After a few moments of utter blackness, I manage to resurface from the depths of gurgling black water. Stiff from the cold, I swim over clumsily to the shore, panting and coughing. Mark, who is already up on his feet, lends me a hand to haul me off of the ground. As I get up on my feet, I realise my body is as dry as the grass beneath my feet. I look at Mark questioningly.

"The Elysians are clever in building portals," he says, "This lake is non-existent for living souls."

"So, are we invisible here or something?" I ask him.

Mark laughs, "No, we're not ghosts, Raven. Just sort of 'undead'."

"You mean like zombies?"

"Minus the brains and unhealthy stench, yeah."

I look around, "Where are we?"

"Follow me."

Surrounding the little dark lake are patches of dry grass lined with thickets and wild flowers. Traversing the greenery, I follow Mark out on to the open road. After walking for a while, we find ourselves in a deserted alleyway dumpster.

"A junkyard?" I ask.

"No one ever comes here," Mark says, making his way over to an old worn-down Bentley, "My folks dumped Cassandra out here as soon as I kicked the bucket. On the bright side, now it's convenient to take her in and out whenever I please. Hop in."

I look down at the miserable dusty car that Mark proudly runs a hand over.

"You named your car Cassandra?"

He looks up at me blankly.

"Of course you did," I roll my eyes and enter the passenger side as Mark enters the driver's. The interior turns out to be quite spacious and comfortable. He revs up the engine and we hit the midnight roads.

For a few minutes there is no other disturbance other than the cold air brushing against my face and Bon Jovi playing out of the music system until Mark suddenly speaks up.

"The truck driver who killed you that night was drunk. Did you know that?"

"No I didn't," I'm pretty startled at the sudden change of air. Considering he revived me, he probably knows all about my death. A sickening thought arises in my head, "Did he die too?"

"No. Just bits and scratches. It should have been him though."

"I was the underage driver, Mark," I say, looking out of the window at the whizzing city lights, "If it wasn't for me, he wouldn't have been hurt."

"Wow, you must be the first person on this planet to be actually defending the man who killed you."

Not wanting to talk of it any further, I steer the subject towards him, "What about you? What killed you?"

"Fire," he replies.

"Oh."

"Yeah."

"You must have been in the Elysium a long time? I mean, you revive souls and seem to know all about the portals and stuff."

"Long enough to gain the trust of the Elysians. They don't usually let Recruits do the high-handed jobs - like reviving and stuff. I came aboard last summer - I was seventeen."

"You're a Recruit?" I ask him.

"Yeah. A Helper too."

I furrow my brows, "What's a Helper?"

"They manage the headquarters business - reviving, mentoring, counseling, training and all that stuff."

I sit in thought for some time, "What's it all about? The trainings and everything?"

"Don't be too curious, Raven," he says, "You're not supposed to know the back-story until your fifth day in training."

"Oh come on!"

"They train you to fight humans."

His words hang in thick silence for some time. He sneaks a glance at me and our eyes touch once more.

"You're kidding, right?" I say.

"Nope."

"But," I'm at a loss of words, "That doesn't make sense. What good will that do? How am I supposed to turn against my family, everyone I've known and loved?"

Mark snorts loudly, "You're dead to the ones you've known and loved, Raven. Now you're just a picture on the wall that they're all going to forget."

"Well, that's a pathetic excuse to be content with death, don't you think?" I shoot at him.

He sighs, "You just don't get the world, Raven. You just don't get humans."

"Well, I don't know what sort of mess you are in with your family, but I sure am going to stick up for mine."

Oh shit. I did not just say that.

Mark shoots me a look out of the corner of his eyes. There's anger and resentment in it; and probably a little hurt too.

"I'm really sorry," I say at once, "I didn't mean to say that."

He suddenly pulls the car over to a halt, "This is your place, isn't it?"

I look out and nod. I step out of the car into the cold night and so does Mark. The familiar sight of the small brick house with its old coats of paint worn out at the edges and ivy climbing up the walls makes my heart melt in ache. I've never quite seen it at night - the lively ochre paint glows faded silver in the moonlight.

"I'll be back a moment," I tell Mark, as I make my way over to the house.

"Are you sure?" I hear him say. I nod, not stopping till I have reached the front porch.

Digging out the spare key from underneath one of Mother's pots, I unlock the door and step inside, breathing in the familiar warmth of my home. I climb up the stairs quietly over to Andrea's room. I see her figure sleeping peacefully, strands of platinum hair falling over her quiet angel-like face. She always was the prettier of the two of us.

I reach out to touch her shoulder, but stop as someone suddenly hisses from behind me. It's Mark. The annoying guy has followed me up here.

"What are you doing?" he looks at me with bright furious eyes, "I knew it was a mistake to bring you out here. You're dead, remember? If you wake her up, you'll do nothing but complicate things!"

I look back at Andrea's sleeping form. "But..."

Mark shakes his head and beckons me to leave. Suddenly, I hear Andrea's soft voice mumble something out.

"Rae...is that you?..." she slightly turns and falls back asleep again. I look down at her, my eyes getting misty with tears. I wonder if she still looks out of the window and thinks of me as a star like she thought of my mother when she was a kid. I wish I could touch her and tell her I'm right here - but I can't. I'm dead. What if Mom too was standing by my bedstead at night, caressing my hair while I thought she was in the grave?

"Raven," Mark says gently this time, "Let's go. She'll think it was a dream."

Sighing, I wipe my eyes and follow him out of the house. The car ride back is uncomfortably quiet. As we enter the Elysium and back into the Quarters, Mark offers to drop me off at my apartment.

"Are you okay?" he asks as I enter into the warmth of my apartment.

"I will be," I say, "Thanks for taking me out tonight."

"Well, no one ever wanted to go out of the Elysium before," he says, "You and I probably have more in common than I thought. Good night, Rachael." He turns to leave.

"Mark," I call and he turns back.

"What?"

I smile at him, wondering if he'll guess why.

"Nothing. Good night."