Writing about Dr Goldstein is hard. Mostly because it means writing about the Maestro as well, and I think that's where I have to start.

I'm not certain I mentioned it before... but I'm a musician. I can't remember not having music in my life. Listening, playing, performing, writing... always music. I breathe it -- um, I did anyway -- I sleep and dream music. Where I go, there's always music playing -- my own personal soundtrack. For a long time I only heard the music inside my head, and it was a struggle to get it out. But when I was eight years old, I finally met the Maestro.

Meeting the master was different than I'd expected... harder than I thought. Not that he didn't love me -- god, no, he was the only one who really understood me. Who really grasped what I was destined for, and how to find it. I had to practice harder and longer hours. I couldn't listen to the other adults around me anymore, because they didn't know any better -- they didn't really understand. He taught me how to get around them; he turned up the volume on the music for me so I didn't have to listen to their words. He explained why their rules were not meant for me. And always, always he taught me music. How to play. How to write. He demanded so much of me... but never more than he knew I could give. Left to my own devices, I'm really an undisciplined child... but he made certain I worked, that my skill would develop so my talent could recognized -- even if not in my own day, then after my death. They would talk about me, like they do Mozart. They called him crazy too.

He warned me that the adults -- my parents, my teachers -- they wouldn't understand. No one recognizes greatness for what it is when it's right in front of them. He even warned me that they might fear me... and that part, I had difficulty believing... until one night, my worst nightmares came true. The night I got taken away from my music.

Maestro and I were up late -- I was just practicing, no matter what they say. Yeah, yeah, I know about my hands... but I'd screwed up the same bars three times, and Maestro had to punish me or I wouldn't learn. I understood that... but anyway. The teachers broke in while I was practicing, and they took me away from my instruments. I was really scared -- especially the way Maestro was screaming, at me and at them, and they just ignored him. They told me the music was hurting me -- like music could ever hurt someone! They put me in a hospital, even though I wasn't sick, and told me I had to stay there until I got better.

They tried to make me talk to doctors. Maestro advised me not to tell the uncultured philistines anything, so I didn't. And he kept the music playing for me... music only I could hear. It wasn't a happy place to be, but I was willing to endure. I had to, for my art.

Then one day a young-looking man sat down to talk to me. He really looked too young to be a doctor, and although I knew I wasn't supposed to talk to him, I told him so. Maestro was really upset later, but... I kinda thought it was worth it. I mean, even great musicians need more than one friend, right? And it gave me an excuse to polish up my Tchaikovsky -- they had a piano in the common room, so I offered to play for him the next time I saw him. I still remember the look on his face when I did, and from then on it was really easy to talk to Dr Goldstein.

Dr Goldstein came to see me for months after that. He was the one who told me...

This is the part that the Maestro doesn't want me to write. But I have to, or none of it makes sense. Listen, Maestro, I'm sorry... but when I'm posthumously honored, they're going to hear about it anyway. At least by writing it myself, I know I get it right. Let me finish this time, please?

...okay.

Dr Goldstein came to see me for months after that. He was the one who told me... that the Maestro isn't real.

Specifically, he said that Maestro only lives inside my head. No one else can see him, or hear him, or hear the music he plays for me. He's a figment of my imagination, which is something I always picture Bugs Bunny saying for some reason. Dr Goldstein taught me the biggest word I knew that wasn't a composer's name to that date: schizophrenic. It means 'shattered mind'. And that's what they think I am. Or have. Most schizophrenics hear voices; I hear music. And I hear the Maestro.

I didn't believe him at first. I refused. The Maestro was real, he had to be. And the music! What would I do without the music?!? He wanted me to take medications; I refused. The other doctors found out, and they forced them on me anyway. I was really mad at Dr Goldstein for a while after that... but we talked some more... and after a while, I started realizing that he might be right.

At least, he's right in the practical sense. Maestro doesn't exist outside my head. But then, music doesn't really exist outside of our own perceptions -- and that doesn't make it any less vital to our existence. Dr Goldstein taught me to listen to myself as much as I do Maestro; he reminded me that there are things besides music to value and appreciate. And... as much as I really didn't want to admit it then, he was right.

Dr Goldstein left the hospital to go into his own practice shortly after I went home. I got to go to his going-away party, but he gave me a present -- a doll that my mom still keeps in my bedroom at home. I named her Ariel after the princess who gives up her music to find happiness, and at the end of the story finds both (in Disney's version, anyway; I don't like Anderson's).

I saw Dr Goldstein off and on for almost ten years. Everytime the music got too loud, every time the Maestro became (sorry) too demanding... Dr Goldstein was there to help me sort it out. My mom did everything she could, but Dr Goldstein was the person who really taught me what I needed to know to get by. He was probably the greatest person I've ever known -- and along with Maestro has had the greatest influence on who I became and who I am today. He devoted himself to helping other people, and I've never known anyone quite as well-suited to the task.

Dr Goldstein was murdered when I was eighteen, by one of his patients. It was all over the news. I missed the funeral, but I got out in time to give a statement at his killer's sentencing. His murderer went to Death Row, and I was glad to hear it... but this is California; he'll be there forever. Doesn't matter. It didn't bring Dr Goldstein back... and I really thought I'd never see him again.

When I wound up dead... yeah, I'll admit, one of my first thoughts was to go look for him. Then I talked myself out of it, figuring that he'd probably moved on to wherever really good people go when they die. Then Constantin told me about his friend the Pardoner -- who's kind of like a psychiatrist for ghosts -- who was named Baruch Goldstein... and let's face it, Baruch just isn't that common of a name. But it still took me a while to seek him out. I mean, I didn't really know what to say. It had been over five years; things had changed, and I still wasn't sure how to approach him.

I shouldn't have worried. He's hardly changed. He talks a lot now about how I'm stronger than most of my circle -- or I should be, because I've been dealing with my Shadow so much longer than most of them.

Because, yeah. I hadn't heard or seen Maestro in quite a long time... but after I died, he came back. He's stronger now, because I don't have a physical body -- the line between Thought and Reality is much grayer in the Shadowlands. The music is back, louder and stronger... and the master of the songs is also louder, and stronger.

I know he's part of me. I know... in some way I create him, and you'd think that would mean that I can control him. But just because he doesn't have his own body doesn't mean he's not real.

I'm glad to have Dr Goldstein here. I really don't know how I'd get along without him -- and any more, it's not always that he has to do anything -- just knowing that he'll be checking up on me is enough to motivate me to do the best I can, just like it is with the Maestro. I feel kind of guilty sometimes... I know Dr Goldstein probably has better things to do with his (after)life than take care of stupid Paige and her shattered mind all the time. But I appreciate everything he does for me. I still don't know a better person on either side of the shroud. Maybe someday I'll be able to write a song that expresses how I feel -- or find some other way of paying back everything he's done for me. Until then, I'll just be grateful... and hope I don't have to lose him again.

I'd been a resident of the ShadowLands for all of a week when one night, in the middle of the night, someone tried to break into my haunt. Constantin had been staying with me while I got the hang of being a ghost, and it turned out to be a good thing that night.

Everything happened incredibly fast -- we were just hanging out and talking, and then suddenly there was a strange guy recoporeating on the inside of my door. I immediately freaked out thinking that it had to be one of the Reapers Constantin had told me about -- so I did the obvious thing: I screamed.

'Stan recognized the guy immediately; I could tell by the way he swore. He grabbed his nail-bat, charged and swung at the intruder in almost one completely wild motion, missing just as wildly. The guy coming in also cursed, and when 'Stan took half a step back to brace himself for another attack I got my first good look at the intruder's face. It seemed half-familiar, but I couldn't place it -- dark hair, young, handsome. And something about the eyes.

Not that I had time to think about it. "Paige, run!" 'Stan screamed at me. Never mind that he and the intruder were blocking my way out.

"This doesn't involve you, Nails," the intruder seethed. "Get away from her."

"Like hell, Sam," 'Stan growled, and swung again.

Sam. Sam. Something clicked in my mind. I remained vaguely aware of the two men locked in battle not ten feet away from me... but most of me was nearly twenty years elsewhere.

...my grandmother's house. Summer, and sunlight filtering through the blinds. A black-and-white photograph on her mantel. Sitting on her lap while she told me about the man in the picture. Her first husband, before she married Grandpa Charles... he was kind, and charming, and brave... a police officer... and they had found out about my mother only a week before... and Grandma was crying....

"DOLL! GET OUT, GO!" 'Stan's shout brought me back. I blinked, and looked at Sam.

"...Grandpa?" I said.

He didn't hear me at first. Constantin did, though; he froze and stared at me, and his jaw dropped open just in time for Sam to crack it with a mean right. "Grandpa Sam -- stop it!" I shouted, ran forward and grabbed Sam's arm before he could hit 'Stan again.

Then it was Sam's turn to stare. "...Paige? You -- you know me...?"

"Of course I do," I nodded. I knew those eyes. I'd seen them in the black-and-white photo on Grandma's mantel, I'd looked at a pair just like them in the mirror everyday for nearly twenty-three years, and now I was watching them fill with tears as he reached out and put his arms around me. And somehow, despite looking barely thirty years old, he managed to feel like a very old man as I gingerly returned the hug.

'Stan still stood there with his mouth open, although now he was rubbing it with the back of one hand to dull the sting. "Grandpa???"

"Umm... Constantin, this is my grandfather, Sam."

I don't think I've ever seen a ghost look so pale as Constantin did in that moment. Poor guy was absolutely bewildered, almost to the point of horror. "...holy Christ, doll," was all he could manage to say.

Suddenly Sam straightened up. "Paige, we have to get you out of here. And you," he pointed at 'Stan, who gaped back, "if you ever come near her again--"

"Grandpa -- Sam, stop it. Constantin's my friend."

He put both hands on my shoulders. "Sweetheart, you don't understand. He's a criminal, he's a dangerous man, he--"

I shrugged his hands off and folded my arms. "No, Grandpa, you don't understand. Constantin Reaped me. He's been taking care of me for a week -- for no reason other than he's a nice guy. He's been protecting me. He's my friend -- and by the way, this is my home, and I'm not going anywhere."

Sam blinked at me, and laughed. "When did you get to be so stubborn?"

'Stan rolled his eyes. "Must run in the family."

"Shut up, you filthy crook," Sam snapped.

"You shut up, pig!" Constantin gripped his bat tighter.

Without thinking I stepped between them, trying to stop them before they could start again. "BOTH of you shut up," I said, and was both relieved and half-surprised to see them both relax their stances, just a little, on my behalf. "We've... obviously got a lot to talk about."

* * * * *
I'd like to say that Sam and Constantin are the best of friends now -- or at least that they get along much better today than they did five years ago. But I'd be lying. They put up with a lot of shit from each other for my sake, and that's about the best I can say for their relationship with each other. I guess sixty years of grudge just can't be made up by five years of charming little me.

My relationship with Sam has been interesting. I mean, yes, he's my grandfather; he's actually been watching over me for almost my entire life (when he wasn't watching over my mom, or her half-siblings or their children -- even though Grandma remarried, Sam always considered her other children his responsibility too). But he was killed in the line of duty seven months before my mother was even born... so now that we're getting to know each other, it's more like we're just two people with a lot in common. It's funny, because it's hard as a living person looking at your elderly grandparents to imagine them being as young as you are... but here I am, getting to know my grandfather as just that.

Pretty cool, all told.

Okay. So they totally bollix up the formatting on my journal, so I'm not gonna use them. But if anyone else wants to use the spiffy Wraith alphabet on their journal, have at. I don't even mind people I know hotlinking.

The naming is consistent. To put one in your entry, type:

<img src="http://www.zombieshakespeare.com/wraith/a.jpg">

with greater-than/less-than symbols and all. Change the "a" in the above code to whatever letter you want it to be.

( Paige's alphabet. )

In no particular order....

• Practice.
• Check on Bigby.
• Practice.
• Write about Sam.
• Practice.
• Write about Dr Goldstein.
• Practice.
• Visit Dr Goldstein.
• Practice.
• Check out the concert Friday night.
• Practice.
• Spend time with Katja. 
• Practice.
• Practice.
• Practice.
• PRACTICE.

Okay, breaking for a rant here. "A fine and private place," my ass. People who think death is all quiet solitude and reflection? Nuh-uh. It's noisy, and if there's one thing you never ever ever are, it's alone. But he's happy for the moment -- a couple hours of Rachmaninoff does that for him -- so I get to write.

All right, I'm done. And now, I'm gonna apologize for the tone of the last entry. It's hard for me to focus when... it's hard for me to focus. I try to be more interesting than that. Anyway, on with the story.

So last we saw Sgt Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band, we were all in prison. It sucked. (And here we go again. I would like to be more descriptive than that, but I was so caught between trying to figure things out and the shrieking in my ears that I couldn't really evaluate the situation any better.)

We saw the Anacreon. He threatened us if we didn't get HIS book back. I think everyone else in the room handled it better than I did, but that's absolutely nothing new.

We were released to find it, and went to see Bigby. I wanted to talk to him. Everyone else had other ideas. Note to self: next time Sam and Jonas assure me that they're not going to kill someone, get specifics on what they are going to do. And whenever all the guys block me from going to check on my friend, it means I really really better go check on him.

...I'm still upset about this. I haven't said anything, because what good would it do? They'd just give me some line about how it was necessary. They all think I'm a child as it is! And maybe sometimes I am. But dammit, that doesn't mean that I'm not right. They hurt Bigby -- their pal "Friendly" they brought to "help" practically obliterated his corpus -- and the best part is, they didn't get anything out of it. They got to take their frustration out on someone who it turns out was as clueless as we were. Jolly good for them. It's not fair. It's not fun, it's not productive. It's another step on the road to Oblivion, if you ask me.

So next we went to find Jones, the fellow we took the book to. On the way, we ran into Spectres.

I've seen Spectres before, of course, but none like this. They looked like little kids -- creepy, feral, violent little kids, but still kids. They were half the size of the woman they were tormenting. And... well, if I'm gonna give my circle crap for what happened to Bigby, I need to give them credit for jumping to this woman's aid. Dr Goldstein tried to talk the spectres down -- which may not sound like much, but trust me, it's damned brave. Jonas, who'd been a fantastic dork most of the day, tried to fly her out -- he failed, but it was the thought that counted. And in an uncharacteristic jolt of bravery, I grabbed the woman's arm and helped her run. I grabbed Carmen on the way, since the Spectres were looking hungrily at her next, and we bailed while the violent types did their thing. It really pissed off the Maestro, and I know that's why he's being so hard on me now, but... well, I'm kinda proud of myself. I actually held it together until we got all the way out of the alley, even when he was beating on me. I've never managed that before, not since he's been strong enough to do that to me. So, yay me.

We found Jones. He had no idea what we were talking about. Book? What book? And like I said, this book was HUGE and in Greek and it moaned; it's not the sort of thing you forget -- but he wasn't playing dumb. Dr Goldstein started asking a lot of questions, and finally put together that the Jones Jonas had given the book too (hee, that looks really funny written out) wasn't the Jones we were talking to now, but was most likely a Spectre himself.

Have I mentioned that I hate Spectres? I avoid them at all costs. And now, two encounters in one day.

So... at this point, I would have been happy to go home rather than go court a Spectre's attention... but I couldn't let my friends go alone, and I'd already stood up to a couple of Spectres today, and there was always the Anacreon's promise that I'd never play the violin again if we didn't bring his book back. So off we went. Carmen figured out the general area where we were going, and then we just followed our noses.

When we found Spectre!Jones, he was waiting for us. Or at least, it seemed that way, and he'd... he'd found Bigby. Poor Bigby had recoporeated, but Spectre!Jones had trussed him up and taken his mouth off and done all sorts of nasty stuff to him. If I hadn't been so horrified, I would have started bawling like a baby -- I mean here we'd misjudged him, beaten him up for something Spectre!Jones had done and it had left him weak to Spectre!Jones' sadistic intentions... and even if it wasn't completely our faults, I still felt horrible.

But I couldn't worry about it at the moment, because Spectre!Jones had the book (which he'd done something awful to, but we weren't sure what), and he'd started rambling on like the bad guy in a James Bond movie about his plans. I looked around to make sure that he really was being stupid and expository, and not just distracting us so his buddies could move in, so I kinda missed the moment that hell actually broke loose. When I turned back, the book had fallen and a nasty snake thing had fallen out of it... so I assumed the trap in the book had been sprung and took that moment, while everyone else was occupied, to jump forward and grab it. That was another really stupid move on my part, since I had no way of knowing that there wasn't a second trap (as Sam pointed out once he stopped panicking over me grabbing the book), but it made sense at the time. Carmen wrapped it in one of her pretty scarves, and again we booked.

The guys took care of Spectre!Jones. I wasn't interested in watching the aftermath, so I didn't. They also got Bigby down, and Dr Goldstein said he was going to look into finding someone to, um, fix him. I'm going to check on them later this week and make sure it actually happened -- not that Dr Goldstein wouldn't have followed through, because he is absolutely a man of his word! But he said it could be hard to find a Masquer with the level of skill required... and that's what worries me.

We got the book back. I've never been so glad to get a thing out of my hands. The Anacraeon was thrilled to get us off his fine soulforged carpet. And I went home to wrap my wrists and start practicing, before I got in trouble again.

And that's the end of Paige's Sucky Day. At least it's a comfort to think that things can only get better.

Right?

I'm sorry to interrupt the introductions, but I had a really bad day today and I need to get it out of my system so I can go back to practice. I'll come back to them after this entry, I promise.

Had a bad day again. She said you would not understand.

Let's keep things in perspective from the start: I don't have many friends. It's probably going to seem like I do, because I'm going to keep talking about the people I know, and you'd probably assume that I only talk about the important people and there's a whole group of people who just don't rate enough to get their own entry. You'd be pretty wrong. The people I'm listing here are my circle; they are the most important people I have... but they're also mostly the only people I have. Them and like... maaaaybe five other people. Total. I just don't get out much! And when I do... well, people don't talk to me.

Once again I'm all alone, there's no one here beside me.
My troubles have all gone, there's no one to deride me.

...sorry. Where was I? ...oh! Bigby.

Bigby is a friend of mine. He's a legionnaire, but that's okay; he doesn't mind that I'm not, and I can't afford to be picky. And no -- it's not really as pathetic as all that; I don't have time for people who aren't going to be good friends -- I just mean that people who look past my eccentricities are rare, and I'm not in a position to turn a guy away because we have different ways of getting by in this necropolis. Besides, he's Emerald, so we sorta have something in common... and he used to let me borrow his flute, before it got broken, in exchange for teaching him a bit. But then it broke, and we haven't been able to fix it.

Anyway. Bigby lost a book that didn't belong to him, and it wound up in the hands of the Grim Legion, and they weren't keen on giving it back. He was going to be in trouble for losing it, so he asked for my help, which means I went to my circle for help. I asked Constantin first, and he suggested we go to Dr Goldstein... and when we got there, Jonas turned up having gotten the same request through different means, so we knew Bigby had to be desperate. Dr Golstein got Carmen, and I got Sam, and we went back to see Bigby. And Bigby told us more about the book. Leather bound, steely Greek lettering... oh, and it moans, and once we got it we shouldn't bring it back to Bigby but should take it to the person it was supposed to go to, name of Jones.

Maybe we should have been suspicious. I mean, I read what I've just written, and you'd think at some point I would have thought to myself, "Paige, this is a trap." But what do I know about these things? I'm a musician by trade, not a thief or even a detective like Jonas and Sam. And all I could think was that Bigby was my friend and I didn't want him to wind up as a tasteful picture frame in someone's office.

So Jonas went and talked to Jones and got more information on the book and its location. And we went and got it -- surprisingly easily; in fact, I spent most of the actual operation time having Carmen tell my fortune -- and so Jonas delivered the book to Jones, and we let Bigby know the job was done, and we went on with our day.

I took Constantin back home, and I sang for him. A couple of arias from Mozart, plus some Ella Fitzgerald -- Constantin likes her, because she's from his day. Sam too, though Sam wasn't there.

I didn't know anything was wrong until Constantin grabbed me -- it's hard to sing when you're half-flung over someone's shoulder -- but before I could get Constantin to tell me what was wrong (or Carmen, since she had magically appeared) we were surrounded by Grim Legionnaires demanding our surrender. They threatened to make me a chair. I panicked.

Three am, Friday morning, Thursday night, far from sleep
I'm still up and driving. Can't go home, obviously.
So I'll just change directions, 'cause they'll soon know where I live.
And I wanna live. Got a full tank, and some chips.
It was me, and a gun, and a man on my back.
And I sang Holy Holy as he buttoned down his pants.
You can laugh. It's kind of funny, things you think, times like these.
Like I haven't seen Barbados, so I must get out of this.

...and when I finished the song, we were in prison. Me, and my whole circle -- Constantin and Carmen, and Sam and Dr Goldstein and Jonas and me. And then we were taken to see the Anacraeon.

And I have to go practice NOW so I will pick this up tomorrow I'm sorry.

The first person I met in the Shadowlands was Constantin.

Just like in the living world, there are people in the Shadowlands who will abuse newer, weaker, younger people just because they can. Katja knew this, and once she realized that she couldn't help me in the Skinlands anymore her next concern was for how to help me in the Shadowlands. And the first person she thought to call, the person she thought best capable of protecting me from the bad people, was Constantin.

The irony of this, of course, is that in another day and age Constantin WAS one of the bad guys. Some people think he still is — and it's not hard to see why, with his gruff demeanor and the way he waves that nasty nailbat around. And I've got no illusions about his life — 'though he's been pretty sketchy on the details, I know they didn't send people to Alcatraz for jaywalking.

But death changes a person, and I think death changed him. I feel totally safe when I'm with him, and that's a rare thing in the Shadowlands. I know his dark side is still there — it never goes away, and that's something I'll talk about later — but I know it doesn't control him. Of course we have arguments, and Issues — I don't think he and Sam will ever get along, no matter how much I wish otherwise — but we always manage to move past them.

Anyway. As far as I'm concerned, Constantin's one of the good guys now. No matter what he pretends, I know he is. Something about the way he grins at me, calls me "doll" — or maybe it's just that he was willing to drop everything he was doing, come and help a total stranger, some girl he'd never met who was stupid and crazy enough to do herself in, just because another girl asked. That was nearly five years ago, and he's still here — still looking out for me, still protecting me... still keeping me company. And that last is worth more than the rest all together, and more than I know how to put into words.

I know he'll never admit it, 'cause it would completely tarnish his tough guy image, but I think he cares about me. Scratch that — I know he does. And honestly, he's one of the reasons I'm able to go on at all. Fear is a killer in the Shadowlands, and Constantin helps keep it at bay. Or to paraphrase a verse my mom always loved: Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I shall fear no evil... for I know have the baddest son of a bitch in the valley watching my back every step of the way.

Next: Sam.

I think I'll start with Katja.

We met when I started college; she was my dorm room mate. We got along pretty well -- we had similar tastes in music and guys, and were both liberal arts majors. We're pretty much opposites in appearance -- she's tall and dark, I'm short and blonde. And even though I panicked when she not only found my meds but knew what they were for, when she explained that the reason she knew was 'cause she'd been on them briefly herself once -- well, Hallmark would have paid good money for that bonding moment. We were best friends from that moment on.

She noticed when I started skipping class months later... but she believed me when I said I was catching up. It's not her fault; Constantin was keeping her busy, and I'd told her I could handle myself.

...I don't mean it like that. It wasn't her fault, period.

She was the one who found me. She held it together long enough to call 911 and Constantin before completely freaking out. I'm proud of her for that -- especially the latter. We're taught to call 911 in case of emergency from the time we can count to ten, but it took a clear head to think of calling another ghost, one she knew well and knew would protect me.

I knew what a medium was, of course, but it wasn't until after I died that I realized Katja was one. She'd wound up in a shrink's office the one time she tried to tell people that she could talk to ghosts, so even when she found my meds she hadn't wanted to tell me that she still could.

I'm very lucky. And I mean, exceptionally lucky. Katja's a good friend. She was sweet to me when I was alive, she made sure I was taken care of once I died, and she's been there for me ever since. Even though she's graduated college and moved on with her life, she still drops by the campus to visit me whenever she thinks it's been too long since I've come to see her.

...she was sick for a long time after I died. She was cool when she called Constantin -- but immediately afterwards, she pretty much broke down. It's one thing to talk to ghosts, I guess, and another to have your best friend turn herself into one on your watch. I guess I wouldn't have blamed her if she never wanted to talk to me again. But she does, and I'm grateful for it. I will always be grateful for it.

Next up: Constantin.