Behind the Wall

[Poppy Hawthorne]

Winter was long and brutal, as anyone who lived on the upper east coast would know with the freezing winds coming in from the coast and the snow that would lay in sheets for days upon days. Unfortunately, anyone sane enough, would understand that travel on the highway was unsafe, unthinkable, ridiculous, suicide, amongst other things. For Poppy going up to colder winds than she was already used to was not by choice, not by sheer desire to see Maine, in fact it was completely against her will. It had been almost a week, if not less, since Alexandre, beloved brother and only family member left in her life died by suicide. Things were still sketchy, such as the reasoning considering for the happiest man on earth and the American dream having been lived out in his life, to end it all suddenly was something so out of the ordinary that anyone would be completely skeptical.

It was a bad dream to her, still as she slowly turned down a small stretch of road that was lined with nothing but dead tree's and heavy fog that hung around like decoration. She was going to Portland simply because she had to sale the large plantation house her brother had purchased. It hadn't even been owned for one month, the ink was still dry on all the paper, and there she was already trying to sale it. But who would want a home where someone committed suicide? Who? She sniffed back the tears that she had been crying all the way there, wiping her eyes on her sleeves considering her entire car was filled with tissues within two hours. She was dreading this more than anything, she would want to stick nails in her eyes aside from doing this, but it was what had to be done.

Slowly, the large three story house was drawing into view as she went over an old ragged wooden bridge. It was beautiful, a home that someone during the civil war would have owned with many workers. It was beautiful despite its delapidated appearance, had Alexandre lived long enough, she was sure it would have been as beautiful as it once was.

Poppy slowed down her car as she went around the small circular driveway in front of the house. This was, to her, going to be the hardest thing yet. To get all his belongings and sale the last thing he ever touched and lived in. She turned the car off after sitting idle for minutes and stepped out, feeling the cold wind hit her face unconditionally. She shivered as she looked around hearing nothing but ice popping in the trees and ground, hearing wind blow against her, other than that it was dead silence.

Slowly, she turned in a circle, glancing around the large property and forest area around the house, as well as the lake that stretched into town. It was gorgeous. Slamming the car door, Poppy moved around the driveway, trying to get a better sense of what she had to deal with. It would be hard to sale, but she was ready and willing. Poppy looked up at the chimeny's and sighed. This place was vast and incredibly expensive. A snapping branch turned her attention to a small boat house where she smiled at the little boat she recalled Alexandre talking about two weeks ago. He had been proud of it, but he had never used it due to the ice on the water. Poppy frowned when she felt the wind blow against her face, she turned her back to it to face the house and for a moment, just a split second, she swore she saw a face in one of the windows. The curtains moved, but she figured it was her imagination getting the best of her.

This was going to be a very long trip.

[Wesley Paige]

Wesley had walked slower into work that morning. Something about teaching all those young minds, and dealing with minds that weren't all there seemed like a trivial thing after what had happened last week. Nothing so bad had happened in Portland since he had been in college, years ago. Suicides just...didn't happen. Not here. Especially not to the friend of a psychiatrist.

Wesley hung his jacket and scarf up on the pegs beside his office door after unlocking and going in, peering around at all of his things. Notes stuck on everything, his desk covered with files, written notes, an empty coffee cup here and there. He shut his door quietly, not to bother the silence of the Arts and Sciences building that always fell this early in the morning. He tended to be there before everyone else, so that he would have some quiet time to think about his patients, how he could help, take notes, seek information on the computer.

But this morning...he just sat down in his chair and propped his feet up on the desk, tapping a pencil against his knee and staring at the blank screen. He had no desire to do anything today, not after everything that had happened. He hadn't known Alexandre well, but he had spoken with him on several occasions, the other man had even come to a few sessions. Something with his house...hallucinations? Wes didn't want to think about it this morning.

Instead, he got up out of his desk and went over to where his coffee maker was. He began to methodically make some, a routine he kept every morning. He perched his glasses on top of his head so he could see better. He pushed the thoughts of the dead man out of his mind, and tried to focus on his work.

[Poppy Hawthorne]

Nothing was working, wandering about the house was not very helpful, all Poppy could do was seemlessly wander back into the lobby staring up at the grand two staircases that curved to the second floor. She was wanting to go into the ballroom, she was dying to, no pun intended, but she had managed to only see the beautiful living room, kitchen, and diningroom. The only room she hadn't seen on the first floor was the dining hall and this room that was blocked off. She had yet to be able to enter it and for a moment she wondered if she was going to have to find a crowbar or something to get into it, but didn't want t mess with it at the moment.

The house, aside from the stirs, creaks, and the sudden gusts of cool air, it was warm, comforting, and smelled like her brother. She liked it there, but there was just something that clung in the air that she couldn't really place. It just felt cold and felt like there was something else there, but she knew she was being silly. She sighed out as she stood in the hallway, staring at the door that lead into the ballroom. She wasn't sure why but she felt that there was something else there.

Poppy walked to the doors and slowly opened them, hearing them creak as they swung open. She sighed out, almost like she had been holding her breath, but the moment she saw the large red walls and bright wooden floors, she slumped, as if she were hoping to find something, but all she saw was a beautifully finished ballroom. She glanced around and slid back out into the hallway, closing the doors to shut off the bad memory that lingered in that room. Alexandre had died in there.

She shivered as she stood there holding the handle with her hands, not wanting to really believe he was gone. A door slamming caused her to jump. She frowned and backed away from the doors and back into the lobby to glance around at the open ceiling to the second floor. She stood there, holding her breath, waiting, listening, suddenly she heard footsteps and then followed by a door slamming closed.

"Hel-hello?" Poppy yelled. "Is someone here?" When she heard nothing she frowned. Was there supposed to be someone else there? Realator perhaps?

[Wesley Paige]

By the time his friend came in and said good morning and went into the office next to him, Wesley had a bad feeling. One of those feelings that told you something wasn't right. But he couldn't think of anything that would be wrong. He figured it was just the suicide hanging over their little town. Although a prestigious college, they were sort of out in the middle of nowhere, a gem, most called their college and town. So something this disturbing was a surprise in their little corner of the world. Their town was supposed to be somewhere people came to get away, relax, live out their dreams. Not kill themselves.

"Someone's come to unpack the Wickett house," his friend said as he wandered into Wesley's office and leaned on the door frame, stirring cream and sugar into his coffee. His silver wire glasses were perched on the bridge of his nose and he looked over them at Wes as if he were expecting something. Hawthorne. His friend meant the Hawthorne House.

People had tried to stop calling it the Wickett place when the young Alexandre had bought it. But now that he had committed suicide in that place...the old rumors, the old horrors were coming back with a vengence. The paper's headlines had read in big, bold print "Have the Wicketts Done it Again?" and "The Wickett House Claims Another Victim". The police department had quickly quashed the the headlines. Even if the family didn't live here, when they came to get the body...no one wanted to have to see those things on the papers after having gone through something like that.

"Probably the parents..." Wesley answered noncommittally as he poured himself another cup of coffee and stirred in two lumps of sugar. He stirred it as he turned around and watched his friend closely as he sipped on his hot coffee.

"You don't figure they'll try to sell the place?" his friend asked, lifting his eyebrows. Wesley sighed, shrugging.

"Why not? There's nothing wrong with that house. The kid obviously had problems..." Wesley said, then paused. He smiled, sitting down at his desk. "You read too much."

[Poppy Hawthorne]

It was damn cold in that house, Poppy had concluded after repeated trips to the thermostat, although it was now on 80 degrees, she felt like it wasn't even getting a bit warm, despite feeling it hit her face every door she passed.

Since that little scare of footsteps and doors slamming, she had gathered up the courage to open all the rooms upstairs to make sure she wasn't missing someone, who apparently didn't hear her calls or her questions. But, so far, having been a bit surprised to find the entrire second floor was nothing but bedrooms was about as much excitement as she experienced. Nothing that a little science or common sense couldn't explain. She figured this house was still old and creaking and causing the house to shift, which would explain the doors slamming, after all she had found one empty bedroom where the door didn't latch so well. Plus, the house being so drafty she figured it would rattle and make noises, much like footsteps.

So far on her little scavanger hunt she had found nothing out the ordinary, save one bedroom that had been quite lived in and still smelled of her brother, as did every other place in this house. She had managed to not go into it, not quite ready to take on the task of gathering up his things. She didn't want to put a final stamp on things, she was still trying to adjust to the fact that he was gone, to quickly sweep it under the carpet by packing up his things and leaving in one day didn't seem very agreeable to her conscience. She was going to take her time. Sell this house first, pack later, get out after. Sounded like a good plan.

Poppy sighed as she sat down in the beautiful kitchen. It was bright without needing a single light on, the floors tiled in black and white squares, fresh and barely used stainless steel appliances. It was something her brother had always talked about. She played with her cup of tea, stirring it mindlessly although the sugar lumps had long been dissolved. She stared out the window down the small hill and boat house and lake. It was picturesque, everything was, but it didn't have that warm homey feel to it. To Poppy it still felt cold and uninviting despite the warm colors, beautiful hardwood floors, an new furniture to make it look like a plantation house into a farm house. It still had this looming feel of it being stuck in an era, unable to move on.

Plus there was the sense of there being something else there, without it actually being there. She didn't know if this was a good thing or not, but she figured it was due to the vastness of the home. Any house with three floors, over 70 to 80 bedrooms, large rooms was bound to feel empty with one little person inside, but she couldn't help but wonder why she felt like she wasn't the only one there. Perhaps, Poppy thought, it was because at one point this place used to be owned by a great man with a lot of money and had a lot of servants running about. It must've been their prescense she felt.

Poppy laughed, she didn't believe in spirits or ghosts, she just believed in what was real and explainable. This house was old, airy, large, and complicated and had a nasty history. Poppy was just feeling out of her element due to the fact that her brother had perished there. Poppy frowned as she looked into her cup of tea, or lack of tea. She frowned as she dropped her spoon, hearing it clank against the china seeing nothing inside except her two lumps of sugar.

"What the..." Poppy looked over the pot of tea and grabbed the cold handle and pulled the top off seeing that there was no tea inside. She jumped off the stool she sat on and walked around the island she sat at and over the trash bin under the sink where she had tossed the tea packets, but she saw nothing but a white, empty, trash bag. She recalled making tea, she stood there for fifteen minutes contemplating on what to do with the house, the funeral, everything! She had gotten the tea out of the cupboard to the right...Poppy slammed the bottom drawer and walked over to the small thin white door and pulled it open grabbing the string from the bare light. She frowned as she saw the tea sitting on the shelf, not having been touched or opened, the plastic wrapping still over the Earl Grey.

"Oh bull." She grabbed it and walked out into the kitchen, closing the doors to the pantry and tossed it onto the island as she grabbed the tea pot. Expecting it to be empty she didn't put much strength into pulling it, but the moment she pulled it off the counter she screamed, feeling hot tea spalsh her hand. Unexpectdly she dropped it, watching the beautiful china teapoty crash against the floor, tea spilling all over her black boots and khaki pants, as well as the floor.

Poppy, shocked, looked at her teacup to find nothing but tea and a spoon.

[Wesley Paige]

"I mean it guys, exam next week, and its going to be hard!" Wes called out the door as his students left, some of his favorites grinning back and nodding. Sometimes they didn't take him seriously, due to the way he ran his classroom--very hands on, few homework or book assignments. But usually they knew he wasn't kidding about his exams.

He took a deep breath and began stuffing his things into his satchel. He pulled back his sleeve to look at his watch. Still an hour before his twelve o'clock appointment showed up. He sighed, he had time to grab something to eat.

Wesley glanced over as one of his students knocked on the door. He smiled and motioned them in.

"What do you need, Josh?" he asked. The man stood at his desk and began talking about a friend of his that he thought might need some help. Stressed about school, work and family, the boy seemed to be a danger to himself and others too. Wesley listened intently for a long time, before giving his student his card, with his house number on the back, and told him that if he thought his friend might hurt himself, to call. And to give the number to his friend. He smiled and watched the boy out.

He went back to his desk and picked up his notebook. Wesley paused, however, seeing a yellowed bit of paper hanging out of the side of his notebook. He furrowed his brow. What was that? He couldn't remember sticking something that looked like that in there.

Opening up the book, he found where the sheet was stuck. It was an old newspaper clipping...from the early 1900's. Wes's brow furrowed even more. The edges had been torn from a paper instead of cut. It was a headline, his eyes scanned it.

"Mysterious Deaths Plague the Wicketts."

Wesley's stomach flopped a little. He glanced around, wondering if someone had stuck this in on their way out of the classroom. He turned his eyes back down to the page. Scanning over the clipping, he gathered that a young Heiress, Chastity Wickett, had been found mysteriously dead on the roof of the house outside her upstairs bedroom window. Cause of death unknown. Only three days later, her brother, Scott, only twelve at the time, was found dead in his bed, strangled, a long armed clown toy was wrapped around his neck. The presumed murder weapon.

Welsey sneered a little. Someone was trying to scare him, sticking these things in his notebook. Probably one of his students stole this from the library and decided he was a good target.

Sighing, he left the clipping on his desk and left his office. Although sure it was a trick, he couldn't help but be a little unnerved.

[Poppy Hawthorne]

Since the "tea incident" Poppy had tried to keep her mind occupied with things that were actually worth worrying about, like the fact that she was hallucinating that there hadn't been any tea due to tire. She had eaten a light meal from the kitchen, what food had been left from her brother's last shopping trip. She knew she had to go get some more food later on since it was literally bare. Peanut butter sandwiches were good, but not for a routine dinner.

Poppy had been laying in bed for what felt like hours. Anytime the cold winter wind blew the house creaked, she heard whispers, doors rattled, amongst many other odd noises that only made her shrink in her comforter and hold her breath. She swore she heard voices, but she knew it was impossible. The nearest family to that old house was almost a mile, or two, away and there wasn't a television on since there was only one in the living room downstairs, where she slept. She didn't feel comfortable in any other rooms, they were too dark and too cold. The living room was warm, the television was in there, a door to shut off the lobby. It was comforting to her, but still in the back of her mind she felt something.

Poppy was also being haunted by her brother. She slept for about fifteen minutes, only to be startled awake by a slam of a door upstairs, that loose door no doubt, but it was frightening because she had been dreaming of her brother. She had heard music, beautiful party music that you'd hear in the 30's, she had walked out into the lobby and to the ballroom, that was bright and alive, yet there were no people, until she looked up at the gold vast shimmering chandelier, her brother swinging from it like a pendulum. His eyes opened and then she awoke to the slam. Her heart was still racing, but her bladder was calling for relief.

She didn't want to get up off the couch that was soft and warm, but she had to. She sighed as she tossed them off of her and stood, grabbing the remote on the small table in front of the couch. She turned on the tv to give her some noise while she used the guest bathroom in the lobby. She walked to the door and pushed it open, her eyes scanning the dark blue lobby. The light switch was by the door and she wasn't heading that way, she was taking a left towards the stairs. She sighed, shivering in her flannel pajamas and tank top. She walked quickly towards the bathroom, hearing the creaks of the house and the old grandfather clock ticking loudly in the hallway. She hated clocks, especially in a large house by herself. She shivered, why did she feel like she wasn't alone? Poppy knew it was her mind getting the best of her, she shivered again as she walked by the clock, not daring to look at her reflection for fear she'd scare herself without makeup on and lack of sleep. She grinned as she walked by it, reaching for the door handle, but she paused. For a long moment she listened, holding her breath. Suddenly, there was no sound.

Poppy's heart was going a mile a minute as she slowly turned, almost afraid she'd see something, but luckily she didn't. She slowly walked back to the clock. Why did it stop? Poppy, hearing her heartbeating loudly, felt the hair on her neck stand on end as she reached the side of the clock. She slowly looked at the golden pendulum, moving to face the front. Immediately, her eyes watered, her heart stopped. She stood in awe, fear holding her to the exact spot of where she stood. She saw her reflection in the glass, although it wasn't her.

Her hair was wet, she was wearing a white gown, and she saw the back of her head. Poppy stepped back slightly, watching as the figure in the glass slowly began to turn as if to face her. With a gasp and a scream she bolted to the living room, turning quickly to grab the handles on the door and slam it shut. She backed up and screamed when she fell over backwards onto the couch. For the longest moment she laid on the floor lifeless, fearing what she might see. After a moment she slowly raised up and peeked over the couch to see nothing.

A long moment of silence passed then the sound of the phone blaring startled her. She reached for it and picked it up, saying hello in a panicked tone. She regained her breath and sighed, aggravated the person didn't hear her.

"Hello?" She said again. Suddenly she heard giggling. Startled, she screamed in shock and threw the phone at the wall, watching it shatter. What the hell was going on!?

[Wesley Paige]

Wesley worked late into the night on a case he had just recieved. He was being requested to interview someone in a police case. He didn't want to do it, but he knew that he couldn't just say no.

By the time he did actually lay down to sleep, it was close to two o'clock and he was exhausted. He got up from his desk, washed his face, changed into something else and laid down. He felt strange this evening for some reason. Like there was something wrong...but not where he was. Somewhere else, with someone else he knew, or that he ought to know.

He shook the ideas out, as he knew it was probably just tire making him a little hallucinatory.

[Poppy Hawthorne]

Poppy sighed out as she yawned, wandering throughout the small convenient store picking up a few items she needed, while at the same time trying to wake up, despite it being one in the afternoon. She was so sleepy, she hadn't been able to sleep at all after the nightmare she suffered, although she felt like she had actually seen what she saw in the clock. Poppy shivered as she walked down the cereal aisle, picking up a small box of fruit loops to snack on. She sighed as she wandered around, dazed almost. She was halfway awake, while the rest of her mind was stuck on what she remembered. Luckily her ability to hear was rather sensitive.

"Oh yeah! Doctor Paige is one of the best psychologists we've ever seen at the college." Poppy frowned, moving her small cart around the corner of the aisle to see two women standing by a small kiosk containing fresh bread. Wanting to be a little sneaky, Poppy paused next to them, pretending to be interested in poppy seed bread, continuing to easvesdrop. But before they got into details they stopped to stare at her. Noticing that she could feel eyes on her, Poppy looked up, seeing the two model thin blondes staring, half with a smile.

"What?" She asked with a nervous laugh. They two women smiled and laughed.

"Sorry! We were wondering if you were, by any chance, Alexandre Hawthorne's sister?" The name escaping other people's lips caused her heart to skip. "We are so sorry to hear about your brother, everyone really liked him." Poppy smiled, shying away from the subject.

"Thank you." She looked around at the selection and raised an eyebrow, pretending to have found what she wanted. "I...couldn't help but overhear you talkng about a psychologist?" The women bother exchanged glances before putting their cold eyes on her again, soft sympathetic smiles crossing their perfected faces.

"Yes, Wesley Paige. Best man to talk to about...things." Poppy wasn't born yesterday, she knew when people were promoting sympathy and even more so when she was being judged when mentioning a psychologist.

"Well, I better get going. Snowstorm is coming." She picked up whatever her hands had found and she put it in her cart. Biting her lip, and swallowing her pride of not wanting to laugh it off, she wandered to a checlk out lane and kept the man's name in mind. Hopefully, he might help her with her odd...occurences?

[Wesley Paige]

Wesley sat in his office, forehead cradled in his hand as he jotted down things in a file. He had just finished a session with a woman, and he was trying to identify her issues. He was thinking that she suffered from paranoid schizophrenia. It seemed to run in her family as her mother and grandmother both had it. He had written down key things she had said, and he was going through, highlighting them, and writing down notes.

He leaned back and sighed pushing his glasses up on his head, rubbing his eyes. It was only eleven thirty in the morning, but it was Friday, which was always a good thing. He would be able to go home and relax a little...

Except that most of his patients not only had his office number, but also his cell and home phone, which sometimes made peaceful weekends hard to come by. A lot of his patients called him more than they called their own family members. Luckily however, he didn't have any patients who called him late at night. Most calls came during the day, asking about medication with certain things, such as food or certain activites.

Wes was just glad the weekend was here.

[Poppy Hawthorne]

Poppy thumbed through the listings of all those psychologists that happened to be in the small town, which was only two people, one of which was female, the other. Bingo.

Poppy picked up the phone and bit her lower lip, dialing the number slowly as she glanced at the book then the phone. She had put up her groceries and had given it a lot of thought as to what she would tell the man. He'd probably tell her to take up some sleeping pills and that was it, but she felt it was more than just a lack of sleeping. She shivered at the thought as she put the phone to her ear. After a moment she hung up. She might as well go ahead and talk to him in peson, phone was never good for her to explain things with emotion.

Jotting the address down on a pad of paper she grabbed her purse and kets and headed out the door, not glancing back at the house in fear of what she might see, because she somehow felt someone was watching her. Knowing it was nothing she got into her car, rather swiftly, and locked the doors and headed down the driveway into town. Hopefully it wasn't too late to speak with him, she hoped.

It didn't take long to find the college, it was very large and very elaborate for a small town, much like Harvard, if she could say that was a small town. She sighed out, trying to piece her mind together to make sense when talking to the man, even she was having a hard time believing what she saw, so how in God's name would she make him believe it? Poppy figured it didn't really matter, she would just leave out the psychotic sightings for another time.

Walking against the wind she wrapped herself up in her coat as she reached for the door and opened it, loving the blast of warm air she felt, the place smelled old, like any old college. She looked at the directory and found the Doctor's name and floor and headed up the steps, regretting the idea the moment seh hit the third floor out of breath. She pulled open the heavy door and looked around, finding a young woman sitting behind a receptionist desk. Smiling, she walked over to it and asked for Wesley Paige and took a seat after a moment of questioning. The woman stated she would see if he was available and for her to have a seat.

[Wesley Paige]

Wesley heard a knock on his door as he had stared blankely as the file in front of him. He jumpe a little and sat up, looking over at the door.

"Yes, yes, come in!" he called. His receptionist, Lenora, leaned her head in and smiled.

"Sorry to interrupt, Wes, but we have a walk-in, she wants to talk to you," she said, cocking her head. She glanced over her shoulder, leaning in a little more and lowering her vioce. "She's Alexandre Hawthorne's sister..." she whispered. Wesley looked at her over his glasses that were far down on his nose. His gaze was not fond.

"Please, Lenora," he said, raising an eyebrow. She smiled. He nodded, standing up and closing the file. He glanced down at his watch. Three hours until his next patient, and five until his next class. He shrugged. "Send her in, I've plenty of time to get to know someone new."

Lenora smiled and nodded, leaving the door open a little to go back out and tell the woman to go in. Wesley pushed his glasses up and went to the door, to peer out. She was waiting on the couch, looking up expectantly at Lenora as she was told to come in. Wesley smiled as the woman stood up.

"Come on in."

[Poppy Hawthorne]

Poppy looked up as she gathered her belongings, purse, coat, and a multicolored scarf that made Harry Potter jealous. What could she say, she was a bright kinda girl. She looked up at the doctor, surprised to find that he was a lot more different than she had expected. With the way the women were talking about him she was expecting a man older than ancient Rome, however he was very young, sorta, and strirking in appearance. Now wonder they were having a love fest by chatting about him over bread like desperate housewives.

"Afternoon." Poppy said with a warm smile. "Sorry for the short notice." She looked around the office seeing there wasn't anyone near, but she still knew a good doctor was always busy. She stepped into his cozy and warm office and heard the door behind her shut. She turned, objects hanging on arm, to see him closing the door and turning around to face her.

"I'm Poppy Hawthorne." She said extending a hand.

[Wesley Paige]

Wesley smiled, taking her things and hanging them up before turning and taking her hand, shaking it lightly. He put a hand on her shoulderblade to direct her to a seat.

"I'm Wesley Paige; Wesley, or Doctor Paige will do," he said, holding out his hand to indicate a chair. He waited for her to sit down before he perched on his desk and crossed his arms over his chest. He watched her for a moment. She looked like she hadn't slept in awhile, but while not knowing her well, he could immediately tell she was a rational person who was apparently facing something very irrational--probably why she was here. And who wouldn't be? What with her brother committing suicide and all that. He didn't speak for a moment.

"Not to start this all out on the wrong foot or anything, but I want to give my sympathies to you and your family," he said quietly. "I knew you're brother a little, he was a good man."

That being said, he sat down in an overstuffed armchair across from her, and leaned down on his knees.

"So, what can I do for you, Miss Hawthorne?"

[Poppy Hawthorne]

Poppy sat, as he directed, she sat on edge simply because she was on edge! She nodded in response to the expressed condolences, it was always nice to have people apologize for something they had no fault in, but it wa always nice to hear good things about ones brother, too bad it wasn't said while they were alive. It was a morbid thing to Poppy, people always stating wonderful things about people, after death, never while alive or within hearing range.

"Well," She sighed out, readjusting momentarily, leaning her elbows on her knees. "I am just in need of, I dunno, some advice." She bit her lower lip, having talked to herslef in her car and rushing up the stairs, she hadn't thought of anything rational or explainable, all she thought was crazy.

"I arrived here yesterday from Salem, long trip I know, but when I got to his house, Alexandre's, I felt...something." She slit her eyes. "Do you know what I mean?"

[Wesley Paige]

Wesley listened intently. He nodded at her when she finished. The thought for a moment, feeling like he knew what she meant. He held up a finger and then got up out of his chair to go to the bookcase behind his desk. He searched through it a moment before speaking.

"I completely understand, Miss Hawthorne," he said, plucking the book he'd wanted from the shelf. He turned back to her. "Oftentimes, when a family member dies in a home, and one goes to--as I assume you are--gather their things, the things they last touched, and especially are going to stay in the same place where they spent their last days, a person's mind likes to play tricks on them." He paused to walk over to her and hand here the book--it was middle-sized, a book about the mind and mourning. He sat back down and watched her a moment.

"I'd venture to say you might be experiencing this," he said. Then he waved. "What sorts of things make you feel like that?"

[Poppy Hawthorne]

Poppy watched, biting her lip, leaning over to see what book he was grabbing, but her mind kept traveling back to what she felt, saw, experienced. She sat back when she heard him speak and pull out the book before handing it to her. She read the title and almost let out a laugh.

"Hmm." She said examining it and looking at Wesley, Doctor Paige, whatever she should call him. "I don't know." She said with a sigh, setting the book on the edge of his desk. "I feel...cold." She let out a laugh and lowered her head for a moment, knowing he'd tell her it was an old house and it was winter.

"I mean, the house is wonderful, huge, but empty. I heard footsteps yesterday, Doctor. Not only footsteps, but a door slamming." She looked up at him and grinned. "Nobody was there. Kind of...odd." She ran a hand over her forehead, she was burning alive, fearing that she would be judged as an idiot.

"ANyway, I searched the house, found nothing. But it didn't stop there." She raised her eyebrows and shrugged a shoulder. "I made tea, I was thinking of Alexandre and what to do...I...looked at my cup. No tea. No teabags in the garbage, followed by the tea package never having been opened! I turned around to grab the pot to make it again, thinking I was just...I don't know thinking too much. The whole damn pot was full! My cup, too." She sighed out. She was getting stressed just talking about it, reliving it! It was too weird.

"Then, that night, I saw..." She paused. That, too creepy for words. "I saw my reflection, except it wasn't me. I saw my head...my...head!" She moved her hands around her head, trying to explain to him that she saw the back of her head instead of her face, she was sure this was going to be a session and advice she'd pay for later.

"It was so freaky! Where my face should have been, it was my head! I wasn't wearing the same thing, it was different, I was wet! I ran to my room, shut and locked the door and got a phone call of some...stupid child laughing." Poppy slumped as if exhausted and stared at Wesley, waiting for him to say something to her, tell her he was going to admit her, immediately to the nut ward. Any moment he'd say it.

"Is that...normal?"

[Wesley Paige]

Wesley listened quietly, his brow furrowed in thought. Hallucinations, common among greiving family members. But the phone call...that was weird. Even he had to admit that was hard to explain. But after a moment he nodded at her.

"Actually, Miss Hawthorne," he said, leaning forward. He opened his hand a little as he began to explain. "Often, when a family member is greiving another family member, hallucinations are common," he paused a moment, indicating he wasn't telling her that he thought she was crazy. In fact, she was the most sane person that had walked through his door all morning. He leaned back in his chair. He licked his lips.

"I've seen people who swear they even saw their dead relative walk through their door and speak to them. Some people, like you, hear doors slamming, people talking, sometimes people think they've done something and haven't or have done something but for a moment looks like they haven't," he said. He paused a moment to let her think it over. He nodded.

"Beleive me, what you're experiencing is completely normal. Especially since that house is big and old," he said. He paused again. Then he nodded. "As for the phone call, you might have hallucinated the ring and the laughing, but it's also possible someone prank called you. If the teenagers in the community knew you were staying there overnight, they probably thought it would be funny to get their little sister to giggle into the phone, and shake you up a little. I wouldn't think much about that," he said. He could see that having her just recall what had happened had shaken her up. He smiled reassuringly.

"My advice to you would be to buy some light strength sleeping pills, and maybe check into a hotel," he said, gently. "It might be better for you not to sleep there, you know."

[Poppy Hawthorne]

Poppy sat there looking at the man, the moment he told her it was common she wanted to open her mmouth and tell him that the crap she experienced was in no way shape or form in the realm of reality or real. She couldn't have just imagined all of that. No way!

"Doctor, I came here with the notion that I would feel a little weird in that house, but never would I have imagined hearing things, seeing things, feeling things. Hell, I didn't even think I'd be dreaming of my brother hanging from the chandelier, looking at me! Ever!" She frowned and shook her head.

"That can't be normal. I don't think sleeping pills are a good idea, especially if I am dreaming of freaky...crap. Of all things, Alexandre as well." She sighed out as she looked at the floor, sad that she had even had these dreams of him. His death should have been different, peaceful, and many years away.

"I am not disregaurding your advice, I mean that is why I am here!" She smiled. "I just...cannot understand why such things would be happening."

[Wesley Paige]

Wes chewed his top lip. Oookay, that hadn't worked. So what did she want him to tell her? That her brother was haunting the house? That the other deaths there had made it scary? He sighed a little.

"That house has a long history, Miss Hawthorne, and houses with it's kind of history don't always seem the most welcoming of places. It's old and creepy, and your brother committed suicide there," he said, point blank. He shook his head. "I don't think staying there is a good idea for you..." he paused. Then he made a dipping motion with his head.

"How about I meet you in the middle?" he smiled a little, turning and getting a peice of paper and pen from his desk. He jotted down his name, office, home, and cell phone number, folded the paper up and handed it to her. "There. Now, if you experience anything else, you call me, we'll set up another meeting. It's possible this was a one time thing, and you won't have any other problems. If you do have more problems, then we can talk about it and go from there, okay?" he asked, then he smiled, then reached out and patted her shoulder.

"I want to help you," he said. "I promise I'm not trying to be a big shrink and tell you you're crazy."