Even though he was a mere specter, he could still feel the hot pavement below him, smell the lilies blossoming- it was almost intoxicating. When he was alive, he never appreciated things like this. Now, all he could do was breathe it in. Luckily, since humans had seen them at times, he wasn't in his death clothes. It helped him- and others- kind of be reborn, dedicated to their missions. To make up for the pain they'd caused in their lives. Sigh. Was there anyway he could make up for what he had done? How does one make up for murder? Cold blooded murder. He was a killer, no matter how many lives he saved, no matter how many good deeds he had done. He was told- promised even- that true atonement could and would be achieved. But could it? He still heard the gunshots in his head, remembered his own voice yelling and threatening people. The tapes they'd made. God. The fucking tapes. Over time, he had realized how very stupid that was. How very stupid it all was. But he couldn't take it back. He could just atone for his grievous crimes against humanity.
"Not spying on our favorite girl?", a male voice called, "I'm sorry. Watching out for." He glared back at his former best friend, now the albatross of rules and reality checks in this ghostly mission. Where the fuck was that common sense when they were alive?
"No. I'm going to check in on her later," he replied, lying. He was actually biding his time because she was getting treatment at a medical facility. He planned to wait at her apartment.
"Or is it because you can feel what's going on with her?" His friend snarled, "Because I'm sure that's fun." He sighed and looked at his friend, "Are you jealous?"
His friend laughed. "Jealous?" he chuckled, "Because I want to be tortured. You can't have her. And say she figures out who you are, what do you say then?" His face reddened as he realized that his friend was right. But some part of him honestly didn't care. Maybe if he explained his past twenty years to her? Maybe if he expressed or showed her the anguish he felt at what he did? Maybe she could accept him. He shook his head at his friend and headed off to The Girl's apartment.
Walking in and breathing in her smell, he sighed again. He felt more human. Her cat snuggled up to his legs, bending down, he scooped the cat up. He had cats during his life and took them for granted too. Resting his long legs on her couch, he laid down. This place was lived in, this place had life. He got up and walked into her bedroom. As always, she'd been in a hurry and tossed random clothes on her unmade bed. He wanted to pick them up and carefully place them in the walk in closet she meticulously organized. But he decided not to disturb things too much. Her cat suddenly padded in an laid on the bed, meowing up at him.
"You belong here," it seemed to say. He shook his head and laid down gently in her messy bed. Maybe he did belong here. They'd wake up late on the weekends, stay up late at night watching old movies, and he would always make the bed. He grasped one of her hair ties and played with the ebony strands tangled in it. He was lost in thought when a noise woke him from his fantasies. The Girl was home.
"Cat, it's like you read my mind," she said weakly, "I'm so tired. I'm going to lie here and take a nap." She walked in the closet, changing into a tee and pajama shorts. She flung her clothes right by his arm. If she could see him. He held his breath as she climbed into the other side of the bed. It was a girl, a ghost, and a cat. She had no idea. She almost stroked his arm as she scratched the cat's ears.
"I still wonder where that guy is," she said in a sleepy voice, "you know, the one who saved me that night. Maybe he disappeared. Maybe he doesn't exist. Maybe he exists in the halcyon."
His eyes widened as he turned to see her drift off.
There was no way he could leave her alone now.
To be continued