Disclaimer: Duh, Medium is not mine.
Summary: Lee Scanlon is not thinking about the blondes in his life and most certainly is not trying to get wasted to remove the unsatisfying taste of licorice from his mouth.
Licorice
Lee Scanlon, is not in fact, thinking about the blondes in his life. And, as he is not thinking of them, he is also not sitting at some bar on the outskirts of Phoenix trying to get wasted. Because Scanlon is perfectly alive and well and most definitely not invisible to the world around him.
Except that he's not. Not what, he doesn't know, because he's not sure if he can think, being dead and all. He thinks that might be the one thing that he does know right now, that he's longer among the world of the living.
There's the taste of licorice in his mouth. He's not sure how it got there, but he wants it gone. The taste is bittersweet and makes him think of Lynn.
He's not sure why he's has the image of Lynn with once-blonde hair matted with blood and coated with glass. He doesn't think, for some reason that she's alive either, but he hasn't caught wind of her, alive or dead, anywhere as he drifts about, wondering if he should find some way to contact Allison.
Allison Dubois.
Hmm…
Lee Scanlon is most definitely not thinking about (because, really, he's not sure he think anyways) Mrs. Dubois in such a manner. Because, he's a good man, and she's a married woman, and they're coworkers. Or were coworkers. Or something.
He doesn't know anymore, but the urge to find that particular important blonde, because maybe she would know what to do. She would know if Lynn really was killed behind the wheel, what really happened to him, because all of a sudden, he can't really remember anything (if he really can remember) but Lynn's bloody but still beautiful, beautiful face…
Yeah. He should probably go find Allison. He's not going to get wasted anytime soon.
Of course, he wouldn't get wasted by alcohol that he can't touch or taste because he's not in a bar on the outskirts of Phoenix, thinking of the two beautiful, unattainable blondes in his life.
So that solves that little conundrum. He wonders just for a moment just how (of course, now he's pretty sure he's able to think, even with a non-existent, but still present mind) how all those ghosts managed to get into Allison Dubois mind, and then, finds himself without knowledge of how, suddenly inside her darkened room.
He's disoriented for a little while, but finds that his eyes don't need to adjust to the darkness. Allison's curled up under the blankets in her husband's arms, but there's tears under her eyelashes and circles under her eyes. He wonders suddenly if she's tried to dream of him in those strange little visions of hers, if she's tried to find his ghostly self the way he's kinda of wanted to find her living, breathing form.
Her eyes spring open quite suddenly, and she sits up faster than he ever imagined a woman could move in the space of a second. Allison's gaze falls upon his normally invisible body and something touches her face.
"Hello, Mrs. Dubois," He's pretty sure he's never been more glad to see her in his life.
But then, this is his afterlife.
"Hello, Scanlon," And she might be smiling.
Lee Scanlon hopes with hope he knows he's never felt in life or in death, that she knows how to help him.
TBC… maybe. Hehe, I like Scanlon. I like Allison. I like Medium. And oh the ships sailed.