A/n:

, it's been a hot minute since I did a "demon/journal" P.O.V. I've done it one other time in Chapter "Queens and Kings" where the text becomes italicize and the tense changes to 1st tense. I guess this is your reminder so you're not wondering about the writing style.

Finally I am doing/will continue to do a Q/A for this story.

So far:

Q. How much longer will this novel be?

A. I think ten more chapters? We're getting close, but I have a writing problem and write too much lol.

Q. Have you planned every chapter, or do you write as you go?

A. I have known pretty much exactly what I was going to write scene for scene, but where to drop the knife and end a chapter is harder than it looks. I bunch of readers have comment they didn't expect me to take my story the way it went, but they love it. That's great to hear, but I can see why people would want to know if that was intentional or not.

I suppose look at it this way, if you were to reread every chapter (having known what you know now) you would probably see six or seven things per every chapter that directly eluding to pieces at the end of the novel. They are all related. I have a deep love of coming full circle on things; I'm sure by the end of this you guys will see that clearly. I knew the entire story for this when I was 19... It's just only now that it's being wrote down and shared.

Q. When will you edit?

A. I've listened to your words, and everyone agreed I shouldn't cut this novel, I should just re-publish a reduced and edited one that way people could still choose to enjoy the longer original. Once this story ends, I will make a new novel. I will use this story's post settings to alert readers to newly constructed chapters there.

Q. When does Alys' Father get released?

A. As of this chapter, it's down to 6 days. She found the letter at the two week mark which was the Thursday night she first went missing. Hayden found her Sunday and brought her to school that Monday. Monday night Doctor Hathaway confesses Hayden's crime and she confronts Hayden. Tuesday –Friday she paints like a mad man and that Friday marks only one more week. Friday Alys is attacked by Jackson, and that night Hayden sneaks into her room to make amends. We're now working on Saturday.

Q. How do you pronounce Alys/Hayden's name.

A. Alys is pronounced Uh-lease. Hayden is pronounced "Hey- Den". How were you readers pronouncing them?

Q. How often do you update?

A. Im sure all my old readers can laugh like maniacs at that question. Not often. I work two full time jobs and have little to no me time.

Do you draw?

Yep! Lots of readers have asked/wondered that, perhaps because I can describe art pretty well? I have nothing on Alys though. Attached is another "Demon" girl drawing I have done.

Let me know other questions and I will answer them next chapter.

Enjoy!

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ALYS

I met Tim after my mother and I got done with the lawyers. It was the same despicable dribble I was already prepared for. We were safe. We were fine. We had nothing to worry about. My mother and I watched back with blank eyes, each in our own counting the times those very words had been said to us when my father was first being investigated.

We were safe, he was a decent man. We were fine, we were just overthinking it. We had nothing to worry about, every man gets a little angry; it's perfectly normal.

I wondered as I watched these lawyers if they even remembered those past words. None were the same from then, but our case was well known. We were the blight after all, the two miserable victims who revealed the faults in our legal system. These lawyers should have known the false promises that were given to us back then, yet they couldn't seem to change their words or think better of them. Again, a man in a suit smiled my way, "You have nothing to worry about."

The Saturday soccer practice was still continuing on the school's field while I slowly approached. Tim didn't notice me right away but I was fine with that. I supposed it gave me ample time to rid the goosebumps that riddled my flesh from the lawyers. My left hand nonchalantly rubbed my right; gentle fingertips tracing bruises hidden under a long sleeve.

Across the field, a female laughed heartedly. My eyes scanned the faces until I found her. Shannon was there, leaning against Bradley. He didn't seem to care for her, he would have probably preferred Ashely but she was nowhere to be found.

Somehow, Shannon felt my gaze. Bradley too turned and glanced towards my way; two cold frigid eyes finding my face. How could I have forgotten these were Hayden's "friends"? These were the people whom he cloaked himself with. I realized suddenly he never brought them up to me in these weeks we worked together. Probably for a reason. It was like they too had those thoughts as they gazed coldly at me.

Who is she? Why is he choosing to hang out with her?

She's the friend of the one who fucked with us.

Pretty brown eyes narrowed at me, Shannon's lips adjusting in anger and disgust. Finally she glanced away, as if I reminded her of something she didn't want to think of.

My hand tightened slightly, the tinted skin adjusted to the tendon's movements. Shannon and I shared something apparently. I knew the reasoning to her disgust... I knew what memory she probably tried to suppress and cope with. Again, the bruising within my hand seemed to pulse.

"Hey Alys!" Tim called for me as he finally noted my presence. He immediately began making his way for me. I tried to smile as I met his gaze, but I felt somewhat sick and had to fight it.

"Where's Hayden?" His head bobbed a little bit as he scanned the path behind me.

Surprised, I hesitated, "I was with my mother this morning. He... err... doesn't know I came here to work on the mural."

Tim raised an eye brow at me, "Keeping secrets?"

I smiled slightly, "No actually. Trying to repair something. I kind of ruined part of the mural Friday. We got into a huge fight after it too, so I wanted to sneak in and repaint it before he sees it again Monday. And also... there's something I need to draw. I guess I had a sudden inspiration and needed to get it off my chest before I lose its details."

Tim tilted his head as he listened. "Well Mr. Craftmore has the keys, give me two seconds." and at that Tim jogged away to his coach.

I watched his form as he moved away. The rest of this morning, while my mother went over the rest of the forms with the lawyers, I had called Ms. Lexington. I explained apologetically that I had damaged part of the mural and hadn't had time to fix it as Doctor Augustine sent me home yesterday evening. I asked if there was any way, with all the normal weekend school activity, I could work on mural a bit more. There was so much to paint anyways. She explained she'd have to call me back.

When the phone rang again it wasn't her, it was Mr. Rodrigues. Nervously I switched the ringing device back and forth between my hands. I was anxious he would deny me this chance. He had always been suspicious of my motives and though as far as he was concerned I hadn't painted anything I wasn't supposed to, that was because there was always someone reviewing my work after every session. This time no one would until Monday. I knew Augustine had spoken to him as well, I knew she had her people, perhaps even Mr. Rodrigues himself, watching my work with guarded eyes trying to determine if my PTSD ever presented itself.

The ringing phone in my hand continued. Finally I surrendered and answered the call. He was calm, patient, inquisitive, and finally relenting. "Ms. Lexington will take care and review everything new you paint on Monday. So yes Alys, you may enter and paint the mural. No, I won't need to unlock the doors for you. The soccer coach, Mr. Craftmore, can unlock and escort you to the front office where Becky is doing some weekend office work. She has access to my keys; she can walk you back as well as lock up when you are done."

That easy? Why? He had been so wary before? I frowned and wondered if Doctor Augustine had confessed to him she couldn't find anything dangerous in my work; anything that might reveal I was still struggling with my post trauma. Perhaps he thought that equated to 'I was a normal student who wouldn't draw bad things' as well.

"Just..." Mr. Rodrigues sighed, "Just make sure it's all locked up when you're done."

I breathed in deeply with relief and excitement; he was actually allowing me to do this!? But I still had to proceed carefully... I knew whatever I painted today- the condemning images that kept burning through my mind- could not reveal any chaotic stress associated with me. When the second mural finally debuted and was examined; it could not have any indications of my past or my ptsd Tourette. It needed to be clean of my tick; it needed to be just condemning art for Karri's revenge, not a reflection of the disorder I hid and convinced the rest of the world I no longer had.

But I did have it. And if Augustine had any of that proof... it could be my one way ticket back to pills, doctors, and white walled facilities. I couldn't let that happen.

Make it simple... my inner voiced breathed... don't let the demon make you paint too much of this drawing. Or they'll know... they'll know you are snapping, you are breaking.

You are blacking out.

My hand tightened on my sleeve as Tim walked back over, carrying the keys. "He's just having me walk you in; he says he can't stop right now."

My eyes found the man, standing in an odd stance I assumed was defensive, before he pivoted quickly and stole a player's ball.

"Fair enough." I shrugged and we began walking away. I could feel the other eyes trace us as we went.

"Have you talked to Karri lately?" I asked out of habit. It was the only thing Tim and I really had in common; her friendship could apparently keep us going even when she was gone.

"Yeah, same old same old. I guess she's decided she's surprisingly enjoying it down there. She has no real care for the new school because she'll be done in a few weeks anyway, but she says she feels liberated."

"Living without her father for the first time? I can't blame her. And she told me she and her mother were getting along as well." I finished. Tim nodded, filling me in on how apparently Karri actually had more in common with her mother's other children than she was prepared for.

But I watched Tim now. I could see it in the way he laughed roughly, the way his eyes refused to focus on mine. Yes... we both knew it. Karri wasn't being fully honest with us. She was putting on a smiling face for my sake; his sake. It seemed I was not the only one listening to Karri's updates with patient words and doubtful eyes. I knew enough of Karri's mother to know one thing, though they had no hatred for each other- they were still awkward and distant. In the month and half Karri had been gone, there was no way she would have so seamlessly blended into another family that until now had been strangers by choice.

"She's really found her spot." I smiled sadly through the lie. Tim watched me, some understanding perhaps taking place behind his eye. It was not our place to judge or gossip. She was doing this for our sake.

"Yes, I suppose she has."

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Tim unlocked the hallway doors that connected the halls of the gymnasia to the track fields out back. We walked past Mr. Craftmore's empty Health Education classroom and onwards to the main office. Tim kept huffing at the fact Hayden was no longer actively on the team for he had chosen the mural over sports.

"Why do you care?" I shrugged lightly, "You don't even like him."

"Hey," he scolded, "I never said I didn't like him, I said he was an odd one; when you talk to him he doesn't feel all there. I liked him as a teammate though; he was the fastest player on the field and was supposed to be our team captain this year. Besides, didn't you hate him? I know Karri does. When she found out you were working with him, I got like 20 straight messages of how I was the shittiest human being for not watching you."

I snorted softly through my nose, knowing he was probably not exaggerating. But his persistent eyes made me realize he was still waiting on an answer.

I exhaled quietly, "Yeah, I didn't like him before. I thought he was an asshole. He was different, like me, but still different enough for me to hate. I guess being paired with him as changed my view slightly..." I paused now, my heart drumming heavily in my chest. I couldn't picture having kissed those lips of the puppet master; of the creature from within my pages. The one who cloaked himself in fake friends and popularity.

It was like that was a different Hayden, not the caring, intrusive, protective bastard who couldn't seem to leave me alone. Again, those unwanted memories broke through my thoughts, the sensation of his face against my neck, the low breathing from his lungs as he slept behind me. I bit my lips slightly, feeling embarrassed suddenly.

Tim raised his eyebrows at me, "Whoa whoa whoa... wait...are you sure you're actually painting a mural together?"

I glared at him before suddenly smiling, "oh no, nothings been painted yet. We just draw each other in lewd lucrative poses for inspiration."

I realized I didn't joke often, because when I did.... people took me seriously. Very seriously.

Tim, like Randal that day he came to Hayden's house, had this incredulous look upon his face. He truly believed those words for a moment, and for some wonderful reason his face reminded me of my mother's when she walked in on Hayden and I this morning.

I busted out with laughter, letting my shoulders shake and roll effortlessly. Tim realized instantly it was a joke and shoved me slightly, his ears still red. I suddenly pictured everyone having new warped opinions of Hayden being a closest pervert, and him angrily not understanding where these rumors were all coming from. I laughed even harder.

Something on Tim's face changed again though as he watched me, something had shifted the moment I started laughing, and now he let that something take over his face entirely. Gentle, curious eyes traced my features.

"I like that," he whispered softly, examining me thoughtfully.

"Like what?" I asked, titling my head slightly.

"You. Your laughter."

But before I could answer he walked into the front office.

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I watched Tim disappear as Becky led me to down the halls. He didn't glance back as he finally rounded the corner. I frowned slightly and looked back forward, not sure what to make of his words. I could guess that it must be nice to have a laughed with me; god knew I was usually chockfull of pleasantries but little to no real social material. Yet... his words felt different. I couldn't be sure though.

Becky didn't notice my frown. She was excited, moving with easy strides to finally see the hidden stadium. She chattered about the buzz the whole school was in, about how everybody was anticipating the grand unveiling. She was stoked to know it was me who was painting it. Most all students knew Hayden was involved, but hardly anyone could figure out exactly who the other person was.

Much to her displeasure, she only unlocked the outer doors; Mr Rodrigues had given strict instructions that though she could see the large stadium, the mural was off limits to everyone. I let her bask in the large room, enjoying the memory of how I too first took in such an expensive facility. Giving me the keys, she watched longingly across the way to where the glass walls were; their gray internal curtains down their length to hide the mural on the other side.

"Just come up front and meet me when you're ready," she sighed.

"Thanks." I nodded, but as she was walking away I called after her, "Becky... are there... errr are there any other faculty in the school? Any teachers that have stayed?"

A phantom hand moved across my skin. A phantom breath breathed in my ear. You have forgotten me. The memory was cold and bitter.

She thought about it for a quick second before she shook her head, "Only sports today love, no one else." At that she finally left me alone.

My hands tightened again, the gentle ache still running through my bones.

A painful, warped smile began to appear on my lips.

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There.

It moves to the left.

The paintbrush pushes it further.

The color continues to bleed along the lines. A man stands above the girls, his cock pulled out in his hand, a sick and twisted grin splitting his face....

The females below him kneel amongst littered flyers and drawings. Those texts and words are distinguishable upon the floor; replicas of the posters that had once decorated our school.

Blessed be our queens and kings,

kneel down low and kiss thy rings

the cats are yowling, the crowds are bowing

remember again our queens and kings.

Those posters are tarnished and torn from the quick steps and shuffling atop them. Other flyers lay by their sides; the images of Karri hog tied in the mud, woman with Hilary Clinton masks standing above her.

The swine's ah- whinin'

Shit deep and cryin'

from all that lyin',

lets catch and tie em'.

The two styles of condemning posters cover the floor; they are the foundation... reason... to what happened afterwards, to what was happening above them.

The girls kneel below the man, playfully tied and bound in their Clinton masks. He too wears a mask, but his is not of a human form. The Ram façade, with its hallowed eyes and lolled tongue, is pulled away from his face allowing sight of what is truly underneath- of who he truly is.

The bell I had always drawn around his neck, the one to keep ringing and dinging so everyone would always know he was there, is gone. Instead, against the dark hair of his chest, is a whistle on a chain. If you could just reach it, if one could just get ahold of it and blow...

The rape whistle.

It's out of reach. It's tight across his neck and chest while he keeps the girls beneath him. They are laughing, smiling, singing and enjoying themselves. They won't need the whistle...

But his eyes are not on them. They are afar, tracing distant silhouettes of black shadows; female forms scurrying by with binders in hand.

Within his free hand is a school handbook, pages painted and painstakingly drawn to replicate the real book. Mock words are highlighted; No self-harm.

The central girl before him, Shannon, still recognizable in her mask that is also partially tilted away from her face, has her hand held out, a white plastic picnic knife within it. A police tag is clipped to it; simple words of simple sins. Evidence.

A dotted line marks her wrist, upturned as she holds the knife. In small, textbook style font, I draw the words "Cut here" with a small black scissor against it.

She smiles to the Ram from below him. She smiles while he reveals himself to her face. She smiles as he shows her the handbook. She smiles as she watches those unknown girls in the