-Jake-
-December 1st-

I still remembered the day when I first opened my eyes; it was cold, it was wet and it was miserable. I didn't recognize any of the buildings or any of the people, and when I thought about it a bit more, I realized that I couldn't remember a single thing. No memories, either of who I was or where I came from.

As you'd expect, I panicked.

I ran to the nearest woman - a lady in a pink raincoat, bothered by the rain - but she ignored me as she went about her business. I moved on to a man with a stroller, carrying an impatient child. He screamed at the top of his lungs, trying to catch the attention of his father. No matter how hard I tried, he just wouldn't listen - either to his child or to me. He disappeared behind a corner not long afterwards.

A good ten minutes of that day was spent approaching people, asking them to help me, telling them that I couldn't remember who I was. Not a single person cared, there was so much red tape that I was smothered in it. Eventually I got sick and tired of being ignored, and waited for the next person to turn the corner. I stood in the middle of the pavement as one such boy approached. His head was buried in their phone, his headphones blaring. I stood there and waited for him to bump into me, my blood boiling.

Then, just like that, he walked through me.

It was a painful feeling - like my body was pulled from every direction at once - until it suddenly disappeared a moment later, but the revelation stuck with me long after. I raced towards people, the same unpleasant sensation as I ran through both them and the buildings behind them. I stood in the middle of the road as cars drove past, sailing uselessly past my invisible body.

I still remembered the day I was hit with that realization: I was a ghost.


 

2: Chapter One - Jake (First Round Edit)

-Jake- 
-August 7th-  

          I was never a fan of living in a train station; it was cramped and full of people, most of whom were in a bad mood while they waited for their connecting piece of junk on wheels. Still, it wasn't much different up on the surface, but the same grey walls and the same red pillars became boring to look at. I didn't belong there.  

Bartholomew did.  

          My friend didn't sleep - we didn't need to - but even we needed downtime. Central Park South was the perfect place for him to relax and unwind from the (majority) of people. Since I was his friend, and had precious little else to do without him, I stuck by his side. He was the first ghost I saw; he made it his work to find ghosts like me, disorientated and clueless and scared. I hadn't found someone like that just yet, but then I wasn't looking in the way Bart normally had. He was older than any of us, and by a wide margin. The boy lived when New York city was nothing but a pipe dream. It also explained his love of trains.

          ‘They're the only things that connect me to the life I knew.’ He once told me.  

          "I can't stay here forever, y'know." I moaned, but he didn't listen. We lounged in an abandoned carriage in an otherwise-empty tunnel, long since rendered out of use. It was the closest thing either of us had to a home. Bart laid across two sets of chairs, his eyes closed.  

          "Nobody's sayin' you should stay here. Go up there, get a feel for the crowd."  

          "That's the thing, I've done that." I sighed. The city had a lot to offer, but I explored every single nook and cranny, every street and alley. I had a lot of time on my hands.

          "So? There's other towns and other cities. Take a train, travel a while."  

          "I..."  

          "You afraid of traveling?"  

          "No!" I was a little bit afraid; I didn't like heading into the unknown. "Can you just come with me? Maybe we'll find a few more of us."  

          "Not in the mood."  

          I moaned, but that was the most I usually did. The tunnel growled as a passing carriage thundered past the neighboring tracks. That's how I marked time passing, one train every thirty minutes, give or take. It was the only thing that kept me sane sometimes. Bart stretched before he sat upright, staring out of the carriage window.  

          "I get it, you're bored. I'm not gonna' be of much help to you. I can't hold yer hand all the time, Jake."  

          "I'm just asking if you'd like to hang out somewhere, somewhere other than here."  

          "Not gonna happen, tell the folks upstairs I said hi, though."  

          Eventually I gave up, shifting through the door as I took my leave. The guy had his moments, but he liked recharging when he was surrounded by ghosts and people for too long. The journey through the tunnel was business as usual, the light at the end drawing nearer with each step. Noel and Cynthia were planning on visiting from Boston in the next few days, but there was no way for us to get in contact until they showed up. I recognized some of the people who lined up for their usual connection, just like clockwork. One of them was a chubby old man with an ill-fitting raincoat that he liked to wear, no matter what the actual weather was like outside. He seemed to be the only happy one of the lot, so I named him Sunshine. He jammed to some music in his headphones, blissfully unaware of the world around him. I desperately wanted to be like him.  

          The truth was pretty simple; I felt like I was drawn here, that there was something to find to explain why I was a floating transparent mess to begin with. No other town, city or country really interested me. I was exasperated with searching for this imaginary meaning, though Bart waved off the suggestion. He was content with finding new folks like us and reassure them that everything was okay.   

          I countered that statement, claiming that he found his meaning. He scoffed at that.  

          Malcolm X Boulevard looked about the same as it always had; a great big space on the outskirts of Central Park. Dark grey clouds peppered the sky, promising yet more rain to an already miserable summer. I didn't like it that much (especially as the rain passed through me, a slightly uncomfortable feeling) but even that was better than staying in that cooped-up container. The weather didn't stop the tourists, though. Many of them wore the usual I Love NY T-shirts that the locals hated, but maybe they were just jealous of how happy they always were. In those few days they had, they didn't have to worry about going to their jobs or paying their taxes, completely free.  

          At least I had that much to my name.  

          I strolled along the pavement, around the outskirts of Central. Parents walked along with their kids, fussed about buying stuff for school. A group of kids ran towards one tree in particular, pushing and shoving each other to see who could get to it first. A plane flew past, the sound echoed off of the buildings and reverberated down the block. The city was so alive, always moving and never fully sleeping. I wondered what it must have been like, to be a fully breathing, living creature that could hold onto things, to eat and drink and sleep.  

          More than anything else, I wished I could talk to them.  

          I walked about a block or two further before I lost the motivation to keep going. Hugo and Linnea weren't around for the time being, and Noel and Cynthia were still a few days away. Bart was the only one to keep me company, and he was pretty useless at that. Sighing, I started walking back, knowing full well I was going to be bored for the rest of the day.  

          Then, it hit me.  

          I always searched for new ghosts with Bart, but I never tried searching for them by myself. I hadn't the foggiest idea of where to start or where they could appear; I woke up on the middle of the pavement, dazed and confused, and my friend calmed me down and reassured me that everything would be okay. I didn't have the gift of the gab that he had, but at least I'd be doing something productive.  

          I changed course, and walked in the opposite direction.  

          Those same children had finished fighting for a tree, instead covered in coats and jackets as the rain got worse. I walked back down West 110 Street, until I crossed the Duke Ellington Statue. It stood just as tall as it always had, its eyes impassive, like it didn't care about the changing world around it. Searching for newly-born ghosts was an exercise in restraint, some - like myself - tended to run to the nearest building or people, unaware that they couldn't be seen. Yet more ran as far from New York as they could, unable to deal with the scenario. The furthest I had ever gone with Bart was on the roads to Minnesota, on the lookout for one particular old woman who refused to accept the circumstances. Apparently, she kept screaming about how she didn't deserve to be there, though we never found her ourselves. It was a waste of time and effort, though the night sky looked nice.  

          I wondered where she was now.  

          5th Avenue didn't really offer much more excitement, but it gave me more time to think; about whether or not we actually had a purpose or if we were simply dumped into the land of the living. Some of us even debated as to whether or not we counted as living - considering that we could think - but that was something way above my metaphorical pay grade. Everywhere I looked, there were promotions for going back to school, and that stopped me for a second. The sudden downpour forced me to take a small detour through East 108th, taking cover underneath the nearest canopy as a few of the living joined me. One of them groaned as they checked their bag to make sure its contents were dry, her multicolored hair peeping through her hat. The first thing I spotted was a History textbook; a shame, that it only had the history of the living in its pages. I wondered what ours was like, though I supposed Bart would know most of it, having lived as long as he had. We hung under that canopy for about ten minutes before the weather got some bit bearable, enough for me to walk under it without the feeling of acid stinging my non-existent skin. My impromptu mission to find one of my kind changed abruptly, instead searching for the nearest store that was selling those back to school promotions.   

          Something tugged at me, every single time I saw those words, like they meant something to me. I just didn't know what.  

          Mind the Shelf was a tiny little place just off of Madison Avenue, already full of busy parents and unwilling kids. The spiral staircase looked beautiful yet frail, books decorated the halls and shelves. Something about this place spoke to me, strangely familiar and unrecognizable all at the same time. I followed the halls as I moved deeper and deeper inside, a series of steps which led me a half-storey down towards the fantasy section. The smell of pages and dust filled the air, entirely pleasant - even though I had no real need to breathe. Though most people wanted to be anywhere but here, a few folks sat down on the makeshift benches, their head buried in tablets and books. One boy looked as old as I was, interested in... something, I couldn't tell what he was reading, even when I peeped over his shoulder to get a look at the writing. It must had been a completely different language, because I was still none the wiser.   

          Still, I wondered what it must have felt like to pick one of those up in my hands, to sit down and read its contents, to get a sense of the world the authors created. Not for the first time, I swore at my inability to touch physical objects. It probably wouldn't be the last time, either.   

          I wanted to bring somebody to the bookstore, to see if anybody I knew was as curious about this as I was. Cynthia was probably the best bet, though I knew Noel would overshadow her. He was as overprotective as it got. I gazed at the covers that populated the shelves (the only part of the experience that I could actually enjoy) but that soon wore thin. Little by little, a gnawing feeling crept up on me, until it was the only thing I could think about. I couldn't do what these people did, I couldn't read the way they could. I couldn't even complain about the things they complained about, because I never experienced those things in the first place.   

         Unless...  

         A few girls - they were no older than twelve or thirteen, I guessed - moaned about starting their new class, and that same unfamiliar-yet-familiar sensation hit me. There was something about that conversation that... I remembered? No, that wasn't the right word, but there was something behind it. School? Did I go to school here?  

         Should I head to one? Was there a specific one that I needed to go to? I spent all this time exploring every sidewalk and pavement in this city and this idea only dawned on me now?  

         I had to tell Bart!

*  

        "Why would you want to do that?" Bart wasn't amused. The carriage seemed to gather even more dust than usual, the seats and tables were covered in it. He hadn't moved a transparent muscle all day, which suited him just fine.   

         "I've been telling you this, but I'll say it again; I think there's something for me there."  

         "You're still on abou' finding your inner meaning, or whatever that was?"   

         "Look, just because I'm not as old as you, it doesn't give you the right to talk down on me. I'm my own person - "  

         "You're a ghost, Jake."  

         "So? I can't haunt a school for a year or two? I can't even read a goddamn book, Bart! You know what it's like to have an interest that you can't even do? Torture!"  

         "Much like this conversation." He whispered that, but I caught the words out of the air.

         "I take it you're not going to come along with me for this experiment." It was a fool's errand to ask him, but I thought I would anyway.   

         "Not a chance." Yup, I was right. "Look, I'm not gonna' stand in your way and tell you what you can or can't do, but at the end of the day we're all just floating on this little planet. Looks like we're gonna' be here indefinitely, so just get this all out of your system."  

         "Hmph...."  

         "Oh, and be here by noon on Wednesday, we're going sightseeing with the little girl and the great big guardian for Halloween."  I promised him I would, the guy had gotten so much lazier recently.  

         The usual trip through the abandoned carriage, the usual station that greeted me. Sunshine had returned from whatever he did that day, still impossibly happy. He handed a homeless man some spare change as he passed him, prompting me to follow. I wanted to see what made this guy tick.   

         "H-hey." I said - fully aware that he couldn't hear me. He hopped up the steps, completely unaware. "So, I've been thinking, you're always so damn happy! Mind telling me how you manage to do that?"  

         He didn't tell me.   

         I watched him go as he went on his merry way. My destination was in the exact opposite direction. I preferred the night, mainly because I was much more visible than I usually was. It was during the night that I noticed I had freckles down the length of my arms, and when I stopped to stare at a random mirror, I realized that they covered much of my face as well. It was strange, even without the sunlight I was still so transparent, I had to squint just to make myself out. Some of us were more visible than others, which didn't really make a whole lot of sense in my view. Bart and I were roughly the same, though Noah shined like a light compared to the both of us. There was plenty of debate around that, too.   

         "Wait!"   

         The voice startled me; not because of who it was, but the fact that Bart actually got off his ass and followed me. Looked like even he had enough of lounging inside his "house".   

         "Not a chance, eh?"  

         "Don' think I'm getting soft." He growled, but he smirked and messed with my hair. "If anything, I wanna see where this sort of thing leads."  

         "It mightn't lead anywhere, just have a hunch." I whispered, even though I knew that the empty street couldn't hear us, anyway. "You can tail it back to the station if you change your mind."   

         "You try your best to drag me outta here, and now you're telling me to leave. Typical." He joked, but I grinned and ignored him. The breeze went right through me, slightly ticklish. I didn't understand how these pairs of atoms stuck together.   

         Central Park East High School waited for us on the other side of the road, the trees already turning shades of yellow and red even when summer was yet to end. Still, it blended well with the red brick. There was something about that place, that same sense that there was something I knew, but couldn't quite cling onto it.   

         "We here?" Bart asked, bemused. He clearly didn't feel the same way I did.   

         "I think we are." I didn't say much more after that, because I was already halfway across the road.   

         Right in front of a passing car.   

         It took me a split second to realize that I wasn't solid, and nothing was going to happen to me. Still, it felt immeasurably uncomfortable as it 'hit' me, my body stretched to its breaking point before it snapped back into place. The nausea lingered long after that.   

         "Exactly a year since that happened to you, if I remember what you said correctly." Bart pointed out, who actually had the sense to look both ways before crossing the road. I glared at him. It hadn't much of an effect.   

         Without thinking, I phased through its front doors. The corridors that greeted me looked deserted, and not just because there was nobody there. The air was a lot thicker, like nothing had passed through it in some time. It made sense, but it really felt like I was weighed down as I continued walking. The lockers ignited that same sensation I'd been feeling all day, and it really started to bother me. I felt like I had to remember something, but the memories were always just out of reach.   

         "From one cramped, deserted place to another." Bart commented, still detached somewhat from the entire experience. "School ain' starting for another few weeks, any particular reason why you want to come here now?"  

         "It's... just a feeling."  

         "It's always just a feeling with you."   

         We stumbled into a classroom, getting a feel of the place. This one was very slightly below ground-level, you could actually see the cars as they passed. I walked around the tables, completely spotless. I sucked in a great deep breath and just... let it out.   

         "I feel like I belong here, Bart."  

         "Hm?" He wasn't really paying attention. "I mean, I'm glad for you. Not my kind of thing, academia. Been there, done that."  

         "You've had a lot more time to do all of this than I had."  

         "True, but you're right; doing something productive would do you the world of good. Just make sure you come back for our two visitors."  

         "Sunshine, too." I responded.   

         "Is that guy still catching trains there? Gets on my nerves."  

         "I'll be back, don't worry." I didn't know how he knew I was staying here, because I didn't know myself until I went into that room. Is that how he felt when he came across that carriage for the first time? Did he feel drawn to that particular station the same way I was drawn here?"  

         "Look after yourself, ya' hear?"   

         "Loud and clear."  

         The boy vanished through the walls, and left me all alone. I closed my eyes and listened to everything that reached my semi-invisible ears; the clang of the plumbing in-between the walls, the tire noise as yet more cars passed by, the chatter of men who walked by. I sat on one of the center seats, and gazed at the whiteboard in the middle of the night. I wondered what it would look like in broad daylight, with more than a dozen people inside, a whole lot nosier and busier than it was right now. That same feeling hovered over me, but instead of looking further into it, I just let it wash over me. I didn't know what I was looking for just yet, but I knew I was getting closer.   

         I stayed there for the rest of the holidays, not for one second expecting what happened next...   

 

 

 

 

 

3: Chapter Two - Peter (First Round Edit)

-Peter-
   -September 5th-  

          Much like every morning, the curtains were the first thing I saw when I opened my eyes. They weren't very good at blocking out the light, but the patterns resembled the most common star constellations. Every day, I stared at each and every individual star before getting out of bed, a sort of mental exercise. It hadn't worked for a long time now - I still lounged in bed long after I traced over them - but then I felt no reason to get up and be a productive person. Sometimes that was all I had energy for, and sometimes I didn't even have the energy to do that. Polaroids covered my walls and ceilings, some of the most important ones dangled from random strings. Dad told me that I was running out of real estate to hang them from - which I'm sure was a joke - but I didn't have the energy to chime back.  

          I didn't have the energy for school, either.  

          "Peter, you're gonna be late!" Dad left me to mope for the summer, but he sure was hell wasn't going to do that now. I turned to the other side of my bed, still exhausted.

          It's been a year. It's been a whole damn year.  

          I finally found the energy to drag my legs out of bed, changing my clothes while I glanced at myself in the mirror. I wasn't a pretty sight, my hair set in several violent trajectories. I combed it quickly when I was relatively clothed, letting some light in when I opened the curtains. There was so much dust, my lungs were probably full of the stuff by now.  

          A knock on the door.  

          "Peter, I don't have time to drive you for your first day. You ain't the only one with a school to go to."  

          "I'll walk!" Seamus Cauth was a teacher first and foremost. If he had his way, I would have attended the same school he taught in. I had to fight tooth and nail to stop that from happening, even though it eventually worked in my favor; He couldn't find any openings in the district we lived in, and his work laid outside our usual catchment area. He peeped through the door, all smiles. One of us was looking forward to the day.  

          "Just focus on going in, take a note of the curriculum, and come home. Don't get bogged down on too many things at once."  

          "I have to help Naomi with her grand bid to be elected into the committee." I explained, my hair brushed as I spoke.  

          "I haven't heard you speak about her all summer, things alright?" It was hard to say. We were technically fine - we still messaged and tagged each other in things we found interesting - but we didn't make much of an effort to talk. That was mostly my fault.  

          "Things are cool."  

          "Right. Speaking of cool, it's chilly out there. Wear a coat."  

          "I could just catch the cold, or maybe the flu. Stay in bed for a few days."  

          "You're getting the vaccine soon. Sorry for cutting your dream short." Dad wasn't playing. He disappeared, leaving me to gather my things. I didn't have enough time to make myself look presentable, but people were well used to how I looked by now. I grabbed my bag and rushed out the door, immediately hit in the face by the cold. I had to buy a scarf before I came back in the evening. I knew I was going to forget by the end of the day.  

          The trip through St Nicholas Ave was chilly more than anything else; the road was filled with taxis and SUVs, horns blaring. Even though there were a few EVs on the road now - there was a big fuss about electric vehicles in the past five years or so - the air was still filled with exhaust fumes, forcing me to hold my jacket to my mouth in an effort to breathe. Some of the apartments had outside evacuation stairs, though some of them were in desperate need of repair. There was a fire around my block around six or so months back, a woman tried to leave using them, but they were corroded by rust so she fell right through. I assumed she was still in court, fighting for compensation.  

          Sometimes I wondered if I would run from the same situation, or stay there and leave the flames cover me. I stopped myself as soon as I thought of that, thinking of literally anything else.  

          Like Naomi.  

          The trees were covered in yellow leaves - at least those that had leaves left - her favorite color. I knew that when I walked through those halls, I would spot her glowing like the sun in some sort of canary yellow jumper. It was the first thing I noticed when I first met her, way back when. She told me that her old house from further up state had no sunlight for most of the year, so she decided to become the sunshine herself. It wasn't the sort of response I expected, but it was what drew me to her. We were inseparable for the longest time after that, sometimes the subject of rumors. I was far too gay to date, and I was already in a...  

          I thought about something else.  

          110th Street didn't fare much better as far as traffic was concerned, and the sidewalk was packed. I had to be the idiot that slept through the school bus and walk all the way to school, but it had its positives. I couldn't bring myself to pretend that I was interested in what Pete had to say - he always liked talking about how our names would be the same if he added the letter r, I didn't find that interesting in the slightest - and being by myself at least gave me the time to mentally prepare for the morning ahead. I hadn't realized that I was by good ol' Duke Ellington until the statue caught my eye. I just looked at it for a few seconds, my polaroid camera in my hand. I had taken umpteen shots of it already, but the memories associated with it forced me to look away, continuing my trek. I needed to study for just one more year, then I could get a full-time job for the summer and focus on the student loans for college. I was reading far too much into the future.  

          East High was right where I left it at the end of May, surrounded entirely by buses. I wasn't in any real rush to head in, so I scrolled through my phone to see what my friends were up to. Bryan messaged me last night, already looking forward to recess. I hadn't seen him in the longest time, I couldn't help but look forward to hanging out again. I assumed he was already at the gym, the boy lived there. Once there was an actual gap for me to squeeze through, I walked on inside, immediately hit with that yellow ray of sunshine. It sped towards me, almost knocking the both of us clean over: Naomi.  

          "Woah! Nice to see you, too!" She was holding so many flyers and posters that she couldn't see a thing in front of her.  

          "Crap, sorry 'bout that, Peter!" She replied, fetching everything that had fallen on me. "The workload that I have to do, do you know an internet cafe in all of New York that charge less than $13 for a single A1 piece of color paper, because this campaign is going to break the bank!"  

          "The committee isn't for another two weeks." I pointed out.  

          "You think I have time to sit around and wait while that waste of air goes about and steals potential voters?" She was referring to Reynold, though I wasn't strictly allowed to use his name. They had a falling out over the summer, I wasn't told the full scale of the story, but then I wasn't actively seeking it out.  

          "He's not gonna be going around at nine in the morning before our first period looking for votes. That's where you have him beat. Now let me go and hold some of these flyers for you before you get involved in another potential hit and run."  

          "Thanks." She made me carry the rolled-up A1 sheets, though they weren't too much of a hassle. The marmoleum floor was just as annoying as I remembered it, my shoes squeaking no matter how I walked. My friend fumbled for her key when we actually arrived at her locker, it wasn't going to be big enough to hold everything she had.  

          "How was summer?" I asked, clutching onto sheets that threatened to slip through my fingers. She didn't really answer at first, stuffing as much as she could into her space.  

          "I dunno, Peter. If you were around, you'd know."  

          "That's... a little harsh, isn't it?"  

          "Not as harsh as disappearing off in the middle of nowhere." I suppose she wasn't entirely wrong, there.  

          "Well, I'm here now. What you want me to do?"  

          "We'll need snappy slogans; simple but effective. We also need to grab our schedules so we can work around what classes we have, get ready for staying back with me; you're an essential part of my team!"  

          "I'll try and be around a little more than I had recently," I promised. She liked that. "but you're going to have to take it down a notch. It's a marathon, not a race."  

          "Sometimes it feels like I'm running both of them, at the same time." She sighed, her shoulders slumped. "I need to eat."  

           There wasn't time, because the bell rang. The both of us walked towards our nearest classroom, hoping to find where in God's name we were meant to be.  

*  

          The day dragged on and on.  

          We were told about what we needed to study, when to study it and how long we should be studying it for. Some of the classes got some fancy new boards that acted like a tablet, except Mr. Linehan had the distinct pleasure of breaking one of them on the first day. Our geography teacher didn't even hit it that hard, but black lines covered most of the screen, rendering it unusable. There wasn't much more we could do for the rest of that period, so I just gazed outside the window. This classroom was ridiculous; we were level with the road, so all we needed was a potential car accident to send one of them crashing through the glass. I wondered what that might have felt like; if time would slow down or race ahead, if I would have the proper experience of watching my life flash before my eyes. There wasn't much of a life to flash through, to be honest. At least Naomi and Bryan were going places, I could hang on the curtails of their success, I suppose.  

          Before I went further down that rabbit-hole, a cold chill brushed my ear. The windows weren't even open, probably just the damn draught from the door. I shuffled a bit to the right and the feeling was gone. All that money spent on expensive and breakable screens, and nothing on anything useful. Naomi would love to hear about this, she needed some ammunition for her election campaign. Recess finally arrived, and not a moment too soon. I dragged myself out of the classroom and into the halls, and found the man I was looking for. It wasn't too hard, considering how tall he was. Bryan sported an afro during the summer - one of the few times I actually laughed at something, once I saw the photos - but he cut it right down again, so he looked like his usual self. He spotted me in a heartbeat.  

          "Peter, my man!"  

          I braced myself for the hug, because I knew that he was going to slap my back, and it was going to sting. Sure enough, he collided against me with the force of a brick wall, slapping me for good measure. I had no air left in my lungs by the time he let go.  

          "I miss the hair already." I commented.  

          "Aw, man! Don't talk to me 'bout that, it was nice while it lasted, though!" It was ludicrous just how tall he was, and the afro would have added a few more inches to that. Sometimes I strained my neck just to look up at him. "How've you been?"  

          It was somehow more difficult to hear that from Bryan than it was from Naomi. At least Naomi had her own life and tight schedule to adhere to; Bryan sent me countless messages over the last few months, whether it was heading out state for a day trip or to meet up at the cinema for whatever movie was screening that time. I was really in a shell for the last while.  

          "I've been, that's all that matters."  

          "Keeping on keeping on, I hear ya'! Hey, head out with me tonight after school, plenty of catching up to do!"  

          "Not tonight." I told him, maybe a bit too bluntly. "I have a thing..."  

          He realized what I'd meant. "Aw crap, completely slipped my mind."  

          "Tomorrow, though. Promise." I knew he'd hold me to that, and I needed that because I knew I'd cancel on any other human being on the planet.  

           He spoke about how his summer went; it was pretty much business as usual for the boy. He trained in a gym on the other side of the city - he was the kind of guy who woke up willingly at 6am to run, it was hard to believe that we belonged to the same species - his scholarship in sight. His future was assured, there was nothing that he needed to worry about. Everything would be funded and he would be first-pick for whatever American football team he wanted. No wonder he was so cheery...  

          "Uh, hello?"  

          "W-what?" I zoned out of the conversation, damn it.  

          "I said, see you tomorrow?" He asked, puzzled.  

          "Uh, yeah! Sorry I just... didn't get enough sleep last night."  

          "Are you sure you're alright, Peter?"  

          I... hadn't expected him to ask me that directly.  

          "Yeah."  

          "Listen, you talk to me if anything is botherin' ya'. We'll pull you through all of this. You just hang tight!"  

           I couldn't remember the last time I didn't have to hang tight, though I appreciated it.  

           "Thanks."  

          "Anytime, man!" He slapped my back for emphasis. It hadn't recovered from the last time he slapped me.  

          The rest of the day stretched out longer than it had any right to, but eventually the final bell rang. You have no idea how quickly I left the place, mainly because I had to be somewhere. My phone lit up with more invitations and questions and messages from everybody, but I switched it off. I needed time to myself, I needed to do this properly.  

          A year. It had been three-hundred and sixty-five days since I found out, before everybody found out. I was dreading this day for months, the entire reason I was curled up in bed for weeks at a time, the reason why I stared at the constellation on my curtains until the daylight faded. My camera was nestled safely in my bag, waiting to be used. I was going to need some more string to tape to my ceiling, more pictures to hang. It was still bright, and 5th Avenue's sidewalks were covered with thick autumn leaves, brown and red and yellow mixed with the dark tarmac. The branches themselves were turning bare, but for the moment they looked beautiful. I almost tripped near the base of one of the trees, the pavement rising slightly on account of the roots underneath. I wasn't paying much attention on where I was walking. A few kids behind me laughed, but they could have been laughing at anything at all. Still, I assumed it was me.  

          I was a joke. A laughing stock.  

          I didn't always think like that; I was a happy-go-lucky kind of guy - Bryan's words, not mine - and I was the clumsiest idiot in the school. Some of my earlier photos pictured me in happier times, a great big smile plastered across my face. I missed that kind of mindset. I missed that kind of person. Was he even there anymore?  

          Dad tried to ring me, snapping me out of my self-pity. I just left it ring until eventually he gave up. A part of me felt bad for dragging all of this home each and every day, but I really needed to get this over and done with before I could head back home.  

          The Solomon R. Guggenheim Museum stood out from the rest of the city; an almost alien-looking structure that made everything else look pale in comparison. Once upon a time, it was a place I never took much interest in. That all changed a couple of years back, and even though I still wasn't the biggest fan of art pieces I stuck around and visited it from time to time. My boyfriend loved it so much; he would go on and on about the in-depth meaning behind some of the paintings, or the little subtleties behind the sculptures that flew over my head. It didn't matter that it wasn't my favorite pastime; it mattered because he spoke with such certainty in his voice, a gleam in his eyes. He was in love with the art, and I never met a person so obsessed with his obsession. We were perfect, Dad loved him and so did the rest of my friends.  

          Why did he have to go?  

          It was always going to be a rhetorical question, because I was never going to get an answer. The most I could do was visit the place he loved, and when the time came, to leave the city and never look back.  

          Angelica and I were on a first-name basis at this point. I usually spoke to her about what sort of installations were coming up and some other small bits and pieces when I asked for a ticket, but today I just handed my change and waited for my admission. In fairness, she didn't press the issue, simply handing me my ticket and hoping I enjoyed the exhibit. I smiled and nodded; I made a note to apologize to her when we met again.   

          It was huge inside, an open-plan ground floor while the remaining storeys swirled over it, capped by a glass ceiling. It wasn't a particularly busy time for the place, so I had at least some elbow room. It was so quiet that every sound echoed across the place, amplified by the acoustics. I hadn't even noticed the main attraction until the lights flickered, suddenly demanding my attention.  

          It must had been eight or nine cars, all of them suspended from the ceiling itself. Every single one of them had LED lights protrude from them, flashing in seemingly-random intervals. The rhythm slowed and quickened, casting shadows across the floor. I just stared at it in wonder, everything else forgotten.  

          Wow...  

          I reached for my camera - even when it wasn't strictly allowed, but Angelica usually turned a 'blind eye' for my sake, snapping a single polaroid when the lights shone brightest. As soon as the image slipped out I grabbed it with both my fingers; I remembered my first few pictures, shaking the images for all they're worth. I didn't realize that shaking them could actually damage the picture, but I learned the hard way when blobs covered most of the subject matter. Instead I just let it rest against my fingers, giving it time to develop slowly. It was darker than I would have wanted, but the lights still peeped through, the bare shadow of those cars served as a backdrop, a haunting image. The piece was apparently credited to Cai Guo-Qiang - I'd never heard of him before, entitled I Want to Believe. There was a lot more to see, but I stood there and took my time, focusing on every individual light on every individual car.  

          You would have loved this...  

          It was a fitting piece for a one-year anniversary. I didn't move until I was approached by Angelica. Apparently, I stared at the exhibition for a solid three hours, because suddenly it was eight in the evening. I had to blink twice to make sure I heard her correctly.  

          "I'm so sorry!" I blurted out. I didn't know why though - the whole point of a museum was to look at the art - but I still felt like an idiot. She didn't seem to mind that, though. I nestled my camera back into its bag and heaved it across my shoulder, preparing to leave.  

          Then, just like that, the air around me suddenly grew a lot colder.  

          I shivered, wondering where on earth that cold air was coming from. It disappeared instantly, but the museum was warm, and I wasn't anywhere near the front door. It must have been something to do with the heating, but it was the same thing in school...  

          I needed to sleep.  

          I turned around, leaving the installation - and the anniversary - behind.  

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

4: Chapter Three - Burning and Chills (First Round Edit)

-Jake- 
-September 5th-  

          There was something about that particular school that drew me in, some sort of feeling that I couldn't describe. It hung over me wherever I went, like I was on the verge of finding something important. I spent weeks combing through every single hallway and every single room, hoping to find whatever it was my emotional compass was pointing at.  

          I didn't find a thing, much to my annoyance.  

          Eventually it became more of a bother than anything else, the feeling that I was so close to... something! I laid in the middle of the gymnasium as the morning turned to afternoon to night. Only a handful of people came in and out, mainly engineers and construction workers who made whatever changes were needed before the academic year. Some of them carried expensive-looking screens, replacing entire whiteboards with them. It was amazing, watching the information as it changed at the flick of a wrist. They didn't seem to care all that much.  

          My days typically comprised of walking; I visited the station every day, just in case Cynthia and Noel arrived early. They didn't, and in fact they never arrived at all. It didn't bother Bart all that much, but even he needed to leave the carriage every now and again. We took alternating shifts as he went off in search for more of us. Sunshine kept me company at the station, but I always thought about that school.  

          "Y'know, I was really hoping you'd stay in the train? It's not like they usually walk through the front door." Bart whisked down the steps, catching me looking after our physical friend. The old man hummed a tune to himself, his dark sunglasses covering his eyes. A train stormed past, creating a world of noise.  

          "I can always head back to my new haunt." I teased.  

          "A school isn't my idea of real estate, but each to their own, I guess." Sunshine interrupted him, singing a bar from a song he was listening to. We just stared at him for a few seconds.  

          "...Anyway, there's no sign of them, like always. I'm starting to think they're not coming."  

          "They take phones for granted, too..." Bart moaned. A phone would have been a godsend, if we were actually able to hold the damn things in our hands. Word-of-mouth wasn't exactly reliable. "Have you found your true meaning yet?"  

          "No!" I knew he was being sarcastic, but I was so frustrated that the words left my mouth before I had any way of stopping it. "I know I'm close to something, but I don't know what!"  

          "You sound like you're close to falling apart, if that's of any help to you." He commented. I punched him on the shoulder in response. He didn't seem to mind that. "Are you sticking around with me for the evening, or are you going back home?"  

          It felt a little... unusual, having it called home, but I guess that's where I stayed now. "Gotta big day ahead of me tomorrow, there's actually going to be people in the building for a change!"  

          "I can't wait to hear the stories: Local School Closed Down Amid Paranormal Activity, catchy headline, no?"  

          "People have moved on from newspapers, Bart. You're going to have to update your insults."  

          "I'll get right on that, got nothin' better to do while waiting on 'em."  

          Another train rolled up to the station, crawling to a halt as it ejected its passengers. Sunshine walked inside, right on schedule. Maybe when I was brave enough, I'd catch the same train one day. I'd love to see where he went and what he was up to. Bart called it stalking.  

          The air was a lot colder on the way back to East High, and the coats and hats that people wore was testament to that. Halloween was already in full swing, even though it was the beginning of September. Decorations were up for sale at every shop I spotted, and one even made the heinous act of preparing for Christmas, their shelves stocked with figures of Santa. I heard arguments from both sides from the living, I figured there was no harm in looking forward to something. Cynthia shared the same view, the little minx.  

          I didn't know what to expect in the morning; whether I'd feel like a genuine student or if it was nothing more than a charade. Still, the damn feeling wasn't going to go away anytime soon, so I might as well go through at least one full school day before I abandoned ship.  

          Maybe I was a student there, once upon a time. Maybe I was alive in a past life, why else would I be here now? The argument didn't hold weight; if everybody became a ghost after passing away, then there would be a lot more of us. Still, I just couldn't believe any other alternative. The wind picked up and it started to drizzle, so instead I just shifted to the left, and phased through the walls and buildings. Anything was better than the rain, at that point. Some of the buildings were vacant - lights switched off, completely abandoned for the evening - while others were fully lit and inhabited. I interrupted a tense dinner between a man and woman who looked like they would rather be anywhere else than there. I was just glad I wasn't a part of it.  

          The school waited for me, and it was difficult to imagine than in less than twelve hours it was due to be full to the brim with people. I gazed at the front door with a smile on my face, trying to search for a memory I knew wasn't there; to feel like I started my first day, to walk through the doors and find everything this place had to offer. Instead, the halls were empty when I head inside, still heavy with dust despite the people who came and went. My 'bedroom' was the very first classroom on the left; the room Bart and I found ourselves in first. The whiteboard was replaced by one of those screens, completely at odds with the rest of the room. I slouched at my usual desk - knowing that an actual person would probably take my place in the morning - and rested my head in my hands as I watched the clock. I had no need to sleep, and I couldn't dream, but I closed my eyes anyway. I spent the hours thinking about graduating, applying for college and heading off on my own.  

          Maybe I already had, once upon a time...  

*  

          The first bunch of people came at 7am. Teachers arrived - at least, I thought they were teachers - coffees in hand as they grumbled about starting the new term. Some of them were up as early as six in the morning, I'd forgotten how much sleep mattered to the living. One particular man strode into my classroom, looking at the new touchscreen like it was a foreign construct. He fetched a manual and played with some of the settings, brightening the room by itself.

          It was another forty-five minutes before the first students actually walked in, bags draped around their shoulder. I expected them to be excited and happy, but not a single person showed as much as a smile. Instead they looked like they wanted to be anywhere else. Maybe it was because they also needed that sleep they liked so much, why else would stores run promotions and events for coming back? Weren't people excited for this?  

          Was I the only one who was excited?  

          The morning brightened up the place as the lights were switched on. Buses began to arrive, more and more students head inside the front doors, quickly filling out the hallways. I walked alongside some of them, as that familiar feeling I carried grew even stronger than usual! Definitely feeling warmer when it came to finding what I was searching for. (even if the actual thing was still stubborningly elusive) I heard stories about shows that people watched, I never really thought about watching TV. It was odd, considering I often complained about having nothing to do. Maybe I should pick up a show or two to pass the time.  

          My thoughts were interrupted as a girl flew right through me, catching me off-guard. She carried the world of sheets and papers, clearly not looking where she was going. I watched this potential accident as she carried on through the hallway, until she inevitably collided with a random boy. It said a lot that everybody else carried about their business as normal. This probably wasn't the first time she ran into someone.  

          Then, just like that, I turned towards the boy... and something clicked.  

          I couldn't tell exactly what, but the familiar feeling intensified, like I had just turned a key and unlocked the door I was trying to open. (It was probably a poor analogy, considering I'd never been able to do that in real life) Whatever I was looking for, this boy was suddenly the key to finding it. I just stared at him like an absolute idiot, I was glad nobody else could see me.  

          "He's not gonna be going around at nine in the morning before our first period looking for votes. That's where you have him beat. Now let me go and hold some of these flyers for you before you get involved in another potential hit and run." I couldn't tell what he was talking about, but the way he spoke was so familiar, like I'd known him for the longest time, that it didn't make sense. I leaned closer, hoping to gleam more of the conversation, until they moved further on down the hallway. I kept my distance, but I didn't focus on anybody else.  

          Who was he?  

          The bell rang before I had a chance to answer - or not answer - my own question. They knew where they were going, and out of sheer curiosity I followed them - followed him - to their first class - my classroom. They spoke more about some sort of election - I assumed it was the girl who was running, considering she was the one with the stationary - but when they took their seats, I noticed something else in the boy's eyes. It could had been early-morning fatigue, like the rest of the living, but there was something else. I waited until everybody took their places, and sat at the vacant seat next to him. He seemed preoccupied with something even as the teacher spoke. I tried to turn my attention away from him - the whole point of being here was to live out the student fantasy - but it was impossible. I was dying to speak to him, to ask if we'd known each other. Obviously, that was never going to happen.  

          Then the touch-screen broke.  

          He brushed lightly across it with his elbow, but suddenly the display fell apart, large black lines that covered most of the image. He swore and tapped the thing with his finger in an effort to somehow magically restore it, but that didn't work. The class cheered - despite the man's glaring - but the boy wasn't moved at all. He kept looking outside the window, unbothered by it all. I leaned in closer, trying to see what he was looking at outside.  

          Suddenly, I felt something white-hot, radiating from him as I moved closer. It was so hot that I immediately recoiled, completely unexpected. It was fight-or-flight, the kind of feeling I knew I needed to run from, because not a single living person had managed to do that before.  

          I rushed outside onto the open street, no longer caring about the cars that ran through me. There was something about that boy, but I wasn't sure if that was a good thing.  

*  

          "Go through it with me again, but slowly. What happened?" Bart tried his best to extract the information, but I barged through the carriage, my entire body shaking. I didn't even know how to describe it, but I could still feel the burns along my face and arm, my fingers particularly scorched.  

          "Burning..." that was all I could do to describe it, because that was exactly what it was.  

          "We can't burn, Jake. Especially when it comes to living people, they don't exactly spontaneously-combust."  

          "I don't have time for your jokes, Bart!" I cried, but he placed both of his hands on my shoulders and looked me in the eyes, concerned.  

          "Just breathe."  

          "I don't need to do - "  

          "Just breathe, damnit!"  I heaved in a whole bunch of useless air, and let it go just as fast.  

          "Great, now you keep doing that. Once you calmed down, you're going to explain all of this to me, and hopefully it will make a shred of sense this time."  

          "How else can I explain it to you? He literally burned me!"  

          "What did I say about breathing?"  

          I sat in the carriage, because I knew he wasn't going to listen to me until I did his pointless exercise. For the next ten minutes, breathing was all that I thought about. I felt the air catch in where my lungs would be - if I was alive - and alternated between breathing through my nose and through my mouth. As loathe as I was to admit it, it actually went someway to calming me down.  

          "Better?"  

          "A little." I admitted, the panic finally subsided.  

          "Great, now start from the top."  

          "OK... so it's the first day of school."  

          "Right, with you so far."  

          "Some girl managed to crash into me - or crash through me, anyway - but that's not what's important - "  

          "Starting to get ahead of yourself, just explain what happened."  

          "She ran into the guy - like, properly ran into him - and as soon as I saw him..."  

          "Yes?" I tried to come up with what to say next, but it took so long that Bart crouched down, curious.  

          "Everything...made sense?"  

          "Sense."  

          "He's what I was looking for, I'm sure of it!"  

          "This is where you're beginning to lose me." He admitted, lounging against his usual resting place. "I mean, I get that you wanted to live the life you thought you lived before, or whatever it was, but to feel like you know an actual person..."  

          "I know it's hard to believe."  

          "You're right, it is."  

         "But I know him! Everything he said sounded familiar, I just know there's a memory hiding somewhere!"  

          "Jake, you know you weren't alive, right?"  

          "But..."  

          "Also, you mentioned burning?"  

          "That’s right! I leaned into him when that touchscreen broke, because he was looking at something and I just wanted to see what he was looking at..."  

          "And he burned you?"  

          "I dunno! It just felt... white hot. It was painful!"  

          "I've never heard of this." He mused, lost in thought. "Been 'round longer than you'd imagine, and I've never heard of something like this before. We can't interact with 'em, you know that."  

          "Well, I did."  

          "Look, just go outside in the open air for a minute, clear your head. Head back tomorrow, I bet you won't feel a thing!"  

          "I don't like you being so dismissive of all of this, y'know."  

          "I know, but I have to be blunt with you. Sorry, pal."  

           I guessed I shouldn't have expected another outcome, but that's what irked me about Bart sometimes.   

          "I'll be back tomorrow."  

          "Oh, and Jake?"  

          "Yeah?"  

          "I'm sorry, y'know. I just... I've been where you are right now. Believe me."  

          I didn't, not for a second. Still, I wished him luck and walked away. As much as I hated to admit it, the guy might had been right. Still, it felt very real...  

          I wanted to detour for a little while before I went back, though there wasn't too much that I haven't seen before. The sun was gone, replaced by the rising moon and the emerging stars, not a single cloud in sight. I could already tell it was going to be cold, a slight sensation that surrounded me when everything had frozen solid. Two boys walked past me; their gloved hands interlocked. They talked about some adventure that I missed as they moved further away. I wondered what it must have felt like, to find someone to hold hands with. It was a minor miracle that people ever had time for each other, considering that they needed to sleep, to eat and a million and one things the living needed to do just to keep moving. They moved too quickly for me to catch up, so I just stood there and watched as they disappeared down another avenue.   

         Ten or so minutes was spent walking idly, I was tempted to head into Central Park - Hugo loved to haunt the place, no mean feat considering the size of the place - but I guess he didn't have time for me right now. He didn’t have much time for anyone these days. The odd times we did speak, he loved to go on about metaphorical scenarios that involved nuclear detonations and an emerging landscape that came from the aftermath. I didn't see the upsides he saw.   

         From the corner of my eye, I spotted someone move a little bit quicker than everybody else, darting in-between people in an effort to go somewhere: him.   

         I froze. After what had happened earlier, the burning sensation was all I could think about.  He seemed to be in a hurry to get somewhere. I followed cautiously, promising myself not to get as close as I already had. Maybe I shouldn't have approached him at all, that I should have left him alone, but I needed to see if what I felt was real or a figment of my imagination. He was quite a bit away from me, but eventually stopped outside the... Solomon R. Guggenheim Museum? I had only visited the place once, but it didn't hold anything interesting to me. I hadn't pinned him as the kind of guy who enjoyed art. By the time I arrived at its doors, he was already long inside. I melted through the door, and was blasted by a vortex of warm air.   

        I found him in the middle of the floor, staring at the installation.   

        Cars - I couldn't tell what the hell held them there - were suspended in mid-air, multi-colored lights sprouting from their bodywork. I was disarmed by the whole thing, wondering what this sort of exhibit meant. Maybe this boy felt the same. He didn't move a muscle, instead he was locked in place, his eyes unwavering. For a few moments, neither were mine. We just stood next to each other, taking in the lights. I'm sure it meant something - a car crash dissected into individual moments? - but I wasn't really sure. All I knew was that it looked...beautiful? In a tragic sort of way. I couldn't tell if he came to the same conclusion I had, and it killed me that I couldn't ask him. The boy didn't move a muscle for hours, but his eyes seemed to dart from one piece of the artistic puzzle to the other, completely lost in it.

        What did he see?

        He grabbed a camera, aimed it at a certain angle, and snapped a single picture. I hadn't seen something quite like that before, I watched in awe as one slipped out, completely dark. He simply held it in-between his fingers and continued staring at it, but my eyes were fixed on the black space. After a few minutes, the installation began to appear in the frame; it started with the individual lights, while the rest of the picture looked bleak and dark in comparison to what was in front of us. It was a completely different atmosphere and tone to the real-life installation.  

         Somebody approached him - she clearly worked there - and told him that the exhibit was closing.   

         "I'm so sorry!" He stuttered, clearly embarrassed. She didn't seem to mind at all, leaving him to his own devices. I took one last look at the piece in front of us, its lights dying softly. I made peace with the fact that I'd never know its hidden meaning, but it wasn't what I was focused on.   

          The boy moved towards me, and I was too distracted to notice until it was too late.   

          He was so close, so blindingly hot that he felt like the sun. It was a real sensation, it felt like I was being burned alive! I recoiled and stepped back, clutching the arm that took the brunt of the heat. How was this boy capable of doing something like that?   

         Even more surprising; his eyes were locked onto mine, like he knew I was there.   

         I side-stepped - relieved to find that he didn't blink or acknowledge me - but he shuddered. Had he noticed something about me? It wasn't possible! He turned to leave like nothing had happened, but I needed more time to comprehend what just happened. Once I did, I dashed outside into the cold air, heading straight for Bart.   

         I had to make him listen!  

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

5: Chapter Four - James Hanson and the Ghost (First Round Edit)

-Peter- 
-September 6th-  

          I couldn't sleep.  

          It happened sometimes; I knew I had school in the morning but my eyes couldn't stay shut. My most recent polaroid rested on my cabinet, already gathering dust. I really needed to clean this place when I had the time, it just wasn't going to be anytime soon. I tried to grab my phone, and moaned once I realized it died. I needed to replace that when I had the time, too.  

          At least I had an excuse to get up.  

          I fed the cable into it, setting an alarm I was probably going to sleep through. The street lights coated my curtains in orange, casting my room in a sickly glow. They were thinking of changing them to energy-efficient variants, but I didn't mind the way they were now. Besides, the council were pretty slow with doing anything, so I'd probably be living on my own by the time they logged anything.  

          I wanted to reach under my bed and grab the box from underneath, even though I knew I shouldn't. Dad wasn't even aware of it, and if he found out, it was as good as gone. Most of the stuff from back then was buried in the attic, but it was just too important for me to throw away or to hide. I knew I would feel worse if I poked at what was inside, but it wasn't like I was going back to sleep, anyway. Might as well get it over and done with.  

          I leaned in under the frame until my fingers brushed against it. It had been almost exactly a year since I left it there, not touched for a good reason. Still, I needed to see his face...  

          I opened it slowly, and the photos were waiting for me, exactly where I left them. Every single one I took of him were nestled in there, and when I finally mustered up the courage to see them, I peeped inside; the first polaroid I saw was of the two of us together, eating ice cream and grinning like idiots. It was one of the very first snaps I took, back when I didn't really have a clue how to use the camera. I had a spot of mint on my cheek - I didn't know how it missed my mouth - but it didn't matter in that moment.  

          In that moment, all I knew was that we were absolutely, perfectly happy.  

          Or so I thought...  

          The rest of the pictures connected the dots, documenting all the times we traveled together; our families travelled to Australia a few years ago, we were burned alive by the sun as we stood in front of the Opera House, but we didn't care. Another one had us standing in front of the pyramids of Egypt. He actually got in trouble with the tourist board for climbing on them to get a better shot. He was stupid sometimes, but the good kind of stupid, the loveable kind.  

          The last picture painted a different story... it was the last photo I'd taken of us...  

          The smile had changed, I was just as happy as ever, leaning in close for the shot. His grin, however, had shrunk into a bare smile. I saw it for what it was now. I should have seen it when I snapped it. I should have asked him if he was alright...  

*  

          The alarm went off, startling me. I hadn't realized that I'd fallen asleep.  

          There was noise outside, some sort of drill from the sounds of things. I assumed it was some sort of construction work going on before I opened the curtains; sure enough, the road just outside our door was being dug up, several guys in ugly bright-orange vests chatting amongst themselves. I wondered how I slept through that. Once I was dressed and my teeth brushed, I stuffed everything I needed into my bag and made for the door. It was a bit early, but I wanted to cross the road towards the deli and grab some cheap sandwiches for lunch, partly because our cafeteria was expensive as hell, but mostly because James Hanson was about to open the place up.  

          He was a uni student, working part-time in a shop which was about to fall apart. Every Wednesday morning I'd chat a little with him, his first official customer of the day. He looked nice, he was smart and he told me all sorts of stories of what college was like. They were so much more interesting than what happened in school. Like always, he struggled to open the front door, his hands fumbled with the keys. He always grumbled about having the whole thing replaced, but he loved grumbling about anything, really. 

          "You need a new lock!" I called out, catching his attention. He smirked and turned back towards the lock.  

          "I need a new job, more like it."  

          "You'll all need new jobs, if you can't even get into the place."  

          "You're in a good mood today, wish I was as peppy as you were in the morning."  

          "Yeah..." I guess he didn't realize that I was peppy because of him. Eventually he managed to shake the door open, inviting me inside. It was old-fashioned and cramped; the walls stuffed to the brim with coolers and magazines stalls. James ran behind the counter and opened up shop, switching on the lights as I lounged around idly. I didn't really need those sandwiches.  

          "So, back to school?"  

          "You noticed I had a bag on my back. Clever." I replied. I liked making him smile, sometimes that was the entire point of our conversation. The more I got to see it, the better.  

          "You wouldn't believe the student loans I needed to take out to be that clever, even with this job." He moaned, lifting the till out onto the desk as he counted the cash flow. "Minimum wage, minimum effort."  

          "You shouldn't really be counting that in full view of a customer, I could steal it, you know."  

          "You can try." He countered; another point scored for me when he laughed. There was only so long I could hide a pair of sandwiches and for it not to look unnatural, so as soon as he was set up, he scanned them and asked for the money.  

          "Don't I get a discount?" I asked, just like I always did. That was usually a guaranteed smile right there and then, and it wasn't any exception this morning. He leaned in closer, so close that I swore he knew what I was thinking, and he thought the same thing.  

          "Not a chance, my man." The mood quickly deflated. I still smiled and gave him my change - it was still a cheaper alternative, anyway - but when he wished me a good day and I said goodbye, the shine of that conversation dulled somewhat. He clearly didn't like me, and even if he did, I was still in school. He was well on his way to graduating... he could even have had a boyfriend for all I knew, or a girlfriend at that. I didn't know anything about him, and beyond the smiles I wasn't sure if I was ever going to know more about him... or even if I should.  

          Still, some conversation was better than no conversation at all.  

          I was out early for another reason, and Bryan waited for me outside Birch Coffee. We had an hour to kill, he probably already went for his morning run. He looked a lot more alert than I was, anyway.  

          "What took you so long?" He called out; a lot louder than I wanted.  He was definitely more awake than I was.  

          "I had to wake up, grab some things, have the same conversation with the same boy that's going to lead nowhere."  

          "Still talking with the college guy? At least he was nice to look at."  

          "You like girls, Bryan. You don't have to pander to us."  

          "I'm allowed to find a guy handsome!"  

          "Am I handsome?"  

          "You're the most handsome boy of all, Peter."  

          Birch wasn't the most...spacious cafe on the planet; in fact, it was probably one of the smallest. It was also one of the happiest places in New York. Melissa was on fire today, whipping up hot drinks for the customers already at the counter. Bryan instantly crumbled when he saw her, I wasn't the only one who fell for a college student.  

          "You're being very obvious right now." I whispered. He was so confident in front of literally every other person, it was a surprise to see him fumble like that.   

          "Shut up."  

          "Will I order your coffee for you?" He dug me in the ribs. I gave as good as I got.  

          "Ah, well if it isn't my two favorite boys!" She said, tearing up the receipts that cluttered her counter. "I suppose it's the usual for ya?"  

          "Carmel latte for me." I said, like clockwork. Bryan fumbled over the menu, pretending to look at the options when I knew he was just stalling for time. "He wants a Macchiato."  

          "Yeah, right." He mumbled, not at all like the Bryan I knew.  

          "Comin' right up." She disappeared behind her coffee machine as we took our seats. It was only when we sat down did Bryan return to his usual self.  

          "I just don't geddit! When I see her I just get... "  

          "Butterflies?"  

          "Tingly, like pins and needles all over my hands."  

          "You're just gonna have to ask her out." I was a big, fat hypocrite.  

          "I know, it's just... I wanna make it to the big time, right? If I can show her that I'm not just a kid!"  

          "You're 6'11. Nobody thinks you're a kid. They think you're a giant."  

          "You know what I mean!"  

          "I do." I replied. I kicked his shin as Melissa approached, our coffees in hand.  

          "Here ya go, boys!" She chimed, her customer-service voice on full display. James never used his customer-service voice on me. Maybe that meant something. Maybe it didn't. "You still making it to the big leagues?"  

          "Y-yeah?" It took him a few seconds to realize she was talking to him. He always rested his hands on his head when he was nervous - and he was very nervous. "Hoping to land that scholarship, get on a team, play stadiums, you know how it is."  

          "Well don't forget about us when you make it big-time, kid!" She laughed. She was pre-occupied with more waiting customers so she had to go. Bryan's arms relaxed before he talked to me again.  

          "You hear that? She said don't forget about me!"  

          "She said don't forget about us, like the establishment." I pointed out. I should have just left him be. He didn't pay much attention to me. The coffee was great, though.  

          "Aw man, you don't understand..."  

          "I do, a tiny bit." I'd been in love before...  

          "Huh." Bryan caught onto my change of voice. "You've deflated all of a sudden. How did..." I knew what he was talking about, the reason why I cancelled on him the other day. He loved him almost as much as I had.  

          "Not much out of the ordinary. Just went to the place, stood there for a while, and went home. Nothing big."  

          "Still, it's not exactly an anniversary you'd want to celebrate."  

          "No, no it wasn't..." He let me sit in silence for a while after that. The coffee picked me up but it didn't help my mood. I felt a little ashamed for dotting on James when there was clearly nothing there. Even if there was...this dark cloud hung over me and refused to let me go.   

          "Hey, we were having such a great chat! Where did that Peter go?" Bryan asked, his attention completely focused on me - which was really saying something, considering he usually only had eyes for Melissa in here.

          "I'm... I'm trying." I admitted, finishing the rest of my drink in small sips. "I want to go back to the guy that I was, before all of that happened. I miss him... but I miss me, too."  

          "It doesn't just happen overnight."  

          "It's been a year."  

          "It might take a whole bunch of years, but the point is that you never give up!" He wasn't kidding anymore. He looked at me with actual concern in his eyes, his own drink forgotten. "It doesn't really matter how long it takes; we'll get you back to your cheerful self. Let us look after ya!"   

          "Heh. Thanks." It was just difficult to believe what he was saying, Still, at least he said something.   

*  

          I should have known that Naomi was already on the campaign trail, but I just didn't know how deep into it until Bryan and I walked into the hallway; the entire place was covered in posters, her face photoshopped expertly in front of the... White House? We exchanged looks. The girl was busy.   

          Her campaign was aggressive - a complete overhaul of the girl's dressing room - and gender-neutral changing rooms, for that matter - slightly-longer recess breaks and mental health facilities were just some of the promises she plastered onto her pamphlets. This couldn't have been done in twenty-four hours; she must had planned this all summer.   

          "You know she's gonna drag us into this." I whispered. She still wanted me to be a part of her campaign strategy. It looked like she had her strategy pretty nailed down.   

          "I'd love to help..." My friend whispered back.   

          "But..."  

          "But I'm gonna be a little bit busy. Tryouts, and all that. You're on your own for this one."  

          "I'm sure it'll be alright." I replied, but I suddenly shivered. It came out of nowhere, a chill that cascaded all across the left-hand side of my body, very clearly not a draught. I shuddered, enough for Bryan to notice.   

          "Um...Peter?" He really was starting to worry about me, but I wasn't looking at him; instead, I glared at the blur in front of me, the faintest hint of light blue. It felt like a stray breeze brushed my face, and then it was gone. I stepped back, my legs moved without my input, refusing to breathe.   

          "Peter!"  

          "You didn't see that?" A lot of people were beginning to stare at me.   

          "Right, let's getchu out of here." Bryan had enough, his arm wrapped around my shoulder as he walked me around the corner. It must have been from the lack of sleep, but I swore there was something there! I could still feel the cold air against my face.   

          "Mind telling me what that was about?" Bryan asked, but Naomi barged through like a bright-yellow juggernaut before I even thought of how to answer. Her hair was tied up into a fierce ponytail, a pen and pencil behind each ear. It didn't look like she had much sleep, either.   

          "Peter!" She grabbed me by the arm and dragged me away from him, back into the room she must have booked as her conference room for the morning. Bryan knew I was doomed. I accepted my fate.   

          "How long do you have the room?" I asked, simply because there was so much stuff; boxes covered the desks - I wasn't sure if they were Naomi's or if they were there before she reserved the room - while the racks were so overstuffed with forgotten coats that about a dozen of them covered the floor. She tore into one such box, filled to the brim with yet more posters. There wasn't a chance in hell she was going to move it all before the next group booked the place.   

          "I have it for the entire week." She commented, stopping my assumption dead in its tracks. "Right, we still have ten minutes before first period, I need you to write down three things you feel needs improvement in this place and hand it to me ASAP. The next batch of posters need to be made by Friday."  

          "Where did you get the money for all of this?" I cried out, literally swimming in posters and banners.   

          "Remember when I asked you if there was an internet cafe who charged less than $13 for an A1 piece of paper?"   

          "I assume you found it?"  

          "You betcha, and they charge so much less than that! I hit the goldmine!"   

          "Next you're going to be using hashtags and swamping people's feeds." I joked... until I saw the look in her eyes, and knew that she was already on it.   

          "You're kidding me..."  

          "Look, I need this on my resume. People are looking for a person with good leadership skills, initiative and drive. I have all three of those qualities."  

          "It's Tuesday...a month before the actual voting begins." I whined; my arms already strained with a mountain of paper. She didn't seem to take what I said into account.

          "If you could be a good little boy and hand those out to people in your science class - maybe with a solid recommendation for Naomi Preston for good measure - that'd be great."  

          "What do I get in return?"  

          "A chance to grab a donut with me after school... without the political dribble, I promise."  

           "You're lucky I like donuts." I told her, and the first bell of the day rang in my ears. It was a struggle to walk with the sheer weight I had to carry, but donuts were donuts, and Naomi was still Naomi at the end of the day. It also made me forget about what had happened just a few minutes ago.   

           I was probably being haunted by something, just my luck...  

*  

           My Wednesdays finished the same way they began - a trip to Lex King Deli, and James Hanson.   

           His hair always looked a lot messier by the time he actually closed up shop. He liked finishing up early, but I only had to look inside to realize he was falling behind; there were still a few customers left to serve, the actual deli part of the shop was a mess - that should had been closed since 2pm - and the guy was having a minor panic attack as he manically scanned items for the people that were left. He sounded composed, but the face did not match the voice. I immediately went out to the back and grabbed a mop, making my way to the spillage. I dropped a yellow sign on the floor to prevent a lawsuit or two as I cleaned up, hopefully passing as someone this place employed. James didn't say anything, but he looked a whole lot more relieved after that. The customers gone, he darted towards the coolers, placed the blinds over them, and disappeared with the money into the back office. I made sure everything else looked spotless as he counted the cash.   

          I was doing a lot of work for somebody who was getting paid in smiles.   

          "We're down $75, the boss is going to have my head for this!"   

          "You say that every single day." I reminded him. He furiously re-counted the float and breathed a sigh of relief.   

          "Found an extra $50, $25 isn't so bad."  

          "Good, because I like meeting up with you on Wednesdays." I pointed out. That earned another smile.   

          "If people knew that you helped me set up shop, I'd be fired immediately."  

          "Maybe they'll hire me, and you can come set up and close this place for me, instead."  

          "You can have this dead-end gig, believe me!" He grabbed the keys, satisfied that everything was set up for the morning. I went for the door, but so did he. We bumped into each other, but he caught me before I had the chance to fall. It was all so quick and unexpected that I didn't even realize what was going on until it was over.   

          "You're the clumsiest boy I know!" He laughed, offering the door to me. "The guys in my apartment would crack up at you!"  

          "Really?" I didn't really know what that meant, was that a compliment or an insult of my poor coordination? "I can swing by yours sometime, if you weren't busy?"   

           It was a hopeful question, almost a little bit desperate, and that's when I saw the cracks appear. James sneered and ruffled my hair.  

           "Sorry, need to be over twenty-one for the kind of things we do."  

           "You're not twenty-one, either."  I pointed out. That earned another James Hanson Smile.

           "And you think I'm the clever one." There was something dismissive about that comment, so I didn't count that aforementioned smile as a point. He was just a year older than me, but he treated me like a child sometimes.   

           "Yeah, well... if you change your mind..."  

           "Same time next week?"   

           "Yeah." It wasn't like I had anything better to do.   

           He waved as he set off in the opposite direction, he had to catch a bus and meander down the heart of New York City. I watched him go, just like I always did, every single Wednesday. Nothing was going to happen. He could grab whoever he wanted in the city, he could bring them back to his apartment, or go to theirs. I still went to school, still lived with my Dad, still dealing with my own crap.   

           I turned around to cross the street - and was hit by that same familiar chill. In the dead of night, I could see it from the corner of my eye; it was as tall as I was, glowing slightly brighter than it had in the middle of the morning. This wasn't sleep deprivation, this was paranormal activity! My heart stopped, caught in my throat as I froze. I didn't look directly at it; in case it went out of focus.   

           " ~Wait~"  

           It spoke!  

           I ran as fast as my legs could carry me, as far and as quickly from the damn thing as possible! A Cadillac almost ran me over, but adrenaline kept me moving. I didn't look back until I barged into my house, the door slammed shut.   

          "Hey!" Dad cried, but I was halfway up the stairs before he even finished that. I locked the door when I flung into my room, the lights left on for the entire night. I didn't sleep a wink, that blue mist seared into my eyes.  

 

6: Chapter Five - Conspiracies (First Round Edit)

-Jake-
-September 6th-

          For the first time in a long time, Sunshine was nowhere to be seen.

          The crowd looked lonelier without him, but there were still dozens upon dozens of people, all irritated or annoyed at something or someone, waiting for a train that could either arrive early or late. We waited for Noel and Cynthia, though Bart was officially done with that. He found another new ghost during his travels, he called himself Horatio. That experience was still on my mind; I didn't actually know if my real name was Jake, but it fit in that particular moment, so I picked it for myself. Bart explained that how I felt was perfectly normal and natural, that we were all born without any memories. Horatio was going through the exact same thing; I saw it in his eyes when I saw him every now and again. He began to come to terms with it over the last day or so.

          I missed my favorite living person, unless I counted the boy...

          I told Bart everything; how I met him at the museum, the burning I felt as I moved towards him. He had no idea what was going on, I'd never seem him so...rattled before. Even when he walked down towards the station, I could still see the gears as they turned in his head, thinking.

          "Horatio took off." He announced, slightly disappointed. "Turns out, he didn't believe a single word I said, ran for the hills."

          "He knows where we are if he needs us." I muttered. He nodded and watched the living as they boarded the same old train on a different day. "Any progress?"

          "I've asked everybody I could find, nothing about catching fire near the living." He replied. "It's not like it happens all the time. Fact is, we didn't think it could actually happen."

          "Maybe Noel has seen it at some point?"

          "I wouldn't hold my breath abou' it. It challenges a lot of deep-rooted assumptions. It's irking a few of us."

          "I'm not just going to shut my mouth and keep it quiet. I know what I felt!"

          "I know... difficult as it is, I believe you." The station was finally empty, the entire floor to ourselves for a few precious moments.

          "I'm worried about Sunshine." I admitted.

          "What do you honestly see in him?" Bart rolled his eyes as he floated towards his carriage. "Haven't you got a school to go to?"

          "Honestly... I'm not sure if I should go. He would be there."

          "Well yes, which makes it the perfect opportunity to explore this... unfamiliar phenomenon. If there's any more to it, we need to know. You could be a pioneer!"

          "You're treating this like an experiment."

          "Is it not? It's not like he can see you, so you have nothing to lose!"

          I remembered how his eyes met mine, like he knew I was there... Nothing to lose.

          A cold wind sliced through the air, winter weather definitely on its way. I shivered as I walked to school, the city congested with traffic and people. There was always a rush around the same time every morning, so I was well used to the sirens and the swearing by now. I could only imagine what Halloween and Christmas would be like this year.

          "I finally bump into you!"

          That voice could only belong to Linnea, though I didn't exactly expect to see her. She didn't break stride, matching my walking speed as we walked together. She glowed a lot brighter than I did, her hair resembled curtains so I couldn't make out much of her face.

          "Haven't seen you in a while."

          "Been busy. Went to Maryland for a spell. Still trying to grab George and drag him over to our neck of the woods. I mentioned George to you before, right?"

          "You did." She didn't.

          "Great! You're going to love him once you meet him. Very shy but very sweet, kinda like you."

          "You're never this nice to me, not unless you want something." I teased, though there was a hint of truth to it. "Or maybe, you want something from Bart."

          "Isn't a ghoul allowed to catch up with old friends from time to time?"

          "The last time we spoke, you called me an acquaintance."

          "Did not!" She did. "Since you brought him up, though; I need his help."

          "Is this something to do with this George guy?"

          "I need a certain charismatic friend to persuade him to come visit, and once we show him everything New York has to offer, he'll never leave. A simple plan, really. Very eloquent."

          "It sounds like a hostage situation."

          "Not if he decides never to leave by his own free will."

          "Let me rephrase that; it sounds like Stockholm Syndrome. 'Sides, you know where Bart lives. The guy doesn't move around a lot."

          "I'll keep that in mind." She said. "Where are we off to, today?"

          "School."

          "What?"

          "Yeah."

          "You mean, where the living go?" She didn't really care much about people, nothing for or against them. "Why would you subject yourself to that? You ain't getting a diploma at the end of the day."

          "It's a long story. I'm sure Bart could fill you in on the details."

          "I'll need something to get the conversation started, yes. You've been a big help, Jack."

          "It's Jake." She blew a kiss and took off down a stray street, so I wasn't sure if she got my correction or not. It didn't matter, she was far closer to Bart than we ever would. He found her a few years back, after all. She didn't really care about her lack of memories. A clean slate, she used to say.

          I was a little nervous when I walked into school; to start with, I just didn't want to get burned again, but I still felt a connection to that boy, and I needed to get to the bottom of it. I was far too close to it to abandon ship now. Still, something didn't seem right, and I wasn't sure if he had seen me last night. Normally, I would have told myself that it was impossible, but this wasn't a normal situation.

          The halls were covered with posters of the girl - she was definitely the one running for some sort of election - but already some of them had been drawn over. One particular sheet had a well-drawn moustache plastered above her lip. Others were less forgiving.

          He walked in, another friend by his side. I gave the both of them a wide berth as they passed, though I walked behind them, trying to piece together their conversation.

          "You know she's gonna drag us into this."

          "I'd love to help..."

          "But..."  

          "But I'm gonna be a little bit busy. Tryouts, and all that. You're on your own for this one." Their conversation made no sense without the proper context. I closed the gap between us to try and get a better handle on what they were saying. As I walked, I began to feel the heat that originated from the boy. From that safe distance, it was incredibly... nice, a temperature I could handle. I walked around them, testing the limits to how much I could tolerate, but he shivered.

          His eyes then turned towards me, looking directly into my own. There was absolutely no doubt - he could see me!

          I moved to the other side of the room, shocked. I must have moved from his line of sight, because those eyes didn't trace my movement. His friend looked concerned.

          "Um...Peter?" The name, it sounded so familiar it was painful. I knew him!

          "Peter!"

           "You didn't see that?" I watched as he went ahead and confirmed my suspicions. If Bart was concerned about how I felt around him, he was going to be perplexed about the idea of being seen. His friend walked him away from the corridor, but I'd already seen enough to confirm my suspicions.

*

          "Jake-y!" That wasn't exactly what I expected to hear when I walked through our station, but it was the first thing I heard, regardless. The voice was high and shrill, a voice that could only belong to Cynthia. She spotted me from a mile away, and closed the gap in seconds. She launched herself into my arms before I even had a chance to make it down the stairs.

          "Woah! Took you long enough!" I cried, twirling her around the way she liked. "Where's the big friendly giant?"

          "Oh, with Bart right now, but it's boring down there!"

          "Yeah, it is."

          "I wanna come here on Halloween! Can we go trick-or-treating? Please?!"

          "You know I'm not going to say no to that!" I beamed. We weren't getting a lot of the treats at the end of the day, but the little girl loved the idea of walking around with the living in costumes, the ghouls and monsters making her feel more at home. I had the world of fun when I saw her last, though Noel was a little too cautious. We were well used to him by now. "Maybe after that, we can try and have you down for Christmas."

          "Can ya' ask him? He never lets me go anywhere!"

          "I think we can convince him, somehow."

          "Yay!" She pulled me by the hand and dragged me down the station. I didn't realize I had to convince him now.

          Noah and Bart were talking about something in the carriage, as low as a whisper. They stopped as soon as the little girl arrived, I followed not a second later.

          "We're staying for Christmas!" She proudly proclaimed, like it was already a done deal. "Jake said you gotta!"

          Noel's eyes squinted, like he was trying to figure out where I was, and smiled. He looked older than the rest of us, though he kept hush about how old he actually was. He glowed so brightly that he basically lit the entire carriage.

          "You haven't changed at all."

          "We don't tend to change." I commented.

          "We'll see about Christmas, Cynthia. We still have plenty of time to plan things out." That usually meant no, and she wasn't stupid.

          "We gotta get Halloween out of the way first! I'm going to show her around the block, get a look at some of the costumes." I chipped in, hoping to defuse some of the conversation. "Heard there was a party in the middle of Central Park this year. Linnea also sends her regards, Bart."

          "She always does." He snapped back. "Don't be too long, we need to discuss that thing we were talking about." I wasn't sure if Cynthia should know about what I discovered with Peter.

          "I'll be back before you know it."

          Cynthia hopped and skipped towards the stairs while I followed behind, giving her some space. The little girl entertained herself, though I guessed she really had no other choice. I'd never seen another ghost as young as she was, it must have been lonely being an only child.

         "Tell me a little 'bout Boston." I encouraged.

          "Boston is boring, there's too many grown-up shops! I wanna play on the playground but no-one wants to play with me!" It wasn't surprising, she was the only ghost I knew that resembled a child, an anomoly. "But you're nice! You play with me!"

          "Heh, I do."

          "I wanna be with you guys! Noah won't let me though, says Boston is our home... but it doesn't have to be, does it Jake?"

          "I'm sure Noah is only looking out for you." I opined, but she really didn't listen. Instead, she ran towards the nearest window stall, one of the few places that had the audacity to display Halloween costumes at the beginning of September. She pressed her ghostly hands against the solid glass, only for them to phase through slightly. She reached for the fabric, but it was much the same story.

          "I wanna be a werewolf!" She cried, morphing through the glass as she explored the store. I really had my work cut out for me. The place was full of costumes; some sealed in bags while others were on full display. The place was pretty quiet - understandable, considering the time of the month - but it suited the normally-vacant Victorian house that laid abandoned for most of the year. Cynthia rushed from costume to costume, still searching for the elusive werewolf outfit that she craved so much. She loved to drag me from place to place. She pouted once we moved up the stairs. She wasn't happy with a single one of them.

          "Cheer up, we have plenty of time to find the right one." I encouraged, but it didn't really work.

          "I just wanna be a werewolf."

          "You're already the scariest ghost I know, how much scarier do you want to be?"

          "More scarier!" She cheered. Hopefully I made her feel a little better.

*

          Sunshine made an appearance again - much to my relief - but it was clear why he was delayed; the old man walked with a limp, crutches in hand. He still had a smile on his face, though. His glasses were gone, so for the first time ever, I got a good look at his face. He must had been pushing his seventies, his eyes wrinkled and lined even when the rest of his face wasn't. His headphones were ever-present around his ears, though. He hummed yet another tune while he waited for another train. Cynthia and I were spent, exhausted from window shopping. She liked me more than Noah, though I told her to keep that between us.

          "Nice to see you again." I muttered, even though Sunshine couldn't hear me. Cynthia was confused.

          "You can talk to him?!"

          "Talk to him? Yes. Can he hear me? No."

          "Why?"

          "He's a familiar face."

          "Hmmmm."

          Bart and Noel waited for us, right where we left them. They seemed to have finished their conversation, because I overheard small talk like the weather.

          "Looks like somebody had a good time." He cooed, like a father to his daughter.

          "Can we stay with Jake-y? Please?"

          "We'll see what we can do.” That was another no.

          Bart pulled me aside while they bickered, suddenly serious.

          "Jake, Noel's going to talk to you for a minute. Wants to know about... what happened." He kept it quiet so Cynthia couldn't hear. I usually avoided one-on-one conversations with the ghost. "I'm going to take her around the block for a bit, give ye time to yourselves."

          "I'm looking forward to it." I whispered.

          "Don't."

          The girl was more than happy to explore in the middle of the night, and ol' Barty had a few stories to tell about locomotives. They took off as I was left to negotiate with Noel. He leaned against the wall, carefully balanced so he didn't melt through it.

          "I heard you got quite the story to tell."

          "He told you everything."

          "Aye, but I want to hear it from you."

          "What's more to say? I feel a warm glow from the guy, it gets molten-hot when I'm close to him... I think he saw me."

          Noel mulled over that for a few moments, stroking his beard as he pondered on what to say next.

          "He did not see you." He eventually commented. Noel straightened himself up - he was taller than me by a full head - and moved so close to me that I could feel his cold breath.

          "I know what I saw." I retorted, but I wasn’t entirely sure. He heard it in the way my voice wavered.

          "Ghosts cannot interact with the living, you know that. What you saw - what you felt - is little more than a hallucination. I'd advise you to drop it."

          "You've seen this before..." there was no other reason why he would blatantly dismiss everything I've said. "If you know anything about it, please tell me! I want to know!"

          "You're a new ghost, kid. Only been 'round the block for a year. There may be some...residual effects, but they pass over time. You've had no interaction with the boy in a prior life, because there is no prior life."

          "I don't believe you."

          Noah closed what little gap there was between us.

          "I told you to drop it."

          "I'm not your little girl, Noah." I replied. "While we're being honest, neither is Cynthia."

          Silence, because he didn't know how to react. He took a step back as he tried to think of something to say.

          "She is under my supervision. That is never going change."

          "It should." I stated bluntly, and pushed him out of the way. I wasn't going to stand there and listen to his blatant lies. I didn't know why Bart entertained him for as long as he had, and there was clearly something that they weren't telling me. I was back on the surface before I knew it, just as Bart and Cynthia returned. He looked like he had seen enough for one day, but she looked like she was having the time of her life. Bart knew why I was in the middle of storming off. He didn't say anything as I passed them by.

          "Jake-y?" She called, but I was already long gone.

          The city was pretty at night - still full of lights and sounds, even if those sounds belonged to police sirens - The moon gleamed over all of us, impassive. I stared at it as I walked, hoping it would give me some of the answers I needed; if only it could speak, it could tell me everything it knew. I just wanted to know that there was another soul - either living or ghost - who could confirm everything I'd experienced. I couldn't have been the first, and I doubt I would be the last.

          Then I saw him.

          It didn't seem to matter where I went or what I did, I kept running into this Peter boy! He walked towards me, completely oblivious. I wasn't even sure if there was any point in moving aside, because I'd just see him on the street tomorrow, and the day after that. I watched as he walked by, steadily warmer until it became unbearably hot. Eventually he would walk off down the edge of the street, and I would try my best to never run into him again.

          He shivered.

          Peter stopped, almost completely still. He looked right through me, but his mouth fell and he turned pale.

          "Wait!" I cried, but it was already too late. Peter ran as far as his legs could take him, like a deer in the damn headlights. He almost collided with the actual set of headlights from a car, but it didn't exactly stop him. I just stood there, out in the middle of the open, confused.

 

 

7: Chapter Six - Bryan Hannon, Naomi Preston & an Unwelcome Guest (First Round Edit)

-Peter- 
   -September 7th-   

          I hated dreaming, especially the lucid ones.   

          The vast majority of them had been nightmares, and I was always aware of what was about to happen, yet could never wake up before it reached the finale. Sometimes it would take place in a hospital, while others began at school. The outcome was the same; my legs carried me from one place to the other, unable to change course, and my phone would ring. Once my hand reached for it - again, without my input - I would normally hear a distressed voice on the other end of the line. Sometimes it was Bryan, sometimes Naomi. Other times it was Dad, and when my brain tried to be creative, it would conjure up an approximate voice of my Mom - even though I never met her.   

          They would all say the same thing: "Peter, are you sitting down?"  

          I was never sitting down when they told me the news, the same news over and over again. I usually slouched to the ground after that, and for the rest of my dream I would cry until somebody found me. They would ask me if I was alright, and while I knew this was all just a part of a twisted script, I knew I had to play along. The dream couldn't end, otherwise.   

          "He... he's gone."  

          I woke up in the middle of the night, the ritual completed. I was almost always covered in sweat, and tonight was no exception. The same street light coated my room in the same, now-familiar glow, and I performed my routine of counting all the fake star constellations on my curtains before I found the energy to get up. I wasn't going to get any more sleep for the rest of the night.   

          I had to talk to Dad in the morning, because it's gotten to the point where I'm actively hallucinating, now. Those chills that numbed me, that detached voice that spoke, even when nobody was around. This was still getting to me, more than a year later, and I was sick and tired of it. I fetched my secret box from underneath the bed, and just spent the next few hours looking at them, looking at the boy I loved.   

          When was I going to leave this behind? When was I going to move past this? When was I going to be free?   

*  

          James was right where I knew he'd be; struggling with the front door to his workplace, five minutes before he was due to start. I racked up to him just as he forced his way through it, sporting a massive grin when he saw me.   

          "Running a little late today, are we?"  

          "Didn't get much sleep last night." I admitted - it probably looked like it, so best to get that out of the way - "Seriously, get a new lock."  

          "A new door, a new job, a new life." He moaned, but he was already behind the counter, counting the cash in his usual way. I wasn't in the mood for sandwiches, but I knew I'd regret not buying anything by the middle of the afternoon. I grabbed two tomato and ham alternatives and shuffled to him. He seemed a little more...fidgety than usual.   

          "I wasn't the only person who didn't get some shut-eye?" I asked, and he rolled his eyes.   

          "Stop, had an awkward night out last night. Got kicked out of the bar because my ex waltzed in and spilled his drinks all over me. Accidentally, of course. Nothing is ever accidental with him."  

          "Oh?" This was the first confirmation that he liked guys, or at least he dated one! "Bet he was a real jerk, huh?"  

          "You're telling me!"  

          "I'm sure you could find somebody better." It was a trying question, testing the waters. I was stupid to get my hopes up, but my hopes were up, regardless.  

           "I'll find someone when I find someone. Now are you going to pay for your food or what?"  

           "Oh!" He already had the sandwiches scanned. James looked at me with exhausted eyes, but that smile was still in place. I handed him my money and grabbed my lunch.   

          "Any plans for Halloween?" I asked, hoping to keep this conversation going. My bag was so hopelessly overstuffed that there was no space for my food. I was going to have to carry them in my hands.  

          "Nothing you need to worry about, kid." He winked. "But because you asked so nicely... getting a bunch of the boys together, heading into Central Park for the night, starting up a bonfire. The police will probably show up and shut it down, it's going to be awesome! You didn't hear it from me, though. Y'hear?"  

          "Oh, I knew!" I immediately realized my mistake. I was so desperate to sound cool to this guy that the words just slipped out before I knew what I was saying. I felt the heat against my cheeks as I blushed.   

          "Huh, you knew? Who let a kid into the inner circle, eh?" He laughed, rightly doubting my lie. "Didn't realize you were the kind of kid to break curfew, isn't that a school night?" It was just the way that he said it, so condescending, that I instantly snapped back.   

          "I drink all the time, I'm not a kid."  

          James's face lit up, leaning closer across the counter.   

          "I never knew I was dealing with a rebel! Well tell'ya what? You bring a few mates along with you, and we'll supply the booze. We'll have a good time!"  

          "I..." I was in trouble. In deep, deep trouble. "Sounds great!" I hoisted my bag over my shoulder, because if I stayed any longer, I would just make up more lies and lead myself into a bigger hole. "See you in a bit."  

          "Have fun in class, kid!"  

          I crossed the street as quickly as I could, my heart pounding. My big mouth landed me in a predicament, and I wasn't sure how I was going to get myself out of it.   

*  

          It wasn't until recess when I saw Naomi, but when I did, she seemed ... different.   

          Don't get me wrong, she was still hyper-focused on getting onto the committee, but her room was a mess, papers spewed everywhere. She scribbled on a few of them, holding them up to the light so she could get a better look at her creations, and bundled them up into a ball. There were a few crumpled pieces of paper in the corner.   

          "We're going to need a time-out!" I announced, but she either didn't listen, or she straight-up ignored me. Did any of us grab some sleep last night?  

          "I have six different variations of the next step on our campaign." She stated, and spread them out across her desk. "Would you mind telling me which one looks the most effective? Because I've looked at them for so long that I can't make out words."  

          "That's called Semantic Satiation, and that usually means that you've spent too long focusing on this campaign, and not enough time doing literally anything else."  

          "But I only have this room for three more days, and I have to have these plastered across the school and out of here before - "  

          "Naomi, have you eaten yet?"   

          I knew she wanted to say yes, but she gave one last glance at her work so far, and sighed.   

          "No."  

          "Right." I reached into my bag, grabbed one of my sandwiches, and handed it to her. She accepted it slowly, but the wrapping was removed in record time.   

          "You always got my back, Peter." She mumbled in-between bites. I smiled and fetched my own sandwich.   

          "That's what I'm here for."  

          "It's just... this needs to go off without a hitch, and these sorts of things don't just happen overnight. You have to plan the entire campaign - "  

          "Naomi?"  

          "Yeah?"  

          "You're getting food all over the table." She was still talking about her campaign, even with her mouth full. She quickly chewed and swallowed it. I genuinely thought she was about to choke. "You're my best friend, and that title comes with responsibility; like telling you that you're putting far too much energy into this one little thing, and if you keep going at the rate you're going, you're going to burn out."  

          "But - "  

          "There are no buts! Your campaign is going to go great, you're the most capable person I know."  

          She nibbled on her food some more, a bit more slowly, like she was pacing herself and taking her time. I appreciated it.  

          "You don't understand, Peter. My parents, they're expecting me to do well. I need to fluff up my resume with as much experience as possible."  

          "You need to fluff up your stomach with as much food as possible, and when you do that, you're going to need to stick to a regular sleeping pattern." I told her. Naomi opened her mouth, like she was about to debate my statement, but thought better of it.   

          "How come you're allowed to give me advice, but when we tried to look after you, you just... disappeared?" The Naomi who was obsessed with her political campaign disappeared, replaced by the girl I used to know.   

          "I had to go; I was no good to any of you when I felt like that."  

          "You shut us out, every single one of us. You only started talking to me a few weeks ago."  

          "I don't what to say." I stated, because it was the truth. I could have told her about the entire spectrum of emotions I felt when I discovered my boyfriend was gone. It was such a scary time; I didn't want them to go through it with me.  

          "Well look, I know what I'm doing here is a little... much. I know you're just looking out for me, but I tried so hard to get through to you, and I'm not used to failing. When you didn't reply to me, I just... buried myself in all of this."  

           "I didn't realize."  

           "It's not your fault. Peter, can we make an agreement?"  

           "Another contract?" I asked, half-joking. She liked coming up with those sorts of things, especially when we were kids. She loved pretending to be the judge, and in response to letting us go, we would agree to a stipulation. Not a lot of people found that very fun for very long.   

          "If I have to write it down to make it legally-binding, I will." She replied, alluding to the fact that there were literally thousands of sheets around the room. "If I promise to slow down with all of this, will you promise not to hide away like that again?"  

           I thought about the nightmare I had last night, the hallucination I felt at the museum that followed me around. Maybe I had stowed myself away for too long.  

          "I promise." I eventually answered. "I know what you'll do if I break it."  

          "I'll barge right through your front door and pull some strings with Seamus!"  

          "Don't drag my Dad into this!" I cried, and we laughed it off as the rest of recess passed by. People walked past the door; the classroom clock ticked loudly while birds chirped outside. We just focused on the noise and our food for a few minutes, watching the day as it passed us by.   

          "I needed to relax. Sorry for worrying about me." She admitted. She collected each sheet of paper and placed it lightly on what I assumed was a designated folder on one of the desks.  

          "Your parents are going to cut you some slack, or I'm going to barge right through your front door and pull some strings with Karen and Nathan!"  

          "Don't drag my parents into this!" She replied, doing her best impersonation of me. It wasn't even close. The bell eventually rang - it was bound to at some point - so we grabbed our things and walked towards our next period, leaving the sheets and the stress behind.   

*  

          "I'm going to do it; I'm going to ask her out! This weekend!"  

          The track was cold, the sun had set behind the buildings and the lights didn't do a very good job of brightening up the pitch. Naomi and I sat on a bench while Bryan stretched, getting ready to do his usual routine. It was the only way we were going to spend time with him while he was preparing for tryouts.   

          "Just don't get your hopes up." Naomi cautioned,  

          "I'm sure she'll say yes!" I added, the other side of the coin. She shot me a glare, but I wasn't going to go and lie to the boy.   

          "Glad to see you guys are still the little angel and devil on my shoulders." Bryan said in-between breaths. His legs were stretched as far as human limbs could physically go; I could barely jump without being winded. It was hard to believe that we were the same species, sometimes.   

          "How do these tryouts work, anyway?" Naomi and I knew next to nothing about sports, I was just glad she asked the question. It clearly meant everything to him.   

          "Not much, it's mostly focused on the short shuttle, broad jump and forty-yard dash. Reps for the NFL are coming in December, and again during the summer. If I get in, that's my placement paid in full! No loans to worry about!"  

          "Amen to that!" I chimed in, the only part of the conversation I understood, if I was being honest. Naomi handed me a drink - a thank you for the food earlier - and I didn't realize how thirsty I was until I chugged half the can down.   

          "Okay, but can we go back to the girl you're having a crush on, Miranda?"  

          "Melissa!" Bryan corrected, touching his toes with his fingers. (and making it look easy while he did it.)   

          "Whatever, it's just... Peter might tell you to go for it, but you're going to have to be careful. Don't pour your whole heart into this woman, or she might leave you heart-broken. Trust me on that."  

          "She's not going to be my Reynold Adams, Naomi." He whined.   

          "I'd hope not!" She fumed.   

          "She's not going to be anybody's Reynold Adams!" I interrupted, before that conversation went south. "How about you listen to what both of us have to say? Be careful - I pointed to Naomi with that - but you'll never know until you ask!" - I pointed at myself.

          "Get ready for rejection." Naomi added.   

          "But she could say yes!" I insisted. We were never going to agree on it.   

          "I'll...think about it." We stressed the poor guy out when he needed to focus on his routine. Bryan straightened himself back up, reaching for my hand.   

          "What are you doing?"  

          "Well, since you're both hanging out with me right now, thought we'd have a little fun."  

          "What's your idea of fun?"  

          "Watching the both of you do the same routine I'm doing and seeing how long you both last."  

          "It ain't happening!" Naomi interrupted, throwing her hands up in the air. "This girl doesn't have time for physical activity right now."  

          "You'll join me, won't ya, Peter?" Bryan insisted, his hand still stretched out and waiting to grab mine. I sighed in defeat; I wasn't squirming my way out of this one.  

          "Fine." I whispered, and grabbed onto his arm as he pulled me out from my seat. Naomi grabbed her phone and began to record as we walked towards one end of the pitch. The guy was already hopping on his feet, warming himself up. I was so cold that my teeth chattered, my hands fused to my sides.   

          "Oh c'mon, after a few minutes you'll be all warm and toasty!"  

          "That, and with several punctures in my lungs when I overdo it." I added.   

          "Smile!" Naomi cried out. I glared at the camera, hoping that it caught my pout.   

          We started running - it was nothing serious, just jogging from one end of the pitch to the other, touching the track on each side before we ran back - but after two intervals I was already spent. It felt like my lungs were grinding against my ribs and my mouth felt dry from channeling so much air down my throat. Bryan was still breathing through his damn nose, perfectly composed.   

          "You can do it, Peter!" Our girl provided the moral support, but she really should have been jogging beside us. I shot her another glare as I ran past her for the fifth time, completely spent.   

          "C'mon man, we're just getting started!" Bryan yelled, laughing at my misfortune.   

          "No, you're getting started. I'm about to die!" I whined, my legs already cramping up. After a few more intervals, I fell to the ground in the most dramatic way I knew how, gazing at the stars that began to appear over us.   

          That didn't last long, because Bryan was already pulling me up, not a single hair out of place.  

          "Jumping Jacks!" He ordered, and I had very little choice but to do them, trying to match his speed. Naomi couldn't stop laughing, actually getting off of the seat as she got a better look of the both of us. I was sweating so much that there was a very real chance I was drowning, but at least I wasn't cold anymore.   

          "I can't believe the difference between you two!" She laughed. I didn't even have enough oxygen in my lungs to respond to that.   

          "Pushups!" Bryan announced, seamlessly falling to the ground, already hitting three of them by the time my hands found dirt. While my legs were finally getting some sort of a break, my arms immediately burned, not used to this sort of physical labor. Gravity fought against me every step of the way, and I felt the blood in my cheeks every time I crouched down and willed myself back up. My body was basically on auto-pilot at that point.   

          And then I collapsed.   

          I couldn't take it anymore, so I rolled over and chugged as many breaths as I could. Stars began to swim in my vision – alongside the real ones up in the sky - while Naomi pressed the camera against my face, getting an incriminating look at my exhausted face while Bryan continued like nothing had happened.    

          "Next...time...we... do... this... you're...going...next." I promised, my lungs quite literally on fire.  

          "Not a chance." She assured me, turning her attention to Bryan, who had probably shifted to another exercise by now. I relaxed for a few seconds while I got some form of my breath back. I realized that what she told me earlier was right; I sealed myself away after what had happened, without any warning. I missed this, hanging out with them, laughing and talking about silly little things. I missed listening to Bryan's ambitions and girl problems, and Naomi's carefully-structured campaigns.   

          I didn't know where I was going to end up. They both had their futures set in stone, and they knew what to do in order to get there. I had neither of those certainties.   

          I slouched back up, my legs in agony. I needed to go for a long shower after all of that.   

          "I'm going to call it a night!" I called out. It was getting pretty late, and I had to tackle the homework we got before I inevitably tried to pass it off for the morning.   

          "Talk to you tomorrow!" Naomi replied, her phone pointed at me one last time. I waved, a fitting close to that recording.   

          The trip home was pretty uneventful for the most part - though I didn't understand why Halloween stores were popping up - though my thoughts turned back to James Hanson. I still needed to figure out a way to get out of it, because I wasn't going to run off in the middle of the night and have a few drinks with a guy who clearly didn't like me the way I liked him. I wondered what my friends would have thought if I told them. They would probably think I was crazy, agreeing to go to a bonfire that would almost immediately be shut down by the police.   

          It turned very cold, very fast. I stopped walking and shivered, knowing damn well what was happening. I glanced around me in an effort to find that figment of my imagination, the slight fog that I met last night, and found it at the end of the pavement, just a few feet in front of me.   

          "You're coming with me," I growled, "and by the time I'm finished, I want you to disappear back to where you came from."  

 

8: Chapter Seven - Maybe/Maybe-Not (First Round Edit)

-Jake- 
-September 8th-  

          The air around Peter was warm, just like it always was. I was the perfect distance away from him; not too cold, and not so hot as to scald me. Not only did he notice me, he talked to me - well, threatened was the more accurate word - and his face turned sour while he waited for my response.  

          "You... spoke to me."  

          "Yeah, I'm just as surprised as you are, now follow me so we can get this over and done with." He responded; his voice laced with venom.  

          "You're angry."  

          "You're an invisible piece of my imagination, and I'd rather not have you following me around."  

          “I'm not your imagination!" I called out, but he was having none of it. He walked away, and I had very little choice but to follow him. He shoved past people as they got in his way, while they sailed through me effortlessly. I had never seen him so angry.  

          "I'll have you know that I'm my own person." I added, trying to get as close as I could without burning myself. "Not exactly used to being spotted by the living - even if it's just one person." No response. "Look, I'm just as curious about all of this as you are, and I want to get some answers, myself."  

          "It's a simple answer; you're not real. Get out of my head."  

          "I am real." I insisted, not that he believed me. We were actually approaching my usual station, and for a second I swore we were about to catch a train - I could imagine Bart's face if he saw me with the boy right now - but he whisked past it, turning left towards his own street. At least if I had to run, I was pretty close to my friend. I wasn't sure if I could stay in the same room as him, considering that his mere presence was enough to burn me. He barged through his door, slamming it shut behind him. I melted through it without much effort.  

         "Peter?" A voice came from the kitchen - I assumed it was his father - but Peter refused to listen. Instead, he slammed up the stairs. I spared a few moments to take a look around his room; it looked pretty nice, the living room was coated in yellow, pictures dotted the walls leading up the stairs, many of them featuring Peter. His father shook his head and continued cooking, muttering something under his breath. I didn't stay long enough to listen.  

         Peter's room was the first door on the left of a pretty tight hallway... and it looked incredible. Pictures covered every inch of it, hanging from strings and swaying in the breeze. His bed was messy, clothes drawn everywhere. In almost every picture, his face was plastered with the biggest smile I ever saw. One of them hung on its own string, waiting for more photos to join it. It was the installation at the museum the other day, dark and brooding compared to the rest of them.  

         "These look incredible." I whispered, but there was no answer. Peter sat on the bed, taking his shoes off and hurling them across the room. He never took his eyes off of me for a second.  

          "Thanks. Aspiring photographer, and all that."  

          "I wish I was able to hold onto something like that, not exactly used to - "  

          "Get out of my head." He interrupted, glaring at me with big brown eyes.  

          "How many times do I have to say it? I'm not in your head!" I cried, exasperated. "Look, I'm not sure why you're the only person who can see me right now, because I've spent the last year wondering what it would had been like to talk to people like you. Not a single person noticed me on the way here, by the way."  

          "Ghosts don't exist." He claimed, sweeping his hair aside to get a better look at me. He squinted quite a bit.  I didn't glow particularly bright, so I couldn't blame him.

          "I'm proof that you're wrong." I stated.  

          "Oh really? What's your name, then? I want to know how fleshed-out my imaginary characters are."  

          "Jake." I responded bluntly, grinding my teeth. "I'll let that comment slide. Maybe I'm wasting my time here."  

          "Maybe you are."  

           I turned to leave, realizing that none of my questions was worth the hassle. Peter clearly wanted nothing to do with me, I was going to have to find my answers elsewhere.  

           "Wait..."  

           I turned around, and he almost looked like a completely different person; he slouched against the wall, resting his hand against his knees. It didn't look particularly comfortable.  

          "Why the change in tune?" I asked, skeptical.  

          "Because I never expected to come face-to-face with a ghost before, imaginary or not. That, and seeing as you're here..."  

          "You're looking for answers too." I guessed.  

          "I mean, not exactly believing what I'm seeing, here. Course I'm looking for answers!"  

          I sat at the end of his bed, trying to stave off the wall of heat that just emanated from him. He shivered slightly.  

          "You're very cold." He stuttered. "It's how I know you're around."  

          "Wait... I'm cold? You're practically on fire!" I cried. "The closer I get to you, the more it feels like my skin is burning - well, the closest thing a ghost can have to skin, anyway." Nothing in our conversation made sense, but the fact that we were having this conversation at all didn't make sense, either. He scratched his head and glanced up at his photos, watching them move delicately in the air.  

          "I still think you're a figment of my imagination." He whispered, and closed his eyes as he leaned his head back against the wall.  

          "I know."  

          "But still, maybe I need an imaginary entity right now."  

          "I'm available for hire." I joked, but he didn't seem to get it. He opened one of his eyes, clearly judging me.  

          "You have a sense of humor."  

          "Thanks for noticing."  

          He smiled weakly as he stretched his arms, more relaxed than he was just minutes ago. Someone knocked on his door, which could only really be his father. The man walked in, clearly annoyed.  

          "You mind telling me why you suddenly charged in and stormed up the stairs?"  

          "Sorry." He muttered. "Just something that happened in school."  

          "Well, the next time something happens in school, just talk to me about it instead of barging through the house?"  

          "Yeah, OK."  

          His father stood there for a few moments, like he was about to say something else. Eventually, he sighed, the door shut behind him as he left the room.  

          "I'm sorry you had to see that." He whispered. I just shrugged.  

          "Don't sweat it."  

          "I kinda have to, he's my Dad after all." He glanced around the room, like he was looking for something in particular. "Hey, since you're sticking around for the foreseeable future, you mind if we go somewhere, real quick?"  

          "Of course!" He was thawing, somewhat. He grabbed some gloves on his bedside desk, his jacket wrapped around him. "Where are we headed?"  

          "To the Solomon." He answered, while reaching for his scarf that hung on his door. He looked like he was about to go out on an artic expedition. Something about that triggered...something, a memory?  

          "You go there pretty often? You must like the place." I guessed, and his face... changed. He glanced at the photos on his wall, clearly focused on one in particular, though I wasn't sure which.  

         "I hate the place. Always have."  

          "Oh..."  

          "C'mon, we might as well get there before it closes."  

          He opened the door for me (ironic, considering that it wasn't exactly an obstacle for me) I was so close to him that the heat was almost completely unbearable, but I bit my lip to distract myself. It didn't do much.  

         "Peter, where are you off to now?" His father asked, two pots steaming on the cooker in front of him.  

         "Just need to walk around for a bit, I'll be back before dinner, promise!"  

         "What's gotten into you today? I'll... leave the food in the microwave for you, but if you need to talk about what's happening in school, just tell me. Alright?"  

         "I will, I promise! Don't hold up for me."  

         "Yeah..." He disappeared back into the kitchen, finishing the dinner. I floated outside while my living counterpart opened the front door, immediately hit with the cold autumn air. We both knew where we needed to go, and New York looked its best in the middle of the night. Peter lead the way, and I followed as closely as I could without burning next to him.  

*

          "I still can't believe I'm being haunted right now." He said. "Not what I was expecting, was thinking more along the lines of moving furniture and unexplained moaning."  

          "Yeah, you living have your crazy theories." I added, still shrouded in that familiar feeling. Even in that moment, the conversation felt familiar, like I'd spoken to him about ghosts before. It felt like there was a light sheen that stood between me and the memories I knew I had, but I just couldn't move past it to get to them! Sirens blared in the distance; a pair of fire trucks screeched past, a semi-regular appearance in the neighborhood.  

         "Why do you go to the place if you hate it?" I risked asking. He didn't seem to hate the art installation the other day.  

         "It's a bit complicated." He admitted. "I'd rather talk about it once we're actually inside, away from the noise. We can talk a little bit more about you, though."  

         "I'd rather talk about it once we're actually inside." I copied.  

         "No fair!"  

         "I asked you something first!"  

         "Fine!" He groaned, but he didn't sound annoyed. A few people who walked the other way gave him a few confused looks, though. He gave me the most awkward expression I had ever seen. I burst out laughing in response.  

         "Not funny." He whispered, but I told him that it very much was.  

          The museum was surrounded by the bare shell of stalls, the merchandise stored elsewhere for the evening. Peter and I walked towards the door - he mentioned something under his breath, something about how ghosts got free admission - and he approached a woman to pay for his own ticket while I waited for him. He came back holding two of them.  

          "That was a waste of money." I pointed out.  

          "I can spend my money any way I see fit." He retaliated. It was still a waste of money, though.  

          The exhibition (sadly) was removed, a great big empty space where it once stood. There was not much in the way of anything, it seemed, save for the usual statues and paintings. Peter walked through the floor while I followed behind, surprised with how few people were actually in the building, even with the lack of an exhibit.  

          "About this place..." He began, but he lost the words. His footsteps made echoes, they bounced across the space as we were fed into a smaller corridor. I didn't say much. The stairs were a triangular affair, so we just climbed up, one storey at a time. An elderly woman suddenly appeared out of nowhere, right as we reached the second floor. She walked right through me, with the usual uncomfortable feeling that followed after. I shuddered. Peter didn't seem to notice. The floor was covered in statues, one which stood out to my living companion. It was a single piece of wood, though it ebbed and flowed like water. It formed a ring that rested on a stand, polished to a high sheen.

          "He used to love this." He eventually continued, but even that was capped with a period. He gazed at it, completely still and silent. It cast a larger shadow behind it, taking up most of the wall. "We went on our first date here. I'm not an art lover, definitely not when we first started seeing each other. His Mom is an artist, so he was kinda born into it.” He shuffled awkwardly on the spot, trying to find what words to say next. “This was the first thing we saw. He used to talk about the artist and the journey from concepts to the final piece, said that the first few attempts were thrown into an unused garage in Luxemburg, but I honestly didn’t care about any of that. It was the way he spoke about it, like it was his favorite thing in the whole wide world, and I just... watched him talk. He was the art..."  

          It was obvious that this story didn't have a happy ending, but I didn't interrupt. He turned his eyes back to the piece, trying to gather up the rest of the words. A few people walked silently behind us, observing the same work we were before they moved on.  

         "It's been over a year, now. I'm still no better, not since he left."  

          "He might come back, you sound like a pretty good reason to come visit." I mentioned. He didn't immediately answer that, but I knew it was the wrong thing to say.  

          "He killed himself, Jake."  

           They were the heaviest words I had ever heard, almost as solid as the paintings and sculptures in this place. It was then I realized that he wasn't looking at the sculpture at all; but at the shadow behind it.  

          "I've turned my back on people who were just trying to help, my Dad's worried about me, worried that I was ready to follow suit, just like Romeo and his god damn Juliet. I almost lost Naomi entirely, and Bryan tried to grab me all summer."  

          "I'm -"  

          "And to top it all off, I'm reminded each and every day about all of this, because I had the stupid quirk of being a photographer, and taking pictures of everything! I look back on it and I'm happy in every single frame, that boy is gone, just like he is!" His hands were coiled into fists, his voice raspy. I could only look on as he continued to stare at the shadow behind the statue, completely expressionless. "Now, I have a ghost that only I can see, so I'm probably hallucinating and really need help - no offense - but I just can't see any other reason."  

          He walked away from the piece, and moved along the rest of the curved floor while I followed. We gazed down on the ground floor beneath us, the way the moonlight filtered through the glass ceiling and created patterns on the floor. It was almost a painting in itself, though that was probably just from being in an art museum to begin with.  

          "So now that you know all about my depressing tale, what's your story?" He asked, resting his arms against the bannister while we looked on at the people below. A few contractors began to pace the room, obviously taking a look at the dimensions they had to work with. I wasn't sure if there was anything that could top what we saw.  

          "That's the thing, I don't know." I admitted, paying extra attention into not phasing through the floor - it usually got more difficult the higher I climbed. "You can't find the answer if you don't even know what the question is. Don't exactly have any memories when we wake up. Some of us wake up as children or elderly people, there's no real metric for that."  

          "That... is terrifying." He admitted.  

          "Exactly, some of us go out of our way to find them. I was found by a guy named Bartholomew; the ghoul claims to be older than the city." Peter looked at me with skepticism in his eyes.  "You just found out that ghosts exist, was that really too much of a stretch?"  

          "Heh, I guess not, when you put it like that." He admitted, though it was clear he was still processing that information. "It just...throws everything up in the air, doesn't it?"  

          "We debate amongst ourselves about who or what we are, and why we're here. You're better off staying away from that party."  

          "Yet here I am, cordially invited." He replied, and he seemed to genuinely smile with that. He seemed a lot happier than he was a while ago. "Y'know, maybe I needed to have a talk with a maybe, maybe-not imaginary ghost. Thanks."  

          "Definitely not, and you're welcome."  

          We didn't move much after that, just like the last time. I was so close to him, I imagined that was what a fire must have felt like. There were stories of witches burning at the stake, firefighters rushing into homes to rescue children. That was the closest I was going to get to that feeling, though it wasn't necessarily a bad thing now. I wanted to talk to the living for so long, and now one of them saw me, noticed me.   

          No, it wasn't even that. It wasn't that somebody noticed me. He noticed me.   

          Just like that, the invisible key turned, opening an imaginary chest - I was getting closer to the answer.   

          "Oh."   

          "Hmm?" He whispered, right as a family walked past, their noisy children in tow.   

          "Oh... nothing." I staggered, but there was no way that was getting past him. He crossed his arms while he pretended to admire the scenery, but his eyes were focused on me.   

          "You're not a very good liar."  

          "No, I suppose not." I admitted.   

          "So?"   

          "What?"  

          "Sounded like you hit a pretty good revelation there." He pressed, leaning closer. "Care to tell me what the ghost is thinking?"   

          "It's just..." I was coming up with straws, and the boy was too smart to just leave me go. I was lost for words.   

          "Well, whatever it is, glad to have been of help." He said, mercifully leaving me go. "'Sides, got to head back home at some point. Wanna walk me there?"   

          "Sure, you actually live just outside the station Bart and I live in."  

          "Wait... you live there?" He whispered, genuinely curious. We began walking back downstairs, but he was excited, hopping from step to step. This was a completely different Peter from the boy who walked in.   

          "Yeah, there's an abandoned set of tracks inside the tunnel, disused carriage we lounge in. More Bart's place than mine."  

          "So you decided to haunt a school?"  

          "Then I met you, things happen for a reason."   

          "I guess they do." He agreed, thanking the lady at the front desk as we left the museum behind. A part of me felt the cold of the outside air, though it was immediately covered by Peter. I could have sworn that I was getting used to the feeling by now. We walked back to his house, and in the thirty or so minutes it took he asked me the world of questions. I had to explain that communing with the living wasn't exactly a common occurrence - in fact, I was apparently the first in the city to do so - and that other monsters like werewolves and vampires still belonged to pages of story books. I told him how much I wanted to read, and he promised he'd read with me when he was free. he talked about the first time he got a camera - it was a third-hand unit, a lot heavier and grainer than the ones he saw on the windows of shops when he was a kid - but the lens looked like an eye, blinking and posting what it saw. It was why he didn't upgrade to a digital one, he much preferred holding them in his hands, a certain aesthetic that seemed missing in this day and age. (Peter's words, I believed him) By the time we made it to his front door, that smile from the pictures returned, even better in the flesh.   

         "I really had fun tonight!" I told him. He nodded and leaned his head very slightly, his smile still intact.   

         "I feel... a lot better. I needed this."  

         "We can always do it again."  

          "That's good, because we're meeting up at school tomorrow." He stated, making his way through the door. "Be there at the Gym, meeting Bryan there in the morning for some exercise, and I need some moral support. 8:30am?"  

         "I'll be there." I promised.  

         I was in love with the boy.  

 

9: Chapter Eight - Reminders (First Round Edit)

-Peter-
-October 20th-  

          I always knew when winter arrived, thanks to the shoddy insulation in our house. The cold nipped at my feet - even when covered under a blanket - and I would wake up in the middle of the night for no apparent reason. Usually, I just cursed the weather and drifted back to sleep, but this year was different. Instead, a faint howling came from the cracks in my window frame, and I sat upright on my bed before I had even woken up. There was a lot that needed to be fixed in the house, to be honest. My pictures swayed slightly, dancing above my head. I rubbed my eyes and switched on the light, assessing the damage.  

          Most of my polaroids had been knocked off of the wall, scattered across my computer desk and floor. I opened my curtains to check where the wind had come from, and soon found my answer; the frame was covered in black mold, spread across the entire thing. I always hid it behind the curtains, but it looked like a small hole was created as the wood rotted away. Even now, the wind outside blew violently against my window, sending a small gust into my room. It couldn't have been strong enough to knock my photos, could it? I picked them up and arranged them into a neat little pile, shoving them into my drawer so I could deal with them another time. Dad would have to fetch some cleaning chemicals to deal with the mold, mostly coming out of my pocket. It was my own fault, I guess.  

          The last few weeks had been... nice. Naomi and Bryan had their own agendas, but I tagged along and helped them in what they did; Naomi covered the school in her election campaign, and the other potential candidates took note and hurriedly fetched their own slogans and posters. Basically, the road to the student committee began a month early. People were at risk of political fatigue, but that didn't really stop her. Bryan, on the other hand, was completely laid back in his approach. Tryouts were in December, and he trained every single evening after class. Sometimes he practiced with the football team, sometimes it was just the three of us, but I had never seen him so focused in my life.  

          Still working up the nerve to ask Melissa out, though.  

          I met up with Jake as often as I could. We mostly spoke about how our day went as he walked me home. I always felt that chill before I saw him - especially in the daytime, where he was practically invisible - but he pressed me about things the living did, like how it felt to actually eat food, to hold something in my hands. Those was all very minor things that I took for granted, they couldn't even hold a book. Meeting up required planning in advance. I wasn't particularly jealous of him.  

          I never got out of that Halloween party in Central Park.  

          James Hanson was just as pretty as ever, and I helped him to open and close the store every Wednesday and Thursday as normal. He was pretty excited about the whole thing, which always stopped me from coming up with an excuse - any excuse - to cancel. He talked about his previous Halloween exploits; how they traveled to Maryland to an old abandoned warehouse, only for the owner to pop in and call the cops. I wasn't sure how much of that story was real, but it sure passed the time as he counted the money and dealt with those early-morning customers.  

          I sat in my class, listening to Mr. Linehan as he harped about Venn Diagrams - the broken screen in his room had since been replaced with the old-fashioned whiteboard - and thought about the upcoming holiday. Last Halloween was... lonely, to say the least. I remembered being curled up in several blankets, the lights switched off as I listened to pastel music on my laptop. I didn't leave that room all weekend, Dad had to physically prize me from my bed to get anything done. I wanted to do something with my friends for the night, the last time we'd all be together before university. James Hanson still hovered in my mind, the thought of heading out still pretty tempting.  

          I also thought about Jake, and what he had planned for the entire thing. Did ghosts even celebrate holidays?  

          It was a pretty sport-heavy day; the Park East Falcons were facing off against the Maryland Gladiators for basketball, their bus pulled in a few hours back, drawing jeers from the crowd. It wasn't anything out of the ordinary. Bryan wanted us to grab a seat and watch the game during recess, but I wasn't sure I was in the headspace to pretend I was interested for a solid thirty minutes. Still, his obsession was infectious, and I eventually relented. He promised to make it up to me, I laid out my terms: the next time he practiced, I was to be allowed to sit for the entire thing. He reluctantly agreed.   

          Walking through the halls was an altogether different experience; the race to grab a seat on the student committee was now in full swing, and many faces - both from people I knew and people I didn't - were everywhere. I couldn't even check my phone without different hashtags for different things; Ethan Roswell campaigned for a games room after the Christmas holidays, dedicating an entire room for as many consoles and monitors as we could afford. It was the election promise I was sliding towards, but Naomi obviously came first.  

          ~Well? ~ He asked (I felt the chill before I realized Jake was there)  

          "What?"  

          ~Who do you think is gonna' win? ~  

          "Oh." He meant the basketball game. "Obviously, I'm rooting for the home team, but it's just not my thing."  

          ~I wondered if I would had been the sporting type. Y'know, if I was alive. ~  

          "You seem a bit short to be playing basketball. It's all about the height advantage."  

          ~That, and actually being able to hold onto the ball. ~  

          "You got a point there." I admitted, passing the campaigns of several different students as they handed out badges and flyers. "Still, you're more of a bookworm than anything else. At least, that's the impression I'm getting."  

          ~I could do both! ~ He argued, and I was certain that he could. The guy was fiercely determined, something I didn't really share.   

           The classes flew for the rest of the day, mostly because I hung at the back of the class and listened to Jake's mutterings whenever the teacher mentioned something. He kept talking about his friend Bart, how he initially thought it was a stupid idea for a ghost to play a student.   

          "But you're happy though, right?" I whispered, making sure nobody heard me.   

          ~I feel like I'm in the right place. ~ He admitted, but stopped short of fully answering my question. He was still looking for his answer, I guess. I just didn't know how it had anything to do with me.   

          Bryan was on hand the second I left my class and into recess. I had a funny feeling that he would have caught me in a headlock and forced me to the Gym even if I said no.  

         "C'mon, we're going to miss it! Need to grab the good seats so we can get the action!" He claimed. I wasn't sure if the game would attract that many people, but by the time we walked down the halls I realized my mistake. Almost everybody squeezed through the double doors, trying to grab their spot. My friend rushed towards the mob, leaving me with very little choice but to follow closely behind. He dodged and squirmed through everybody, and grabbed me by the arm so I was dragged along with him. The squeeze was so tight that I genuinely thought I cracked a rib or two. We caught the front row, close enough for the very-real risk of physical impact. I wasn't in the mood to be hit in the face with a basketball, I just hoped that Bryan's lightning-quick reflexes were enough to stop that from happening.   

         "Looks exciting." I mused, "Can't wait until the football game in a few weeks, might as well put your training to good use."  

         "Stop!" He cried, digging me in the shoulder for good measure. "You can't imagine how nervous I am!"  

         "Almost as nervous as asking Melissa out?" Another dig to my side, but it was totally worth it! Jake sat on the ground in front of me, having no real space to sit otherwise. He looked at me and grinned like an idiot, from what I could make out - I couldn't really see him that well in the daylight - and I grinned right back.   

          "Hey, there's the smile I was looking for!" Bryan said, catching me in another headlock. "Been looking forward to seeing that for a while!"  I didn't know what to say, but it was clear that Jake found the whole thing hilarious. I'm sure he would love Bryan.   

          The Maryland Gladiators came out first - we all made sure to boo them the moment they arrived, as was East High tradition. They looked like absolute monsters compared to our team; all tall and chiseled jawlines. My god they were gorgeous! Our Falcons emerged shortly after; the cheers were deafening, to the point where I imagined I developed tinnitus. Jake seemed pretty invested in it, joining in for the most part. In all honesty, I spent a good portion of the game just watching his reactions. He lit up whenever our team grabbed the ball from the Gladiators, genuinely booing when the ref ruled in their favor. Bryan loved grabbing onto my shirt whenever we scored, holding onto me whenever they slipped past our defenses and scored points of their own. I didn't think he even realized what he was doing, the goof! Tristian was about the only player I recognized from our team, and he was carrying the rest of them. He grabbed the ball from an opposing Gladiator, maneuvered past another pair of them, and threw it with the precision of a surgeon. It sailed in the air, cleanly fitting through the hoop without touching it. The home crowd cheered, though Bryan was less than pleased. They were rivals in a way, even though they specialized in different sports. I saw the smile he had on his face, like it was forced there. I shook my head, poor Bryan.   

         "Hang in there, champ!" I yelled above the noise. My friend shook it off and returned his attention back to me.   

         The game finally finished - it dragged on a little long for my tastes - with a clean-cut victory for the Falcons. Tristian was the defining factor of the game - even a casual like myself recognized that - and he was carried around the court by the rest of the team. The crowd spilled onto the floor to celebrate, though we stayed behind on the stands. My friend looked at the spectacle in front of him. Competitive Bryan was different from the usual Bryan, the reason why he was considered for a scholarship in the first place.   

         "You'll get your chance to show off." I promised, knowing full well what he was thinking.   

         "You bet I will, no way that yearbook's gonna have his face plastered all over it! It's gonna be me, baby!"  

* 

         I wanted to say that the rest of the day went pretty well - it went by pretty quickly - but we ran right into Reynold Adams; Naomi's ex.  

         I used to love the guy, and so did virtually everybody else, most of all Naomi. She poured all her heart and soul into him, just like she did with all of her projects. Unfortunately, that's what good ol' Rey saw himself as - a project. He dumped her in the middle of the canteen, for the entire school to see, for something that was completely unfounded. He stuck by his guns, and we stuck by ours, especially when we brushed past each other. For a second, I thought he was about to leave us alone, but he couldn't even give us that.   

        "S'up!"  

        "Not now, Rey!" Not now, not ever.  

        "Oh, so she's got you wrapped around her little fingers? She uses piano wire or somethin'?"  

        "She used facts." Bryan argued, falling for the bait. I tried to tug at his sleeve, but the big guy wasn't having any of it.  

        "Woah, hold up there! Just trying to have a friendly conversation!"  

        "The conversation's over." I stated bluntly, grabbing Bryan while Jake watched in the background. I supposed there had to come a time when I explained all of this to him, but today definitely wasn't the day.   

        "Really? 'cos the way I see it, the conversation's just getting started." He jeered, loud enough that we both stopped walking. If Naomi was here, he wouldn't have had the guts to say what he was saying now. Bryan's hands rolled into fists, his eyes closed. He wasn't exactly the fountain of patience.   

        "Okay, I'll bite. Why is it getting started?"  

        "Because he likes listening to the sound of his own damn voice." Speaking of the girl, Naomi walked in. She wasn't in the mood. Just like that, the lion lost its roar. He just glared at us as a few onlookers stopped, wondering what we were doing.   

        "Bitch." He muttered, so low that he almost missed it, but he disappeared in the crowd before we had a chance to grab him. Naomi closed her eyes and pinched the bridge of her nose, frustrated.   

       "You really don't have to entertain him." She grumbled. We walked to her locker while she dropped off some books. I genuinely thought that Bryan was about to punch him. Jake followed closely behind, listening. I shot him a wry glance. He waved me off - it didn't bother him that much.   

       "You're going to get on the committee." I promised her, but she slammed the door immediately afterwards.  

       "Right now, I don't care about the damn committee! Just don't talk to him!"  

       "Alright!" I replied, slightly concerned. "It's not like we picked a fight with him, or anything."  

        She didn't really answer that. Instead, she just sighed and slung her bag over her shoulders.  

        "You alright?"  

        "Does it look like I'm not?" She shot back.

        "Look, I'm sorry that we spoke to Reynold - fucking - Adams, but I don't need to stand here and listen to this!" It was a bit venomous, but she was getting to me over the past few weeks. Always a snide comment here and there, mostly about how I abandoned everyone. I was really getting sick of it. For a few seconds, I genuinely thought she was going to tell me to go screw myself, but she eventually relaxed.   

        "Sorry."  

        "It's OK - "  

        "Peter, please don't say it's OK, because it isn't." She turned and walked away before either of us had a chance to respond. Bryan was dumbfounded, I wasn't far behind him.   

        "Should we go after her?" He asked. She was definitely upset, but was it entirely over the Reynold Adams thing?  

        "N'ah, she'd just tell us not to worry." I replied, because this wasn't the first time that this happened. "She'll come to us if she needs anything, you know how we are."  

        "That I do." He agreed, however reluctantly it was.   

        The trip home was pretty uneventful - Bryan diverted down a different street, he had family coming from Ohio for a few days, so he was occupied for the foreseeable future - which finally left me alone with Jake. I hadn't spoken to him all day.   

        ~Well, that was an eventful day! ~ He opined.   

        "It was more eventful than most." I agreed. "You liked the game, though!"   

        ~It was incredible! ~ I didn't think he'd seen a game in his ghostly life before. ~I wonder what it's like, to run around like that, to try and get the ball in the hoop. They make it look so easy! ~  

        "They're tall, of course they make it look easy."  

        ~You don't seem that interested. ~  

        "N'ah, but I love seeing how excited Bryan gets when it comes to sports. Can't say that I blame him, though. Sports is his life."  

        ~Just like photography is yours! ~ He was freezing, but I was getting used to the chill. He was definitely getting used to how warm I was, I apparently burned him if he got too close.  

        "Heh, it's a hobby... but it isn't my life. Honestly, I'm not sure what my life is right now."  

        ~Got plenty of time to figure it out. ~  

        "I suppose I do." I agreed. "Still wish I had it all figured out like they do; it would be nice to aim for something."   

        ~It'll come to you, you could always be a paranormal investigator, you got the experience. ~  I outright ugly-laughed at the suggestion. It disturbed a few people who walked past me, but I was long past the point of caring.   

        "I'm not sure the money's there, but I'll make a note of it. Thanks."  

        ~Welcome! ~  

        Even without Jake, the weather was getting a little too chilly for its own good. The wind numbed my face - I was going to have to dig deep into my wardrobe for the ol’ scarves again - so I was relieved when I finally made it to my home. Dad's car was parked by the curb, I just hoped he made dinner already. My stomach grumbled and I was starving. Jake became a tiny bit more visible. He actually looked... cute, now that I thought about it. I wondered if ghosts had to cut their hair or change their transparent clothes every once in a while, there was still so much I wanted to learn about them.   

        ~Same time tomorrow? ~ He asked, his usual goodbye.   

        "Actually, I was wondering if you'd... like to stay the night?" He didn't really expect that, I guessed it was because the living never asked him to haunt their home personally.   

        ~You - you sure? ~  

        "Course I am, you walk around with me all day and I barely string together a sentence to you! It's the weekend anyway, so we can stay up and binge some stuff! It'll be fun!" I didn't know what Jake considered fun, but he nodded and smiled, ecstatic.  

        ~Sure! ~  

        I opened my door, already thinking about what we planned to do and what shows to watch. There was a few I needed to catch up on, but I felt genuinely excited about something for the first time in a long time!  

        Then I noticed my Dad, and that excitement vanished. He was waiting for me, his plate of food already finished. My secret box was on the table, the pictures vanished. My heart jumped in my chest; my cheeks burned even while Jake was beside me.   

        "Sit down Peter, we need to talk."   

        I was tongue-tied, not a single word came to mind. Instead, I shut the door behind me, taking off my coat as I hung it on the bannister. Dad didn't look like he was messing around.   

        "Where are they?" I asked, barely above a whisper.   

        "Sit down." He repeated, never taking his eyes away for me. I did as I was told, my hands shaking. He went through my room, touched my stuff without me realizing. "Peter, you remember what you were like a year ago, when all of this happened?"  

        "Course I do!" I answered, growing more and more anxious by the second. "How could I forget?"  

        "You were bed-bound for weeks, I had to physically pull you out of it, sometimes. You refused to go to any therapist about this, I had to change to part-time hours just to look after you, and here you are with these pictures."  

        "Where are they?" I asked again, my eyes watery. I could see Jake as he watched on, powerless.   

        "I got rid of them, Peter." That sentence alone shook me to my very core. "I'm sorry, but you're only reminding yourself, and you're just making yourself feel worse."  

        "You don't get to go through my stuff!" I cried, losing all pretense that I was even vaguely holding it together. "You don't get to just root through things and get rid of them!" 

        "I am your father, and I get to do whatever I like while you live under my roof!" He yelled, just as loud. "Even during the summer, you just stayed in bed. You didn't clean your room or yourself, I made all of your food and I tried time and time again to book appointments for you, but you didn't go to a single one. I made excuses for you to your friends. It's been over a year, Peter. You have to move on from this!"  

        I was boiling with anger, shaking uncontrollably. I wanted to throw something, I wanted to yell at him and make him realize how much all of that hurt. I stood up and reached for the vase in the center of the table, the one Mom bought for him before I was born. He stood up just as quickly, suddenly taking on a whole different complexion.   

        "Son, put that down."  

        "Why? You're only reminding yourself! You're just making yourself feel worse! Isn't that how it works, keeping things from the past?"  

        "Put it down!"  

         I threw it across the room. It smashed into a million pieces; shards mixed with puddles of water. Dad watched, horrified. I ran to get my coat again while Jake just stood there, shocked.   

        "You get back here right now!" Dad yelled, but I was already outside the front door before he had time to finish.  

 

 

 

10: Chapter Nine - A Phantom Kiss (First Round Edit)

-Jake- 
-October 20th-  

          "Peter, where you going? Wait up!"  He didn't listen to me. The boy ran faster than I could, shoving past anybody he found. I tried as hard as I could to do the same, but I was forced to phase through people in an effort to catch up. I felt a sick sense of nausea but I pressed on, regardless. I eventually made ground against him - I guess ghosts didn't have the problem the living had when it came to lung capacity - but still he ran, ignoring me completely. He gunned towards the station, right where Bart lived. I ran right after him, leaping to the next set of stairs so I cut him off. I actually clipped the ground slightly, shifting through the concrete, but I willed myself back up to solid ground.   

          "Peter, let's be rational about this!" I pleaded, but he barged right past me, tears in his eyes.   

          "What's the point? Didn't you hear everything he said? I'm useless!" He cried, and he didn't care that it looked like he was talking to himself. "They all say the same thing, right? Naomi throws those sly remarks, and my own Dad kept those thoughts to himself for so long. It'd be better if I wasn't here!" A couple backed away slowly from him, concerned. The only person who didn't budge was Sunshine, but even he was out of my mind for the moment.   

          "You know all of that is bullshit, right?" I explained, not especially used to talking through problems, let alone the problems of the living. It grew hotter every time I inched closer to him. "None of that was your fault, not a single thing! You didn't ask to lay in bed all the time, or to have someone tear through your life like that!"  

          "I probably drove him to it!" He interrupted, right as a train began to pull into the station. It slowed to a crawl as people poured out and others replaced them. His eyes shifted to the doors, completely unsubtle.   

          "Don't even think about it!" I cried, but he charged right in. He moved through the corridors, and I looked on in absolute fear. I never boarded a train before, the sensation of moving downright scared me. Bart ran towards me; he must had noticed me screaming in the middle of the station. He looked at me with genuine concern in his eyes, but I didn't have time to react.

          I closed my eyes and hopped on.

          I followed Peter through the carriages, trying to find out where he decided to hide, but then the whole damn thing began to move. I froze; it was genuinely very difficult for us to stay in one place inside a moving object, and I felt my body as it began to split apart. An open window was the culprit, I was going to evaporate if I didn't get out of here. I started running, but the train was faster. I couldn't keep a hold of myself for much longer.   

          A hand grabbed onto me, pushing me forward: Bart.   

          "How - "  

          "Shut up and get to the door!" He ordered, stuck in the exact same position as I was. We charged out of the window's path and through the door, safely in the next - thankfully more air-sealed - corridor. My friend helped me to my feet, perplexed.   

          "What in the name of all that's holy do you think you're doing?"  

          "Peter, he's in here somewhere!" I explained, searching through every row of seats for him.  

          “You mean the boy?”

          “Of course I mean the boy, you know any other living person who can talk to us?” I quipped. Both of us scoured the entire train for him, unable to find him. Did he have a change of heart and ran back off before the train closed its doors?   

         "Does your human go off on adventures like this regularly?" Bart asked - probably a serious question and not the butt of his damn jokes - but I ignored him, swallowing hard as I realized there was only one other place we hadn't looked - the bathroom. I gingerly peered through the walls; there was Peter - thankfully decent - but he was slouched by the mirror, his eyes red. I sat down next to him while he recovered, the run took its toll on him. He still breathed heavily and his voice was raspy.   

          "I - I made a - a mistake."  

          "It's OK! We'll get you back on your feet, we'll figure out what to say to your Dad, and - "  

          "We won't, Jake. There's so much more to this than just my Dad."  

          "Then we'll deal with things as they come, one step at a time." I promised, and I genuinely meant it; I would do whatever I could for him, no questions asked. Peter didn't say much for the next few minutes, gathering his breath and his thoughts. Bart shifted through the walls, making sure that we were alright. I gave him a thumbs-up. He faded back through after that. It was a lot to process for him as well, but he could wait.   

          "I... I threw the damn vase." Peter choked, finding his feet. "She bought it for him just before I was born, and well...she didn't make it after that."  

          "We can think about all of that after - "  

          "Jake, please. This is what I do... I just make things worse, for everybody. I don't even know why people bother to have me around, sometimes."  

           I pressed my hands on his shoulders, so blindingly hot that the pain was unimaginable. I clenched my jaw and ignored it as best as I could as he shivered. I looked into his eyes, and I hoped that he could see mine in the light.   

           "You made things better for me."  

           He just looked at me for a few seconds, his teeth chattering from being so close to me while my hands turned numb... and he leaned in to kiss me. It took me by surprise, his lips burned against mine while he got goosebumps... but once I knew what was going on, I leaned further in and returned the gesture with everything that I got. It didn't matter than I was being seared alive, it didn't matter that he was solid and I was vapid air. He eventually pulled back, and it was both a relief and a disappointment.   

           "I... I don't know what came over me." He stuttered, but I reached for his hand again, the flames be damned.   

           "It's OK."  

           He was just as puzzled and perplexed as I would, but eventually he smiled and nodded.   

           "Sorry to cut this short." Bart interrupted, phasing through the door abruptly. "Your friend there has company outside."   

           "What kind of company?" I asked. Peter didn't know what was going on.   

           "Bad company. We're closing on Pennsylvania Station. We're leaving the second it stops." He warned me. I trusted him.   

           "Is there someone else here?" Peter asked, confused.   

           "Look, we're going to have to hop off. You know anything about Pennsylvania?"  

           "No, never went this route." He unlocked the door, peering outside. I did the same, and instantly discovered what Bart was talking about; three men stood on the opposite end of the carriage, completely drunk. One slammed their drink on the window. They laughed it off and spoke about something I couldn't distinguish. One of them had a scar down their right cheek, their neck covered in chains.   

           They noticed Peter.  

          "Aye, look what we 'ave here!" He yelled, heading straight for him while his friends sniggered. The train began to slow down, though not by much.   

          "This is my stop." He replied, and tried to inch past him. That didn't work. The man blocked his path, his friends soon backed him up.   

          "Well lookey 'ere, same as ours. Lads, how much you think a kid 'as on their wallet?"  

          "Fleece 'em!" One of them shouted, his voice terrifying. Peter was scared, backing up into the door to the next carriage.   

          "I - I don't want any trouble!" He cried, but that didn't earn him any sympathy. The head honcho reached into his jeans, and found a pocket knife. The blade was unsheathed in a heartbeat. There wasn't a single thing Bart and I could do to stop it!  

          "Hand over th' wallet, and they're won' be any trouble." He responded. The train had almost stopped, the station in full view outside.   

          "Peter, run!" I yelled, snapping him out of his trance. He opened the door immediately, thankfully a lot quicker than the man who was threatening him. He stabbed with the knife, but the door was already shut by the time the blade sank into anything. Peter ran thought the next carriage as they followed him, biding their time. The doors parted as soon as the train stopped, and Peter launched himself towards the station, mingling immediately with those who were trying to board. Bart and I couldn't find the three of time, but they were hiding somewhere.   

         "Quick, to the left!" Bart ordered, and I relayed that information back to Peter. He followed the instructions and ran for the entrance, colliding with a man in a tan trench coat, and an equally tan coffee. It spilt all over them, but he was already gone by the time he swore. We followed him as best we could, it was obvious he was out of breath, clutching his ribs.   

         "They're on us!" Bart warned, and sure enough all three of them were behind us, shoving past the same people Peter had. One of them was stopped by the station's security, though the others were too quick. We found ourselves in a terminal, full of passengers moving in every direction at once. The boy glared at me with pleading eyes, knowing damn well that there wasn't a lot of time.   

         "Straight ahead!" Bart ordered, grabbing me as he pushed me in the right direction. Peter followed my lead, mowing through everybody until we found ourselves outside the station. I wasn't familiar with a single street or alley in this place, and neither was he.   

         "Left!" Bart cried, Peter followed my lead as we ran as quickly as we could, right through 8th Avenue. The bastards were still hot on our tail, calling out threats and other things that were lost to the sound of car sirens and everything else. Unfamiliar buildings towered over us; the smell of sewerage more overpowering than everything else. Our living counterpart was clearly suffering now, he slowed to a crawl, his cheeks burning bright-red.   

         "Any bright ideas?" I called to Bart, but he was already grabbing me, pulling me towards a tight left. I reached for Peters hand, and he felt the chill immediately. He followed us down the narrow road while they followed behind, catching ground. They were going to catch him eventually, at this rate.   

         "Stop running and just face it - 'yer finished!" Came from behind us, they were on the same road as we were, and gaining with every second. Peter panicked, catching an opening to the right. He suddenly changed course, dashing through a construction site. Bart and I exchanged glances - it didn't look particularly safe - but there wasn't much we could really do.   

         "We're going to have a long talk once we get past all of this!" He assured me. I didn't say anything, I just wanted to make sure we actually did get past all of this.   

         His pursuers followed straight after him, suddenly lost. Peter was nowhere to be seen, and there wasn't exactly a lot to light the place.   

         "Just like a weasel, slippery littl' bastard!" One of them remarked, both equipped with knifes. Peter hid himself behind some scaffolding on the other side of the site, his hands clamped over his mouth in an effort to control his breathing. I caught up to him, and he clasped my hand in his. It was so damn painful.   

         "Just breathe." I instructed him, because even though his hands it was obvious the boy was wheezing. "Breathe through your nose, hold it, and let it out through your mouth. Only focus on that, they're nowhere near you." That was a lie, they seemed interested in searching every nook and cranny before they were done with the place, but he needed to keep it down or he would be found. There was no room for him to run if that happened. He tried his best, clasping my hand tighter and tighter, until his physical fingers melted through my own. I bit my tongue and wired my jaw shut, trying to distract myself from the fact that my atoms were being stretched to their breaking point. They must had done something nearby, because something collapsed right next to the two of us, a panel of wood sent crashing to the ground.   

         "Shit, this ain' worth it!" One of them croaked. I squinted through the scaffolding and the darkness to find one of them on his knees. That panel caught him in the head, his forehead cut. The other was hounding him to his feet, helping him out of there.   

         "We're gonna' find you, yew bastard!" He cried, loud enough that it echoed through the entire site. Peter shifted his hand through mine again and again, until the place returned to silence. Even after I was certain he was gone, I stayed there alongside him for another twenty minutes while he tried not to hyperventilate. I tried my best, but there were only so much bitterly cold hands (for him) could do to help.   

         "I - I - I - I'm sr - sorry!" He said.   

         "Breathing." I reminded him; the exact same trick Bart liked to do with me. He nodded and kept on breathing, until eventually he regained some sort of normality. My friend appeared behind me, slightly concerned.   

         "They're gone. Followed them for a bit just to be sure. We're getting this boy back on a train home, alright?"  

         "Music to my ears." I whispered, "Peter, we're alone. We're getting you out of here."  

         "Why can't I see him? Why can I only see you?" He wheezed. I wished I had an answer for that. "None of this makes a shred of sense."  

         "We can try and figure this all out, but right now we need to leave."  

         "Dad's probably already reported me to the police as a missing person, I'm such an idiot!"   

         "Then let's take you home, no reward needed." I suggested. I was sure he wanted to say something else, but he struggled to find the words.   

         "We... kissed in a bathroom."   

         "I suppose we did." I chuckled, relieved that he still had a sense of humor in there somewhere. "Listen, we've been here long enough. Let's get out of here."  

         "OK." He agreed.   

*  

-October 21st-

         In the middle of the panic, Peter lost his phone. We retraced our steps but it was nowhere to be found. It was probably picked up and wiped, ready to be sold to the nearest gullible idiot in the run-up to Christmas. (Peter's words, not mine) I found it odd that it was the main thing he focused on, considering he ran for his genuine life. The trip back to Central Park was nerve-wracking, to say the least. He kept to himself as much as he could, even in a crowded train. Bart and I hovered over him - literally - in case some other shady fools took their chances, though we weren't exactly much good to him. Bart looked out at the lights as they flashed by, contemplative. I told him weeks ago about what happened, but that was the first time he saw me physically speaking to him. To say he was rattled was an understatement.   

        "After you take him home, come down to me. We need to talk, and you need to tell me everything that’s happened, in the right order." He muttered, his arms crossed. "This changes everything, and we need to know how to replicate these same conditions."  

         I just nodded. I didn't care about replicating any conditions, I just wanted Peter safe. My entire body sizzled, but I was getting used to the pain now. I knew that the boy was frozen because of me, he put up with it just as much as I had, if not more. He looked at me, his face drained of all color. Maybe it was because of how cold I made him feel.   

         "I can go over to the other side of the carriage for a bit." I suggested, but he shook his head faintly.  

          The rest of the journey went by without incident. The train doors opened and we walked right back into our familiar surroundings. I had never been happier to see the same old dreary pillars and posters in my life. I was never going to complain about being bored again.   

         "I'm going to take him back the rest of the way." I said, and my old friend nodded while Peter checked his pockets, just to make sure that he didn't lose anything else. That coffee stain on his jumper stood out, as did some of his hair, clumped together.   

         "Remember what I said." Bart reminded me - it was impossible to forget - but I assured him that I would. Peter was already heading for the steps - we had no idea what time it was, but it was definitely the middle of the night - and I ran right behind him, catching up in no time. He still limped, fighting for breath even with the twenty - minute train ride to recover.   

         "I hope I never have a day like this again." He whispered, well aware that he was the subject of looks and stares from onlookers. "I just want to go for a shower and cry in bed."  

        "Well, you go ahead and do that." I suggested. "Let it all out, but we got past it."  

        "I still broke the vase..." He remembered; his voice tinged with a hint of guilt.   

        "That can be fixed." I replied. "Nothing that some glue can't handle. Just have to find each individual piece, that's all!"  

        "Easier said than done." He chipped back, his house finally in sight. "But I'd do it, if it meant I was making it up with Dad. Must be worried sick."  

        "I don't see any police cars, so there's some hope."  

        "I appreciate the humor." He whispered, but I couldn't tell if that was genuine of if there was some sarcasm in there. Still, he reached for my hand, brushing his fingers against my own. The heat flickered up my entire arm, but I didn't mind it. "Hey, can I talk to you 'bout something real quick?"  

        "Uh-huh." I replied.   

        "About that kiss..."  

        "Yeah?"  

        "You don't think...we could do that again sometime?"   

        "I...I'd like that." I genuinely would. If I had a functioning heart, I was sure this was the part where it would have thumped in my chest. "I'd really like that, but - "  

        "We'll handle it." He quipped, even before I had a chance to say anything. It was like he read my mind. "We can figure this out. I mean, I'm talking to a ghost, so nothing's impossible, right?"  

        "I guess you're right!"  

        Peter grinned that smile that shined in his pictures, though it didn't last long. He looked at his door with clear dread in his eyes, his hands shaking.   

        "Ready?"  

        "Only when you are." I answered. He nodded, and brushing the door open.   

        His Dad was still in the living room, arguing with someone on the phone, the pieces of the vase already collected and jumbled on the table. He paused when he saw his son, and hung up the phone without a second thought.   

        "Peter..." He breathed, but the boy was already in his arms, sobbing his heart out.   

        "I'm so sorry!" He blurted, but he was already assured that everything was alright. I watched them from the front door as they hugged it out; Peter promised that he'd fix the vase, he'd even get the glue and spend the rest of the weekend to fix it. His Dad smiled and gazed at the fragments, but decided against it. He was just happy that his son was home - though he did question that stain on his jumper. Peter shot one last glance at me, and I understood. This was a family affair.   

        "I'll see you tomorrow." I promised him. He didn't need to say anything back, he knew I'd be there in the morning. Bart waited for me at the station. It was time we had that talk he was itching to have.   

 

 

11: Chapter Ten - A Falling Out & an Opportunity (First Round Edit)

-Peter-
-October 27th-   

          The last seven days were rough; those guys still haunted my dreams, still chasing me through streets and alleys. I didn’t tell Dad about being held at knifepoint, but I shuffled to school just a little bit more slowly, wary of each and every person around me.  

          It wasn’t the sort of scares I was looking for, this time of year.

          Halloween was in full swing; the second I hit the front doors, the school corridors were covered from floor to ceiling in paper pumpkin decorations - an absolute fire hazard - while stickers of zombies and skulls covered the walls. The committee posters looked seriously out of place in the midst of all of this, though some were 'decorated' to match the theme - Naomi included. I messaged her the second I sealed myself shut in my room, once I bawled my eyes out in front of my Dad after what happened. She didn't reply to a single one of them, on any platform.   

         Was this what it felt like when she tried to talk to me, a few months back?   

         Reynold was making a name for himself, mostly at my friend's expense. His entire campaign revolved around the fact that her changes would affect future classes, when he wanted policies to improve current students now, mostly aimed at people studying for their finals (like me) - instead of investing in water quality and societies, he instead aimed to give us the ultimate prom, throwing promises that the money raised would go towards something legendary. He was scant on the details, but involved raising money for a tour bus to some far-off location, Las-Vegas style. I wasn't sure exactly how he was going to pull all of that together, but it was gathering more and more steam with every passing day. Naomi noticed, but the few times I got to speak to her, she simply told me that she needed to focus on her work.   

        She didn't have time for me, it seemed.   

        Bryan was nowhere to be seen - the guy caught a cold the second the weather turned south; it was typical for him - but I didn't mind. Jake kept me company, and the ghostly boy walked by me as we went from class to class. He liked stroking my hand whenever he had the chance, still so cold the hairs on my arms stood on end. He was really proud of that, proof that he was touching me in some sort of capacity. I had to admit, I really liked hanging out with him, talking to him about anything and everything that struck our fancy.   

        I was even getting used to the kisses.   

        It was the strangest thing. his lips were as cold as ice, almost-but-not-quite solid. I wondered what I'd look like to other people, my hands around nothing at all. He especially loved kissing my cheek whenever he was bored in class, because they turned red the second he brushed against it. I didn't realize until he told me, and then my cheeks burned red entirely from embarrassment.   

        "Stop it!" I whispered, trying so damn hard to hide a smile.   

        ~Not a chance. ~ he giggled, and just proceeded to kiss my cheek again, the coldest feeling. I covered it with my hand, but then my fingers began to freeze.   

        Recess seemed to take forever to start, but once it did, I ran to the canteen to grab myself some food. I was going to cancel with James Hanson the second I made it to the store today, I left it pretty close, but I think we both knew I wasn't seriously considering going out. The thought of him didn't appeal to me anymore, mainly because of the invisible boy beside me.   

        I was dating a ghost. The sentence didn't make sense, no matter how many times I repeated it, but it didn't need to. It just worked. A group of people handed out badges and letters for the different students involved in the committee, but I kept my head low and ducked past the majority of them, even Ethan Roswell. Naomi was nowhere to be found. Weird.   

       ~So, you gotta tell me what we're doing for Halloween! ~ Jake demanded, sitting alongside me once I found a spare seat. I chomped on an apple - technically my breakfast - while I mulled it over. There were a lot of places we could go on a date, I just had a hard time deciding which place would be the best for a maybe-sporty, maybe-nerdy paranormal entity.   

       "You don't have any plans with your own ghostly friends?"  

       ~I might have to babysit for a while, but after 9 I am fully at your disposal! ~  

       "Oh, you mean Cynthia?" I had trouble remembering the name, even though me reminded me at least a hundred times. "She sounds like a handful."  

       ~Her minder is the real trouble, Noel. Having trouble separating the two, to be honest. ~  

       "You'd think he'd appreciate the time off." I joked.  

       ~You'd think...~  

       Naomi barged out of nowhere, slamming her tray on the table. For a second, I thought she was mad with me for something, but she immediately apologized as she took her place. The girl looked like she hadn't slept in several days, her hair was an untangled mess. Jake had to swerve to the right so she didn't sit right through him.   

       It was the first time in a long time that she hadn’t worn the color yellow. That was dangerous.

      "It's not fair!" She said, grabbing a big chunk out of her sandwich. "You see what the liar is planning? There's no way he can offer those sorts of guarantees to people! He has to write to the venues to get permission, organize the bus courier service and even then, some of us are under-18! What happens to them? Do we need our parents on the god damn bus with us?"  

      "That's politics for you." I answered, finishing the rest of my food while leaving the apple core on the table. "Doesn't really matter about the long-term effects; it's the dazzling promises that grab'em."  

       "Rey couldn't promise his way out of a paper bag!" She continued. "He suddenly decides to barge into something I've learned and studied for my entire life, months' worth of preparation and planning!"  

       "He's going to lose." I replied. "People are gonna see through the lies, just like we can."  

       "What if they don't, Peter? What if he grabs the seat? Where would that leave me?"  

       "Still in a great position to apply for Harvard, and to be accepted." I answered, slightly worried. "The fact that you're taking this seriously, planning and preparing all of this, shows them who you are. They would love to have you!"  

       "How can you be sure..." She trialed off, taking another bite of her food.   

       "You need to grab some sleep, because right now you look like you're about to drop." I told her, ignoring the glare that she gave me. "You might think that will cost you time, but right now you're not 100%. I think we both know that."  

       She nibbled on some food while Jake looked at me, slightly concerned. I couldn't blame him.  

       "Whatcha think of Halloween?" I said, hoping to change the subject. "Got any plans? Christmas was more your style, right?"  

       She didn't answer at first, finishing the rest of her lunch as she mulled the question over.  

       "I think it's going to be a quiet one for me."  

       "Oh? Want us to come over to your place? We'll bring snacks! Maybe we can stay over at mine, like when we were kids!"  

       "I want to be alone." She dropped. She grabbed her tray and stood up before I had time to process that. I was already on my feet as she walked away, hoisting her bag over her shoulder as I caught up with her.  

       "Hang on!" I cried, cutting her path so she had no choice but to stop. "I get it, this is bumming you out. I know that look in your eyes, Naomi."  

       "Oh, so you can read me, now?" Naomi pressed. She walked past me, presumably towards her locker. I kept up with her, Jake following closely behind.  

       "I know what that feels like, to cut people off like that. Isolating yourself won't make you feel any better."  

       "It sure did wonders for you, didn't it?"  

       "OK Naomi, I've put up with this crap for long enough!" I had it with her constant put-downs. "Remember that contract we made, If I promise to slow down with all of this, will you promise not to hide away like that again? You're not fulfilling your side of the bargain!" She opened her locker and fetched her books, ignoring me. "One second you're my friend, the next you're throwing me under the bus. You tell me that I wasn't around, but who was there denying everything that Reynold Adams said about you?"  

       "I don't care about Rey!" She growled, slamming her door shut. "Rey won't mean a damn thing to me when I make it to Harvard and pass with flying colors. Rey won't even register on my radar when I get my job and my house in the middle of Los Angeles, and he most definitely won't register when I get elected into parliament!"  

       "Will we register?"  Naomi froze when I asked her that, lost for words.  

       "What?"  

       "You heard me. Will we matter? When you go off into the political sunset, will you still care about us?"  

       "I'm not going to answer that, that's such a stupid question." She stated, exactly the response I was afraid of hearing.  

       "Well, until you can answer that, maybe we should just stop talking to each other."  

       "Yeah, maybe we should." She agreed. I was stunned with how quickly and easily she said it, like she was...waiting for the moment to come. I turned my back and walked away, regretting everything I said. I didn't even know if she felt the same way.  

*  

        Bryan was an absolute freak of nature.  

        Padded in his gear, he looked like a monster, easily standing taller than everybody else on the field. The lovable geek I knew was gone, replaced by a cold and calculating machine. It was just a simple practice session with the team, but he moved faster and deadlier than he had any right to. It was clear why he was taking this so seriously; this particular session was recorded, and he planned on sending the highlights to universities for consideration. One unfortunate soul tried to tackle him, but he simply bounced off of Bryan. He scored effortlessly, cheering loudly as soon as the ball touched the grass.  

       That was going to look good on the video.  

        I watched on, almost blinded by the spotlights. Naomi pressed heavily on my mind, the realization kicking in. I'd never had a fight like that before, I hoped she changed her mind and talked to me soon. A part of me knew the truth, though.  

       "Hey, what did ya’ think?" He cried, his kit muddied and scratched. His helmet sported a noticeable chink in it, though I was sure it wouldn't bother him too much.  

       "You got the points?"  

       "Not just that, but an audition tape! Need to go back and highlight all the best parts! You do editing in I.T, right?"  

       "You know I do." I moaned, "Not exactly the best at it, especially not for piecing together a submission for a scholarship!"  

       "You know more about it than I would!" He had a point. I promised him to try my best - it wasn't due for months, anyway - so he went back to the changing room to get dressed while I hung about in the corridors. It got darker and darker with each passing day, we barely managed to get any daylight at all by the fine school finished. Ethan and Naomi had their opportunities to speak on behalf of their campaigns in English, but I decided not scribble on my book and not pay attention to that.  

       I felt her eyes burn into my head, but I fought the urge to look up. She sounded confident and sure, I just hoped she looked after herself.  

       The entire street was transformed under the Halloween decorations; every window was covered in some sort of spooky pumpkin or make-shift cobwebs, while bats dangled from a few of the trees that dotted the sidewalk. That helmet didn't do much good for my friend, because much of his right cheek was caked in mud. He wore it with pride.  

      "Naomi didn't give you the time of day." I guessed. He shook his head.  

      "Nadda. The girl is stressed, man. Gotta leave her to her devices until this all blows over. You know how she is."  

      "I haven't seen her like that before." I pressed, "She doesn't particularly like me, right now."  

      "I doubt that!" I didn't believe him.  

      "Any plans for the evening?"  

      "I have to go and cancel a Halloween invitation." I admitted. I didn't tell him about the James Hanson dilemma.  

      "Oh, you didn't hear about what's going down?" Bryan asked, a sly smile on his face.  

      "I have a feeling that you're about to tell me."  

      "Central Park? It's all around the school; meeting up by the Loch, campfire and drink! They're launching fireworks!"  

      I froze. He noticed.  

      "That was the invitation I'm cancelling."  

      "Wait, so it's true?" He grabbed me by my arms and shook me for all I was worth. "You know what groups and servers you have to get in touch with to even be considered? We're talking uni students, here!"  

      "Well, it doesn't matter. I'm cancelling."  

      "Nuh-uh! You know where it's all goin' down, you gotta take me with you!" He pleaded. "We'll vouch for each other; I'll tell the folks I'm heading to yours; you tell your Dad you're staying at mine. It'll be perfect!"  

      "I'm... I'm not too sure."  

      "Yeah... sorry, man. I'm probably comin' off a little too strong." He admitted, kicking a little rock and watched as it skipped down the sidewalk. "How did you manage to get in on it?"  

      "James."  

      "Oh..." It all came together for him. "You always had a soft spot for the guy. I shoulda' figured."  

      "Yeah, well not much is going happen with him, I'm afraid." I masked it with a little bit of disappointment, but I was actually glad. I had a ghostly reason to decline his invitation now. "It's also a little unfair if the both of us just went along and left Naomi behind. Not that she'd go, or anything."  

       We walked by Birch Coffee, but Bryan moved straight past the door, surprising me.   

      "Hey, thought we were going in for something."  

      "N'ah. Saw Melissa the other day, had a guy wrapped around her arm." He confessed. "Should have known better than to think I had a chance with that girl."  

      "There's plenty of other girls!" I encouraged, knowing full well that would have done little to improve his mood. Bryan smirked, but it didn't last long.   

      "Yeah, whatever you say."  

      With no real idea of where we were going - and realizing after a few minutes that my friend was following me - I decided to have him pop over to my place for a while. I tried to change the conversation by asking him how his training went, and it worked without too much effort; he suddenly threw some choice sport words at me, rounding off statistics and numbers that I assumed made sense in the context of the subject. There wasn't an ounce of fear in his comments, how he knew he had what it took to get that scholarship. His conditioning was solid, and according to that training session, things were moving along as planned. I loved speaking to this version of Bryan - the hyper-focused and confident guy who had his dreams set in front of him. Even after a solid fifteen minutes of talking about what his life would be like in twelve months, he still managed to sigh once he ran out of words. He was still caught up on Melissa.   

     "You know what?" I asked.   

     "Hm?"  

     "If it means that much to you, you wanna come with me to the Loch for Halloween?" His face lit up the second I said it.   

     "No way! You mean it?"   

     "You said it yourself; it's apparently an exclusive club. Might as well enjoy it while the opportunity's there."  

     No word of a lie, he picked me up and squeezed the life out of me, my feet were clean off the ground as he swung me like a rag doll.   

     "Oh my God! You've no idea how much this means! You're the best!"  

     "Heh, glad to be of help." I wheezed - after he let me go, and I had the energy to get some air back into my lungs. "Just... keep it on the down-low. I don’t want anybody else knowing about this."  

     "Lips. Sealed." He promised.   

*  

 
       ~Oh, we were going to the same place. ~  

      "What?" Jake and I lounged on my bed. I was bitterly cold - partly because of him, but also down to the small hole in my window frame, the air breezing through my heavy curtains with ease - but I didn't mind. I began to feel a difference between general cold and Jake cold - Jake almost felt... solid in the way that his semi-transparent fingers touched my arm - and it disappeared as soon as he retracted them. He still kissed me on the cheek, knowing full well that the cold made my face turn red. It occupied him for quite some time, before I decided to return the favor. I had to be very careful with him - lean in too close and I actually clipped through him, he found that quite uncomfortable - but I got the knack of knowing exactly when to stop, to kiss him, and to pull back again. My lips always felt numb, but I didn't care.   

     ~We flock there every Halloween, that's why Noel and Cynthia came down. ~ He admitted. ~There's going to be hundreds of us, maybe even thousands. ~  

     "All for a group of college grad students?" I asked, skeptical.  

      ~Well, I've only been to one of them - considering how long I've been around - but this sort of gathering happened long before you living folk caught on. ~ Jake explained, leaning next to me as we stared at the ceiling. ~ It depends on who you talk to, but a few of us believe that the park is sacred. Something about how even the living realized that, and chose not to build on it? Still, I'm only going because it's one of the rare occasions Bart gets out of the damn station, and looking after Cynthia is always a big plus. ~  

      "Jake-y." I teased, and he rolled his eyes and stroked my ear, instantly numbing it. I recoiled and moved away, but he closed the distance in no time. He laughed as I rolled off the bed, warming that ear with my hands.   

      ~Anything from your friend? Naomi? ~   

       I shook my head. "I don't think there's going to be anything from Naomi for a while. Maybe ever."  

      ~I'm sure she'll come around soon. ~ He assured me. I didn't know whether to hold out hope, or to just let it go. Jake stood up, ready to leave - he still had to organize things with his friends, and I needed to get some shut-eye. He kissed me quickly, my entire face cooled for a split-second before it. ~Same time tomorrow? ~  

      "As always." I promised. Jake grinned and ran for the window, leaping through the glass with ease. The first time he did that, I had to remind myself that he was a ghostly being, and that he hadn't just leapt to his death. I peeled back my curtains to find him waving, before floating towards the underground. I laid in bed with the lights switched off, counting the constellations on my curtains once again.   

      For the first time in a long time - and despite what happened with Naomi - I felt... happy.  

 

12: Chapter Eleven - Fireworks and Disappearances (First Round Edit)

-Jake-
-October 31st-

          It was 6am, which usually meant two things; it was around the time that people started heading home after a few too many drinks, but it was also when the early-shifters got up out of bed to head to work. It was a strange phenomenon, watching these two sub-groups of the living mingle together like that. A group of girls wobbled down the sidewalk in masks, shouting at the top of their lungs, while others watched them in annoyance. It didn't bother me much, though the same couldn't be said for Bart.  

         "All this time, and one thing stays the same." He sighed. He clearly didn't want to be out and about, but he knew Cynthia would be on his tail if he refused to show up tonight.  

         "Leave them be, living looks like such hard work, they're enjoying themselves!"  

         "They can enjoy themselves a little bit more quietly."  

         "I don't think you realize just where we're going tonight." I teased, but he wasn't having any of it.  

         "Trust me, Jake. I know damn well." We didn't need to sleep, but the guy looked like he needed to take a nap for a few years. "What does Linnea want from me, again?"    

          "It's best she tells you herself." There was no point in me telling the story, when Linnea was such an indecisive ghoul that the story would have no doubt changed since I'd seen her last. She managed to bring back this George boy, whether it was through his own free will or not remained to be seen.  

          "What I'd give to swap places with you right now." He continued to moan. "I wonder if one of these people will notice me, give me an excuse to dodge this event."  

          "Firstly, Peter is going to the same place we are, so I'm not dodging anything!" I pointed out. "Secondly, you know you're Cynthia's favorite person in the whole wide world, no amount of the living is going to get you out of this."  

         "Hmph."  

         "You love hanging out with her, you're just too grumpy to admit it."  

         "I'm too grumpy for just about everything right now."  

         "Well you're going to have to hide it real quick, because there she is." Linnea waited for us on 425 Central West, just like she said she would. No other immediate ghoul in the area, it didn't spell good news on her part - or ours.  

        "I take it the plan went well?" Bart called out, but we couldn't see her expression behind her hair.  

        "I'll have you know that George is on his way as we speak!"  

        "You've said that a million and one times before."  

        "The Boy who Cried Wolf, ever heard of it?"  

        "We don't see the wolf, not even a wolf in sheep's clothing."  

        Linnea just rolled her eyes and moved along with us, heading towards our destination. I wasn't a fan of Grand Central - or the walk to it, for that matter - but we floated along while Linnea gushed about her guy while Bart and I pretended to listen. The trees around the block stubborningly held onto its leaves, coated in yellow and amber. The skyscrapers that dotted most of New York towered in the distance, shrouded in smog. They almost looked as ghostly as we did. She spoke about how George loved her from the moment he saw her, a gritty Boston accent that she couldn't resist. They went on a date together, scaled the top of the stands at the Fenway Park Stadium while they watched a game of baseball. She constantly repeated how much he liked sports, even when we tried to move the subject along to a different topic.  

        "Looks like you didn't need my help after all." Bart finally chimed in, once Linnea finished gushing about her maybe-imaginary-maybe-not boyfriend. "Guess I can just waltz on home."  

        "Actually, there's something I could use your help with; see, the guy is particularly fond of Maryland, but it's just not the place for me, y'know? Kinda need a buddy to tell him how great this place is, really sell it to him!"  

        "You're not enough of a proposition?" I joked.  

        "Witty remark, John."  

        "It's still Jake." I was certain she was messing up my name deliberately now.

        "I'm not going to make it back to my carriage, am I?" My friend whined, though I couldn't really sympathize with him. It was going to be there when he got back, after all.  

        Outside of George, Linnea actually listened to our tales and news - I was warned to keep Peter out of the conversation for the time being, until we got a better handle on just how a living being can talk to a ghost (let alone dating them) - and bragged amount how many of her friends she brought for the night. It was clear that Bart and I were at the very edge of that outer circle of friends, but I was only half paying attention; I was looking forward to walking arm-in-arm with Peter to school. I began to settle into a comfortable routine, most times I was outside his door just before he stumbled out of it, and our journey was usually spent talking about everything and nothing at the same time. It was comfortable and nice, so easy and carefree. I still haven't gotten used to the burning heat - and the same could be said for the chill that he felt - but even that almost felt endearing in a way, a physical reaction to being close to each other. I only wished I could give him a present, I couldn't even drape a ribbon around my neck and announce that I was the gift!  

        "You listenin', Josh?"  

        "Jake." I corrected out of habit, almost muscle memory at this point, but I hadn't a clue about what Linnea said. We began to stroll through a small tunnel, the noise of cars echoed off the walls as they drove past.  

        "Well, as I was sayin', Hugo was asking for you, said he'd catch up with you tonight."  

        "He's said that for the longest time, the words have lost all meaning!" I wasn't in the mood for Hugo, but I wouldn't have to deal with him for much of the night. "At least someone will get my name right."  

        The sun started to peep through by the time we actually made it to Central, masking the clouds in orange colors as the fog vanished. The place looked about the same as it had when I last visited; completely stuffed with visitors, those orange rays of light filtered through the windows. The American flag hung unapologetically above the terminal.  

        "I swear, if this is another one of your elaborate stunts..." Bart grumbled.  

        "He'll be here!" She promised him, but he wasn't exactly convinced.  

        "Just remember, you made me walk - "  

        "Look, there he is!" True enough, a ghost walked into the main area, slightly lost. Linnea lunged for him, closing the gap instantly. He actually recognized her - we were both surprised - and spun her around in a circle as soon as they connected. He glowed even brighter than she had - which was an achievement in and of itself - a slight moustache offset by his cleanly-shaven head.  

        "Well I'll be damned; she's actually telling the truth." I whispered as my friend just chuckled beside me. Linnea brought him back towards us, a big flashy smile plastered across her face.  

        "Guys, I'd like you to meet George!" She beamed. We were still surprised this guy existed.  

        "Pleasure." He added, adding an exclamation point to all of that.  

*  

        Cynthia hopped on the spot, excited. Bart watched over her while Noel was away, a little bit less gloomy than he was in the morning. He was all tuckered out from Linnea and George, not that I blamed him. The two were perfect for each other, it seemed; Geroge was about a year or so old, old enough to visit a few places, ask a few questions about where he was and who he is. Sports seemed to be his creature comfort, he spoke passionately about baseball, words that flew completely over my head. Linnea was completely smitten for him.

        Still had the problem about which city they wanted to stay in, though.

        Even as we walked towards the Arch, dozens of other ghosts floated toward the same place, so much so that they looked like fog in the distance. There was some kind of energy in the air, I couldn't describe it. It almost cackled like electricity, like we could touch it. The living were going to launch fireworks - even though it wasn't strictly allowed - but we would have mingled here regardless. Peter and his friend waited for me, just so we could finalize our plans before we went off and did our respective thing. I felt warm just thinking about being near him.  

        "Jake-y hurry up!" Our little girl whined, wrapping herself around my arm. "We don't gotta wait for Noel, he's so slow!"  

        "Noel is just as excited about all of this as you are." I replied, knowing full well that it was a lie. The guy had no real emotion. "We have plenty of time before the fireworks, don't worry."  

        "I get to leave after all of that, right?" Bart whispered, just out of Cynthia's earshot. We were lucky to have him here at all.  

        "You must had been excited for this, once upon a time."  

        "Yeah, before the entire place became drunk."  

        "They drank in your time, too." I pointed out.  

        "Yeah, but there weren't so many of them."  

        "Those girls this morning really hit a nerve, didn't they?" He didn't answer that, he didn't need to.  

        Noel floated towards us, finally gracing us with his presence. He looked even grumpier than Bart, but softened a little once he saw Cynthia.  

        "We finally met George." I started, hoping to strike up a meaningless conversation to pass the time. "She's going to give you an earful once you see her, will probably have the guy draped around her arm, too."  

        "Thanks for letting me know." He said dryly, but that was typical Noel.  

        I didn't recognize the vast majority of ghosts that we met - many of them came in from neighboring states - though Noel was far more connected. He struck up small conversations with everybody he met, to the point where he slowed us down. Cynthia really didn't like that, and eventually pushed him down the sidewalk. Peter must had been there by now. He thought about dodging the entire thing, though his friend talked him into it. I wondered if it would ever be possible for me to be introduced. He said Bryan would understand, though I wasn't so sure. At least my friends could see my boyfriend.  

        Central Park was quiet at night, though the wind picked up and rustled the leaves. I felt it as it brushed through my body, slightly uncomfortable. Cynthia held my hand and tugged me along, moving closer towards the Glen Span Arch. The river trickled alongside us, just like it did last year, and there was Peter. He was huddled in the arch with his friend, waiting for me. I hadn't expected him to be here so soon, or maybe Noel's conversations slowed us down a bit too much. I crouched down to Cynthia and told her to head back to the rest of the gang for a few minutes.   

        "Where are you gonna go?" She - predictably - asked, confused.  

        "Just meeting up with a few friends. I'll be back with you guys before the fireworks, don't you worry!"  

        "I wanna play with them!"  

        "Heh, they're too old to play." I insisted. Bart and Noel had managed to catch up in the meantime, reminding her that they didn't have a lot of time before everything began. It was enough to distract her. She eagerly latched onto Bart's hand as they pressed on. If Noel had any reservations as to why I stayed behind with two living people, he made no sign of it.  

        Peter fumbled in his pocket for his phone while Bryan asked him why they were standing there for so long. He pressed it up to his ear as he pretended to make a phone call, shooting me with the most apologetic look in his eyes.  

        "I'm so sorry I kept you waiting." I whispered, even though there wasn't really any need since his amigo couldn't hear me. "Got held back by the rest of them."  

        "It's OK, we're here now." He answered, shivering slightly in the cold. "Gonna start heading to the bonfire with some of the Unis, you wanna hang out?"  

        "Might be a bit busy myself, but I'll try and pop over when I have the chance." I leaned in closer as I said it, until I felt the familiar burning sensation. He suddenly shivered a lot more. "It'll be after the fireworks, though."  

        "F-Fireworks, got it." He chattered. It probably didn't help that I leaned in to kiss him, numbing his face completely. He shot me a glare, but I grinned and laughed it off. "We still up for watching some movies after this?"  

        "Wouldn't dream of missing it!" I meant every single letter of that. "Have fun!"   

         He came up with an alibi for the phone call, though Bryan was pretty impatient about the whole thing. I hung around the arch until Peter was – reluctantly - dragged by the hand. He glanced back and winked, right before the two disappeared altogether.   

         My journey was pretty straightforward, since I knew exactly where to go. Every now and again I noticed a few of us; some looked vaguely familiar, while others looked like they came from somewhere completely new. Maybe they weren't even here last year. The trees took on a life of their own in the moonlight, casting dark shadows across the ground, much larger than their real-life counterparts. Away from the emissions of the city, the smell of dirt and actual clean air was...comforting. I used to think that it jogged a memory of some kind, something that Bart immediately dismissed at the time. Stranger things had happened since then.  

        "Jake!" The voice was unmistakable, and I spotted Hugo not long after. I hadn't seen him in months, and his dreadlocks looked just as cumbersome as ever. The air always reeked of cigarettes when he arrived, something we just couldn't explain. It was exceptionally rare, though not unheard of. He always claimed he was smoking a packet before he died, but up until a few weeks ago I'd always thought it was another one of his ramblings. "You stuck on babysittin' duty again this year?"  

        "We all are." I chuckled. "Hasn't stopped talking about the damn thing. It's the fireworks she's after."  

        "The most energetic little bunny, ain't she? You been keeping up with the news?" I knew he didn't mean the media, because the goings-on of the living didn't make much headlines for us.   

        "Huh?"  

        "Some whispers going about, here and there. Turns out one of them living folk spotted us! For real this time - no bullshit paranormal investigators with their machines and their paranoia!"  

        "I hadn't heard." Technically not a lie, though I got a little worried.  

        "Yeah, somewhere in Connecticut. Turns out they froze and collapsed! Poor guy's in the hospital as we speak, or so I hear."  

        "I'm not sure that happened." I breathed a sigh of relief, though the rumor hit a little close to home. "Haven't heard much about what's going on this year?"  

        "Same as always, my good man. Gabrielle's first time, so I said I'd introduce her to a couple of you guys. She's weeks old."  

        "Still trying to make sense of what's going on, I bet."  

        "Aren't we all, man."  

        He walked me the rest of the way there, and that was when the conspiracies started. Hugo loved coming up with reasons why we all gathered here to begin with, though not many of them were plausible; a contract with Satan, a pagan ritual that connected the living and the dead, and something to do with mind control. I nodded and asked a few questions, but nothing that was contradictory. He didn't like it when you disagreed with what he said, so it was really a matter of asking the right questions to make him think. He never got outside his box for long, though.   

        The path widened, revealing a large space in the dead of night, several skyscrapers trying their best to peep over the trees. There were hundreds of us crammed there, more than I could count! I wasn't completely sure, but I swore that there was more than double the number from last year.  

        "So many new ones." Hugo muttered, which sort of confirmed my own thoughts.   

        I didn't really have much time to ponder it, because Cynthia charged towards me like a freight train, Noel quick alongside her. She latched onto me as tightly as she could, almost dragging me to the ground.   

        "Jake-y you're late!"  

        "I'm here and there's not a single firework in sight!"  

        "Y-You could have been late!"  

        "What kept you?" Noel added, suspicious.

        "Been stuck talking to good ol' Hugo for most of the trip." I was getting good at telling half-truths. He didn't really press any further after that.   

        There were so many new ghosts that I didn't really know where to begin; some of them mingled naturally, but a few of us volunteered to answer any questions that we wanted to ask. Some of us were days old, they said as much when they wondered what was going on here. Gabrielle was a frail ghost - thin and very, very quiet. She was dim, even in the pale moonlight, but it was obvious that she didn't understand just what was going on. Hugo hung around her, answering as much as he could, though it didn't do much to help. I didn't really want to think about how I was back then, but I could imagine how terrifying and confusing it must had been for her. The pair stuck around with us for a bit, but disappeared the second he recognized another face. I probably wouldn't see them until next year. It wasn't the end of the world.   

        We moved together, until we found a spot close enough to catch an unobstructed look at the fireworks. I sat on the ground while Cynthia ran around the place, talking to everybody she came in contact with. Bart tried his best to be social, but I could already see one foot out the door.   

        Then just like that, it began; several small crackers shot into the sky, popping in short bursts of color, the sound almost deafening. Our little girl yelled in glee while Bart held her up to get a better look. Some of us cheered, but the majority just didn't seem to care. I looked up at them and smiled, knowing that my evening was just getting started. Peter wanted me to watch some of his favorite movies tonight, and I couldn't think of a better time to do it. I gestured to Bart and he nodded, knowing what that meant.   

        "Don't be a stranger." I whispered to Noel, watching the larger fireworks as they made several loud bangs. "She loves it down here."  

        "We'll see." Nothing was going to change.   

        I slipped out of sight - quietly enough so Cynthia wouldn't notice - making my way towards the direction of the fireworks - to my boyfriend and the uni students. I spotted Linnea and George on my way there - they were deeply engrossed in a conversation I couldn't make out, and they were tied to the hip. I left them to their devices, but it seemed that her plan to keep him in NY was working.   

        Those crackers came from a slight incline, just by the Loch. A few of them were already drunk, laughing and yelling around an open campfire. I didn't spot Peter straight away, though his friend had already passed out on a log, his eyes barely open while he sipped from a can in his hand. A pair were still lighting the rest of the 'works, sending them sailing into the air. This close, the sound was so loud that I couldn't help covering my ears - though that was useless, considering sound waves travelled through me. Eventually, I saw Peter, sitting on another makeshift log bench. Unfortunately, the scene I pictured wasn't the same as the one I was looking at.

        He was kissing another boy.  

        My body froze, like I lost total control of my limbs. It took me a second to properly register what was going on, and when it did, I felt a lump in my throat and a tear in my heart. He pulled away quickly, but the damage was already done. He probably spotted me, but I turned before I had a chance to check. I should have known better, the guy was more physical than I could ever be, and his friends could actually see him. I didn't know what I was thinking, it was stupid to think that a semi-transparent piece of useless air could be attached to a living person. All of a sudden, that inner compass that pointed me to the school - that pointed me to him - felt like a stupid thought.  

        I didn't have time to process it, because an explosion rocked through the trees, and one of the larger fireworks misfired, striking dead-center in the middle of a tree. Almost instantly, it began to burn, lighting up the night sky. I wanted to see if those stupid drunken idiots were OK, but I heard a blood-curdling scream behind me, a scream that could only belong to a ghostly child: Cynthia.   

        I darted through the trees - fully aware that the flames had already began to spread to its neighboring branches - and sprinted towards the sound. It was Cynthia alright, her wide eyes fixated on the fire. I ran towards her, trying to take her away from the sight, but she punched and kicked like a rapid animal, never once stopping. Noel was on her instantly, hoisting her up into the air as he shook her.   

        "Calm down! Now!"   

        She didn't stop, scratching his face with her fingers. He placed her on the ground, dragging her away from the spectacle as the fire spread even further. Thick black smoke began to usher in the air, the sound of sirens from fire engines already on their way.   

        "Listen to me you runt!" Noel yelled, furious. Cynthia began biting his hand, which only agitated him more. "You will do as you're told!"  

        She didn't listen, still wide-eyes and still fighting with everything she had. Even when she was dragged away, she never looked away from the flames.   

        "Jake-y! Bart!"  

        "Forget about them!" Noel yelled, yanking her towards him when she resisted. "We're never doing this again, you hear me! You're mine! You will listen to me!"   

        "Hey!" Bart shouted, but Noel took a swing with his one free hand, dropping him like a transparent rock. He struggled to get back up by the time I chased after Noel, reaching for Cynthia as she screamed the entire time. A few other ghosts started to intervene, all reaching for the little girl as we tried to wrest her from him. Noel flailed, catching me in my chest. It was enough of a knock for me to let go of her. Bart helped me back to my feet, but Noel was already several feet away from us, dragging her every step of the way. Those sirens were getting closer, and some men and women were already approaching the flames, donned in helmets and oversized uniforms. The paths were too narrow for actual engines to drive here, though I wasn't exactly focused on those logistics. The fire burned bright-orange, really getting out of control. Linnea and George surrounded Noel, as did Hugo and the two of us. He yelled at the little girl, telling her that she was his, and that he had to listen to her. They screamed at each other, so loudly that they drowned out the sound of those approaching sirens. I phased through as many of us as I could - hit with nausea with each and every one of them - but by then something...happened.   

        Cynthia suddenly stopped screaming. Instead, she appeared totally calm, unlike anything I had seen from her before. Even Noel seemed surprised by this, watching the girl in her hands as her mouth dropped, like she had just discovered something.   

        "I... I see it..."  

        And just like that, she disappeared.   

 

13: Chapter Twelve - James Hanson is a Creep (First Round Edit)

-Peter-
-October 31st-

          James Hanson was late.

          I waited for him outside while my teeth chattered in the cold. My coat didn't really do much to keep the heat in, so I hopped in one spot while I waited for him. Tonight was the bonfire, and it took on a whole different meaning now that it was so close; I knew it was semi-illegal, but a constable for the NYPD actually showed up the other day and spoke about those rumors. They were going to patrol the area, so Bryan and I had to be extremely careful. The necessary lies were told to our parents - perfect alibis, considering they didn't have direct lines to call and unravel the ruse - but my palms were sweaty and my throat was dry just thinking about it. Pigeons flew dangerously close to my head and snapped me out of my trance. I almost dropped the phone in my hands - the third time it would have happened this year, the poor screen - but I caught it with the tips of my fingers, a Halloween miracle.

         "You're the clumsiest guy I know!" James shouted in the distance, lost for breath. He slammed into the door, feeding the key into its slot, and barged right in. I helped as much as I usually did; while he fumbled around with the cash flow, I opened the blinds on the cooling machines, made sure the temperatures were up to scratch, and did a quick once-over of some of the fruit on offer. Most of it started to turn moldy, another sign that the guy behind the counter was falling behind. Sometimes I wondered how he still had this job.

         The answer was obvious; it was 'cos of me.

         "You're a life-saver!" He said, still slightly out-of-breath, once I handed him a plastic bag full of waste. "Just been busy with getting the gang together. You wouldn't believe the contraband we had to smuggle in from out of state."

         "Please tell me you're talking about the fireworks." I replied, he flashed that usual James Hanson smile, the first in my usual game.

         "Nothing illegal, promise."

         "Sure, because you always hear about legally smuggling stuff."

         "That's what I'll say to ya, so you can claim plausible deniability. Not used to heading outside past your bedtime, eh?"

         "I'm still going, aren't I?" I challenged. Another smile flashed on the boy's face.

         "Gotta say, still a little bit surprised you're coming. Don't look like the kinda guy that sneaks off in the middle of the night."

         I didn't know what to say, the entire reason I agreed to any of that was because I was semi-deluded into thinking I liked the guy. Now that Jake was in the picture, I realized just how stupid I was (ironic when I said it in my head, considering I'm dating a ghost). I couldn't exactly say that to him.

         "Last year before I leave the nest, gotta do something big before I go." That was the best I could think of in the heat of the moment, and the wording didn't exactly land very well. He didn't have time to mock me, because the first few customers strolled into the door. I left them to their devices, instantly hit with the cold air of outside Manhattan.

         Jake waited for me outside my door, on-time as always. Maybe it was the slight frost in the air, but it seemed to collect around him, making him appear more solid than usual. Maybe it was the trick of the light, it didn't really matter. What mattered was that he kissed me on my already cold face, instantly numbing me.

         ~ How's my favorite living person today? ~  

         "Your favorite living person is second-guessing heading out tonight." I admitted, reaching for a scarf in my bag. "Bryan vouched for me, and I did the same, but there's a chance we're gonna get caught. Lighting up fireworks isn't exactly allowed in there, y'know."

         ~Must be exhausting, living with all these rules. ~ He mused. I hadn't thought of it like that.  

         "Surely you must have some laws, I know you can't exactly go around stealing stuff, but still!" The more it wrapped around my head, the more ridiculous it felt. Jake shrugged it off and shuffled around me, almost like he was dancing. The boy was so damn happy.  

         ~Not set in stone, but we do frown upon certain things. We're not a lawless wasteland! ~

         Little kids ran past us, dressed up in costumes. If only the little boy in the white blanket realized he was onto something.

         "I couldn't get up at 6 in the morning." I said. "Not that you sleep, or anything, but don't you guys get tired of staying awake?"

         ~Actually, we talk about the living all the time! You all eat and sleep so much. Must be tiring. ~

         "Was that a joke?" I asked. "There's a hint of irony in there, somewhere."

         ~There might have been. ~

         "I'd say you have a funny bone, oh wait..." My own (corny) joke cracked him up, and he linked arms with me. Mine felt ice-cold - even with my jacket on - but it was worth it.

         Jake kissed me on the cheek before I headed on inside. I told him where I'd be in Central Park, he promised he'd meet me there. I didn't want him to leave. People shuffled past me, probably wondering why I just stood there in the middle of the cold. Their opinions wouldn't had mattered that much to me, anyway.

         ~This is the part where you turn around and walk away. ~ He prompted. If it was anybody else, I would had bumped them on the shoulder, but that wasn't exactly possible with that goofball. I winked and headed inside, I had all night with the ghostly boy, which was what I was really looking forward to.  

         As soon as I opened the doors, I wished I hadn't: Reynold Adams had been elected to the committee. His face was everywhere, plastered across almost every single locker and wall. Several of his friends cheered for him at the other end of the hall, and the jerk himself basked in the middle of it. Even from so far away, I heard his victory speech - all promises of sticking to his guns and making sure that this year's prom was going to be the best yet. He spotted me - I had to pass him to get to my locker - and his eyes told the whole story.  

        He knew how much this damaged Naomi. He didn't care, and he wanted to make sure I knew that.  

        Sighing, I semi-jogged to my locker, feeding my books into it while I grabbed the ones I actually needed. I had a few minutes to find her before first period, but she was nowhere to be seen; her reserved room was completely empty, not a single sheet left behind, and she didn't appear to be in any classroom I checked at a glance.  I checked my phone, and the damage was already done online - I wasn't even connected to the rat, yet I saw his face everywhere. A lot was being said about his quasi-political opponent, and none of it was nice. The bell rang, which meant I had to wait until recess before I had a chance of finding her.  

        Should I even bother, after what had happened? I stopped myself before that thought got any further. We didn't mean what we said, we were going to patch things up. It meant finding her first, though.  

        The only thing that seemed to be on everyone's lips - other than Rey's victory, obviously - was the rumored bonfire tonight. Of course, I knew it was anything but a rumor, but I overheard a few guys in the hall; If it weren't for James, I wouldn't have had a hope in hell in finding the exact place. The Unis had so many discords and subreddits about the thing that it was impossible for them to find out where it was. Central Park was a big place, after all. I kept my gay mouth shut, because 1. I didn't want people to grill me about it and 2. I still had to pass off to my Dad that I was staying at Bryan's. I wasn't the best at telling a bald-faced lie.  

        Speaking of the boy, I found him after third period. He stormed towards me in the way only he could, covering more ground than I thought possible.  

        "Hey, what's - " I began, but he pulled me by the collor and pushed me down the hall  

        "Naomi's not doing too hot right now." He explained. That was all I needed to hear.  

        She sat outside, just by the track field. She watched as a few girls stretched in the distance, ready to run a lap of the field. She must had heard us coming, but didn't turn around.

        "Not in the mood, guys."  She said, but Bryan wasn't really having it.

        "Like hell you're not, we're gonna have a sit-down and talk about things."

        "There's not much to - "

        "Naomi, please."

        She stood up - a lot more composed than I thought she'd be - and walked right past us. She didn't even look at me.

*

        Dad was skeptical. Of course he was - he must had seen my shaking hands and my pale face when I told him I was staying at Bryan's - but he kicked back on the sofa and told me to have fun. He surrounded himself in assignments from his class, a western played on TV and a wine glass was filled to the brim. Something told me he was waiting for some alone time himself.

        "You got your toiletries?"

        "Of course I do." I moaned, hoisting the bag over my shoulder while I moved to the door. "I think I'll survive staying with my best friend." Not entirely a false statement.

        "OK, just give me a call if you need anything."

        "I won't." I assured him, glad that that social ritual was finished. I opened the front door and was hit with the cool breeze of a Halloween evening. I stood there for just the briefest of moments, contemplating what I was about to do. If we got caught, we were going to get in a lot of trouble. But Jake was out there, and when I came back - I was going to lie and say that Bryan got sick or something - I was going to spend the entire evening with my ghostly boyfriend. I had the movies picked out and ready to stream.

       "Doing OK there, champ?" Dad asked. I must had spent more time standing still than I thought!

       "Seeyeah later!"

       Almost instantly, I was hit with shivers down my spine, it was freezing! I sent Bryan a quick message to let him know of my successful espionage, and moved briskly towards our destination. Naomi hung on my mind for the entire day; the entire campaign was a shamble, and she poured her heart and soul into it. I sent her a quick message to let her know I was there for her... right up until I realized she had blocked me. I tried to send her a text, but it instantly returned as unsent. Her social media turned private.

       She blocked me on everything.

       I stopped for a moment, trying to process that. She criticized me for disappearing, brought it up in almost every single conversation, and she had the nerve to do that? I shoved my phone back into my pocket and kept walking, thinking of Jake the entire god damn time. By the time I actually found Bryan by 425 Central Park West, I was seriously annoyed.

       "Lemme guess..." He started.

       "She blocked you, too?"

       "Yeah... look, maybe we should drop the whole thing here, see how she's getting on? She's obviously feeling down and out about all of that."

       "What's the point?" I argued. "We'll arrive at her house and her overbearing parents will tell us that she's busy, or that she's not around. Even if they didn't, she's not gonna talk to us. She'll probably throw in a jibe or two my way. Let's just go and enjoy ourselves and we can deal with this in the morning!" I still had to meet Jake, but even without that requirement, I genuinely didn't feel like talking to her right now. My friend was hesitant, but eventually shrugged and carried on alongside me.

       "We're gonna be the talk of the school!" I proclaimed, suddenly more confident. "The High-Schoolers who managed to sneak in and mingle with the Unis. Gotta take some snaps for proof!"

       "You... do realize that'll break the whole charade we got goin' on here?" Bryan asked, puzzled. He certainly had a point.

        We moved inside Central Park, until we hit the Glen Span Arch. I bopped up and down in one spot to try and warm myself while Bryan waited for me. I was going to get a 'phone call' (Jake) before we went to the bonfire. I already knew where it was going to be. Ten minutes were spent listening to the stream that trickled past us, with Bryan turning more and more impatient by the second. I couldn't find Jake anywhere; he was running late.

        "What are we waiting for, again?" My friend whispered, his hands at his sides.

        "Gotta wait for James to give me the location." I made up on the spot, as good an excuse as any. Bryan didn''t really buy it.

        "What happens if he doesn't call? What if he's pulling our string, man?" Thankfully, I didn't have to answer that question, because Jake appeared in the distance. I fumbled for my phone in my pocket, and held it to my ear just as my boyfriend closed the gap between us. He was extremely visible in the dark, I noticed little things about him that I hadn't seen before, something familiar...

        ~ I'm so sorry I kept you waiting. ~ He said, leaning in closer with every word. ~Got held back by the rest of them.~

        "It's OK, we're here now." I replied, trying to make my phone voice seem genuine for Bryan. "Gonna start heading to the bonfire with some of the Unis, you wanna hang out?" It turned colder the closer Jake got to me, until my teeth chattered. He noticed and smirked,

        ~ Might be a bit busy myself, but I'll try and pop over when I have the chance. ~ He whispered. Jake leaned in to kiss me, instantly turning my lips numb while Bryan was distracted.

        "F-Fireworks, got it." I struggled to make the words with my mouth, and Jake knew it. ""We still up for watching some movies after this?"

         ~ Wouldn't dream of missing it! Have fun! ~

         I 'hung up' the phone. Bryan waited impatiently for my answer, both of us needed to be in front of a warm fire.

         "We got a place." I said, but Bryan grabbed me by the arm and pulled me under the arch, no longer content with just standing around.

         "Which way?" He asked, I answered by pointing in the vague direction we needed to go, and he dragged me with him. I looked back at Jake and winked. The night was really going to begin once I saw him again.

*

         The Unis kept their campfire very well hidden. They decided to set up in a small space, surrounded by so many trees that it was difficult to even make out the naked flames. A few of them crouched over the fire, feeding more wood as James Hanson oversaw everything. It was immediately obvious that we were going to be the youngest people there. I semi-regretted my decision immediately.

        "Peter! You made it!" James called out. "Surprised you actually showed up!"

        "Full of surprises." That was seriously the response that came out of my mouth. "This here's Bryan. You're gonna hear a lot of his name in the next few years; guy's gonna be a household name in the NFL." I felt a dig in my ribs, looked like I overhyped my ol' pal just a little too much.

        "Well guys, grab a can and take a seat, we got the fire set up, setting up the fireworks now. It's gonna be sick!" He was already tipsy, I could smell the drink off his breath. More and more, the fantasy of dating the guy began to slip away. I just wasn't excited to be there anymore, no matter how many smiles he threw my way. He reached into a box, and threw us two lukewarm cans. I was surprised that I caught it at all, considering how clumsy I was. Bryan loosened up a little bit when we slotted ourselves onto a giant log, a makeshift couch for the evening. I looked at the can suspiciously, the first time I ever held something alcoholic in my hands, suddenly afraid. Well, maybe afraid wasn't the right word, but I definitely hadn't done this before. My friend had no problem opening a can and chugged it back, much to my surprise.

        "..." (I was speechless)

        "What? You think this is my first time doin' this?" He asked, all nice and smug. I opened my own can, not knowing what it was going to taste like... until I actually tasted it. It was painful how bad it was, I had to resist the urge to spit it back out.

        "Dude, the trick is to just chug it down, don't let it sit on the buds."

        "Wish you coulda told me that a minute ago." I protested, but Bryan just wrapped his arm around me.

        "You'll get there in the end, my man! You'll be a pro yet!"

        I tried his method of drinking - which was a little more tolerable, but not my much - and we sat together as the rest of the Unis grabbed some fireworks and began slotting them into place. Almost every single one of them was drunk, dressed in a vague approximation of Halloween costumes. The cheap beer left a bitter aftertaste in my mouth, so I pretended to chug it back - while actually drinking as little as humanly possible - as Bryan went to town. I never realized that he'd done this before, but I guess I should had expected it; he was part of the upper hierarchy of the cool kids, after all. A few of James's friends were obviously impressed by what he was doing, asking him about his promising sports background. I was suddenly alone, even when I was surrounded by dozens of people. I wanted to leave.

       "So, you enjoying yourself?" Mr. Hanson popped down next to me, now that his work was done. I really wasn't enjoying myself at all.

       "Yeah, definitely."

       "Like what we've done with the place? Got a few on the patrol, so we had to sneak in from the south side. A bit suspicious to see a few folk carrying a dozen black bags on their backs."

       "Can I pretend to be impressed?"

       "Ohhh, looks like the drink is already workin' its magic!" James called out, and he was probably right. Even with the little drink I had, I still felt a tiny bit tingly, and the world began to tilt slightly.

       "I drank before." I protested, but James scoffed at the notion.

       "Please, your reaction was priceless whenever you took a swig! There must had been another reason why you wanted to show up."

       "I... I wanted to hang out with you." It was true, but was it still true? I didn't even know anymore. Bryan was slouched off against a log, surrounded by some of the Unis he drank with. Wait, how long were we here? It felt like minutes.

       What was in that drink?

       I felt James' hand around me as he pulled me closer. His smile on full display. If it was a few months ago, it would had been exactly what I wanted. Not now.

       "Well, we're hanging out, aren't we?" He asked, but it felt so long since I spoke that I didn't know whether he was responding to me or if he started a new conversation. His hand snaked underneath my jumper.

       No.

       His face was suddenly pressed against mine, touching my lips. They tasted like the same cheap beer we've had all night, but they were blissfully warm. For just the briefest of seconds, I forgot about everything; art museums and school, Naomi and Bryan, what happened last year. For that split-second, everything felt...right.

      Then I remembered Jake, and suddenly it felt so, so wrong.

       I snapped back, putting as much space between me and the creep as possible. There must had been something in the drink, it must had been the plan all along. James looked downright offended, but I didn't pay attention to him - It was the outline of a ghost that caught my eye, already walking away: Jake.

       He saw me. Oh crap!

       Just like that, an explosion rocked my ears. It was a misfired rocket, caught in a tree mid-flight, and it had already begun to catch fire. In my drunken state, it looked like the stuff of nightmares.

       "Shit, run!" James shouted, just as he grabbed as many cans as possible. Everybody scattered, but one girl knocked me over and sent me to the ground. I tasted dirt, not particularly nice mixed with alcohol. From the side, I saw the fire as it spread across neighboring branches, growing larger and larger by the second. Getting up was a struggle - my feet fell from underneath me - but my only thought there and then was Bryan. My hands finally found him, and I tried my best to hoist him to his feet. He was barely responsive.

       "C'mon man, get up!" I pleaded, unable to carry his dead weight. Eventually he made some sort of effort, but not before he noticed the flames. He yelled, but I dragged him away from it, getting as far away from the place as possible. We couldn't go home - they'd know straight away that we were drinking - but we couldn't exactly stay where we were. Bryan tripped over a branch, so that meant that I was taken down with him. There were sirens in the background - I couldn't tell where they came from - but the only thing I thought about was Jake. I had to explain everything to him, he'd understand!

       "Stay where you are!" A voice came from behind us, loud and aggressive. We froze in place, suddenly surrounded by what I presumed were cops. They separated the both of us, our hands tied by handcuffs. A woman leaned down and looked into my eyes. She wasn't happy with what she saw, because she swore under her breath. We were dragged away, right as the sirens grew louder and fire burned brighter.

       We were going to be in so much trouble.

 

 

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14: Chapter Thirteen - Leslie Aniston (First Round Edit)

-Jake- 
-November 27th-  

          I was never a fan of living in a train station - the walls were the same, and the trains came and went like clockwork, just like they always had. The carriage rumbled every single time, shaking the dust off of the seats and into the air. I lounged at the corner, content with wasting the days and the nights away. There wasn't much else I wanted to do. We spent an entire month looking for Cynthia, and she was nowhere to be seen. Needless to say, I gave the Noel the silent treatment, no matter how hard he tried to get through to me. He gave up in the end, and went back home to see if she mysteriously ended up there. I never wanted to talk to him again, and even though he was loathe to admit it, neither did Bart.  

         He watched me as I moved my feet, my ghostly shoelaces permanently untied. When I was younger, I wondered why we woke up in specific types of clothes, but I didn't care about any of that now. None of it mattered, not a single bit of it.  

         "It's been a month." Bart noted. I knew he was talking about Peter, and not the search for Cynthia.  

         "We'll keep looking." I said, regardless. He didn't really appreciate that.  

         "Keep dodging the question, why don'cha? You know what I meant."

         "I know what I saw." I didn't want to be reminded about it anymore. I was sure that the guy was having a grand old time with the living boy who could physically hold him in his solid, real-life arms. Who knew what they were up to now.  

         "I'm sick of being told about what you saw, Jake. All I'm sayin' is that you need to talk this out, get some closure at the very least."

         "I'm just gonna stick to Sunshine, thank you." I quipped. "At least I know he'll be there."

         "What about all that crap about being drawn to somethin'? Is that all thrown out the window now?"

         "You were right, none of that actually mattered. I was just in over my head."

         "You're the worst sometimes, you know that right?"

         "High praise, thanks." I responded, just as yet another train rumbled past our disused tracks, adding a pause to our conversation. It thundered right through, causing the metal poles in the carriage to shake. It was really starting to get on my nerves.  

         "Unbelievable."

         "Why don't you just get outta here and leave a ghost alone?" I asked, annoyed. "Grab Hugo and Linnea and start looking towards the East of the city. Wasn't that your plan the other day?"

         "All hands on deck. We need you for this." He answered, insistent. "If anybody's gonna find her, it's you. You're her favorite." It didn't really matter who her favorite was, because she was gone. She disappeared in that bastard's arms; we didn't exactly do that on a regular basis. We asked every single ghoul we knew - and didn't - if they'd seen anything like that before. Not a single one of them had. I had to admit, I missed her. I missed listening to her voice and being dragged from place to place by her tiny hand. The thought thawed my mood, but not my much.  

         "I'll head out later." It was enough to sate Bart for the moment, but I knew that wouldn't last forever. I closed my eyes and thought about... a lot. From waking up on my first day, running into the boy in front of me, looking for new ghosts together. That entire time, I was searching for something. I crawled through every single alley and street looking for the damn thing. I really felt like I found it with Peter. Turns out I was wrong.  

         I couldn't tell how much time had passed - and I didn't care - but once I opened my eyes again, I was by myself. I was cold to him for the last few weeks, it wasn't really fair. Sighing, I stood up and stretched my legs, making good on his advice. I had plenty of time to brood and mope in that goddamn carriage. The tracks were just as dark and cold as ever, the bare light in the distance came from the station I knew so well. Sure enough, Sunshine stood by one of the columns, thankfully a lot better than the last time I'd seen him. Those headphones were glued to his ear as always, though I couldn't hear the tune. Probably something peppy and positive, knowing the guy.  

         "Hi." I said, knowing full well that he couldn't hear me. He hummed something under his breath - the song he listened to, perhaps - but I couldn't make the melody out. "At least you're one of the good'uns, huh? Can't see you messing somebody up." I didn't even know what I was saying, but I just felt so... bitter about the whole thing that I couldn't help but let it seep into my voice. Sunshine moved his head in time with the song, checking his phone from time to time. Like always, I regretted not being able to hold one of my own.  

         "Am I blowing this way out of proportion?" The old man was gonna be the closest I will ever get to a therapist. "Maybe there's a rational explanation... but no, there isn't. He kissed him. I saw it. They were right there!" I even went as far as throwing my hands into vague gesturing shapes as I ranted, but it was no use. None of it did a shred of good. I slouched on the floor alongside him, watching as more people arrived at the stop. It meant that the train was due any second now. "I... I don't know what to do. I thought he was my compass, Sunshine. Now that he's gone... maybe my compass is busted up and needs fixing. Maybe I'm broken."  

         He didn't offer words of wisdom, but he didn't have to. I felt a little better for talking at him, for ironing out some thoughts now that I heard them out loud. His train arrived, and he shuffled towards the nearest set of doors along with the rest of them. I was sad to see him go.

        "Seeyeah." I whispered, but I stayed right where I was, my head resting on my knees. The breeze from the entrance came down, but I had no qualms with it. Christmas was coming right at us, and so was the cold front from the West. New York was due to be covered in a thick sheet of snow. The living really loved that.  

         I bet Peter loved it.  

         "Jake!" Bart spotted me in an instant, alongside Hugo and a boy I never met. He told both of them to head to the carriage as he squatted beside me, refusing to budge.  

         "Sunshine said hello." I said, but he wasn't in the mood. He pinched the bridge of his nose and looked right at me.  

         "Can I be honest?"

         "Sure." I'd never heard that before, or what he said next:

         "No offense Jake, but this is starting to get just a lil' bit pathetic."

         "H-Hey!" I retorted, but he wasn't done. He peered into my eyes, making sure I knew that what he said was important.  

         "You sit around all day and talk about this boy like he committed the biggest sin on the planet, and meanwhile you're wasting your time while the rest of us are trying to search for a missing girl, something you don't seem to care about anymore, from the looks of things."

         "That's not true!"

         "Really? You haven't looked for her in almost a week, what do you think she'd say to that? You needed to grow up and get out there, because we needed you!" There was genuine venom in Bart's voice now, something I'd never heard before. "I'm sick of coming down here and trying to get you up and get you out and be productive, and I'm done trying. So, you can go to his house and talk about all the crap that you need to talk about, and then you can stay here and do whatever the damn hell you want until we find her. Capiche?"

         "Wait just a second, hypocrite! What about all the times you just hung around here and did nothing with yourself? You can't pull this card on me!"  

         "There wasn't a missing girl back then, Jake." I was backed into a corner, and he knew it. I stood up and gritted my invisible, ghostly teeth as I tried to stop what I wanted to say.  

         "Fine, I'll go talk to him."

         "Do whatever the hell you want, see you back at the carriage." He said, and left me alone at the station.  

*

         I didn't immediately go to Peter's house. I didn't know what to say, and the right words had to be found before I phased through his door. He might not even be there if I visited him, maybe he was trying to find me for the past month, and gave up trying. Honestly, I didn't want to see him, but I couldn't lie to save my life and Bart was pissed off enough as it was. I just hung about Malcolm X Boulevard as the snow began to set in; it always surprised me when the living dropped what they did because of the stuff, like it didn't snow every single year. A few little girls ran to their parents and tugged at their pants, proudly stating the obvious. Even they didn't make me feel better, which meant that nothing else would. The tree branches were completely bare, stripped of their leaves, another clear sign of winter.  

         It certainly felt like winter - cold and dead.  

         Eventually, I gathered enough courage to actually move, so that's what I did. It wasn't far to his house, but I didn't want to show up at his door just yet. Instead, I circled a few blocks while I pictured what the conversation could look like - he was probably going to ask where I went, and I didn't want to confront him about what happened immediately. I softened a tiny bit, and honestly I got a little softer with every step I took.  

         I overreacted. Maybe it was the fresh air, or that Bart's words finally got through to me, but the anger soon turned to regret. I should had spoken to him a lot sooner. I stopped procrastinating and turned around, finally heading to 112th St. It was an entirely-familiar sidewalk by now, albeit with some Christmas decorations already up. It was only a month, yet I missed walking to school with the guy.  

         I was an idiot.

         His house stood just where it always had, the familiar door the only thing that stood between me and him. It didn't offer much of a challenge when I phased through it. The first thing I spotted was his Dad - he corrected some notes on the kitchen table, the only light came from a lamp that rested beside him. He looked tired - he mustn't had slept in a while - but I left him to it and walked up the stairs. It felt wrong, breaking and entering like that without his permission. Unfortunately, I couldn't exactly call him and give him notice.  

         His door laid just ahead of me, but I froze in place. Even though I knew I could just walk right through, I reached out for the doorknob, trying to place my palm around it. Just as I expected, my stupid hand went right through it, slightly uncomfortable. I counted to three - promised that I would leave him be if he didn't want to talk - and moved right through; Peter was in bed, but his eyes were open. He looked pale, even with the orange glow that came from the street light. A stray breeze came from his window, which made his polaroids move. He noticed me straight away.  

        "Jake."

        "That's me." I whispered. I didn't really know what to say, my mentally-prepared speech evaporated. We didn't really talk for the first few minutes, although we never dropped eye contact.  

        "You came back." He crocked, like he hadn't spoken in a while. He sat up and rubbed his eyes, a hair a disheveled mess.  

        "I wasn't exactly going to disappear forever."

        "It felt like it."

        "You have a point."

        "I can explain." He said, and his voice broke again. "I know you saw me with - "

        "Yeah, I did." There was no point in dodging it, was there?

        "He put something in that beer, Jake. It knocked Bryan out, I broke away as soon as he kissed me!"

        "You don't have to lie like that." I didn't want him to fabricate a sob story for me. "You can tell me if you like him. He's a real-life person you can actually spend time with."

        "My favorite - absolute favorite - thing to do was spending time with you, getting to know you. I would never throw that away for a creep who drugged me!" I didn't know what to say, expect that there was no way he could have made that up. His grabbed the light by his bedside counter, so he could get a better look at me. It was then that I realized the tear streaks that scrolled down his cheeks - he was crying.  

        "Peter - "

        "I'm sorry, I'm so so sorry. I was way in over my head and went somewhere I had no place in going to. I'm just a kid, I shouldn't had tried to hang with the Unis. Look where it got me."

        "Wait." I said, and sat next to him. "This is my fault. Cynthia screamed when that firework went off, so I couldn't go back and talk to you. I should have realized - "

        "Wait, the little girl?" Peter asked, "What happened to her?"

        "She... disappeared, right in front of our eyes. We're still looking for her."

        "Crap."

        "Look, let me worry about that. Bart got me to come here and say sorry, and honestly, I should had come here weeks ago! I left you alone to deal with all of that!"

        "Don't worry 'bout me. I'm effectively grounded for life. Lucky that I was let go, to be honest." He explained, wiping his cheeks dry. "It's just... please don't leave me for that long again? I missed talking to you." I believed him, every single word.  

        "I won't." I assured him, but it didn't seem to be enough. Peter smiled weakly, but I knew that it was going take some time before things could be repaired. He reached for my arm, knowing exactly when to stop so he wouldn't brush through it. I hadn't felt that burning sensation for weeks, and I hadn't realized how much I missed it until I experienced it again. We sat there for a long time as the hours wasted away. I asked if he wanted to sleep, but he didn't seem to mind - it was a weekend, so he didn't have to get ready for school.  

        "Bryan... had an accident." He admitted, completely separate from what we spoke about. Turned out I wasn't the only thing on his mind.  

        "Oh? Is he OK?"

        "No."

        "Oh."

        "He had a football game 'bout a week ago. He got tackled to the ground. Freak accident..." He trailed off after that, like he was trying to find the right words. "Got his legs swept from underneath him. They say he's never gonna play again..."

        "I..." I didn't know what to say.  

        "He planned on that scholarship his entire life, and now it's impossible. Naomi won't talk to me, and I can't leave this house. There's just been a lot in the last few weeks, and I didn't know how I was gonna deal with it..."  

        "I didn't help." I whispered. I knew what he wanted to say, but he chose nicer words instead.  

        "Not your fault."  

        More silence, just as uncomfortable as the first. I took a look at his room while he napped - he was still one of the living, and they needed their rest - so every now and again I watched over him, making sure he was OK. The breeze got a lot stronger, almost completely parting his curtains. I thought he had left the window open, but there was a small hole from where the wooden frame had rotted away. His polaroids threatened to fall from where they were stuck to the wall, dozens of pictures I had practically memorized by now.  

        All except for one - completely hidden behind another polaroid, swept aside by the breeze. Peter's eyes fluttered, visibly annoyed.  

       "That damn window." He groaned, but I didn't listen. I started to get a better look at the now-unhidden picture, at the two boys who smiled inside it. It was definitely Peter, but the other...  

       "What are you..." He began, until he saw the picture I focused on. "I forgot about that!"  

       I recognized the boy beside him.  

       That boy was me.  

       As soon as I realized, I was hit with everything at once - every single memory, every single feeling I had ever felt, all the good times and the bad times. I remembered when every single photo was taken, standing there as he took each shot. I remembered kissing him and told him that I loved him, when I tried to get him interested in art exhibitions (and he went along with it for my sake rather than the art) and the times he stayed over at my house. I also remembered the walls I put up between Peter and I in my final days, and I remembered my real name: Leslie Aniston. Everything assaulted me, all at once. It was too much to take!

       "Jake?" Peter asked, but the name was worthless now, it didn't belong to me. It never belonged to me.  

       "Oh no..." I muttered, but even that took so much effort to spit out. I sank to my knees, almost phasing through the first-storey floor itself.  

       "Jake, please! You're scaring me!"

       "Train station!" I told him, and I just couldn't stay for even a second longer, hoping that he understood what I meant. I disappeared through the floor and ended up in the living room, but that only provided me with fresh memories from when I was alive - his Dad was the nicest man I had ever met, his handshake was tight but not overly so. I was so nervous when I met him for the first time, a few years ago. I was the first person Peter brought back to his parents, and I remembered feeling proud of myself from being the lucky guy.  

       Then I ended everything. I did that to my family and everyone I knew and loved. I did that to Peter.  

       I burst through the door and dashed to the station, and I wasn't going to leave any solid object stand between me and that fucking train carriage. I phased through everything directly in front of me, and I didn't care how much it hurt or how it bothered me.  

       Just like that, all the memories stopped, like I had processed everything that could had been processed... and I felt a warm glow from deep inside of me. I stopped in my tracks, oddly... relieved. They no longer attacked me; they were a part of me. That compass, that driving force that tugged me along this whole time, it was all for this exact moment. I knew why I was a ghost now.  

       Then I grew tired.  

       My eyes were heavy, my hands and legs felt like gravel. I wanted nothing more than to crawl back to the carriage and fall asleep. I remembered doing that when I was alive, and it was the most blissful feeling. I kept moving - because I knew that this was what Cynthia faced - but every part of my body screamed at me to rest. I couldn't, not just yet. There was still a lot that I had to do, to tell everybody so they knew why they were there, but it suddenly became so difficult. I was entirely thankful to find the station entrance, but Bart was already there, fighting frantically with Hugo.

       "What do you mean?" Bart yelled, but Hugo held his hands up in apology and muttered something I couldn't catch. It didn't matter in the end, because Bart cut through him and confronted me. For the first time ever, he looked frightened.  

       "Have you seen Linnea?" He asked, but it was said with the utmost urgency in his voice.  

       "Bart, I need to - "

       "Have you seen her?"

       "No, I haven't!" I yelled, too exhausted and fatigued to deal with him. "Why?"

       "She disappeared, man." Hugo cut in, his hands shaking. "Just like that boyfriend of hers. They went to the Empire State and they just... vanished!"

       I sighed, but did my utmost best not to shut my eyes. If I did, I was as good as gone.  

       "I know why." I said, and then I told them.  

 

15: Chapter Fourteen - Bryan's injury, Naomi's apology & Jake's Revelation (First Round Draft)

-Peter- 
-November 21st-  

          Much like every morning, the curtains were the first thing I saw when I opened my eyes. They still weren't very good at blocking out the light, but that didn't matter to me. Not much did over the past few weeks. Just like every morning, I traced over every single faux-star on them, the same sort of mental exercise to wake me up, one that stopped working a long time ago. The hole around the window pane grew even larger, so my room was pretty blustery now. They moved every now and again.  

          "Peter. Get up." My Dad didn't offer me any sort of leeway nowadays, knocking on the door twice each morning. I blinked twice and sat up against the wall, trying my best to find what clothes to wear. Today was the big game with the Park East Falcons - Bryan's big standout moment. It was his moment to shine on the football field, and the highlight of what had been a miserable month for us.  

          "Now."  

          "I'm up!" I croaked, feeding my feet into my socks. I had nothing to use against him; we were lucky we were let off as lightly as we had. Bryan and I were immediately rushed to hospital. Turned out James Hanson and the Unis preferred the kind of drink with a bit more ooomph to it, the dodgy kind imported abroad. That was all well and good, but they knew what they were getting into - we didn't. Bryan had to get his stomach pumped. It took me an entire day just to recover.  

          Dad was livid.  

          I was grounded until college at the earliest, and any conversations with James Hanson was strictly forbidden. My phone was taken from me, and only offered on weekends. I had to ask for his explicit permission to go anywhere, and any attempt at a conversation - anything to diffuse the situation - was met with silence. I guessed I was pretty used to that by now, because Naomi cut me out completely.  

          She cut everybody out.  

          The morning ritual was the same - Dad reached his hand out, and I handed my phone and tablets over until I came back. It took a lot of pleading and begging to have them back in any sort of capacity, considering that he was called to the hospital at 3am while I suffered from suspected alcohol poisoning. It didn't help that the fire sealed off a chunk of the park. It flashed all over the news, after all.  

         "Back by five, and not a second later." He warned. Considering he had said phone of mine, I didn't have a lot of leverage. I just hung my head and went to fetch some breakfast. There was nothing on TV worth watching, so I just wolfed down the food and headed outside. The only solace I had was with Bryan and even then, I had to be home the second school was finished. His own family had him on a tighter leash than I had. We talked about Naomi sometimes, but she looked the other way before we even had a chance to speak to her. He trained for his game after school, longing for the day he can head out of state with his scholarship and financial freedom. I had neither of those things.  

         Jake was gone, too. That was probably the worst part, because I couldn't find him no matter how hard I looked. I spent classes zoned out, not absorbing any information whatsoever. I missed talking to him so much. Even Bryan didn't offer any sort of respite, because while I liked talking to him in the middle of this big dark cloud, he wasn't the one I wanted to talk to the most. Everybody knew that we were involved in the Central Park fiasco, but Bryan got most of the glory. I got the glares and stares from the people that didn't matter, and I didn't get them from the people that mattered most.  

         Birch Cafe became our temporary hub - we sat down for a few minutes to drink our coffee before making our way to school. It didn't offer much respite, but it was better than nothing. Bryan was early, he sat at our usual table as I walked in. He looked pretty grim. I didn't blame him.  

         "Same as usual?" I asked. He nodded, it was most definitely the same as usual; at least I had some semblance of entertainment, his folks took virtually everything with a screen off of him. We seriously debated writing to each other through letters, at the rate things went. Melissa was her usual chirpy self, swinging from coffee machine to customers while two other part-timers struggled. Bryan sighed. He lost all interest in her once he found out she was smitten with somebody else. What a difference a few months makes.

         "I'm not even excited for the game, man." He started, the last thing I'd ever expect him to say. "I just want it over and done with. This whole thing shoulda blown over by now."  

         "Yeah..." I didn't have much to offer in terms of conversation. We both waltzed up to the counter and rang in our usual orders, and Melissa was right on it. The drinks were in our hands, warm and welcome. They were about the highlight of my day recently. It rained pretty heavily when we went outside, the kind that seeped through your clothes and into your skin. They definitely seeped through my shoes. My socks were gonna be damp in no time! It pretty much summed up my entire mood.  

         "You're gonna do great." I encouraged; with every bit of enthusiasm I had left in me. "Gotta remind Tristian who the real star player of the school is."  
 

         "You bet." He didn't take the bait, so we just stayed silent for the rest of the walk.   

         School was the same as it had been all year - somebody had the nerve to stick a tree up in the hall, even though we weren't in December. It didn't have any decorations on it, which probably meant that someone else shared the same sentiment as I had and took them. It wouldn't had been the first time I saw that. Much like every day since that incident, we were the subject of stares. Ethan still asked about it, what it was like to set the place on fire. He meant well, but I really didn't want to talk to him anymore.   

         "Catch you at recess." I told him, and Bryan just nodded - an unspoken agreement. We split up to our respective classes, and I fell into autopilot and watched the day melt by. The usual topics and subjects came up - I was so far behind in my studies that there wasn't any real hope (or point) in starting now, but I jotted down the same notes and scribbled the same doodles. Was there any real point in college? I still didn't know what courses to apply for, and even if I did, I wasn't talented or smart enough to get them. Teaching was about the closest thing I had to a concrete decision - back when Dad and I were on good terms, really - but just looking at some of my teachers made me backtrack just a little bit.   

         I felt a chill as it crossed my back, and for a split second I actually thought Jake stood behind me. I almost fell off of my chair trying to search for him, scraping the floor as everybody else stopped what they were doing to look at me. It was just a draught from an open window. I looked like an idiot.   

         "We doing OK there, Peter?" Mr. Jefferson asked, the tone of voice of a man who didn't actually care about my wellbeing. I sat back down and told him it was nothing - that was the problem, it was nothing. That didn't stop the stares from some of my mates, but I just ignored them.   

         I wished that the trip to next period was smooth sailing, but because Reynold Adams existed, it didn't. We crossed paths, heading to the same place. He almost tripped over me. I almost wished he had.   

         "Peter, just the guy I was looking for!" He called out, but I walked past him and placed him at the back of my mind. It was much easier said than done, considering that we shared the same classroom. Once I took my seat, I was stunned to find him shuffling next to me, the first time he sat down with me all year - or ever.   

         "I'm not in the mood for you right now." I growled, but he didn't seem to mind. He just opened up on of his books and started reading. I wanted to press him on the subject, but instead I scraped my chair as I found another seat - any seat - so long as it was away from him. Naomi walked into class, and proceeded to ignore me just as much as she ignored Reynold. It suddenly dawned on me just where I ended up on her list, to be as low as that rat...   

          I stopped thinking about it, and let the class melt away.   

          I never thought that I'd personally be thankful for sports, but I was glad that the game was about to happen. The Falcons - with Bryan at the helm - were gearing up, ready for the match at hand. They were up against Hornell, one of the most dominant teams in the past decade (Bryan's words). He talked about their ridiculous rate of bringing top-tier athletes in, and that he - without a shred of vanity - was the first kind of quarterback to rival them. That was a happier memory, camping out of state for a few days. We laid on our backs in the grass just outside our tent, watching the stars in the sky, unpolluted by public lighting. He noticed that, saying how much he wanted to be one of those shining stars, the ones that people spoke about.   

         I promised him that he would. Even after all that happened, I still believed in him.   

         It was such an important game, classes before and after recess were removed, giving us a decent chunk of time to sit out on the benches and watch my best friend achieve his dream. The sun shined brightly, but did little to fight the cold. I saw my breath when I walked outside. I didn't like the cold now, because it reminded me of him.   

         He could be right here, watching the game, and I'd be none the wiser. I tried to stop thinking about Jake... it didn't work.   

         "Peter, got a sec?" It was Rey. The guy was being annoyingly persistent.   

         "Look, I dunno what you want, but I just want to be left alone, right?" I replied. It didn't bother him one bit. He once again sat next to me, and with the crowd I had no real choice in the matter.   

          "But you didn't hear what I have to say?"  

          "Not interested, Rey."  

          "So, I heard that you and Naomi aren't that close anymore, huh?" It wasn't exactly a secret.   

          "What about it?"  

          "Well, if you're looking for a little payback..."  

          "Which I'm not."  

          "Not even a little?"  

          "I'm not like you."  

          "But I need someone to help me out with my campaign! Sound a little familiar?" He mocked, putting on his best approximation of her voice. That was a surprise.   

          "What, you're listening in on our conversations, now?"   

          "I'm just saying, she treated you like an expendable, and threw ya' away when you weren't useful." The crowd cheered as the Falcons made their way out to the field, but I wasn't paying attention. "I won the committee seat fair and square, and if you want to help me arrange the prom..."  

          "I knew it! You don't have a clue, do you?" I challenged. "You were just in it to beat her, now you're stuck without a way of actually setting this kinda thing up. Now you're asking me?"   

          "Not true!" He answered, but I didn't give him a chance to speak.   

          "Yeah, Naomi and I are going through a rough patch, but she's a thousand times more of a friend than you will ever be! I can't wait to see what our prom is gonna look like, now that you're the one running the show. Now if you'll excuse me, I gotta game to watch!"

          The crowd booed at that precise moment, partly because the players from Hornell made their way out, buried inside their uniforms. They looked taller than our home team, somehow a bit more intimidating. I spotted Bryan - it was hard not to, considering he was the tallest one of the lot - and I saw enough of his training to spot his little exercises to help him focus. The game got underway once the relevant introductions were made, and Bryan dashed like a bolt of lightning. He got the ball before too long, seamlessly passing it from teammate to teammate as Hornell were right on his tails. Even that early into the game, it was clear that they were working hard for it - they nipped at my friend's heels, easily keeping pace with him. It forced Bryan to think on his feet, but he rose to the challenge. Two teammates behind him, he passed to the left, and immediately began to fall back, ready to receive it again. His friend fell, but not before the ball was already in the air, right back into Bryan's hands. With nobody left to stop him, he scored, much to the delight of the home crowd. Reynold stayed silent, but I blocked him out of my mind and focused squarely on Bryan's crowning moment.   

          Just like that, everything changed.   

          Hornell's squad were much quicker once they had possession, effortlessly swatting aside most of the Falcons as they looked to immediately level the score. Bryan tried his best, but there was only one of him. They moved in a group of four, roughly a square formation. They passed from person to person, almost a direct taunt to our star player. They evened things up in less than a minute. I gulped pretty hard. We were in pretty big trouble.   

          "I don't understand how she has you around her finger." Rey continued to whine. "I know how it feels, man. I mean after what happened to your - " He didn't have time to finish that sentence, because I grabbed his arm and stared into his eyes, all pretense of a friendly conversation dropped.   

          "No offense Rey, but if you even whisper his name, I will tear your arm off and slap you across the face with it." A dubious claim, but one I would had tried my best to deliver. He must had seen the rage in my eyes, because he shook his head in genuine, absolute fear.   

         "Alright alright, got it!" I let go, and Reynold Adams had enough. He shuffled out of the crowd, finally giving me some much-needed peace. A few of my classmates gave me disapproving glares, others cheered me on. I just focused back on the game - Bryan darted forward with the ball, but was intercepted at the last possible moment. With nobody behind to provide support, he was simply outgunned. Hornell scored seconds later. It really wasn't looking good!   

         Another chill, I looked around as soon as I felt it, my heart jumping. I could had sworn I felt Jake beside me, but he was nowhere to be found in the crowd. I had to forget about him, he just simply wasn't interested in seeing me again after what had happened.   

         Bryan grabbed the ball yet again, seemingly abandoning his game plan to go it alone. He was acting reckless, brushing past his opponents, the goal in sight.   

         One of them - an absolute monster in the way he charged - tackled him to the ground... and Bryan didn't get back up again.   

         The whistle sounded by the referee, an immediate time-out. I watched in horror as he was surrounded by the couch and paramedics. He stirred, but they were vague movements with his arms. They checked his legs...  

         Bryan!  I tore through the crowd - spilling a girl's drink in the process, but I didn't care - and took to the field, crossing the distance as quickly as my weak little lungs would allow me. His coach tried to grab me, but I moved past him, fueled only by adrenaline at that point. I crouched next to him for the few seconds I had before I was escorted from the field - Bryan sucked in deep, ragged breaths, clearly in pain.   

         "I... can't feel... my legs..." He stuttered, and that was all I heard before a pair of arms grabbed me, clearly not happy with a random classmate taking to the field. A stretcher was prepared for him as I was led away. It clearly didn't look good.  

*  

-November 27th-  

          I walked through the hospital ward, the same as I had all week. Dad followed closely behind - he claimed that he wanted to check up on him and his parents, but I knew it was really because of my permanent curfew, didn't want his son going off and causing havoc again. Eventually he faded to the background, it didn't even matter anymore. What mattered was Bryan.   

          The injury was severe; he took such a sharp tackle from his counterpart on the field that his spine was almost completely severed. It was the kind of cervical spine injury that retired people. There were doubts that he could walk again, let alone compete. Everything that happened in the last few months seemed so trivial now. We found him in the same room as always - it was small and cramped, though the window offered a pretty good view of the city. It didn't do much to lift his spirits. Not much did. We found him awake and upright, watching TV on a cheap monitor positioned high on the wall, running the kind of repeat daytime TV that numbed a person's brain. Dad left the room - he had my friend's parents to talk to - and I was grateful for the space once he shut the door, leaving the both of us alone.   

         "So... any updates?" Bryan didn't like me dressing up the conversation for his sake, didn't really want to talk at all for the past week. I lounged in my usual seat in the corner, grabbing some chocolate from my bag. He accepted it graciously enough. We didn't talk much for the first few minutes, we just nibbled on our food and tried to enjoy the terrible TV. It didn't work.   

         "Well, there's good news and bad news." He eventually muttered, shutting the TV off altogether. "Good news is that there's a seventy-five percent chance I can walk again, after some pretty heavy surgery and a walking cane." He didn't need to mention the bad news, but he said it anyway. “Other side of that coin is simple; I can forget about that scholarship."   

          "I'm..." I said sorry so much during the past seven days that it genuinely annoyed him. It was still a force of habit, though. "I'm sure you're gonna recover, isn't that what we see all the time, these people who overcome the odds? You're - "  

          "I appreciate it." He cut in. "I have to be realistic, though. Spent so much time focused on this that I didn't have any sort of Plan B lined up. There's just... a lot to process."  

          "We'll figure it out." I tried to say literally anything other than the words I'm sorry, but it didn't really matter what sort of words I used. None of them were going to reverse the damage that had been done. We ate more chocolate while I droned on about putting Reynold Adams in his place. Bryan scoffed at that, wondering what sort of prom it was going to be, considering he didn't have a clue on what he was doing. He would eventually rope in somebody to put the pieces together, and he hadn't really realized what other responsibilities the committee demanded - he missed his first meeting, didn't think he needed to go to them. It said a lot about him.   

          Somebody knocked on the door, so I stood up and opened it - it was Naomi.   

          I hadn't seen her properly in weeks, she looked... different. I couldn't put my finger on it, but there were definitely dark bags under her eyes, her hair unkempt by Naomi standards. She held a pack of flowers in her hand, a not-inconsiderable size.    

          "I'm... I'm here to see Bryan." She whispered; her head hung low. I opened the door wider to allow her inside. I sat on the bed next to Bryan while she took my seat. It was the first time all three of us had been together in quite some time. I offered her some chocolate, but she refused.  

          "It's... it's great to see ya’." Bryan commented, but she didn't immediately answer, trying to find the words to say.   

          "I'm... I'm so sorry for what happened." She said, arranging the flowers so they stood on his desk. "You have no idea."   

          "It's alright, just gotta focus on getting better." He told her. I noticed the slight wall he put up for her.   

          "Not just that, and honestly it's not just 'bout you, Bryan. I honestly needed to talk to the both of you for the longest time... just not like this."  

          "It's OK." I answered, but she really wasn't having any of it.   

          "No, it's not. I need to talk to you about how I've acted since the stupid committee, and even before that. I buried myself in it all, and when I lost it just got a little too much for me. It still is, to be honest."   

          "Water under the bridge." Bryan replied with a smile.   

          "Is it? I took it personally when Peter disappeared for the past year, and I just went ahead and did the exact same thing. I blocked you out, and - "  

          "Naomi." I answered, clasping her hands in my own. "I'm just glad that we have you back, is all."  

          "We got you." Bryan added. She didn't know how to take that.   

          "You guys... thanks so much!"  

*  

          I couldn't sleep, but that wasn't exactly news at that point. Instead, I slouched on my bed, gazing at the pictures I had taken during happier times. A slight breeze still broke through my window sill, so I wrapped myself up in my blankets to keep warm. Dad had somebody coming over in the morning to fix it, but it was gonna come out of my pocket. The usual orange glow came through the curtains. Once I left for college, I decided that I wasn't going to miss this room. I messaged Bryan every now and again - he was annoyed about the blood tests he had to take, but was fine otherwise - and Naomi promised she would do whatever she could to make things up for us. I told her that wasn't necessary, though I knew that wouldn't change her mind. She was already sending the applications to her preferred colleges, on top of everything as always. She mentioned her parents every now and again, how stressful they were to deal with. They wanted her to do well, but drove her to that level of stress. She apparently snapped at them before she came to the hospital, they promised not to push her like that again. She promised to help me with my applications, I graciously accepted the help.   

         I heard shuffling downstairs - Dad was correcting a few notes from his class, he usually got a lot busier in the run-up to Christmas. I didn't want to risk the slight thawing of our recent dynamic to ask to go to the Solomon - there was an exhibition that I really wanted to see - because I knew that he'd say no. I was sick of being holed up here, with nowhere to go and nothing to see. James Hanson got off scot-free, just another damn evening for him. My blood boiled just thinking about him now.   

        Just like that, I felt that chill that could only be associated with Jake. At first, I thought it was simply another trick of the mind, but he phased through the door, barely visible in the orange glow. It didn't matter, what mattered was that he was here.  

        "Jake."  

        ~That's me. ~  

        "You came back." I realized I hadn't spoken in hours in the way my voice cracked. I should had been happier to see him again, but after everything that had happened...  

        ~ I wasn't exactly going to disappear forever. ~  

        "It felt like it."  

        ~ You have a point. ~ He sighed.   

        "I can explain, I know you saw me with - "  

        ~ Yeah, I did. ~   

        "There was something in that beer, Jake. It knocked Bryan out, I broke away as soon as he kissed me!" I remembered it clear as day, even when my head felt like it was spinning.   

        ~ You don't have to lie like that. You can tell me if you like him. He's a real-life person you can actually spend time with. ~   

        "My favorite - absolute favorite - thing to do was spending time with you, getting to know you. I would never throw that away for a creep who drugged me!" I argued, trying my damned best to make him see my side of things. I hadn't even realized that my eyes welled up until tears came down my cheeks. He didn't believe me...   

        ~ Peter - ~  

        "I'm sorry, I'm so so sorry. I was way in over my head and went somewhere I had no place in going to. I'm just a kid, I shouldn't had tried to hang with the Unis. Look where it got me." I wanted to be careful in case Dad heard me, but Jake needed to know all of this, even if this was the last time that I'd see him again. I rubbed my eyes to try and see him again, and he looked just as down as I had.   

        ~ Wait. This is my fault. Cynthia screamed when that firework went off, so I couldn't go back and talk to you. I should have realized - ~  

        "Wait, the little girl?" I asked, side-tracked. "What happened to her?"   

        ~ She... disappeared, right in front of our eyes. We're still looking for her. ~   

        "Crap." I was so worried about all of this that I hadn't even realized something like that was going on.   

        ~ Look, let me worry about that. Bart got me to come here and say sorry, and honestly, I should had come here weeks ago! I left you alone to deal with all of that! ~  

        "Don't worry 'bout me. I'm effectively grounded for life. Lucky that I was let go, to be honest. It's just... please don't leave me for that long again? I missed talking to you."  

        ~ I won't. ~   

        He sat next to me, that same chill that I missed for the past month as he held my hand. We didn't talk for hours, my eyes were heavy and I wanted to fall asleep, but I didn't want to miss a second of having this ghostly boy back in my arms. I dozed in and out of sleep, but always fought my back out of it. Jake admired the polaroids like he always did, even though the pictures themselves never changed. It was like he found something else to focus on whenever he looked at them.   

       "Bryan... had an accident." I said, airing out what I was really worried about.   

       ~ Oh? Is he OK? ~  

       "No."  

       ~ Oh. ~   

       "He had a football game 'bout a week ago. He got tackled to the ground. Freak accident... got his legs swept from underneath him. They say he's never gonna play again..."  

        ~ I... ~   

       "He planned on that scholarship his entire life, and now it's impossible. Naomi won't talk to me, and I can't leave this house. There's just been a lot in the last few weeks, and I didn't know how I was gonna deal with it..."   

       ~ I didn't help. ~  

       "Not your fault."  

        I think that was the last thing I said to him for a while, because my exhaustion got the better of me. I couldn't tell whether the Jake I saw was the same ghost I was speaking to, or a figment my tired brain conjured up in a dream. Whichever one it was, he kissed me on the lips as he held me close, still numbingly cold but entirely welcome. I think I whispered his name a few times, and he answered with mine. It was the happiest I had been in a while.   

        The breeze from my window tore through that dream, bringing me back to reality. It was so blustery that it moved the curtains, my polaroids threatened to fall off of my wall. The real Jake was glancing at them, though there wasn't exactly a lot he could do to put them back. One of them stuck out in particular to him, though...   

        "That damn window..." I moaned, still half-asleep. I had no idea what time it was. Jake didn't pay attention to me, still fixed on that one photo. "What are you..." I began, but then I realized what he saw - there was a polaroid behind another one, and I suddenly remembered - it was another photo of Leslie and I, one of the earliest ones I had taken. "I forgot about that!"  

        Jake didn't listen.   

        He stepped back, like he'd seen a ghost himself (bad pun). His eyes widened and his mouth opened wide, like he was about to say something, but nothing came out. He looked horrified.   

        "Jake?"   

        ~ Oh no... ~ He muttered. I wanted to ask him what had happened - what he saw in that photo - but he sank through the ground, almost completely disappearing on me. 

        "Jake you're scaring me!" I cried, no longer caring if Dad heard me or not.   

        ~ Train station! ~ He answered, but didn't give me enough time to ask what he meant. Just like that, he disappeared. It took me a second or two to realize what station he meant, but the difficulty was getting past Dad to head out there. With very little options, I raced out of bed, finding the right clothes to throw over myself, hoping and praying that he had gone to bed...  

 

16: Chapter Fifteen - A Vapid Body & a Vapid Explanation (First Round Edit)

-Jake-
-November 28th-

          Ghosts never needed to sleep. We saw it as a very living thing, where their bodies grew tired from moving and holding stuff. I just never thought that I'd ever be in the same position, to fight the urge to close my eyes. Unfortunately, it was a losing fight - every blink of my eyelids brought a small hint of relief, what I could feel if I just gave in. I wobbled on my feet, perpetually exhausted. If I sat down, I was finished.

          There was far too much I had to do first. I owed Peter that much.

          Bart and Hugo watched me in the carriage, as perplexed as ever. Hugo always loved his conspiracy theories, but this one seemed to rattle him a little bit. Bart hadn't spoken for a while now. Another train rumbled by - the tenth one so far. It was the only thing we had to mark the time.

          "OK, I need you guys to say something." I muttered. It fell on deaf ears. My arms felt so heavy, even lifting them was a challenge. It felt like I was drowning, like I was moving through water.

          "He would have recognized you." Bart argued, finally finding some words to use. "If you were alive..."

          "Still trying to figure that part out myself."

          "He would have known what you sounded like. Did he mention anything to you about - "

          "No, he didn't."

          "Why now? This has never happened to anybody else, and now suddenly three of you disappear on us at once!"

          "I'm not done yet." I reminded him.  

          "How long are you gonna last, considering what you just said? Eventually you're going to... collapse, and that will be it, wouldn't it?"  

          "There's so many of us..." Hugo whispered, more to himself than anybody else. "If we're all like that..."  

          "That's the thing, we can't know for sure!" Bart interrupted; his voice strained. "Maybe there's a select few who lived in a past life, but..." He stopped trying to formulate an answer and just hung by the end of the carriage. There was a lot of deep-rooted assumptions that he had to work through.  

          "How long you think you can keep this up, man?" Hugo asked, genuinely concerned.  

          "It's getting more and more difficult... I'm not sure." if I had to guess, I could see myself lasting for a few days, anything more than a week sounded like torture. That warm feeling was so blissful, and I could have it all if I just closed my eyes...

          Peter. I snapped them wide open once I thought of his name. The afterlife could wait. I stretched as much as I could - my ghostly muscles ached in a way they did when I was alive.  

          "Have to go." I commented. "Got him waiting for me at the stop."

          "We ain't leaving your side, just in case." Bart muttered. I didn't have much of a choice for the time being. We floated out of the carriage and onto the disused train tracks. A part of me wondered if this would had been one of the last times I did that. Everything had such an air of finality to it. Yet another train - it seemed like it was late - tore through the neighboring set of tracks, the sound of brakes deafening.  

          "Linnea visited State plenty of times, was her guy really the reason..." Bart wasn't done questioning things, but I left him to it. It took a lot of effort in putting one foot in front of the other. There was one particular memory that reminded me of when I was alive - I remembered an insomniac episode, how I tried again and again to fall asleep, yet it never worked. I must had been hanging for a few days after that, because I recalled stumbling down a set of stairs - presumably my parents' home - and Peter's arms were instantly around me. He laughed about it for hours afterwards, how I was the clumsiest guy he knew.  

          I also remembered how none of those words really registered in my head at the time. Nothing really did.  

          The station was crammed full of people, but things tended to get a little quieter after that. A small part of me realized that I might never see Sunshine again. That same part would miss him. Plenty of faces, and some of them now seemed slightly... familiar. I couldn't tell if it was because of my past life, or if it was from watching them wait for their commute for so long.  

          I needed Peter for one stop, but I had to tell him the truth. I should have just told him in his room.  

          The train departed, and we were left to ourselves. I rested by a pillar - I realized that I lounged around here when I was alive - while the other two bickered about something I couldn't hear. I was pretty sure they were keeping quiet for my sake. Peter didn't show up yet, but I was too tired to walk back.  

          "If this is all true, then I'm screwed." Bart eventually said, his hands shaking. "You realize I'm several hundred years old, right? Don't exactly have somebody to find like you or Linnea, am I just gonna walk around this place forever?"  

          "There must be somethin'." Hugo noted, but that was about all I got from that conversation. I moved my feet to concentrate on something. The corners of my vision began to blur, but whenever I blinked, I felt myself losing ground just a little bit more.  

          I didn't how long we waited in the end, but they never left my side. I split my time between fighting off the end and remembering the sort of things I did when I was alive - I remembered our first date, when we met in class for the first time. I just moved from Toronto, and he was the only person who bothered to approach me and say hi. We hit it off instantly - he was shy at first, and I was pretty sure I bored him with my grand essays about art and what it represents - but it just... clicked. We had our first kiss outside his door, he told me he loved me after three months. I honestly knew I was in love within a week of meeting the guy.

          I had to go and ruin it all, hadn't I?

          “You were right about that compass of yours...” Bart’s comment came out of nowhere, breaking the silence. He gazed off into the distance, lost in thought. “All that talk about finding your purpose, and it turns out you were bang on the money.”

          “Yeah...” I didn’t have the energy to come up with a suitable response, and just let that word hang in the air. Hugo didn’t add a whole bunch to that.

          "Jake..." Finally, it was Peter. He scaled down the steps towards the platform, genuinely worried. I must had looked worse than I thought.

          "You came..." I said, but even that took a lot more effort than I expected. I was so tired.

          "You realize I had to sneak out to come here, right? Tell me what's going on, right now!" Hugo and Bart heard him, the only living boy currently standing at the platform. Bart hovered over me, but there was no need.

          "Can you guys give us a sec?" I asked. Bart immediately nodded, heading towards the carriage as Hugo followed his lead. It took a second for Peter to realize that there was more than one ghost on the platform.

          "Your friends here?"

          "Not anymore, I think we need to sit down for this one, Peter."

          "I'm comfortable with standing, thanks." He shook slightly, I didn't know if it was because of the cold or the fact that he ran away from home. I sighed, there wasn't any real way of making this easy.

          "Peter... I'm Leslie."

          The words lingered long after I said them. heavy and solid. I watched Peter as he looked at me, the breath he finally exhaled after a few seconds of holding it in.

          "Bullshit." It was clear that he didn't believe me.

          "Peter -"

          "No, you don't get to do this to me! You look nothing like him, you sound nothing like him! I dated him for years, I'd know!"

          "I am a ghost, and this is the thing you find hard to believe?" I pressed, though I didn't exactly have a straightforward answer myself. "This entire time, this stupid feeling I've had with being drawn to that school, with being drawn to you - "

          "No." Peter interrupted, definitely shaking now. "I'm going to be in so much trouble if I get caught out 'ere, and I did all of this to be told -"

          "I'm not going to last much longer!" I cried out; with every ounce of strength I had left in me. "Once I close my eyes, I'm done. I'm going to disappear, and I want it so god damn badly, but I can't just yet! I have to set things right!"

          "W-what do you mean, disappear?" He moved closer, so close that I began to feel the burning sensation of his hand. I was going to miss that so much...

          "Pete..." It was the nickname that I gave him when I was alive, when I was Daniel. He hated it, eventually convinced me to scrap it altogether, but there was no doubt in his mind now. "I don't have much time, there's a lot I..." I stumbled, almost losing my footing. He reached for me, but his hands sailed uselessly through my body. I sank to my knees, exhausted.

          "Jake!" There was nobody else at the station, and his voice echoed through the tunnels. I gritted my teeth and stood back up, though I almost fell right back down again. It was just so hard to fight it.

          "S - sorry."

          "Look, you're coming back to mine, we can talk about it then." I nodded slowly, my entire body felt numb, like it no longer reacted to my inputs. Maybe it didn't, and that I'd be auto-pilot for the rest of the way. I was OK with that.

*

          When I was alive, Peter liked to cook. It didn't really matter what, once there were ingredients in front of him, he was happy. He managed to sneak out and back without waking his Dad, and at 3am he turned the oven on, ready to prepare some food. He reached into the cupboard that usually housed the tortilla kits, while chicken strips were sourced from the fridge. I remembered being the taste-tester a few years back, when he would try his pretty elaborate cooking experiments on me. My stomach wasn't the same afterwards. I never really realized how much energy it took to stay in close proximity to the ground, not until I found myself sinking through it. Most of it was now spent keeping myself above the floorboards, yet another task on top of the ten other things I needed to fight. I shook myself in a vain attempt to wake myself up. Peter noticed but chose not to say anything. Neither of us did.

          "We're not gonna wake him up, are we?" I asked, wincing as the chicken hit the frying pan, sizzling loudly as he poured some extra olive oil around them.

          "He sleeps like a log." He pointed out - it pinged a memory from way back, it definitely wasn't the first time I asked him that - and hummed sadly as he stirred the food. "Of course, you'd know that if you're really..."

          "You still don't believe me."

          "You said it yourself, stranger things have happened. I just... I dunno what to believe in anymore." He sighed, readying the wraps. "I just don't get it."

          "Neither do any of the folks I know." I admitted. "We don't tend to disappear or remember our past lives. Hell, we didn't even know that we had past lives. Bart is all shook up over it." Peter didn't answer, instead he flipped a tortilla wrap in another pan, warming it up as its contents simmered beside it.

          "Why'd you do it, then?" He asked, completely out of the blue. He almost sounded like a completely different person. I knew what he was asking me, and I knew the answer. I just didn't want to say it, because those memories in particular were the worst...

          "It's a pretty tough question to answer."

          "Well if you're really him, then you're gonna need to answer it, Cos I spent an entire year of my life holed up in my room after what you did." This was a different Peter now, something I had never seen before, living or otherwise. He wrapped the chicken and vegetables in the now-bubbling wrap, ready to eat. I tried to come up with the words, but the memories themselves hurt so much whenever I thought about them. He sat by the kitchen table while I shuffled to join him, trying my best to float above the chair alongside him. I wanted to sleep more than almost anything else on the planet by now, all I needed to do was close my eyes...  

          But I couldn't. Not just yet.

          "Where'd you want to start?"

          "At the beginning - when did you start feeling like this? Why didn't you say any of this to me? Why did you pretend that everything was fine when it wasn't?" He was clearly fighting the emotion he felt, his words growing sharper after each and every question. His hands coiled into fists, and they shook on the table, his food already forgotten.

          "None of this was your fault." I began, but it was clearly the wrong thing to say.

          "You're dodging the question." It was dead-pan, not a shred of sympathy. He finally managed to grab a bite of his food, so I took advantage while his mouth was full.

          "It's hard to explain..." I really didn't have the words, but I was going to have to invent some pretty quickly. "It started around three years back, after we went to Egypt together. I can't remember what set it off really, but there were exams and..."

          "I remember that much." He agreed. He listened to me moan about them from time to time, but they honestly were the least of my problems back then.

          "It's just... I hated myself back then. Hated everything about me. I hated the prescription glasses I had to wear - I hated the fact that I had..." I stopped, because I realized that I never told him that before.

          "Why didn't you tell me?" Came the obvious question. I didn't have a great answer for him, but I tried to answer anyway.

          "It's just... a lot of things. I felt like I was slowing you down, I felt like I wasn't good enough. I felt like we would break up and that you - "

          "You could have told me all of this, and I would have talked you out of it..." He cut in, and those words cut deep. He was fighting hard to keep his voice below a whisper. He also made sense - of course he did - but it wouldn't had mattered what he said. I remembered making the decision in the end, that memory cut even more.

          "I'm sorry..."

          Silence, hostile silence. Peter finished his food while I struggled to stay awake. I was forced to accept that I no longer had any real control over my body, my arms and legs felt heavy, I couldn't feel them even when I saw them move. Who knew what was going to happen next?

          "You're not him." For a second, I just thought I misheard him. This Peter seemed different to the one who grilled me just seconds ago. It looked like sleep had finally caught up with him, as well.  

          "Peter - "

          "You might had been him, but that's not who you are now."

          "Please - "

          "You said you were gonna disappear? That you needed to set things right? What do we need to do?" He asked, fetching his plate as he moved towards the sink. My eyelids fluttered and I reached for the table in an effort to steady myself - only to realize that I passed through it. The discomfort was enough to snap me out of my trance, though. I didn't have days - I had hours.  

          "I need to visit them, to visit my folks." I said, remembering what things were like back then - I wondered how my Mom's paintings had changed since I was gone, I spent many an evening watching as she painted the most abstract pieces, mostly blue with specks of yellow and gold. She was the happiest person I'd ever known when I was alive, I didn't know how I was going to feel if I saw her now.  

          "I'm grounded." Peter reminded me.

          "I have to see them." I didn't want to put him in yet more trouble.  

          "I'll... I'll try and talk to him, but I can't promise anything." I saw the wheels turning in his head, already coming up with the words and the excuses that he'd need for Seamus. "Where else?"  

          "I..." I tried so hard to finish that sentence, but I couldn't fight it for much longer. My eyes closed for just the briefest of moments, but that warm feeling I fought back for so long washed over me. All of my worries vanished in an instant, a glow that felt like it came from inside me, splitting my atoms apart...

          No!

          I forced my eyes back open, breathing heavily. My arms were stretched to their breaking point, but they slowly came back together. I was almost completely invisible, though I started to glow once my limbs returned to normal. Peter was on his knees, looking directly at me. I didn't know what this looked like to him.  

          "Jake, Jake stay with me!" He pleaded, trying his absolute best to keep it down. In the end it didn't really matter, because we heard the sounds of footsteps coming from the stairs: Seamus.  

          "Peter, what the hell are you doing?"

 

17: Chapter Sixteen - Metal Roses (First Round Edit)

-Peter-
-November 28th-

          Jake - I refused to call him anything else - looked at me, suddenly worried. Dad's question hung in the air for just a fraction longer than it should have. I thought about reaching for my phone - to pretend that I was in the middle of a distressing call - but found it at the counter next to the oven. That option was out.

         "Well?" He pressed, inching closer. I couldn't use Bryan as an excuse. Couldn't blame it on anybody else, either. I was crouched on the floor, after all.  

         "I... it's just..." I was never good at improv, and I already went through the world of trouble recently. I didn't want to extend my prison sentence here.

         "I can't wait to see what you come up with, Peter." He continued; his arms crossed. "I've got all night." Those words stung, but it also meant that he wasn't in the mood for lying. Couldn't exactly tell him that a ghost - a ghost only I could see - had fallen to the floor. I was out of options - so I decided to be as honest as I could.  

          "I couldn't sleep." True. "I was just a bit hungry, grabbed a bite to eat." Also true.

          "That explains why you're down here, but why are you on the floor, Peter?"

          "It's... " I bit my tongue and just said as much as I could. "Something... happened. It was... scary. Just shook me a little bit is all." Dad didn't soften one bit, but he did decide to go to the kettle, flicking it on as he began to boil a cup. Jake and I exchanged glances, not entirely out of the woods just yet.

          "Is that why you went outside earlier?" I was caught. I thought I was careful!

          "Uh-huh." I had to accept defeat.

          "Is it to do with..." The kettle boiled before he finished the question, but he really didn't need to. I didn't know why that knocked the wind out of me, but it did. Jake was worried, he stroked my hand to try and grab my attention.  

          "Yeah..."

          "Mind if we have a chat, father to son?" It was a suspicious question, especially coming from the person who was busy grounding me for the past few weeks. Dad sat on the sofa, just as tired as I was. I took my place beside him, taking little sips at a time. He loved putting hazelnut syrup in my tea, a family staple. A part of me was worried about what he had to say, given the fact that he knew I'd just broken his curfew. I expected the worst.  

         "I get it." He started, cooling his own cup before he drank. "Spoken to his folks the other day, they're going through the ringer right now, considering it's been a year." Jake caught onto that piece of information, moving closer to me until he sat at the handrest. "This is obviously bothering you."

         "Yeah." It was - an awful lot. Jake squeezed my hand again, bitterly - but pleasantly - cold.  

         "I'm worried about you, kiddo. Have been for a while." He continued; his voice dropped to a whisper. "Gonna be honest with you, I think I need you to talk to somebody about this. Somebody qualified. I know what it's like to lose someone, it doesn't disappear in a year." The last time he vaguely mentioned Mom, I threw a fit and ran away. I didn't know what to say, but perhaps he was right. I drank to pass the time. Dad didn't seem to mind.  

         "I think about her every day, you know. What it would be like to have her here right now, to see the kind of son you became."

         "You mean the son that got drunk and was caught for arson?"

         "You know what I mean, Peter." Dad lamented, reclined in his seat. "If you thought I was harsh, you'd have another thing coming. She was the boss, back in the day. You wouldn't believe what she was like..." He seemed lost in his own memories, eerily like my own. "Point is, I understand. Still have bad days, myself. Shoulda had this sit-down a long time ago." We just sat there for a few moments, until most of my tea had been sipped. Jake hung in there, but he was clearly fading. He stroked my thumb with his own, and I twirled mine in time with his.

         “Not exactly your fault, dealing with a shut-in for a while.”

         “But that’s the thing, you’re starting to open up a little bit about the whole thing. Remember when I asked if you were alright, and you wouldn’t listen? You’re up out of bed, you’re talking to your friends again. It’s something, definitely a lot more than I saw from you a few months back.” I hadn’t really thought about it like that. “Suicide is a terrible, terrible thing. It's affected all of us; affected you, his family, his friends. It’s OK not to be OK, even a year later.”

         I pondered all of that as he switched on the TV, leaving it play in the background. Jake didn’t say much, but I could see the way he fought to keep his eyes open.  

         "I... I need to go to a few places." I admitted, flashing Jake a quick glance. "I wanna see them, see how they're getting on. Few other places I need to hit as well. Can I please go outside tomorrow?"

         He mulled the question over. I was just happy that I was able to negotiate, considering I really had no leverage whatsoever. My hand was so cold it started to hurt, but I didn't dare let go of the ghost's hand. I didn't know how long I had left with him.  

         "Tomorrow. I'm going to arrange an appointment with someone in return." It was the closest I was going to get to an actual agreement.  

         "Okay."

*

         I didn't sleep that night - I don't think any of us did. Jake hung around my room, but he fought so hard to stay on the first storey that he clipped through my bedroom floor a couple of times. I told him it was fine, that we could stay downstairs for the night as Dad went back to bed, but he waved off the suggestion. He was determined to stay awake and move, so by the time the sun began to rise he was still there, waiting to go. It was better if we left as early as we could, considering the scare Jake had just a few hours ago. I fetched my clothes and dressed myself as he glanced at one photo in particular, the polaroid of the both of us...  

         He was really him, wasn't he? Maybe I should have connected the dots together from the beginning, but he just looked completely different from... I chose not to think about it any longer. There was plenty of time for that, once everything else was said and done.  

         ~You ready? ~ Jake asked, struggling to move. I could barely see him - though it was probably because of the daylight - and his voice sounded weak. I closed the gap between the both of us, until my entire body froze.  

         "Ready as I'll ever be." I answered, hoisting my bag over my shoulder as I reached for the door. He was pretty content with following behind me, though I had to slow down so he could keep up. His parents lived on the other side of town - I had the bus route practically memorized - though Jake wasn't sure if he could hold on in a moving vehicle. I was content with walking, considering I was holed up in my place for the past few days.  

         Our trip started on Adam Clayton Powell Jr Boulevard, and the air nipped at my heels as we walked. The trees looked pretty cool during the summer, but now the branches were depressingly bare. My coat wasn't really enough to keep the chills at bay. Every few seconds, I looked back to see if Jake had followed. He was still there, just a little bit more transparent than usual.

        ~This all looks so familiar. ~ He whispered.

         "Used to walk you all the way home and back again. You'd give me your jacket if it was raining, even if you were soaked to the bone."

         ~I was such a gentleman. ~

         "You still are." I told him. He didn't offer much of an answer after that. Not for a while, anyway.

         ~ I... I don't think I'm going to see them again. ~ He muttered; it took me a second to realize who he was talking about. ~ I should have said goodbye. ~

         "We'll get you back in one piece." I promised him, but we both knew the truth.

         ~Just... let 'em know, OK? ~

         "I will."

         We brushed past 1872, right by Fields Court. Jake stumbled a little bit, like he was about to fall. He caught himself before he did.

         ~Crap...~

         "We can take a break." I told him. I couldn't imagine just how he felt right now. He shook his head and told me everything was alright, just like he used to do when he was alive. That was the problem.

         ~ I'm - ~

         "Jake, please don't tell me you're fine, please don't tell me you're OK and let's just have a break for a sec."

         ~... OK. ~

         There wasn't much to do in that part of the neighborhood, not that there was much I wanted to do to begin with. The boy slumped against the wall - or as close to it as he could without slipping through - and sighed, completely exhausted.

         ~I can't close my eyes... I just can't...~ I reached for his hand and patted it gently - public perception be damned.

         "We'll manage it, you just gotta stick with me for a little longer."

         ~You... make it sound like that's a bad thing. ~ He answered. ~ Keep... holding my hand. It's...distracting me. ~ Of course, I never let go of it, even when my fingers turned numb.

         We had plenty of time to kill, but Jake moved so slowly, reduced to a crawl. I swapped hands as often as I could, when the cold became too much for my fingers to handle. We walked past a deli, and the smell of chicken made my mouth water. My stomach seemed to agree, considering that it growled pretty loudly. The Anistons lived just a little bit further up the road, and that was when the panic began to set in. Dad was the official point of contact for the past year, considering I blocked them out since... that happened. He told me he called to give them a heads-up, so I couldn't back down now. Even the neighborhood seemed to change since the last time I walked here - some houses were painted a different color; a few trees having disappeared after Hurricane Deandra a few years back - but it just reminded me that time moved on.

         Maybe it was time that we moved on.

         Their house stood on 120th, though it showed some sort of damage from that hurricane. Some of the bricks were missing, and a freshly-plastered wall covered what must have been a pretty big hole on the ground floor. We always hung out by the corner when it was time to say goodbye. They tended to last for several minutes - there was a time when he caught a cold for standing outside in the rain with me for too long - but being in his arms was all that I ever wanted. The memory stung, knowing that I was never going to experience that again.

         "Ready?" I wasn't sure how Jake was gonna handle the third storey, but he nodded lightly. It was the best answer I was going to get. I pressed the buzzer for the right floor, and sure enough a familiar voice answered.

         -Hello? -

         "Hey, it's me, Peter." I answered, and the line dropped immediately. The door opened not long after that, and the woman who answered was instantly recognizable - Anna, Leslie's mother. Jake recognized her in an instant, suddenly more alert.

         "Please, come in." She said. She seemed happy enough to see me. I didn't miss the flights of stairs, definitely wasn't wheelchair-friendly.

         "Thanks."

         Jake found it hard to move without fading through the steps, though he told me not to worry. Once or twice, I pretended that I needed to tie my shoelaces to give him a chance to catch up. He managed for the time being.

         "I don't know how you manage this every day." I began, trying my best to make some sort of small talk with a woman I've actively ignored for the better part of a year.

         "Thinking of moving ourselves, it was great that you caught us when you did." Anna answered. "Obviously we would have visited to say goodbye!"

         "Where you thinking of staying?" Great, it was just what I needed to pass the time.

         "Moving abroad, actually. Somewhere in mainland Europe. Got to get out and explore the world a bit. Feel like my art is suffering from stagnation."

         "I can't wait to see what you come up with." I encouraged, just as we approached their front door. Her smile faltered a tiny bit, just noticeable enough for me to spot it. Jake followed closely behind, putting all of his energy in staying above the floor.

         "You'll be waiting a while." She answered, feeding her key into the door.

         It was one of those moments where everything felt surreal, a memory I tried so hard to suppress, suddenly brought back to life. Their apartment - Leslie's apartment - was almost exactly the same; the fabric sofa we lounged on while his parents brought us food, the same Christmas lights that stayed up all year round, and the admittedly-terrible mahogany cabinets that stood out like an eyesore from the rest of the room. What changed were the paintings that covered most of the living room, taking on a whole different theme; the last time I was there, her paintings were pink and blue, the brightest and warmest colors. Her acrylic models dotted the tables, an entire canvass hung on the wall as she experimented with different hues and shades and strokes. It was partly why Leslie was so invested in art to begin with.

        These ones looked different. No more colors, just greys and black. The half-finished figure on the canvas was slouched, its proportions stretched to an almost comedic degree. Its face was abstract, several different strokes and swipes applied so it appeared almost shapeless.

        "Commission." Anna pointed out, I must had been staring at the thing for too long. "Kept busy all day with it, but the money's good. Money has to be good for a place like this. How's Seamus?"

        "He hasn't changed." I replied, still struck by the painting. Jake hovered around it, taking in the entire scene.

        "Heard you're in his bad books at the moment, hm?"

        "It was my own fault; I'll just do my time." It was meant to be a joke, but my delivery just fell flat. The sunlight faded - probably a stray cloud - but it darkened the room considerably. The figure in the canvas looked a lot more terrifying.

        "He thinks the world of you, dear. We all do." Anna promised, opening her oven door as she fetched the tray inside it. She still loved baking, it seemed. Everything looked like it was touched by paint at some point, even the plate she dropped those cookies in had stray specks of yellow and red on it. She offered it to me, something I hadn’t expected.  

        “I shouldn’t.” I said, but Anna wasn’t the kind of person who took no for an answer.  

        “Can’t leave you on an empty stomach, and there’s a few extra for your old man.”

        Jake was finished with looking around the room, focusing entirely on his mother. It was hard to make him out - even with the lack of light - but it was obvious that it was a lot for him to take. I stroked his hand, but it didn't distract him.

        "How have things been, since..." It was such a tough question to ask, it was difficult enough to think of the words, let alone saying them. Anna smiled, but looked away. She set her cup on the table, allowing it to cool.

        "Tough, very tough..." The sun began to shine through the windows again, brightening the room. The warm glow felt out of place with the mood. "Not a day goes by where I don't think about him."

        "Yeah." I turned my eye towards my boyfriend, who was trying so hard to keep it all together. I could only imagine what it must have felt like.

        "We've been worried about you, too. Seamus loves you a lot, you know. Said he felt guilty for what he said for the past few months."

        "N'ah, the guy gets me out of bed in the morning." I commented. The cookies were perfect, I didn't realize how much I missed them until now. There were tiny little memories everywhere I looked. Jake's hand was as cold as ever - then I realized that it slipped through mine. He gritted his teeth but didn't make a sound.

        "So, what brings you here now?" Anna asked, her cup already finished. "Harry would have loved to have seen you." Leslie's Dad worked in the pharmaceutical industry, and he worked long hours. I was sure to see him at least once before they went away.

        "I... realized that I was away for too long." I tried to answer, but the words felt wrong.

        "Still taking those pictures, I bet."

        "Actually, haven't taken any in a while. Last ones I took were for..." I didn't want to tell her about when I took them. "for Cai Guo-Qiang. You should had seen the exhibit, it looked pretty cool."

        That, more than anything else, seemed to lift Anna's spirits. Her smile seemed more genuine now, her eyes crinkled as she sipped what was left of her tea.

        "Sound just like him, you know. He'd be proud of you." I turned to Jake when she said that. Even though he was too tired to speak, he nodded.

        "I bet."

        "Actually!" Something seemed to click in Anna's mind, because she was suddenly on her feet. "There's something I have to show you. Follow me."

        "Huh?" Jake didn't seem to have an idea, either. Anna led us through the corridor, away from the living room and into his bedroom. I hadn't been there for a while - honestly never thought I'd see the four walls again - and let out a deep sigh. It was just the familiarity of it all, from the bed sheets to the posters on the wall, that really hit me. Jake moved around, taking on a bit more life. He never took his eyes off of Anna, though.

        "He was making something for you. Wanted to give it to you once you graduated." She explained, opening his cabinet. "We would have given it to you earlier..."

        I glanced at Jake, he seemed to have remembered what it was, considering the look in his transparent eyes. He didn't seem especially happy with the revelation. Anna removed something from the very top shelf, wrapped in red fabric. It seemed small and fragile.

        "What is it?" I asked, curiosity getting the better of me.

        "We don't know."

        It felt like wire in my hands, yet the top was solid and cold. Glass? I unwrapped it slowly...and it was the most beautiful thing I had ever seen. They were roses...or at least, a mechanical attempt at making them. The stems were made of metal - twisted and shaped from what were once coat hangers - and the petals were hand-blown panels of glass, tinted in subtle colors once I held it to the light. It was two flowers, intertwined together.

        "Wow..." Anna gazed at it, amazed. "He was making something for you, but he never wanted us to look at it 'till it was finished."

        "I... I love it!"

        "If he could only see you now..." She whispered to herself, though I heard it. Little did she know, he could. Jake inched closer, so close that I shivered from the cold as he inspected his work. He still wasn't happy.

        "Thank you so much." Why was Jake like that? It was one of the prettiest things I had ever seen. His mother seemed just as taken aback as I was, and by the time we had to leave the apartment she reminded me to call over to show Harry someday, before they set off for Europe. I felt guilty for hiding from them for so long. Dad and I had to visit at some point during the week, it'd be another excuse to go outside once I held up my side of the bargain.

        ~ Pete...~ Jake whispered, not taking his eyes off of the roses for a second.

 

18: Chapter Seventeen - I Love You (First Round Edit)

-Jake/Leslie-
-November 28th-

          The roses were just as beautiful as I remembered; the hand-blown process for the petals was one of the hardest things I ever had to do when I was alive, plenty of failed attempts and try-agains. I wanted to talk about them to Peter, but it had to be a secret. It had to be a surprise. I made them with the best of intentions, before that feeling took over and robbed me of everything - they were repurposed at the end, from an graduation present...

          He loved them, of course he did. Even as we left the apartment, all he did was twirl them in his hands, catching the light as it reflected off of the petals. I struggled to keep up, my body felt so heavy that it felt like the earth was about to swallow me. Maybe that's what people meant when they spoke about heaven and hell, because it felt like I had two options here. Neither of them were what I wanted.

          The only thing keeping me here was the familiar heat that came from his hands, I stood so damn close to him, fighting for every second. He noticed; the guy shivered so much that eventually I had to pull away.

          "You doing OK?" He asked for the sixth time in ten minutes. I must have looked like a pretty sorry sight, huh? I gazed at my hands, could barely see them myself.

          "Hanging in there."

          "They're beautiful, Jake." Every time he said that, it just made me feel worse. I blocked them out of my mind, and even when all my memories returned, they were blissfully absent. I pursed my lips and decided not to respond, not just yet.

          Everywhere we went, people spoke about Christmas; everyone we passed seemed to have some plans for it, whether it was going abroad back to their families, or what presents people wanted. One lucky couple had planned a wedding coming up, though the would-be bride seemed to have total control over it, judging from the conversation. It suddenly dawned on me that I was never going to get married. It felt bittersweet.

          "OK, you haven't really spoken since you saw them. Tell me what's goin' on." Peter said, although I couldn't exactly blame him for saying that. There wasn't going to be another time to explain all of this, so I stopped in the middle of the sidewalk and gathered my thoughts, wrestling with the feelings that came from it.

          "The museum." I whispered, almost pleading.

          "The second we're in there, you're telling me everything." He stated. I nodded, grateful that I still had some time to prepare the words.

          "How...how's Bryan?" I needed something else to keep me occupied, something to distract me on our journey. Everything about it felt so final - probably because it really was. I wasn't going to live to see the morning.

          "Doing better. Still wrapping his head around the fact that he's not gonna play for a while." He replied.

          "For a while?"

          "Bryan's not the kinda guy to take a life-threatening situation lying down." He explained, catching on to his choice of words. "Well, he is taking this lying down, but you get what I mean! A guy like Bryan, he's gonna walk again and he's going to play again. He's refusing to take the alternative as an answer."

          "Isn't that... false hope?"

         "It's still hope to him, and we could all do with a little hope right now."

         "Guess you're right." Since my memories came back, I remembered my first interaction with the guy; back before I dated Peter, I honestly assumed they were dating. That's how close they were - and still are, it seemed. At least he'd still have that once I disappeared. "Naomi?"

         "She's... a little trickier." He admitted, still twirling those damn roses in-between his fingers. "Her folks put her through a lot. I think the last few months really showed her that. She's telling them to relax a little bit, that's she's put her work and her future in front of what's happening right now. We're messaging for now, but we'll get past it. We always do."

         "I remember her."

         "She's hard to forget, that's for sure." Peter chuckled, hopping across the street as soon as there was an opening. I wasn't as quick, but managed to get through without being struck by a car. I couldn't escape that blissful feeling, that glow that would eventually envelop me. Every blink brought me closer and closer to it.

         "What was it like, seeing your Mom again?" He asked, a completely different tone. It was a difficult question to answer.

         "It was...strange." I answered, the words tinged with regret. "Maybe I should have said something, but I couldn't bring myself to do it. Not that she'd be able to hear me anyway. It's still affecting her, it seems..." I didn't know why, but there was something about saying it out loud that made it a lot more serious. "They're moving away and everything."

         "She's getting through it, they both are." I wasn't sure if Peter really meant those words, or if he said them to comfort me, but I appreciated it either way.

         "Thank you."

         "No problem."

         Without warning, a sudden wave washed over me, completely unexpected. The sensation coursed through my body, irresistible. I clutched at my chest - the source of this feeling - and breathed heavily, sinking to my knees. Peter was immediately by my side; it didn't matter how many people were watching. Just like before, I felt every molecule of my being as they spread apart, threatening to disperse permanently.

         No! Please! I hung on as long as I could, fighting every urge to give in. I couldn't even feel Peter by my side anymore, everything turned blurry, every sound was muffled. For those few seconds, I felt like floating. It came to the point where all I could see were colors, brief approximation of shapes as they floated through the air. I knew that one of them was Peter, and I clawed at it as hard as I could, trying desperately to bring myself back from the brink. That sensation was so strong, I wanted to experience it so badly, to just let go and move on. There was enough closure, wasn't there? He got the roses; they served their purpose. I could join Cynthia and Linnea in the beyond, that wasn’t so bad, was it?

         Stop! No, I couldn't give up, not just yet! I couldn't abandon the boy again, not without a proper goodbye. I focused on the blurry blobs of color - the ones I knew belonged to Peter - and raced towards it, screaming until there was no air left in my non-existent lungs.

         Just like that, everything snapped back into existence.

         Peter attracted quite a crowd - clearly wondering what the guy was doing on the ground, but he didn't listen to them and he didn't care. I tried to move my body - only to find that I didn't have limbs to move just yet. I was nothing more than a torso and a head. Slowly but surely, I became more and more visible, until my missing parts were restored. That sensation faded - although it didn't completely disappear - replaced by that always-familiar feeling of being next to Peter. I was never more grateful of that then I was right there and then.

         "I'm... sorry." I wheezed. "Can't...fight... it."

         "Yo kid, what's your problem?" Some guy in the background eventually asked, but Peter ignored him. I struggled to stand up, noticing that his eyes were red.

         "Let's go." He said, shoving past that same guy as I followed behind.

*

          I wanted to go and see Bart, just one last time.

          I wanted to thank him for everything he had ever done for me; from finding me at the very beginning, to allowing me to tag along and help find others like me. I couldn't believe I was thinking this, but I was going to miss our underground home so much, the rumbling of the trains as they stormed past our carriage, even the attempts to get him out of there and into the open air. I never recovered from my episode - and I most likely never would - clutching to Peter for dear life. Even with my limbs fully attached, I completely lost feeling in each of them, moving almost entirely without my input. I breathed heavily - more an action to keep me focused than the actual necessity to breathe - and that worried Peter. The sun began to set by the time we made it back to his place, but that also meant that we were near the station. Sunshine strolled along on the other side of the sidewalk, just as cheery and upbeat as he always was. It was going to be the last time that I'd see him.

         "How long have you got?" He asked. We both knew what he meant. If I had a deathbed, I'd be lying in it.

         "I can't...hold off... for much longer." I replied. I felt that warm glow again, manageable for now, but I wasn't going to survive another onslaught like that one.

         "Just stay with me, alright?" He said, the sight of the station giving me little solace. I felt so weak, just barely floating above the ground. I had only one destination left in me... and unfortunately for Bart, I wasn't able to say goodbye to both him and Peter at the same time. My boyfriend could have gone down to fetch him - maybe to just shout his name until he copped on and followed him - but there was no guarantee that I'd be still around when they both returned. That realization hit me hard, like I was about to betray the very person I've known my whole ghostly life.

         "You want me to follow you down, or..."

         "I'm not going to make it, Peter. Can you... I couldn't find the words for the briefest of moments, something that frightened me even more. “Can you do something for me? Can you... visit him? Just let him know... I'm sorry?"

         "I'll think of something." He promised me. I stared at the entrance for a few more seconds, as long as my body would allow me. I felt like crying, I was so close to him and he was oblivious. I was never going to see him again.

         "I'm sorry." I whispered, and we continued walking.

 *

 

          There were so many other sights that I wanted to see, and if I had the strength, I would have gone to see them one last time; the cinema where we had our first date, where we had our first kiss, the Statue of Liberty. If I only had my memories back then...

          It began to rain. It clearly wasn't something we expected, considering the fact that it looked beautiful until that moment. It passed through me, still as uncomfortable as it always was. Still, I was willing to experience any sort of sensation if it meant fighting that warm glow. Peter shivered alongside me, but was otherwise completely fine. I watched as he made several phone calls; he assured his Dad that he would be back home by 9 - he had his own side of the bargain to hold up - and Bryan decided to give him a quick update on how he felt. It turned out that it wasn't a career-ending energy, he wiggled his toes yesterday morning, which was a good sign that he'd make a recovery. Peter sounded so excited when he relayed that news back to me, I really wished that I could see what became of them all. A part of me told me I could, that I could fight this for as long as they were alive, to be with them every step of the way even if it was only Peter who could see me.

         The rest of me knew that wasn't possible.

         We stopped outside our final destination - the Solomon R. Guggenheim Museum. The place took on a bigger significance now that my memories returned, mixed with the conversation I had with the boy beside me.

         'He killed himself, Jake.' He did, and even now that boy didn't have the answers to Peter's questions. Any resemblance to a good day had vanished, replaced by gloomy clouds. That rain still distracted me, but it was about to get considerably more difficult for me once I head inside. Peter stood by my side, even when he was soaked to the skin.

         "So, this is it huh?" He knew what this meant. I wasn't coming out of those doors again.

         "Remember what you promised me."

         "I will." Bart would get his closure. I trusted the living boy.

         He opened the door for me one last time; the floor was relatively quiet, though a few people grumbled about the weather. Peter squeezed past as he approached the receptionist, all smiles. The glow radiated through my entire body, but I fought it back as best I could.

         "Tickets for two." I heard. The lady asked if there was an invisible man that she wasn't aware of - not realizing she was right on the money - and Peter fibbed about sending one to someone he knew. He flashed them in his hand when he came back to me.

         "That's still a waste of money." I said.

         "Still spending my money any way I see fit." He answered, wrapping his arm around mine - while trying his best to look completely natural - as we moved towards the center of the floor. The Oculus was almost as impressive as the art itself, what little light from outside illuminated the floor, casting shadows. The floor was covered exclusively with paintings. I recognized Marc Chagall's Paris Through the Window quickly enough - Mom loved to emulate his style - though Peter was more drawn to a series of circles and triangles, an oil canvas that I couldn't remember seeing in my previous life. Composition 8 by Vasily Kandinsky, if I just had more time I'd...

         That's the thing, wasn't it? - Time. I wanted time for everything; to follow in my parent's footsteps, to spend more time with the boy I loved, to grow up and grow old. It took until that moment for me to realize that I'd already gotten my wish, I was standing right in front of him, wasn't I? Peter looked...beautiful, moving from piece to piece, genuinely curious as he studied each paint stroke. He wasn't lying when he said he hated this place, once upon a time. He looked around the floor, surrounded by those pieces, almost as if he was making sure that the coast was clear.

         "Mind doing something for me?" He asked.

         "Huh?"

         "You mind if I take a quick snap?" We stood back in front of Paris Through the Window, and his camera was already in his hands. Typical Peter.

         "I'm not gonna stop you." I replied, but he shook his head.

         "A quick snap of you."

         "But... I'm not going to be in the picture, Peter."

         "Humor me?" He pleaded; his hands slightly shaky. I did as I was told, standing directly in front of the painting. Peter gave one last look to make sure he wasn't caught, steadied his hands for just long enough, and snapped a single photo. a polaroid slipped out, as soon as it was in his hands, he shook it as quickly as he could.

         "You know that can mess up the photo, right?" I asked; the only way I knew that was because Peter told me, a long time ago.

         "It's what I'm banking on." He shot back. I watched as more and more of the photo emerged, though the damage was pretty minimal. Eventually the whole painting was visible, and Peter sighed.

         "You're not in it."

         "That's kinda my own fault." I told him, leaning in closer. The warm sensation that coursed through me was negated by the sheer burning of my boyfriend, and I kissed him as softly as I could. There wasn't a single other person that bothered us, and if there was, they couldn't see us behind the panels of art. It was the last kiss that I'd ever have with him, so I wanted to do it right. My hands were around his waist, even if they still felt numb. He shook, frozen, but didn't pull back. All too soon, I had to stand back. I couldn't really delay it any longer.

         "There's a story behind the roses." I whispered, and that glow pulsated from the very center of my transparent body. I was about to give in, but not before I was finished. "You see, I was only gonna make one of them..."

         "Oh?"

         "It was meant for when we were about to graduate, I was gonna ask you to prom and, well..."

         "I would have said yes, you know." He whispered. moving towards me... but I had to take the same steps back, I had to finish what I wanted to say.

         "When I... made up my mind, I decided that I had to make two of them. One for you and one for me, something to remember me by." The world turned blurry again, much like the earlier attack, but this one seemed more... inviting. This was one that I could control. "I remembered finishing them, I stayed up all night on those glass pedals. One of the positives of being an insomniac, eh?"

         "Jake... you're disappearing." Even blurred, I knew that Peter was fighting back tears.

         "I couldn't take it anymore, and I didn't have the courage to admit any of this to anyone, not my friends, my family... you." A tingling moved from my feet upwards, a completely new sensation. "It was the gravest mistake I had ever made, hurting you like that. I wanted the roses to be a... reminder of something good. I wanted... (I struggled to get the words out) you to remember me for what I could do... and not what I did."

         "No, stay with me!" Peter's words were muffled now, but it was only inevitable.

         "Can you... promise me something else? Live...your life...live all of it...you are the most...wonderful person I have ever known...you deserve to have the perfect life."

         "It's not going to be perfect if you're not in it!" He retorted, but honestly I could barely make him out. I was so close now; I swore I could see the light. My body felt so warm, so blissful. My eyelids were so heavy that I only had seconds before they shut, but that was all the time I needed. Yes, time. I really did get my wish.

         "We'll see each other again, I promise." I whispered, and with the last ounce of strength and willpower I had left, I whispered the final words.

         "I love you."

         I closed my eyes, finally allowed myself to give in, and then I was gone...

 

19: Chapter Eighteen - My Jake (First Round Edit)

-Peter- 
-December 21st-  

          I didn't know how Bryan stuck the same vanilla walls and the same corridors every day; all I had to do was visit, and I was already sick of the disinfectant smell and the sight of hospital beds. It had been a month - and there were going to be a few months yet - but Christmas was just around the corner. New York was so cold that I was layered with gloves and scarves, wooly jumpers and thick coats. The only problem was that I was cooked alive the second I went anywhere indoors. Even walking to Bryan's room, I spent most of the journey unshedding the layers, until it became a ball in my arms. My bag was heavy, but it was carrying pretty precious cargo. A little Christmas present I bought with my new part-time job. It sucked, moving from behind my desk to a school to behind a counter as a barista, but I was still under curfew so it was my only real shot at a social life nowadays.  

         My phone buzzed in my pocket; it was probably going to be Naomi; she had a heavier item to carry. When I answered the phone, I could already hear the frustration in her voice.  

         'Y'know, I'm starting to regret choosing my side of the deal.'  

         "C'mon, you only have to carry it up several floors."  

         'Thank the person who made elevators, that's all I'll say! Where are you, this is a two-person job!'  

         "I'll hang back for you." I promised, and that's precisely what I did. Not even five minutes later, Naomi turned the corner, though it was the pretty large box that I first spotted. She didn't need to buy such a big TV, but Naomi didn't do things by thirds. I raced towards her, grabbing one half of the cardboard box as she sighed in relief.  

         "You're a life-saver."  

         "We're in the middle of a hospital, don't think I'm the one saving lives here." I replied with a wink, and she answered with a scowl. I absolutely missed this Naomi, before all the stress about committees and politics and Reynold fucking Adams kicked in. At least I had my phone back, so most of my nights were spent seeing her face; she gave her parents absolute hell for putting that amount of stress on her during the year. She was still hyper-focused on her future aspects - that was never going to change - but she had the space and the breathing room to do it properly.   

         Bryan was still awake, still watching that terrible daytime TV in his room. When I peeped my head through, I found him wiggling his toes, already occupied. Maybe we didn't need to bring him presents at all!  

         "Ho Ho Ho!"  

         "You ain't Santa." He chimed back, grinning from ear-to-ear. His hair was beginning to morph back into the afro he used to sport. It suited him.  

         "You say that." I answered, and that was when Naomi pushed the TV through the door - clearly fed up with carrying it - watching Bryan's reaction. His jaw dropped.  

         "What - "  

         "Well, seeing as you're spending Christmas cooped up in here, we said we'd give you something to keep you going." Naomi explained, satisfied with delivery of our surprise. He genuinely couldn't find the right words to say. It was only going to get better, because I finally unzipped my bag, taking out the Xbox he moaned on and on about for weeks! It was slightly used - I swore I only played on it to make sure everything worked fine, honest - but the perfect games were downloaded to make sure he had something to do.  

         "You didn't..." He whispered.  

         "We did." I quipped. "Even got some Halo on there."  

          If he was excited before, he was ecstatic now. "You mean - "  

         "The new Halo, oh you better believe it."  

         "If I could stand up, I'd kiss ya right here and now!" He squealed.  

         "Oh great, let's thank the boy with the small box to carry, and not the girl who hauled ass with a 43-inch TV halfway up this building!" Naomi joked, already unsealing it from its cardboard casing. A nurse peeped in for a moment - realized just what was going on - and promised that she'd come back in a few minutes once everything was set up. I was just grateful that they approved for this at all.  

         "So, still wiggling those toes, I see." I stated, plugging in all the bells and whistles to make sure everything worked.  

         "Grateful that I can." He answered, the new controller in his hand, stroking the buttons with his thumb. "Spine's still out of whack, though. Thought I was gonna dodge a surgery or two, but it's not the case. A little worried, to be honest."  

         "Another problem for another day." Naomi commented, satisfied that the TV was standing upright, and not in imminent danger of toppling over.  

         "Hear ya' loud and clear."  

         We spent most of the day watching him play - he was pretty sick at gunplay mechanics - and the hours melted away effortlessly. I knew that it was going to be the last Christmas where we'd be together in the same room - considering we applied for different colleges - so I savored each and every moment that I had with them.  

         I learned that lesson from a certain someone.  

*  

         James Hanson started his shift early, and he usually finished late.  

         I peeped into the shop just as it was officially closed, knowing full well that there would still be a customer or two in there, hackling him for something. Some old man whined about his lottery ticket being wet, and the guy tried as patiently as he could to explain to him that it wasn't the shop's responsibility to look after the damn thing for him. When he refused to listen, neither did James. He didn't spot me until he tried to gently escort him outside the door, turning pale when he did. Couldn't blame him, it was the first time I'd seen him since the incident.  

         "S'up." He grunted, shutting the door once he finally managed to send that man away. The usual James Hanson-isms were nowhere to be found, and neither was his smile.  

         "Hey." I didn't know precisely what I was doing here - if Dad caught me, there would be the world to pay - but it was important that I did this. For my own sake more than anything else. "Pretty crazy night, huh?"  

         "The same people with the same problems, what can we do, kid?"  

         "Yeah."  

         "So, what's the reason for the visit?" He asked, counting the cash flow like he always did and I helped him with the blinds as always. "Can't exactly be your favorite guy right now."  

         "Not really." I admitted, throwing out what moldy fruit was there - he always forgot about doing that - while making sure everything else was in-date. "Just came by to get something off my chest."  

         "Well, I'm all ears." I doubted that James would ever really be all ears, but it was as close as I was gonna get.  

         "Okay, I just wanted to say... I forgive you."  

         He stopped counting the cash.  

         "Huh?"  

         "Yeah, forgive you. "  

         "You're 'bout the only one who did. Rest of the gang bailed on me."  

         "You were pretty quick in leaving yourself." I pointed out. "Left me and Bryan in the middle of it."  

         "Look kid, this is on you." He protested. "You were the one who pretended to be a baller, 'Oooooh I drink all the time!' Bullshit, you took a few swigs and you were clocked out."  

         "Enough for you to put your hands on me, I bet." That was it, the statement I wanted to make. He dropped the cash he was counting pretty quick.  

         "Are you insinuatin' - "  

         "No, not at all. As I said - I forgive you. Just don't bother talking to me again." James Hanson was speechless, his face burning bright-red. He could be as mad as he wanted to be, I said what I had to say.  

         "Oh, and you're an asshole." I called out, just as the door slammed shut behind me. I didn't know it at the time, but he quit his job shortly after that.  

         I never saw James Hanson again.  

*  

         "Tell me why we're doing this again?" I was lucky Naomi helped me out at all, but I knew I couldn't make excuses forever. Snow began to fall over the city, and it was absolutely freezing. Even in my layers I shivered, my teeth chattered. I had to be home by nine - as per my curfew - and she helped me to print out an A0 size sheet of paper, 33.1 by 46.8 inches.  

         "You're just gonna have to roll with it." I said, not-at-all a suitable alibi or excuse, but she didn't question it. We walked through the city, and back to mine. There was just one quick stop that we needed to make along the way, and a single poster to hang when nobody was looking. My teeth chattered from the cold, and my face felt numb. I didn't mind too much, because the cold reminded me of what he used to feel like...  

         "Guy seemed pretty happy with his lot." Naomi mused, moving past Christmas shoppers as they made their last-minute purchases. I forgot how pretty the place looked like when it was wrapped in lights, and everybody seemed genuinely excited. This only came once a year, after all!  

         "We make a pretty good Mr. and Mrs. Claus." I pointed out. I remembered spending my Christmases with him; he loved making presents for me, as opposed to buying them. Most of them were shelved and put away in the attic for the past twelve months, but I decided to take them back down and house them all over my room. It was strange, I knew that ghosts existed now, that there was a possibility of life after death. Nobody was going to believe me. It made me feel a lot...calmer. I didn't have to ask if I was ever going to see him again. I knew the answer already.  

         "OK, but seriously, who's Bart?" Naomi wasn't going to stop asking, so I decided to give her an answer.  

         "Oh, just a ghost that haunts the subways."  

         "A... ghost?"  

         "Uh-huh, he's not the only one there, there's a whole bunch of them living in the city."  

         "This is gay-code for something, I can feel it." She pressed, and she was free to make up her own mind on the whole thing. Maybe I could become a paranormal investigator, it seems like they were onto something. Jake cracked that joke to me a few months back.   

          I couldn't decide what to call him, but it hardly mattered at the end of the day. He was the same person - ghost or not - and I got the closure I was looking for. It still hurt - of course it did - but my therapy sessions with Aveleira helped a great deal. She had a habit of collecting knacks on her table, stuff she bought from all the countries she visited. I learned more about her than I did about myself in there. I should have listened to my Dad a long time ago.   

         The snow grew on thicker, enough to stick to the ground and cover it. Maybe there'd be a snow day in the morning, not that it did much good for my free time. Naomi and I scaled down the steps of the train station - she slipped on one of them, but I grabbed her before any real damage could be done - and found a suitable space for such a poster at the end of the path, the furthest space away from a camera. It was going to be taken down in the morning, I was sure. Hopefully the ghost saw it before it was. I unrolled the piece of paper while Naomi kept watch. Only a single other person shared the station, his eyes covered with dark shades, distracted by the music he was listening to. He looked like a great big ray of sunshine, didn't he?   

         "You're gonna give me a straight-forward answer about all this, one of these days." Naomi stated.   

         "I already gave it to you."  

         "Sure. You all set? Let's skidaddle before anybody spots us." She clearly didn't want to be there, and neither did I in all honesty. We left once I was satisfied that the sheet would stay on the wall, just noticeable enough for a certain paranormal boy to spot:   

         'Bart,  

         Jake's gone. He wanted to see you so badly. 

         He wanted to say goodbye.  

         Thanks so much for everything you did for him, and for me.   

 

- Peter.'

 

*  

-August 30th, The Following Year-

         The rest of the term flew by, and I honestly enjoyed each and every moment of it.   

         Exams came and went, but so did Christmas and New Year's Day. The three of us stayed at Bryan's ward together, mostly on his TV as he practiced his range of motion. Every single day, he improved vastly. He underwent surgery a few months after that, and it was a massive success. By the time final exams came around, he was starting his rehabilitation exercises. A doctor hovered over him at all times, and my friend made a habit of ducking and diving past him. Claimed it was his instincts kicking in from years of football. He looked noticeably slimmer, but the gym was waiting for him when he'd be discharged. He was told that he'd have to repeat his final year of high school, but he didn't seem to mind. He knew what he wanted and he was going to get it.   

         Our New Year's Resolution came with a promise - to always be in contact with each other. The easiest promise that I had to make.   

         Naomi was accepted into Harvard. She broke down with relief in the middle of her hallway when she forced me to open the letter on her behalf, a year's worth of stress and anxiety just melted away. Reynold Adams never managed to kick off prom in the way that he wanted - he was widely criticized for not securing the venues he promised he would - and it ended up in our sports hall as always. Not that the three of us went, or anything. Naomi took a small amount of pleasure from it.   

         I was accepted into college myself. It wasn't my first choice, but for my grades I was more than happy. I remembered packing my bags one night, when everything was organized and arranged. Dad told me how proud my Mom would have been if she were here, as well as the usual parent-isms of staying safe, and maybe not to accidentally commit acts of arson. He joked about that now, much to my surprise. I told him to visit me as often as he could. He was about to have a lot more free time now that I was about to leave the house.   

         I took my polaroids from the walls and the strings, and organized them into neat little albums to take with me. The metal roses guarded one of the most important ones I owned - the painting of Paris Through the Window - when something caught my eye. I peered closely at it, maybe it was a trick of the light? The polaroid was slightly blurred, which was to be expected when I shook it as hard as I did. Something about it was... different. The light seemed to fade towards the center of the photograph, and when I traced its edges...  

         I couldn't be sure, but it looked like... it was in the shape of a figure. The shape of a boy, maybe?  

         Who'd believe me if I said I captured the image of a ghost?  

         My ghost.   

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Jake.