Cheryl hasn't been around.

It's easy enough to find out what's happened to her, if someone were to go looking. Harry Mason's death turned him from an obscure crime writer to a minor celebrity of sorts, all the moreso because of the bizarre circumstances surrounding his death. It took very little effort for a reporter for the Los Angeles Times to ( Read more... )

Alessa leaves a bottle of high-quality olive oil and a potted plant--she has no idea what kind of plant it is, but the flowers are red and it's certainly a pretty plant--on Henry's shrine to Hermes.

"You were never actually a suspect, Miss Mason," the lawyer says ( Read more... )

( report on the disappearance of Robert Foster, including 911 call transcript )

Just so I don't have to keep telling people what happened to me on an individual basis ( Read more... )

( Blackmail )

( Down )

"Hello, Dahlia," Cheryl says faintly in someone else's voice. "Back again ( Read more... )

And the hits just keep on coming.

Edit: Henry, the young girl asleep on your couch is not, repeat not, me.

I was thinking about this the other day, and I thought it was probably past time to write something down about what I think Cheryl's capable of. I've mostly left it up to a matter of interpretation and mystery, so I'll stick the meat of it behind an LJ-cut if you want to remain ignorant.

( What she can do, exactly )