A/N: This is the prologue for a story I've had in my heart for a long time. "Other Secrets" is one of the truest and closest-to-home stories I've ever released. Don't expect me to update often. No matter how many times I tell you I will, I won't. Don't expect any author's notes after this, either. I'm not a fan. Enjoy. ~F

SOMETHING OF A PROLOGUE
Other Secrets.

“The moment you hear their name, they become a part of your life. It’s as if they melt into your bloodstream,” Angela shoved a cigarette into her mouth and whipped out her lighter. A moment later, the air around her filled with the bitter scent of smoke.

Dr. Kasper’s lips formed a thin, stern line. “Angela, how many times have I told you that smoking isn’t permitted in my office?”

“Lighten up,” she said, her green eyes narrowing. “How many times have I ignored you?”

Again, as always, her therapist sighed in defeat. “It must be hell in there.” The room was silent for only a short moment.

“My lungs can handle it,” Angela assured him.

“I meant… The Others,” he replied. “You say that they don’t let you sleep, they’re constantly with you. It must be hell.”

He was right. The Others, a term that Angela and Jeanette had dubbed the most notorious group of people they’d ever encountered, were after her. They were after everyone. Simple acknowledgement of their kind ensured that until you joined them, you would lead nothing more than a miserable life before you died—or in their terms, before you were erased. Worst of all was that not only were they deadly and dangerous, but they were other-worldly as well. Not other-worldly in the way that aliens are other-worldly, or in the way that ghosts are other-worldly. The Others lived through your art, writing, dreams, song and even breath. They became a part of you as best they could until they’d convinced you that their sickening home was just that—home—and then you went away with them. That was all. They had no goal beyond populating, recruiting. It was, in Angela’s words, “Real life hell.”

“So then, you’re telling me you actually believe me now?” She asked him. Her words were quiet. She’d been meeting with Dr. Kasper for years, and it wasn’t until recently that he’d begun taking her words as truth.

“Well,” he began hesitantly, “as much as I’d like to tell you that you’re hallucinating, put you on drugs and send you away, yes. I believe what you’re telling me.”

Angela looked at him in disbelief. He was a friendly old man, and in the years that she had known him, he hadn’t changed at all. He was short and plump. What little hair he had left had turned snow white and his small-framed glasses completed the classic ‘Grandfather’ look. Her shocked expression slowly formed into a genuine smile—one of the few that she had given anyone anymore these days. His beady brown eyes twinkled at her in return.

“You told me you’d met with a few in particular—through writing? What were their names?”

Angela shifted uneasily in her chair. “There’s Corela. She’s the nastiest that I’ve come across. Her… king is Jaymes, but he doesn’t speak at all. Most of them have funny names, not like regular people. Sin, Silas, Amantha.”

Dr. Kasper took note of the names on his clipboard and placed them neatly into his folder, which was overflowing with records; each one titled, “Angela Parker,” followed by a date. Her name and a number, she thought. That’s all life really was anymore. That’s all The Others were. Numbers that could only thrive by adding up to something more.

“We’re almost out of time, Doc,” Angela noticed. The wooden clock above the therapist’s head told her that their appointment had run five minutes over already. Dr. Kasper looked up above him and nodded.

“Alright, then,” he said, “was there anything else before we check you out?”

Angela’s head tilted down and she grinned slyly. “Got an ash tray?”