***Do Not Read Before Parts I-IV***
I had not left my bedroom for weeks and weeks. It's not only that I was afraid of Al--the last time I saw him he did vow, "I'll fill you so full of lead they'll use you for a pencil, nyah!"--but I also couldn't remember the secret knock to get into the living room. Every time I tried all I heard back was a voice from the other side yelling something like, "Nice try, copper!"
I couldn't pay my bills. The power and heat went off, but at least my cell phone service was canceled, freeing me from my real-life Geraldo haunting. The speakeasy went on by candlelight. It only added to the allure and the dolls said it all seemed more dangerous and romantic.
Meanwhile I nearly starved to death, living only off of cough drops from my medicine cabinet, water from my sink, and remnants of gin that a ghost named Vinny comes in and makes in my bathtub.
Al had a good thing going. With me out of the way, he had the only 1920s-era-supernatural-speakeasy in the building, maybe on the whole block. His empire was growing day by day, but, in his haste to get back on top, Al forgot to pay his H.O.A. dues.
After an appropriate administrative process, Al and I were evicted by the Chicago P.D. I lost my job and my home, but, most importantly, I also lost Al.
As I walked away he yelled something about turning me into "minestrone soup" if I ever double crossed him or cut back into his territory. Typical Al. He would almost be tolerable, lovable, if he weren't so willing to take human life for profit.
My new home used to be a Hallmark Store. Me and all the precious moments figures gone by should get along just fine.