The Maitlands had noticed something was wrong with Lydia as soon as she came in the door. Instead of the usual frustration that raged throughout her, today Lydia's anger seemed more intense and specific. She slumped down on the couch and began flipping through the channels clearly not interested in the pictures that flashed across the screen.

"Lydia, what's wrong?" Barbara's voice broke Lydia's apparent trance.

"Nothing, Just work, people, and malfunctioning machinery." Lydia did not want to mention the true possibility to the Maitlands, the receipt paper was physical proof of the mental strife she was going through. He was making contact again, and Lydia knew she would have to talk to someone about it eventually, but she would much rather push it to the back of her mind and hope it would disappear.

"Are you sure?" Barbara's motherly tone was almost enough to make Lydia want to curl up against her and tell her everything that was troubling her. Almost, but not quite enough.

"Absolutely" Lydia smiled up at Adam and Barbara, they were the parents that she could only dream about, they loved and cared for her. Lydia's father cared, but most of the time he had to tend to Delia's insanity, his limited free time was spent trying to relax rather than dealing with a teenage girl's emotional problems. "I'm going to head up to bed, Im really tired"

"Allright, sleep well" Barbra seemed worried, Lydia was aware that a few false words and a smile wouldnt be enough to convince them that everything was ok, but Lydia wanted a better grasp on the situation before she got others involved. She climbed up the stairs, climbing close to the wall, still unwilling to grasp the railing that had turned into a snake before her very eyes so many years ago. She turned quickly hurrying to her room.

The familarness of her room made her feel better. The house seemed to constantly smell of wet paint due to Delia's constant redecorating. Luckily Otho did not return after that night, it seemed that he had taken an extended vacation, and as far as Delia was aware, he no longer was in the country. Despite lacking her favorite designer, Delia made due and constantly turned the family home into creations of modern art gone horribly wrong, leaving only two rooms untouched, Lydia's bedroom and Charles' study.

Lydia peeled off the Tshirt that represented her corporate alliance. She threw it into a pile of clothing in the corner, She went to her dresser and pulled out a tank top. Lydia sat down at her desk, looking at the bag of supplies she had purchased yesterday. When she had returned the previous night she had placed the bag down, her mind plauged with other thoughts, rather than organizing her tools. She pulled out the prisma colors placing them in her right hand drawer, allowing them to mix themselves with her previous mediums. The complete chaos of Lydia's storage system irratated Delia, who also viewed herself as an excellent artist. Lydia prefered things mixed together, that way she had more time to assure herself that she wanted whatever she was searching for.

Her new sketch book got placed on a shelf, while she allowed to pull down one of her older ones. She flipped through the drawings. Lydia's earlier sketches had been an attempt to cope with the events that had happened, she tried to recreate them, within her sketch book. She drew the scenes, but she always left one character out, He was never in any of the drawings. She felt that if she included him, he would be able to reach out. Realistic sketches of Barbra and Adam decomposing before her eyes as they were excorsised, the creatures from the wedding that shouldnt have happened, the sand worms, she flipped through pages and pages of familar shapes and figures, the memories seemed to grow stronger. She dared to allow herself to remember all the things he had done, how he had almost gotten out because of her. She closed the book well aware that all the art in it was repeatitive. She sat in silence at her desk, aware of one resasurance she had yet to pull out. The handbook for the recently desceaced, sat on her shelf, like it had for many years. She reached up, and brought the book down from its spot.

The old pages felt britle in her hands, as she took in the distinct smell that all old books seemed to share. She flipped to the table of contents gently, not wanting to tear the pages. She searched, for the section she had read many times before, as a constant reminder that she was safe, she needed that friendly reminder once again. The section on poltergiests was short, only a few brief paragraphs with minimal information, but one sentance was enough for Lydia, "A poltergiest may only appear if their name has been called three times" Rereading it reassured her of what she already knew to be true, he was trapped, and she was still in the position of power, He could not escape whatever hell Juno had created for him, unless she called out his name.

Lydia wished that that would have been enough, but she had her doubts, if he was already reaching out, messing with her world, wherever he was, he had power. She knew it would be a terrible mistake if she let him free. There was no doubt in her mind that the brunt of his anger would be towards the living and dead members of her household. As long as she didnt call out to him she was safe, but for some reason, she felt as if she would.

Her mind calling out to him seemed to be enough to give him a tie to her world, enough to allow him to keep her constantly watching her back. She knew it wouldn't be long before he was back and causing her constant problems,