She Screams *Help Me*

She Screams *Help Me* ~Chapter 1~

MORGANA

My funeral was like any other. I had a nice ceremony, closed casket because my body was mangled from the third floor drop onto the concrete. My mother wept into the dirt hole they were lowering my casket into. I thought they had done well on the casket. It captured my lost childhood. Drawings of stick figures were doodled on the top. They were things I had drawn at the age of six. Hearts filled blank spots all around. It screamed Morgana. It was supposed to of course. It was me. 

My father had his arms around mum. His face was blank, his eyes staring at nothing. My sister, Blaze, sat with my Aunt Katharine in the front. I recognized faces from school. Some people I knew personally, others I had spoken to once. A thousand people at least were there, grieving over me. 

Towards the end people came to my parents and apologized for their loss. I stood next to mum, hugging her. Then I kissed Blaze on the cheek. She smiled slightly but it faded almost instantly. My dad put a hand on Blaze's shoulder and squeezed.

"Mum." I whispered. She cocked her head, as if she had heard something. 

"Blaze." I hugged her. 

"Dad." I hugged him. 

"I'm so very sorry for your loss." Mrs. Daphne from two houses down told my family and hugged

Blaze. They nodded back at her coldly. 

"If you ever need anything don't be shy." She said. 

"Thank you very much Louise." Dad replied. Mum sniffled. She left for her car. 

"Blaze would you like to come over?" Aunt Katharine asked her. Jacob, her nine month old son, threw his dummy on the floor.  

"Can you get that for me, love?" Blaze bent down to get it and handed it back to Jacob. 

"Yeah. I'll stay over." She went with her to the car. Mum And Dad left to the house, but I lingered for a bit. I hovered over my grave. It's weird, seeing those people doing normal things. Like Blaze picking up Jacob's dummy. Not dummy, pacifier; I had to remind myself. We had moved to America four years ago, so I was trying to become as American as I could. Did it even matter though? No one would hear me. Except for other stuck in Limbo, but some of them didn't even speak english. We all had our own diction in this world.  

I looked at my gravestone. Sad. That's the feeling I got from it. The feeling radiated off of the stone as if it were a heater. This is stupid. I should go. 

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KATIA

I woke up on the cold concrete floor I had become accustom to. I looked up at the cracked mirror above a sink next to the toilet in the corner of the room. Five red lines were on the top of the mirror. The section that was relatively flawless, just like how the girl staring at it used to be. 

I got up and walked to it, limping with a sprained ankle. A small blade of glass sat on the edge of the sink. I grabbed it and pricked my finger. Running it down the mirror I made another line. Six days. Six days of loneliness. Six days of hunger. Six days of being in a basement. Six days since my best friend died. 

"Katia." I heard the faint whisper of my name in the distinct voice of Morgana. I felt her breath on the nape of my neck. Saw her face in my head. 

I turned. Nothing. Not even my usual breakfast tray of bread, blueberry jam, and water. 

"Hello?" I called out. My voice was raspy and raw. I sounded like my mother. 

"Sit in the middle of the room. Close your eyes. Sit on your hands." I did as instructed. 

"Open." I opened my eyes. A man stood in front of me, looking down. He was wearing a ski mask. You know the kind, black, with holes for the eyes. The kind someone wore to a bank robbery. 

This man, if that is what we were calling him, was muscular,  and tall. At least two heads taller than me at 5'6. His clothes were form fitting. Black muscle shirt. Black denim jeans. He sagged, which disgusted me. 

"Breakfast, madame?" He handed the usual to me on a silver platter. I shook my head. No food. Not until I got some answers. 

"Eat." He directed me. Not forcefully, more encouragingly, as if he were dealing with a toddler. 

"No."

"Eat." His tone was hard. 

"No."

"You have to." 

"No."

"Just do it." He pleaded. 

"Then answer me. And agree to my requests." 

"No."

"Then I wont eat." I crossed my arms over my chest and smacked my lips together. 

"Fine. I will bring in paper and a pen. Write it down. In the meanwhile, eat." I took the platter from his hands and put it across my legs. He walked up the stairs and into the house. I smothered my bread in jam and shoved the whole piece in my mouth. One more piece and I would have to wait for lunch. I shoved that in my mouth as well. The man walked back in with a paper and pen in hand.

"Here." I tore it out of his hands.

 1. I want a bed. A cot is acceptable. 

2. Lights. Lots more lights. 

3. A table would be nice. 

4. Paper, and a pen. 

5.Freedom?   

I finished my list and handed it back. The man skimmed it and chuckled at the last one. 

"Freedom? Why would we just do that? What makes you think we'll do that?" He asked. I shrugged. 

"For one, you haven't told me your names. Two, you hide your face. Making me think that you probably will let me go." 

"Smart one, have we? Who knew a model would be so...un-model like?" I growled at him. 

"Katia. His belt." A voice whispered. I glanced at his belt. A gun. Perfect.