I walk up the stairs of my dingy apartment building. When I first moved in, I thought the place had been a little sketchy, but then I had realized that though the building was old, it had enough of what I needed to stay true to my promise.

At first my parents were against me moving out on my own after college, worried that I might hurt myself, that they might lose me. But those fears quickly diminished when our family friends, Jet and Droy, who were a year younger than me, had moved into the next room over.

I'm pretty sure that my parent's call them every now and then, just to check that I'm ok. They call me to, but they know that I won't tell them if I was actually gonna do what they're so scared of me doing. So, instead, they're overprotective of their adult daughter.

I know that the reason they do it is because they care, but still, sometime I think it would be better if they just pretend that I didn't exist.

I open the door, and walk into the main room of my small apartment, which is lined with books. On any and every flat surface, at least one of them is resting flat, propped up on another object, or flipped open to the last page I had been reading. It's these books that have been keeping me alive for the past ten years, so I guess my logic for hoarding them is that I might as well return the favor.

Stepping around an open copy of Moby Dick, I walk over to the kitchen, dropping my bag down on the counter. The nice thing about living alone is you can be a complete slob, and no one will pick up and 're-organize' your stuff.

I take out one of those boxed 'lunchable' lunches that are always advertised by the weird seemingly mixed species animals. The Platypus and the Jackalope.

I head over to the small love seat that served as my couch, and pick up the book nearest to me. I feel like I've read it a million times, but I'm never able to get tired of it. I sometimes wish that I could fall asleep and wake up in this world, the sappy world where everyone gets the girl, or the guy, or the spot on the team. It's never like that in real life.

I start reading, picking at the processed food and not really eating, like I usually do. I start to lose myself in the book, feeling more like I'm in the world of crime and romance, not stuck in my dingy apartment all alone, waiting for someone who will never come back.

_-_-_I_-_-_

It's a while before I realize that someone's knocking at my door. I sigh and get up. It must be Jet and Droy, coming to check on me, as usual.

I dance around my books, and hop to the door, opening it and looking up.

It's not Jet, or Droy, who looks down on me.

It's a grinning man, with the most unusual colored hair that I've ever seen. Pink.

"Why, hello." He says, still smiling. "You're Levy McGarden, right?"

I'm a little suspicious of this man. I take that back, I am a LOT suspicious. I feel like I'm the main character in a crime/mystery book, and this man is here to tell me that my mother has died and I have to go on a quest to find her. In most of those books, the man who informed the main character is usually the killer.

"No." I lie. "I think you must have the wrong address."

The man frowns for the first time, reaching into his jacket pocket, and pulling out a photo of someone. Me. Not just me. Me and Lucy. "Well that's unfortunate… The girl in this photo with the blue hair.. She must be your twin sister then?"

He had me cornered. Whoever he was, he knew me. He knew Lucy. What if he was why she disappeared? What if he really was a murderer?

"I'm sorry, but I think I hear my water boiling. I really should go." I say curtly, starting to close the door.

The man slides his foot in the door at the last second, keeping it propped open. He smiles again, and opens the door a little wider.

"I'm sorry, but I've been told to… Ehm… Retrieve you." He says, holding up a syringe.

My muscles clench up. I know what's about to go down even before it happens.

"You'll understand later." he says, darting forward before I can do anything. He shoves the needle into my arm and pushes down the plunger, injecting me with whatever was in the syringe.

It feels like someone's pulling my consciousness out of my body. My eyes feel heavy, and I start to close them.

The last thing I see before drifting into unconsciousness is the blurred image of the man's still smiling face.

Heeeey. Well, here's chapter twoooo. I only got a little bit of feedback from the previous chapter, but my friend who reads all my work gave me the thumbs up and said "This is better than MTD. If you're gonna chose, you better do this one." But, she's obsessed with crime novels, so I guess it's not a surprise. Anywho, I'll be continuing this story, updating frequently like I do with Midnight Till Dawn.

Anywhoooo, thanks for reading my weird writing.