If days could be measured in his existence, he was having a long day. Interesting, but long. He'd managed to stop two drunk drivers, thwart a kidnapping, and simply be there for a resident in a nursing home. The Old Man, or The Music Man as he liked to call him, was another person he'd grown fond of. The Music Man didn't get many visitors, so he had long conversations about his time as a musician with the staff. They were polite and listened. But it was he who heard him. And he liked it. If he could still feel rage, he would hate the man's children who never visited. Instead, he felt sorrow. When the Music Man waited every Sunday patiently for his children to arrive- and they never did- he cried with him. Not tears like the living, but deep sorrow. He realized one day it was because he missed his own family dearly. One day he was there for them, and then he wasn't.
Today was more jovial though. Music Man played his guitar and softly sang an old country song. In his Earthly life, he hated country, but now the hate disappeared. He found it easy to get lost in his rich voice and nimble guitar playing. But soon Music Man would be off to dinner and then bed. He had a routine and adherence to it kept him sane. Looking out the window, he saw the clouds and knew who to peer in on next. The Girl.
Now, he'd looked on her various times during the day. He could feel her presence when she wasn't there. He knew when she felt joy and sadness. Every emotion crept through his existence. It helped as it hindered him. He tried not to think of the warnings from his ghostly friend, his Earthly co conspirator.
"Don't get too close to her. You can't even have her."But he didn't care. He didn't want her. But he had to protect her. He knew her. No one else would be able to do such a good job. Plus, he needed to save her. If he could protect her, then maybe he would have done something right.
He didn't want her.
He needed her.
She didn't know it, but she needed him.
To be continued