Carolyn opened the door.
The room was empty. It was tidy compared to the rest of the house. A few poorly constructed and painted model airplanes hung from the ceiling. The rest of the room consisted of a table, some chairs, a mess of bedsheets, and empty boxes.
"Unless he slipped down the drain or a draft carried him out the window, Martin clearly isn't here." Douglas quipped while he looked around the attic.
He noticed a slip of paper on the table. It was covered in various doodles of logos for Icarus Removals, Martin's moving service. The model planes and Martin's childish drawings were endearing but they only worried the First Officer. He knew Martin was rather quick to emotion, but he also wasn't the luckiest man.
"We should look for his van. He may have broke down somewhere."
The sound of broken glass penetrated Martin's thoughts. For a moment he thought he felt wind on his face and coulds smell wet grass. The taste of blood overwhelmed his senses and it poured out his nose and mouth. He began to choke.
Why did this keep happening? He was sure it had to do with his death. but he could hardly put the picture together. Too many things happening at once and he couldn't exactly tell anyone if he did remember. He found himself in Douglas' house. The exhausted First Officer was talking to someone on the phone.
"...the police report is the best we can do for now. We drove all around town and didn't see that clunker anywhere".
Clunker? While Martin knew the van was old he didn't like anyone insulting the vehicle that ensured his livelihood. Where would he be without it? Oh, that's right. He can't use the van anymore because ghosts don't drive.
A surge of emotion overtook him. Martin realized he could never fly again, talk to his friends again, that he was alone. It wasn't fair! When he was alive he was poor and could hardly pay rent but he missed feeling of air in his lungs and playing word games and Arthur calling him Skip and everything.
Martin pulled away from his thoughts to notice Douglas had finished the phone call and stood with his head in his hands. Martin didn't know how long it had been since they were at the student house, but he could see dark circles under Douglas' eyes.
"Oh Martin, what idiotic scheme have you gotten yourself wrapped up in?" Douglas sighed. "You might have ran off or landed a better job. I wouldn't blame you if you did. I know we can be terrible, but aren't all families? I used to think we were like a family; you, me, Carolyn, and Arthur. We're a dysfunctional bunch, but we do care about you. I wish you realized that."
Martin tried to console him but he still found his hands went through the man. All he wished for in the world right now was the chance to speak and tell Douglas he was wrong. Martin did know they were like family. There were good days and bad days but they were still the only ones who would put up with him and that's all he could ask. In a burst of anger he struck a lamp sitting on a table. It's ceramic body shattered on the ground. Douglas stared at it in shock.
"Martin? Was that you?"