Everything’s white. It always starts out this way.

The walls, the ceiling and floor, everything. Stark white. You could see no ridges, where the floor met the walls; no telling which way was up or down, left or right. I was here in the middle of this nothing; waiting. Waiting for those whispers I knew would come. There was never a certain day of the week or month that these episodes happened. All I knew is that when they did, it was when my mind was blank and I was in a dreamlike state, but not quite asleep.

Goosebumps suddenly skitter down my arms, to my toes, and the bitter sweet smell of dying roses fill my senses. “Aislinn,” A whisper, so soft I can barely hear it. “Aislinn.” This time louder, filling the still air; wrapping around me. I turn, glancing all around, but see nothing but whiteness. I close my eyes and count to ten, when I open a women stands before me.

Late twenties, with short brown hair; she is very pretty, with a heart shaped face. There is not a hair out of place. “Aislinn,” she says again, but this time is not a whisper.

“Yes?” I ask, because I already know what is coming.

She reaches out and lays her palm against my cheek, “You must figure it out. Find what happened to me.” I just stare at her, not knowing how to respond. She lays her other hand upon me, “Find out what happened to me, Aislinn.” Her eyes grow huge and she starts to shake me, “You have to find out what happened! Figure it out Aislinn. Figure it ou-”

“Stop,” I say. “Stop it.” But she keeps rambling, keeps shaking me. “I said stop it!” I shriek and push her away. When my hands make contact she bursts into a beam of light with a wail. Silence fills the room; the only sound is my heavy breathing. Within a moment, everything fades to black.


I wake up with a start, sweat covering my forehead, the sheets tangled around my feet. My alarm clock is blaring and I reach across to my nightstand and press snooze. I flip back down on my covers and whisper sarcastically, “Time for school, yeeeeaaa.”

I sit up after a few seconds and hop off the bed, making my way across the clothes covered floor to my vanity mirror. My hair sticks to my face and dark circles ring my eyes. My face is ashen and I smack my cheeks trying to bring life and color to them.

“Aislinn!” My father roars. “Hurry and come down to eat breakfast! You’re going to be late!”

“Be there in a sec!” I yell towards my door. I turn away from the mirror to look at my strewn floor. “Something has to be clean,” I mutter to myself, dropping to my floor and grabbing random shirts to lift to my nose and sniff. Not too bad, I think about a red v-cut sweater. I pair it with a pair of dark jeans and boots. I put deodorant on and swath a light layer of mascara across my lashes. After brushing my dark hair into a loose ponytail, I grab my bag as I make my way out.

The smell of my father’s signature omelets and bacon fill my nose as I make way down the stairs and round the corner into the kitchen. “Morning,” I say as I sit down at the table in front of a made plate.

“Good morning,” he says gliding over to the table, kissing the top of my head before taking a seat. “Sleep well?” he asks while getting situated.

“Yeah, fine,” I answer back. My father doesn’t know about my episodes, and it should stay that way unless an insane asylum suddenly sounds very inviting. He being a coroner, there’s always a black and white answer. Murder or natural. Accident or on purpose. His pronouncement of me would simply be psychotic.

“I won’t be home until late. Got a new body coming in today and I want to get the majority of the examination started.” He says as I take my dishes to the sink, rinsing them. Living in Sacramento, his late nights were often; people always coming in.

“You know anything about the person?” I ask, although I already know who it will be. The lady’s pleas fill my mind and I feel her palms against my cheek. Her huge blue eyes…

“Not a name,” he replies, ripping me from my reverie, “or specifics, just that it’s a woman in her forties and they don’t know the cause of death. They’re ruling it most likely as a homicide.” He stands from the table and walks toward me and rinses his plate and glass, sticking them both in the dishwasher.

“Guess you’ll find out,” I tell him, letting out a breath I didn’t realize I was holding.

“Guess so,” he says turning to leave the room; his footsteps echoing across the floorboards. I hurry and brush my teeth and yell to my father that I’ll see him later as I set out the front door and into the warm autumn air.


Being only a few minutes late, trying to find a parking spot in the John F. Kennedy High School lot to park my dingy Honda Civic was a challenge to say the least. After driving around in circles, I finally find one in the very back and book it to the front doors to make it to my locker in time. I squeeze through crowds of people stopped in the middle of the hall. “Excuse me,” I say to the backs of them. I can see my locker about ten feet away but can’t manage to squirm past this last group. “Um, excuse me.” I utter, warily. My eyes still meet their shoulders. I know these people, and they obviously know me; well, my father. “Helloooo. I need to get through here,” I state.

“Guys, do you smell something?” Vidette Montgomery asks the rest of the in crowd. They look around and set their eyes on me. “It smells like something…. dead.” she says with a smirk. Snickers erupt and Lena Klein, the b**** queen’s best friend, tells her, “Good one, Vee”. I stand my ground.

“Oh, very original Vidette. Bravo.” I express trying to look intrigued and give a little clap. “Now, if you people could manage to pull the sticks out of your asses and move out of my way, it would be highly appreciated.” Lena’s mouth drops open and bystanders in the hallway stop to turn and see what’s going on. People making comments to me about my father’s work was nothing new, especially not coming from Vidette and her followers. His job isn’t deemed interesting or cool to the people I go to school with. All I want to do is blend in and get through these last two years but having the label as ‘Frankenstein’s Daughter’ might as well be painted across my forehead.

“Whatever, freak.” Vidette remarks. “Come on guys,” she says, looping her arm through her boyfriend, Christian Reed’s, muscled arm and turning on her heel; the others follow in pursuit. The rest of the people start to disperse and I finally make it to my locker. 22-2-12. My locker pops open and I shove my bag in as fast as possible. I bend over and grab my chemistry book and folder, when I stand back up, glancing in my locker mirror, I notice a guy standing across the hall staring at me. “Can I help y-“I start to command, whipping around, but I find he’s vanished around the corner before I can get all the words out. Weird. I’ve never seen him before. The bell sounds off and I scurry down the hall, praying that I make it to class before Mrs. Lennon does.


Mrs. Back, a fifty-seven year old lady with wispy hair and a giant mole above her lip, fortunately is subbing for our class this morning. I dash through the door a minute after the bell biiinngg’s. With the class practically wailing and she at the board trying to explain chemical reactants, she’s either deaf or just understood there is no way she can even remotely control 37 obnoxious seventeen- year- old students.

I take my seat by the window and try to drown out the chatter of Mrs. Back and the shrieking of my peers. I close my eyes and picture myself in the comfort of my bed. Trying to get into a comfortable position, I fold my arms atop my books and lay my head down. Drowsy already, whiteness soon envelops me.

I blink open my eyes, finding I’m on the floor, lying on my side. Again, the bitter sweet smell of dead roses fills my nose. A white dress has replaced my other clothes and its soft silk feels nice against my skin. I sit up and look around; I'm expecting to see the lady with the pretty face but a new woman is to my left. Her dark hair curls arounf her shoulders and her blue eyes are startling in contrast. “Hello, Aislinn,” she says. Her hands are folded in front of her. “I need your help darling.”

“You people always need my help” I tell her, getting to my feet. “But I don't know how to.”

“But you do, I know you do. You have to,” she says desperately.

“I don’t know how to do what you’re asking me to. I never know when they come to me. I wish you all would just leave me alone. I can’t help you,” I say, trying to explain. They never listen; just keep rambling. Eventually they stop coming but soon after another will visit me; asking, pleading.

“You have to figure out what happened to me, Aislinn. Find out who did this,” she replies.

“Wait. You want me to solve how you died?” I ask exasperatedly. She nods her head yes. “I can’t do that. I don’t know who the hell you people think I am. I’ll say it again and I’ll keep saying it if I have to. I. Can’t. Help. You.”

Her eyes start to tear, “Please,” she says. “Please, Aislinn try. Just try to help me.” I start to shake my head no. “Please, I’m begging you. Do it- do it for my son.”

“Your son?” I ask flustered.

“Yes, do it for him. He deserves to know. I can’t bear the thought of him always wondering; he would end up trying to take matters into his own hands. Something would end up happening to him, but with you- with you I know you have the ability to help me. Just try, Aislinn. That’s all I’m asking of you,” she says giving me another desperate look. “Please,” She whispers one last time.

“Okay,” I say after a few moments. “I’ll try to help you.”

“Oh, thankyouthankyouthankyou,” she says in a mad rush, letting out a breath of air and breaking into a huge smile. “Thank you so much.”

“I’m not promising anything lady,” I reply to her with a fold of my arms.

“I know, I’m not asking you too.” She answers, and I notice her starting to glow.

“Before you go, would you mind telling me your name?” I ask hurriedly.

“Keelie,” She tells me, her glow becoming brighter, almost blinding.”My name is Keelie.”

“And your son? What is his name?”

She tries to tell me but it dies out with the rest of her, too quickly for me to have caught.

My eyes pop open, a pounding behind them, and I wipe the little bit of drool from my arm. The bell has sounded off and everyone is scurrying out of the room. I stack all of my things and make my way out into the hall to get to my next class.


By the time lunch rolls around, I am starving. The delicious smells of cooked food fill my nose and I make my way through people to the shortest line. Cheeseburger and fries. Mmmmmm. My stomach growls. I make my way through the line, grabbing other condiments I want and a fork. After paying I make my way through the throngs of people and tables, to the far back one by the window. I sit down, setting my tray in front of me and look around.

The usual people sit at their usual tables in their usual places. Everything’s the same. And then I see him. He makes his way across the cafeteria, the bob of his blonde head, staring at me the whole way. I can see he’s about six foot with broad shoulders and muscled arms. Even from here I can make out the light of his eyes. As he’s about to pass Vidette’s table she stops him by saying something. He stops for a second, replying back to her, never taking his eyes off of me, but I’m too far away to make out the words exchanged between the two.

He shakes his head no at something she says and keeps making his way towards me. When he reaches my table he stands there, not saying anything and I simply stare back. “Can I help you, buddy?” I snap after a few moments. Silence. I wasn’t in too of a good mood already and he definatly wasn’t helping. “Do you have a speaking problem?”

“Would you make fun of me if I did?” He imposes.

“What? No. That’s what certain others would do,” I tell him, glancing to Vidette’s table.

He doesn’t even turn around, like he knows perfectly well who I’m indicating. “Would you mind me sitting here?” he asks gently.

“I’m pretty sure your groupies are calling for you,” I tell him sarcastically.

He turns to look at their table. “Them?” He inquires like he had no idea. “They’re not really the type of people I like to associate with,” He states, turning back around.

I look him up and down, “You sure about that?” I ask, crossing my arms. From his Abercrombie jeans to his perfectly disheveled hair, he was the spitting image of what any of Vidette’s guys appear.

“Oh, so now you’re judging me on my appearance too?” he asks, fake hurt. I give him a look. “Yeah, I’m sure.” When I don’t say anything he begins to rock from foot to foot. “Look, can I please just sit with you?” he asks genuinely.

“You’re not setting me up are you?” I’m not really the girl that people want to associate with either.

He gives a little chuckle, “No. I promise.”

“Cross your heart and hope to die?” I ask, eyeing him.

“Stick a needle in my eye.”

I kick a seat out for him, the sound echoing through the quiet cafeteria, “Pop a squat,” I state, looking around. I hadn’t noticed everyone staring at us; Vidette’s glaring.

He sits his tray down and gets situated in his seat, “I’m Brigg by the way. I feel it’s only necessary to formally introduce myself,” he says sticking out his hand.

I reach out my hand, “Nice to meet you Brigg, I’m Aislinn.”

“Aislinn, a vision, a dream; inspiration,” He spurts off, taking a bite of his food.

“What did you say?” I ask bewildered. Does he know? I ask myself.

“Your name. That’s what it means- a vision, a dream; inspiration. It comes from Celtic origin.” He tells me nonchalantly.

“And you know that because…?” I ask leaving the sentence open.

“Sorry, I have a thing about names. I like learning their meanings.” He glances at me seeing my strange look I’m giving him. “It’s weird, I know.”

“Brigg, I’ve never heard of that. What’s its meaning?” I ask curiously.

“It’s also Celtic, meaning swift and quick moving,” He tells, taking another bite.

“Does it pertain to you well?” I ask, wondering if his is as close as mine could ever be.

“Track is my sport of choice if that tells you anything. The meanings are usually pretty close to ones abilities or personality; it sometimes freaks people out a bit. Why? Is yours?” He asks, glancing up from his tray for my response.

I hesitate a moment but decide to keep it to myself, “No. No not really.” I state with a slight shake of my head. “What about Vidette? I’m sure that one’s just peachy.”

“It’s actually Hebrew and means ‘the beloved one’ which explains her popular status. Although it doesn’t technically mean that they actually love her just that she becomes the leader in most situations. Usually from fear.” He pushes his tray away from him, finished, “I saw what you did this morning- standing up to her the way you did. That took a lot of guts Aislinn.”

I do a flip of my hand, whatever. “They give me crap all the time for my dad, I’m use to it.” I tell him flippantly. “Someone had to do it eventually, knock her ego down a few rings; I didn’t want her head to explode.”

He laughs, “Yeah I know how big it must be.” I give him a questioning look asking silently for him to explain. He clears his throat before beginning, “At my old school, I was a Vidette replica. I ruled my school, and I knew it. I got whatever I wanted by bullying people and getting them on my side by using fear. I didn’t care about anyone but myself. I was everything I told myself I would never become. My mom- my mom hated the person was. She knew I could be better, that that wasn’t the real me. I would blow her off and we would get into arguments all the time over it. I was so self-centered and trying to have this ‘I’m The Man’ mentality that I didn’t see what she was talking about. And then one night-“ his voice cracks and he clears his throat again, a distant look forms in his eyes, “one night I was out partying with my friends and a kid robbed our house, thinking no one was home. When he saw her I guess he freaked and he-" he breaks off for a moment, “he shot her. My mother, gone.” He’s silent for a moment and then he says, “I told myself that I would never go back to being like that again. My mom knew all along that wasn’t the real me and I didn’t see it until after she was gone. If this is the last thing I ever do for her than this is what it will be.”

I reach over and lay my hand atop his, “She must have been right about you, mother’s always are.” I say with a small smile.

He gives a little small smile back, “Let’s hope so.”

“I know so,” I tell him reassuringly. “That’s why you moved here?” I ask Brigg tentatively.

“Yeah,” he says with a nod of his head. “My dad lives in the area and I needed a fresh start anyways. What about you? Any tragic life story you would like to share?” he asks trying to lighten up the conversation.

I give a half smile, “Well, I’ve lived here all my life with my father. He’s the city’s coroner, so people usually give me crap for that but, nothing I can’t handle,” I tell him reassuringly. “My mother has been out of the picture for as long as I can remember,” My smile broadens a little and I retell him of a memory, “When I was about eight I had pestered and pestered my father with endless questions about her and one day he gave me a picture, and I remember thinking she was the most beautiful woman I had ever seen. I had this little Hello Kitty wallet I had gotten for my birthday and later after he gave it to me I stuck it in there and everywhere I went that wallet came with me.” I gaze off across the cafeteria, wrapped in the memory of that day. I look over at Brigg, “Do you have anything of her?”

“Yeah I do actually. A picture like you recalled,” he tells me, pulling a key chain out of his pocket. An assortment of keys dangle from the loop but with that is pictures in clear cases, too. “Here she is,” he says holding one out to me.

I take it from his hands to look at it. I startle in surprise. “This is your mother?” I ask bewildered glancing up at him. He nods his head yes and I look back down at the woman in the picture, her blue eyes smile up at me.