Chapter 1:
Ryan Evans studied the velvet satchel from his couch. Cold blue eyes swept past the intricate detail on the satchel, registering the fine quality of the fabric.
It was not his habit to pick stuff from the junkyard. A habit that never existed in the Evans bloodline. The blond undid his tie and sighed. With a frown, he contemplated the contents of the satchel as he took another sip from his bottle of chilled beer.
Ryan picked the satchel, weighing it with his free hand. He took another sip from the bottle while he pondered about the content. Placing the beer bottle down, he slipped his hand into it and cringed.
Pulling out the content, his eyes widened in horror as he muttered, "What in the world…"
An ancient skull decorated with symbols rested on his hand.
"Damn it…"
The empty sockets of the skull glowed with orange light and a thin wisp of white smoke wafted from those two holes. With a yelp, the blond dropped the skull. The couch squeaked in protest as the blond pressed his entire body on it.
Arms covering his head, he watched the skull rolled gently on the carpeted floor. Did he drink too much?
"Harry?" a smooth voice questioned.
Ryan lowered his arms, eyes fixated on the spectral being before him. The ghost had short white hair and his pale skin glowed in a pale silvery sheen. Bright, inquisitive eyes studied him as the ghost placed his hands to the small of his back.
Smartly dressed in a black suit that tailored to fit, the ghost stood to his full height. The spectral being held a regal bearing and his sharp, fine features seemed almost too archaic in this modern era.
"Who are you?" Ryan asked, still gawping.
The ghost raised his brows as he tilted his head slightly to the left; his eyes calculative and expression calm. "I am Hrothbert of Bainbridge, but I rather be addressed as Bob."
Ryan noted the thick British accent that accompanied his words.
"Ok, Bob…is that your skull?" Ryan pointed to the skull resting on the floor.
"Yes," Bob replied stiffly. Those wise eyes noted that his skull was lying next to the blond's polished leather shoes.
"I did not mean to drop your skull," Ryan mumbled apologetically after following Bob's line of sight.
"I am sure you didn't mean to. I should be the one to apologize for my sudden, unsolicited appearance," said Bob with a smile.
Ryan shifted uncomfortably under the ghost's studious gaze. He tried to relax his tensed body while he was suddenly conscious of his apparel and image.
"Pardon my insolence, but where am I?" the ghost queried.
"Well, you are at my place…in an apartment in the middle of Chicago," Ryan answered, adding the latter to ease the frown on the ghost's forehead.
"Not far…" Bob replied, gazing out of the window.
Ryan dipped his head and extended his arms to pick the fallen skull.
"You have yet to introduce yourself," the ghost reminded gently.
"Oh! I'm terribly sorry," Ryan apologized, leaping off the couch and extended his hand. "I'm Ryan Evans."
The ghost observed the fair, smooth hand offered and shook his head.
Ryan understood and started to apologize frantically.
"Young man, I do not take it to heart. It is alright," Bob intoned lightly.
Ryan nodded, studying the coffee stain on his carpet, feeling like a child under Bob's scrutiny. Eyes flicking upward, he noted the warm smile on the ghost's face.
Slowly he raised his trembling fingers, reaching for Bob's pale fingers. Bob took a step back, but that did not prevent the blond from touching him.
With a shudder, Bob's eyes fluttered close. The ghost never liked it when people did that, Harry the only exception. Not only did he feel his incorporeal form being violated by the gentle warmth of the living, he was capable of glimpsing into the blond's past.
Quickly Ryan pulled his fingers back. The chill was awful and had left his fingers numb. But it was not the chill that troubled him. It was the ghost's moist eyes.
"I am sorry..."