Chapter 2

'The Void?' Peter stuttered, pushing further into the wall the closer Trinity came towards him. 'What is this place? How is this happening?'

She smiled softly at him; there was no judgement in her eyes at the state Peter or his apartment was in. 'This,' she said, 'is my ability. I guess you now have it too, just like Nathan and my brother said.' She stopped a few feet from where Peter was hunched, stooping to a crouch. 'I can be part of this world, or part of the living world. I am neither dead nor dying, but neither do I have to be living, if I wish.'

Peter watched as spirits rushed to and thro through his apartment, horizontally, vertically. The conversed with each other, they laughed and joked, they hugged or fought – they were as alive in death as life ever offered to them. The differences were sparse between the worlds however. The Living world now, to Peter, became hollow and cold; defined details of living were too perfect and dull, such as rooms, landscapes, even people. Everything was opaque. Everything was unadventurous or, for better use of explanation, the world of the living contradicted the word 'living' itself. People were shells. They had hearts that pumped life through their mortal bodies, but mentally they were lost, never fully at peace because every instinct of human nature tells them that one day they are going to die, and to prolong death for as long as is possible. They live in fear, albeit fear that is not always at the forefront of their minds, but a fear that never stops whispering to them either. The world of the dead was vibrant and rhythmic, wisps of aura and light flowed everywhere; outside Peter saw the high rises of archaic structures and buildings which were draped in vines of vivid colours, and an aurora of travelling spirits streaming across the skies. All of The Void was unseen by the living, but all to be seen by the living eventually.

'This is what is going to help you, Peter,' muttered Trinity, gazing outwards to the wonders of the dead world.

'How?' Peter asked in wonderment. He could still feel the burning of his powers inside his body, the way they shrieked and clawed internally to be let out – to explode.

'Here, you can hurt no one; you can destroy nothing that cannot be remoulded and regenerated. Here,' she began, a wicked smile flashing across her face, 'those who die, live.'

Peter remembered every emotion he had felt the instant he hovered in the air whilst accusing Nathan of lying to him about having an ability. He felt like he was finally someone in a world where everyone else had a place, and he was merely the shadow of every human on the planet. He didn't have an identity or a meaning to his life which so many other people relished.

'It's my turn to be somebody now, Nathan!' he had bellowed from high above every other person in the city, and what to him felt like the world. It was the moment he knew difference, and what it felt like to finally become something more than what he was – who he was. He felt alive and invigorated to become somebody who could make a difference in the world which he saw was suddenly a hundred times bigger and freer than what it was before.

But now, in this moment, with his throbbing body withholding cataclysmic potential for destruction, and the new girl, Trinity, Peter had never felt so lost and cold. Perhaps it was a cruel joke that for the past few months he had been allowed to believe he was someone who could change the lives of others for the better, only now to be finally told it would be for the worse.

Trinity studied his face intently as he went back in his mind to the times that felt like years ago. Her hair wafted serenely in the phantom light, and her face was placid and curious. 'Tell me Peter,' she said, 'do you ever get the feeling like you are meant to do something extraordinary?'

Peter's gaze linked to her own. Those words he knew only too well as if he had uttered them every day of his existence. They were the words of a once curious man who sought answers to the question of being different and unique. They were the words that now pained and haunted Peter's mind beyond comprehension, for they were what lead him to who he had once strived to be but now feared being amongst anything else –special.

'Well?' She asked, her head tilting to the right in wonder.

'I did,' replied Peter in a strained voice. 'But now I want to feel nothing further from it.'

She nodded slowly. 'That's a shame,' she said. 'I know so many of these spirits who would never dream to say the same – and they can't go back to make a difference. You can.'

'What if I don't want to? What if...I lose control?' Peter's body instantly convulsed at the word. Control. Would he ever have it?

A soft laugh rose in her throat for an instant before she shook her head saying: 'What if you find it? What if, when you do, you can look around at this place,' she signalled around her, 'and realise not living in life and finding the answer to your problem is better than living forever in death with the same problem? A problem that will destroy you.'

The spirits proceeded to fly past, gliding through each other; some looked serene and at peace, but others – they were anything but restful. One in particular caught Peter's attention. It was the spirit of a young man, no older than twenty-five; no expression of happiness hinted on his face as if he was never aware there was such an emotion. He leant against Peter's wall, head back leaning against the framed picture of Nathan and Peter, not that he was aware through his own thoughts that harassed his mind. His rustled chestnut hair cautiously dabbed his face in comfort, but he would keep slapping it away, each time releasing a pained cry – a name. 'Alana!' he would repeat, each time with more intensity and sorrow. 'Alana!' he screamed. 'Alana run, Alana!' The fear in his eyes as he reached out with his hand was frantic, almost praying. 'Alana!' he cried once more before an intense bang exploded and his chest sharply sprayed sprinkles of dark liquid. He fell away into the wall, fading into nothing at which point Peter just stared horrified. He was unprepared for such a sight, but, it was only when the young man reappeared in a misted cloud that placed him back against the wall did Peter realise the young man was in his own, isolated echo of heartbreak.

Trinity had followed Peter's gaze; her eyes glistened with tears that told of familiarity of the sight.

'Sometimes I wonder why I ever come back here. But then I remember it is to remind me that his eternity should be no one else's.' She brushed away the tears that streamed down her cheeks, turning away from the crying young man. 'So answer me this again, Peter. Do you ever get the feeling like you are meant to do something extraordinary?'

Peter's focus had never once left the young man throughout the time Trinity spoke. It hurt to watch it repeat over and over again. There was no escape for him. There was nothing to end the repetition – it would continue forever? That was when Peter felt riddled with guilt. No matter how much the powers inside screamed at him to ignore the sight before him, he only had to look at the young man to realise that Trinity was right. No one else could die to live like this.

'I asked to be extraordinary,' said Peter. 'I promised I'd make the world a better place.'

'And you can,' replied Trinity. 'But not in this world.' She looked to the young man once more, 'They've already lived their lives. No matter how long you watch, you can't change it. But you can change so many endings to those who are out there now, living. Just believe it.'

Peter finally tore his gaze from the man. He used to believe he could save everyone. 'Save the cheerleader, save the world', as was once what he fixated on. He used to believe that he was meant for something more than being just a nurse who saved people one person at a time. And now what was he doing? What was he doing?

'I can't hide anymore,' he finally said. His fists clenched. 'I can't hide.'