[A/N: Okay, so I got a few questions. Mainly about how Ghost Beca really works... In short, Beca's spirit is attached to that piano. So she's confined to the whole of the house; she can lean and sit on things without making an effect- but if she really wants to manipulate something physical then she really has to use a lot of her conscience and energy to do so. It's not something she can just do- hence how long it took to push open the door in the last chapter.
Anyway, please keep leaving reviews!]
The way Chloe's eyes shown reminded me of a flickering flame despite their stark blue color. There was no dismissing the way she struggled to keep a positive attitude about her. Even with a few stitches against her skull and a deep purple bruise stretching under the sticky side of a few bandages. Her arm was wrapped heavily around Aubrey- hugging her close at the blonde struggled to hold up her friend as she locked her car door.
My knees were pooled against my chest, bent as my hand rested lazily. I was curled up on the one window seat in the house- the only plausible place in this old structure that gave me some sense of comfort. Mrs. Celant would have to copy old pieces down on blue lined paper until my wrists ached and stomach churned from lack of food. I was supposed to memorize the notes, feel them with every touch of the pencil to parchment. If I couldn't do that, then I couldn't be a reliable musician.
I would sit here all day- feeling the sunset against an odd horizon as the sky leaked pinks and blues. They would shade the colors in such an odd hue of purple that I would stop staring at the notes until they became blurry and unhedged. My head would lean back, and I would breathe through the pain.
Now, I only gazed down as Aubrey dragged Chloe up the steps to the front door. I tuned the two of them out after that, lost in my thoughts as I ran my fingers over the edge of the scabs formed near my knuckles. They stung, they stung cruelly and unhinged- part of me knowing I couldn't ponder too much about it, ironically Chloe had moved into my old room, knowing that she would soon curl up in her bed and shut the world out for a long while.
I shifted my position, crossing my legs in front of me as I placed my hands in my lap, rather partial to hiding the scars that ran deep instead of paying my full attention to them. I watched the stairs- following the noises and listening intently to Chloe's incoherent mumblings and sentences that the blonde struggled to sooth. Even I had to admit, Aubrey was a good friend, even if she was blaming herself for an incident that no one could have prevented.
"Can we still paint the study white?" Chloe asked as they reached the landing, my head cocking to the side. There was a mix between weighted footfalls and light airy ones. Aubrey was the latter. My chin lifting slightly as I waited for an answer that couldn't be short of entertaining.
"White is a hideous color, Chloe." She said, a hint of laughter tearing at her throat. It was a shocking statement. Someone as tedious and straightforward as Aubrey would have named white as her favorite color in only the second grade. Nothing about the girl had been shocking except for this- making me wonder if there was something more hidden beneath that meticulous forest gaze. "But the answer is no, we are not doing anything."
"I'm not paying painters," The redhead grumbled, her back facing me as she whipped around to give the taller blonde a pleading look. "Aubrey, I think I've learned my lesson. Don't seal up a room when you're painting it. I'm more than capable-"
"Uh," The woman held up a pointed finger, cutting her friend off with a mix of exasperation and worry. It looked like she was scolding her child after they were caught with their grubby little fingers knuckle deep in the cookie jar. "You might be more than capable, but you're still on a few weeks bed rest. Doctors orders."
"Your doctor is your cousin," Chloe groaned, waving her hands sporadically in front of her face. "Kelley would say anything you told her to, just fancier because of the whole medical degree thing."
"You mean her Ph.D.?" Aubrey cocked a pointed brow.
"Whatever," Chloe grumbled, clearly distraught over the prospect of being off of housework duty for a few weeks. She liked fixing up this old dingy place as far as I could tell- the two of them vibe well off one another- but I knew if it came down to it, Aubrey wouldn't be afraid to put the usual foot shoved up her ass, down.
Aubrey decided to let the conversation die as she turned her friend by the shoulders, fully intent on shoving her towards the back room that was still filled with about ten or twelve cardboard boxes yet to be unpacked. They were all branded by a different pen or marker- Chloe having trouble keeping track of something for more than five minutes at a time, especially when packing.
However, Chloe stuttered. Not in her words, she wasn't talking, but in her movements. I watched carefully with an eyebrow raised as She dug the heels of her boots into the soft plush carpet that lined the hallway. Knowing them, they would get rid of that too- but for now, it remained.
The ginger's face was flushed- even more so than usual. It was apparent that the tape adhered to her skull was bothering her, but that wasn't enough to get her skin crawling. I, however, was.
For the first time in, however long I had been here, I made direct eye contact with another person. My breath leaving my throat quite forcefully as I stared into electric blue pools of fear and worry- those same eyes that I thought I would never get a moment to admire or study up close. They had little gold flecks in them that reflected off the equally as spoiled sun- something I never would be able to see if she hadn't been staring dead on.
She can see me. "You can see me?"
The questioned echoed in my mind mere moments before pushing past my conscious body. She gulped down a big heaping of air instead of answering, even though I had mine right there. It was unspoken and hash, but I knew with every ounce of my half- alive being that Chloe could make me out sitting right on the windowsill. She could see me.
"Chlo?" Aubrey's words were soft as she squeezed her friend's shoulder slightly, a certain amount of worry in her expression. It took another soft flex of her fingers before the woman tore her stare away from mine and to the blonde. "You okay?"
"Uh," She sounded out, syllables cracking under the pressure. "Yeah, I'm fine. I just got a little dizzy, I might have to lay down after all."
Aubrey nodded, not wanting to wait any longer as she wrapped her arm back around Chloe's waist, my lips still parted as I watched the two with little to no conviction. It was rude to stare, I know, my own subconscious playing tricks on me. I was dead- you think the second-hand embarrassment of being caught gawking at a beautiful woman wouldn't raise fiery heat to my cheeks- but you'd be wrong. Instead, I stared openly and without shame.
The taller woman struggled with the door as she turned her back to Chloe, who had her brow lifted in pure shock and frustration. Her cerulean eyes would flick back to Aubrey every couple of half-seconds, puzzled by how the blonde didn't mention the sudden presence that I carried. She wouldn't. I shifted my head slightly, lifting my shoulders.
"Can you hear me?" I asked, voice muffled and raspy. The woman's eyes flashed in fear as she flinched slightly. "You can hear me, can't you? Oh, this is great."
She turned away as Aubrey wrapped her fingers around her counterpart's wrist with ease, pulling her into the half-finished room. I watched them carefully, Aubrey pulling back the stark white duvet that looked beyond comfortable to curl up in. It probably was- I couldn't feel it if I did decide to do so, that damned piano the only thing I could actually touch without wearing myself out too much.
I still wasn't exactly sure how I had pushed through those doors the other day- not really testing my limits when it came to anything. In a way, I could still pretend that I was living. I could lay on beds and lean on walls- but nothing noticeable to the human eye. Not unless I focused unless I really focused just like I had to when the fear of losing a distraction-filled me in every way. At this point, Chloe could be more than an interesting.
"Alright," Aubrey said, having successfully tucked the red-head in. "I'll check on you every single hour. But seriously, don't hesitate if you need anything. Okay, Chlo?"
The girl looked so young- the fabric of her comforter pulled up to her chin as she shivered from the contrast of her chilled skin with the heat of the newfound layer. She was so tiny compared to the large four post queen bed that she settled into. I leaned against the doorframe, watching with contempt. Her stare kept flicking past Aubrey's shoulder to me.
"Okay," She whispered, mind scrambling for reasonable answers, mine drifting as well. She reached out and grasped her arm, holding the older woman in place "Thank you, Aubrey."
"You're welcome," She said, squeezing the hand that was wrapped around her arm. "Get some rest."
There was another nod before Aubrey walked through the doorway, her shoulder brushing against mine as my gaze followed her movements. They were quick despite the slow and touching conversation she had just shared. The woman shuddered at my slight touch- letting out a quick breath before turning back towards Chloe. "Do you feel a draft in here? God, I have to give that damned realtor a call"
She didn't wait for an answer from Chloe before giving her a small smile and cracking the door behind her, I scooted from its path- not interested in dealing with the rough feeling in my stomach from sticking around in a closed edge of wood.
The quiet was overwhelming, Chloe's breath short and rapid as she stared at a blank spot on the white painted ceiling. Everything smelled so musty- so old compared to the rest of the house. This room was abandoned way before my father got married and moved away with some skank in the brushes of Georgia. After I moved out her refused to come in here- after I died he left it on the market and never stepped foot in the house after the movers took what they needed.
I shoved my hands into the pockets of those awful jeans, not wanting the scare the girl with those nasty scars. "you're not real." She trembled, biting the inside of her lips "I'm hopped up on morphine."
"They gave you morphine for a few stitches?" I mused "You hate needles that much, Red?"
She swallowed roughly, not paying me much mind. "I'm tired. I'm stressed. Remodeling this old house is stressing me out. This is a mental breakdown."
"Are you trying to convince me, or yourself?" I teased slightly, pressing my back against the wall as she finally flicked her gaze towards me. She was running her icy stare over my whole entire figure, it made a rough chill move through my spine as I stared her way- happy to have someone stare at me instead of through me.
"Mental breakdown," She affirmed, taking her hands and pushing herself up so her back was pressed against the backboard. The blanket pooled in her lap as she played with her fingers, not wanting to focus. "You're some form of my conscience, right?"
"Chloe, I don't have the best judgment so I'm not sure if you want me to be your deciding factor in anything." I waved the idea off. "Besides, isn't a conscience a mini version of you on your shoulder or something?"
"You watch too many cartoons." She mumbled, running a hand through her hair. Her fingers were unsteady as she let out a strangled sigh. "I am crazy, aren't I? I mean, Aubrey couldn't see you… Why couldn't she see you?"
I drew in a long breath, staring up at the ceiling. An uneasy cold moved through my core. "You got hurt."
"Yeah," She sounded out every single syllable. "But I'm fine."
"I'm not," I said, mouth dry and unforgiving. I swallowed down the anxiety that made my jaw ache and shoulders tense under the pressure of a conversation I never envisioned having. Not with someone who still had a beating heart anyway. My stare moved up to hers.
"I didn't think my conscience would be so short anyway," She grumbled, playing with the hem of the blanket as my stare hardened slightly. I shook my head, the edge of a smile on my lips. She was nervous, shifting in her seat as she bit the inside of her lip. She knit her eyebrows together.
"I was there when you fainted or fell, or whatever happened." I stumbled, starting to pace as I crossed my arms over my chest. I stopped by the edge of her television, turning around as I got lost in thought, my stare pressing against the carpet. "I mean, I'm always there. There's not a reason for me to be anywhere else…"
I paused, my eyes flashing up to hers.
"Chloe, you almost died, and I think when you did it made it possible to see me." It sounded crazy, everything about this sounded crazy. But I was also linked to an old Fazoli in a 50-year-old house.
"I'm sorry, what?" She squinted, parting her lips slightly.
"That piano," I said, voice gravelly, "I think when you hit your head on that piano it brought you closer to my world. Close enough that you can see me."
She was silent, her breath held in her throat. Chloe's whole body threatened to shake with tension. She was curled into a small ball at the head of her mattress, her chin resting on her knees. I could tell she hadn't thought of the dangers of painting in a sealed room or how close to her demise it really brought her to.
"And what are you, exactly?" The sullen girl finally asked.
"I'm Dead."