Far on the outskirts of Mort d'Ange was Beauvoix Circle, a tiny cul de sac in which only seven houses were built there. The story of Ange de Tragédie also seemed to haunt those who lived in the cul de sac, therefore resulting in five houses evacuated and two frightened. These two houses were number three and number seven, both containing two parents and a small child. The children were very charming, and it was a pity that they had to live in an atmosphere of nightmares; however, the scion didn't seem to be the ones scared. They may not have been living carefree lives, but they were mainly the ones responsible for the goodwill of their homes and were quite proud of their adult tasks.
Their parents, on the other hand, were terribly paranoid and busy, scared of the murderer as well as their childrens' newfound authority around the house. It was true that they were either much too fearful of everything or much too busy to care about the cleanliness of the house, but as parents, they felt guilty of all the work their kids were doing. One day, the children confronted their parents and assured them that they had simply volunteered to work, and felt it more as a daily activity rather than a chore. Finally, the parents gave up and allowed them to work.
One early morning, the daughter of Barton and Adeline Noire, Charisse Noire, was found outside of number three, Beauvoix Circle, planting roses in the front yard. Her gray eyes squinted a bit as the sun started to rise, and she tilted her hat slightly to make sure that it didn't go into her eyes. Small, gloved, thirteen-year-old hands dug into the soft soil, making sure that every seedling was planted where it was supposed to be. "Good morning, Charisse!" called a young boy from number seven.
"Good morning, Ramiel." replied Charisse, standing up. The front of her dress was covered with specks of earth, but she did not seem to notice. "What are you doing so early? Usually you're still in bed by now. It's only six in the morning, you know...I believe I see you outside when it's eight. (Yes, Charisse works VERY hard on the front yard, staying outside from six to ten in the morning, then eating brunch at ten thirty) By the way, you're still in your pajamas."
Ramiel ran over to his childhood friend's driveway, his grin crooked. Charisse raised an eyebrow at him; whenever his grin was crooked, something that would interest her had happened. As she walked to the porch, she took off the large gloves, revealing her petite pearly hands and fingers and invited the boy to sit with her on the porch. She looked at Ramiel intently as he sat. Whatever he had to tell her must have been very important for him to run outside in his thin pajamas. "Charisse, I had a strange dream last night. I just woke up from it a while ago," Ramiel said in a serious tone. "Do you remember my Auntie Freya?"
"Why, yes. Does she know about you yet, Ramiel?" Charisse asked, lowering her voice so that her parents wouldn't hear. "Does she know that she's your aunt yet? Has anyone informed her about you and your family?"
"Well...no..." he replied, a hint of disappointment in his voice. "No...she doesn't know yet. It's just that...I think she's heading for trouble. I had a dream about her."
Charisse looked at her friend with a quizzical expression. A very realistic girl, she didn't believe that dreams and psychic visions existed unless there was proof. She sighed and looked ahead at the gloomy, empty road, and made a mental note in her mind. She decided that, if Ramiel's dream became reality, it might appear in the newspaper; and if it did, she would give him her full support on whatever he decided to do. For now, though, she would simply try to understand. "A dream?" she said. "Well...what was it about?"
"In my dream, she was talking to her father and four other people I didn't know. She said that she was going to accept the job that the Mort d'Ange police gave her, and she's going to be questioning the murderer."
"But the murderer hasn't been caught yet."
"The police in my dream said they did. And I'm really worried about Auntie Freya, for obvious reasons, right? I mean, this guy killed thirteen people in one large area in one night. The only person identified at this time was Jericho Cariendela. Thirteen people was nothing for this guy. One wouldn't be a problem," Ramiel said. "I just hope Auntie Freya knows what she's doing. I don't want her to be killed before I can tell her about my dad and me."
"Ah, yes...your dad is her twin brother, right?" Charisse said. "It's hard to believe they were separated. But if they do meet up, it's not as if they're recognize eachother. Nowadays people are so scared that they don't notice the funny little things anymore..."
"But Auntie Freya is different. She's still clear headed...you know? She'll notice. She's not stupid," he replied defensively. "If not the surnames, the likeness. Her hair is short now, too, so it shouldn't be too much of a difference."
"Hey...wait. How did you know about your aunt anyway? I mean...did your parents just point her out to you in an album or something?" Charisse asked.
Ramiel remained silent. He couldn't tell her that he had obtained information which had been forbidden to him. He couldn't say that his father, Eryx Eloisede, had run away from his home so long ago, ironically coming back to the city from which his father resided. It was here in Beauvoix Circle where he had met Ramiel's lovely mother, Aleta Euphanaia, when she had come to visit her grandmother and had gotten lost. Ramiel knew how and why they had met, but to find out, he had done the unspeakable in his home: He had stolen.
A month ago, he took his father's old, dusty journal from his parent's room and read the book from cover to cover, and in doing so, he had grown up so much more than time could age him. Within half an hour he had finished it, and returned it where he had found it. The information overwhelmed him; after he'd returned it, he retreated to his room and weeped. His father wasn't a good person at all. He didn't want Charisse to think of him as bad as his father, even though he knew that she was a sensible girl and knew not to judge people from their relatives. Even though he knew this, he decided not to tell. After a minute's silence, Ramiel finally replied with, "Yeah. An album."
"Well...I don't know how you can rely on dreams so much, Ramiel. I just hope that it's not true - I know that you'd be so pained to know that the aunt you never met had died without knowing she had a nephew who loved her so much." Charisse replied with a sigh. "I really hope it's not true. You're my best friend, Ramiel, I don't want you to be sad."
"Yeah. I know you don't." Ramiel said softly, looking into the horizon. He smiled, glad to have a friend who cares about his matters, glad to have someone to talk to, glad to not be alone as his father had been for twenty years. "I know you don't."
The two friends stood together from the porch and walked into Charisse's home. Charisse's parents were awake and welcomed Ramiel into their home, restraining looks when they saw that their daughter was dirty and that her friend was still in his pajamas, and made hot chocolate for them. Charisse's parents were the more paranoid ones, rather than Ramiel's, whose parents were more busy than paranoid, but still scared for his safety. As Adeline (Charisse's mother) poured the hot water from the tea kettle, she gasped when her husband breezed past her and dropped the whole thing. Charisse sighed and picked up the now-broken tea kettle and threw them in the garbage as her mother gave a loud yelp and started sobbing. "Oh, mother..." Charisse said, taking off the gloves and patting her on the back. "It's all right, it was just father."
Barton held his wife tightly, trying to calm her down, though his heart was racing, scared that someone was trying to break into the attic. "Adeline, I'm so sorry," he said softly, his voice wavering. "You stay down here with the children. I'm going to man the attic again...I don't feel safe having the attic so unprotected." With that, he gave his wife an affectionate squeeze and ran the stairs holding a baseball bat.
Ramiel seemed to be used to this, seeing that he knew where the spare tea kettles were. He immediately started heating more water and pulled out the instant coffee mix from the cupboard and the sugar and cream from the pantry. Everything was almost done automatically while Charisse and her mother sat down on the table, Charisse trying to comfort her still-shaken mom. Charisse smiled appreciatively at Ramiel as he served them coffee and hot chocolates at the table. "You really didn't have to," she whispered to him out of her mother's earshot. "You know stuff like this happens every day."
Her friend simply smiled back at her; not a grin, but a geniune smile, meaning that he meant what was about to say. "And you know I always help out when stuff like this happens." he replied in the same fashion. "Your parents have it worse. The only reason why they're so paranoid is because they love you. They really care about you, much unlike mine."
Charisse's smile instantly turned into a frown at these words and returned her attention to her mother, who was starting to calm down. Adeline was still breathing heavily from the crying, but managed a small smile at Ramiel. Ramiel smiled back at her, taking it as a "thank you", and returned his gaze to his hot chocolate. He didn't notice it until then: his parents didn't seem to care as much as Charisse's did.
They seemed to be so busy with work...so busy with their jobs away from home...that Ramiel wasn't paid as much attention as he thought he was supposed to have. He looked down at his pajamas; the leg was almost above his ankles already, and the blue color was fading from it. His parents had gotten him these pajamas when he was seven. He was ten now, turning eleven in November, in just a month...and these were the only pajamas he had owned. His parents were barely ever home, so he had to cook for himself...and when they were, he had to cook for them, too, since they were "too tired to move." Ramiel put a hand to his heart, hoping that it would ease the pain that was in front of him for so long. Did work really last the whole day? Was there no time for his parents to even give him a simple hug or a new pair of pajamas? Ramiel closed his eyes and wandered.
"Ramiel. Hey, wake up, sleepy head." Charisse poked at Ramiel's backside sharply, which caused the boy to jump up in his seat. "I told you that you woke up too early."
Ramiel frowned and rubbed his eyes. He'd fallen asleep? The table had been cleared of the beverages and were replaced with dinner plates and forks and spoons and knives, and after a moment of taking it in, he suddenly realized that he had been gone the whole day and had forgotten to write a note to his parents. "Charisse, I have to go! My parents..."
"Have already called. I already told them that they're just over here and that you're spending the night. Besides," Charisse said. "You're already in your pajamas anyway. Cute penguin on the pocket by the way, hee hee."
Charisse walked back to the stove and started stirring the contents in the pot, whistling a happy tune as she did so. Ramiel furrowed his brow; Charisse completely changed when the sun died away. In the prescence of sunlight, it seemed that she was a cold, serious person who cared for nothing more than to find her purpose in life (though, of course, she wasn't). When the sky darkened, the stars shined, and the moon arose, she was a normal, happy thirteen year old girl without a care in the world. The transformation was almost scary, but Ramiel smiled at her. "May I go upstairs? I'm still kinda sleepy," he said.
"Sure."
Ramiel climbed up the stairs quickly and got into Charisse's room, where a cot had already been set up for him. He walked to the window, sighing, and looked out into the deep blue sky twinkling with stars. The moon was full that night, almost as bright as the sun; he stared into the vast sky, hypnotized with stupor, smiled, and went to sleep right on the windowsill. Another dream had visited him...the murderer, behind a plastic window, hands bound with iron cuffs...Auntie Freya, on her way to the police station...
"RAMIEL!!"
The boy awoke from his slumber and found that morning had come. He looked over at the source of the voice and saw that it was Charisse, holding a newspaper in her hand. "Ramiel...your dream...it...it's true, it's all true..." she said, gasping for breath; it was obvious that she had been running. "Read...read the front page..."
Charisse gave the paper to him, pointing to the large header on the front. Big, bold letters plainly read, "MURDERER OF 13 CAUGHT LAST NIGHT", and below it, "Criminologist accepts job to consult this malicious criminal." Ramiel gulped loudly as he saw the picture of the murderer on it, followed by a picture of his Auntie Freya. The caption read, "The murderer, who is not speaking at the moment, was captured last night by two officers. Now that he has been captured, criminologist Freya Eloisede has bravely taken up the job to find out why and how he had killed those thirteen people, including the famous Jericho Cariendela. Apparently she is starting the questioning tomorrow morning."
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