't brought it up. So I've christened him TG. It stands for "The Ghost" so it's pretty appropriate. (Hey, nobody said a word about it having to be at all imaginative. I can't help having no imagination.)

"Suppose that's a point. What are we supposed to be looking for anyway?" I asked, peering into a display case. Nothing in there except a bedsheet made to look like a dress, and a few photos of a blonde woman wearing the bedsheet/dress.

"Everything in this room." TG said, indicating another room to the right. I went and looked in, and was shocked to my core. A whole room, the size of a concert stage, decked out with floor-to-ceiling display cases, plus at least 18 glass podiums. Bloody hell.

"Just out of curiosity, how famous were you when you were alive?" I asked, in shock.

"Put it this way. I'm the world record holder for Most Copies Of An Album Ever Sold. I've had that record since the early 1980's, and no-one's beaten it since. I was also named Artist Of A Decade, alongside Elvis Presley and The Beatles. Need I say more?" TG said, as I began peering into display cases.

"Pardon me one second, I just need to scrape my jaw off the floor." I replied, looking at the artifacts in the first display case. It looked pretty cool, particularly the golden Grammy award.

"What did you get that for?" I asked.

"Best male R&B vocals. There are more in here." TG guided me over to the next display case, where there were 8 of them.

"Just got to pick my jaw up again. How many did you win in total?"

"13. These eight were in one ceremony."

"I bet you can't name what for."

"Album of the year, best male pop vocals, record of the year, song of the year, best male rock vocal performance, best R&B vocal performance, best Rhythm and Blue song, best recording for children and non-classical producer of the year."


"Plus a Grammy Legend and Grammy Lifetime Achievement award. Oh, and that album, plus the two before it, were inducted into the Grammy Hall Of Fame."

"How many awards did you get in total?"

"Including Presidential awards, 395. Not including them, 392. I don't know if being crowned "King Sani" by a tribal chief in Côte d'Ivoire counts, but if it does, then make that 396."

Had I been tombstoning under a rock for the past 15 years of my life? I'd never even heard of him until I was 12, and then never again until 2 days ago. I must be seriously messed up.

"Don't worry about it. Worry about how you're going to steal this." TG said, tapping the glass case over a podium. A black leather jacket, adorned with buckles, was sitting inside it.

"I'm stealing nothing. I fully intend to carry on with my life without a criminal record. After all, if I get one, then bang goes my chance of getting a career."

"Fine by me. You're forgetting something though. I can make you."

"I'm not stealing anythi-"


"Spoke too soon."

TG had manage to smash the glass case, setting off an alarm. I took the jacket off the mannequin, then bolted, following TG. I swear I'm gonna (metaphorically) kill him for putting me through this.

"Get in here, quick!" TG indicated the door to a small broom closet, which I obligingly hid in. He was crammed in beside me, as my heartbeat soared to near light-speed.

"If I don't get out of this, you'll be sorry." I hissed, as a mop poked me in the back. It was a little awkward being this close to a ghost. Especially when we were stuck in a broom closet.

"You will get out of this, as there's a window behind you."

"But how will you-"

"Let me worry about that. Just get on with it."

I tucked the jacket under my arm, then hooked my fingers over the outside ledge. Kicking my foot on the smooth, painted wall, I dragged myself through. I clonked my head on the window pane though, and there was a hazy black ring around my vision for a few seconds, before I eventually landed on the hard concrete of the back alley.

"Move it, come on!" TG dragged me up from the concrete floor. How he managed to get outside that quickly, I have no clue, but he did. Pushing that thought to the back of my mind, I tensed up my quads and sprang up, catching hold of the wall running parallell to the alley. My shins were scraped and started bleeding, leaving a dark streak of scarlet blood up the wall. It stood out boldly, against the red bricks.

Fighting off the lightening bolts of pain, I hauled myself to the top of the high wall, got myself stable, then ran along the top of it. The wall was attatched to a nearby block of apartments, so I swung myself onto the drainpipe when I got close enough.

Catching my feet tightly onto the pipe, I dragged myself up. My trainers squeaked harshly against the plastic, like a bike chain in need of some oil, or someone dragging a wet finger down a window pane. The sound ratcheted against my ears, as I hoiked myself up even further. The stolen jacket had been difficultly relocated to between my knees, where it frequently stabbed me in my stomach every time I dragged my knees up.

I hauled myself almost to the top, then hooked one single hand over the roof ledge. I slipped the other one over the ledge, leaving me hanging by my hands. The muscles in my arms, by my elbows, were contracted to the max. If they were pulled any tighter, the bones would have snapped. It hurt like nobody's business, but I'm never letting it hold me back.

Forcing my legs up the drainpipe, I pushed my body over the roof edge, remembering to keep my knees clamped together, and flipped myself over onto the roof.

Breathing a sigh of relief, I lay star-shaped on the flat apartment roof, as that gravel stuff they spread up here, dug painfully into me. That was an experience I'd hope to never repeat again.

Well, until I'm a bit older, at least.

"You...really are...the limit. I'm never...ever...ever...doing anything illegal...ever...again." I gasped, forcing myself onto my elbows. The gravel dug in painfully, but it was tolerable.

"I didn't say you had to do anything illegal again." TG replied. He'd managed to appear on the roof next to me, still with his attitude.

"What...ever. me. You would...go through something...if you touch something." I gasped, tryng to get my breath back.

"I never said anything about being with you. You can make me be normal, for some reason. I can touch things, and all sorts. It's pretty awesome actually."

" hear it."

I hauled myself to my feet, pulling the stolen jacket out from between my knees. It kept puzzling me, why on earth this would have anything to do with the Illuminati.

"You'll find out later. Anyway, there's a maintenance trapdoor over in the corner, so you can get down safely."

I smiled to myself then, as he worked out what I was thinking of doing. Anyone who's seen a few action movies, knows that for a quick getaway off a building, there's a really disgusting, but easy way. Two words: Dumpster Dive.

"Alright, but no more illegal stuff."

TG smiled knowingly, with a cheeky look in his eyes. "We'll see."

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