[color=662d91][b]Lorelei Jones - Outside of Salem[/b][/color]


In the landscape of her imagination, Lorelei was home again. As per usual, she dreamt about the most horrifying catastrophe her life would ever know – the harrowing pillar of smoke over the horizon, on that unforgettable afternoon near Silverton. After seeing the same dreadful afternoon more than a hundred times, she was no longer shocked to bear witness to the unsubtle signature of the fire that consumed her family. She did not sprint to the source, as she had in the original memory; instead, she slowed her steps. 

All the previous iterations of the recurring nightmare had ended in the exact same way; no matter how she proceeded, she would find her way to the burned husk of her home and the charred silhouette of her daughter. But, if she could at least try to slow her steps; try to delay the inevitable flagellation her mind had in store for itself, then perhaps she could alleviate the dream in some way.

No. There would be none of that. Lorelei was not allowed to play bystander to her own memory. It was against the rules. Whether she wanted to or not, she found her way to the house – her once beautiful, refurbished Levittown quarter-acre, now reduced to rubble. The second floor of the house had collapsed, leaving a pile of debris caged inside the skeleton of the house’s frame. It had become something far too grotesque to be a home – it was a giant tombstone dedicated to her attempt at a new life.

Lorelei stepped onto the rubble. Her subconscious brain flawlessly recreated the atmosphere – the same ash-infested air pricked at her lungs. Her mild attempt at rose-garden had been demolished by the collapse. The patio she built had withered into nothing underneath the flames. Everything about this place had dissolved. 

Inevitably, Lorelei stepped into the skeleton of the house and the crown jewel of the dream lay before her. The burned form of a small human lay before her. [i]No. No. No, no, no.[/i] She could not see this again. She fell to her knees, the rocky terrain scraping against her knee. [i]No. Not again.[/i] She tried to cover her eyes, but the image had been burned into her brain. It had always been there. It had come to define everything about her. [i]Not again. Please.[/i]

Right on cue, Lorelei’s real eyes fluttered open and her conscious mind jolted awake – a portal from one nightmare to another. These episodes had become slightly easier to shrug off over the years, but put in perspective, this meant nothing. She still viciously fought the urge to sleep, and as per tradition, once she had been deprived for long enough, she lost. She kicked off the blanket and rolled onto the hardwood floor. Dream-torment aside, she had set up camp in a tall building a half-mile from the hollow shell of a town that was once known as “Salem”, many years before her time.

Lorelei recalled her father's musings about the ‘witch trials’ somewhere among his final days. He was fascinated with the brutality and mystery of it. He was superstitious. She was not. But the fact that dozens of nobodies were picking this strange slice of ruin to call home captivated her interest. She had been watching them, through her scope. She grabbed her rifle resumed her watch. There was little of interest; a few other newcomers had happened by, but there seemed to be no chance of dark magic on the horizon.[i] Boring.[/i] 

[i]God rest his soul, but father was wrong about this place.[/i] Lorelei collapsed the blanket and shoved it into her pack. There were no cruel energies at work here. But maybe—just maybe—the enigmatic mythology of this town would make for a good place to hide. She’d given up on rebuilding her life. She had to wipe the slate clean. She had to begin again. For a third time. She grabbed her things and abandoned her makeshift watchtower, starting toward the town. It didn’t take long for her to run into ‘civilization.’

“You there!” hollered a hoarse male voice. A figure emerged from one of the ruined buildings on the outskirts of the town.

Lorelei simply stared him down. An older bloke, armed with a rifle not terribly unlike her own and wearing a smug look on his face, carefully shuffled toward her.

“Are you here to help us build the future?” 

[i]Is that what they’re calling this?[/i] Lorelei narrowed her eyes at him and gave a very slight shrug of her shoulders.

“Do you even know what you’ve stumbled upon, lass?”

Lorelei nodded.

“Then I’d suppose I should welcome you to Salem, then.”

She nodded again.

“The name’s Barney. Pleased to meetcha’.” The oddly friendly and cordial man offered his hand.

Lorelei stared at the extended arm and did nothing. She looked him dead in the face and nodded a third time. 

“You mute or something?”

“No.”

“Then can you tell me your name?”

“Lorelei.”

“A rather pretty name, if you don’t mind me saying,” Barney muttered.

“Hmph.” Lorelei folded her arms.

“You’re probably wondering if you can come in.”

Lorelei nodded again.

“Yes. I implore you to explore the possibilities this slice of Boston has to offer. A great home could be waiting for you,” said Barney.

“Uh huh.” Lorelei. Her gaze darted past the older bloke and toward the mass of buildings behind him.

“You are free to choose one of the empty houses and give it a test run. You like it, you can stay. You don’t, and you can leave! It’s failproof.”

“Nothing is failproof,” said Lorelei. Her rather morbid assertion did not seem to dampen Barney’s spirits at all. The man smiled at her and pointed toward what she presumed to be the “Salem” in question.

Lorelei bowed her head in quiet thanks and brushed past Barney. Past the forgotten ruins and toward the cursed town. This was it. Her third life. [i]Try not to squander it.[/i]