Author's Note
Heheh... this is so fun, updating so often! I think I'd forgotten what it was like after I got out of the habit. I'd absolutely love to be able to keep this up, if possible. –nods- Thanks so much to my reviewers and readers! :D

And just give me a heads-up; November in America, that's cold, right? In Australia, it's warm, and I'm no good at telling the seasons properly up in the Northern Hemisphere.

Psyched Out
-MoonlightUmbreon-

The sun shone cheerfully through the curtains and into my room. Somehow, I just wasn't in the mood, though. Sun though it may be, I had work today. It wasn't that I didn't like my job – it was just that I had other things occupying my mind at the moment. When you're so heavily preoccupied, it botches the analysis on patients. You have to watch their facial expressions, movements, fidgeting, what they say, eye movements – everything.

At least it wasn't a brain surgery day; I'd done those before, and they're the only part of my job I dislike. Fiddling with the main controller of someone gives a great sense of power, true, but one mistake, and it could easily be fatal. The most acute concentration is vital.

I clambered out of bed, dragging my feet along the ground on the way to the wardrobe. I was definitely a morning person, but only because I had my coffee when I got up. Nothing beat a steaming hot cup of coffee on a cold November morning.

I spent a day with the patients at Amity Park Private Psychiatric Hospital, or the A-Triple-P-H, but I knew that I'd have to see them all again. I'd taken the notes, sure; they even read coherently. But my mind hadn't been in it, most likely because it was wandering in the midst of its own depths – Danny and ghosts and waves of emotions and my parents trying to find my non-existent ghost of a boyfriend.

By the time I was home, I was grouchy and just about ready to kick something. I'd been unproductive and I was no closer to finding out anything – whether it be about my patients or my family.

There had to be a way, I thought. But at that time, I just couldn't think of anything. For one of the only times in my life, I had no idea, no plan, and no clue where the hell and in which direction I was supposed to be heading.

Perhaps I could talk again to Danny on the weekend? But I didn't want him to know... and, God, how would he react when mum and dad told him of my boyfriend, who was no more existent than Dash Baxter's brain, the jock who disproved my thesis that no one is untutorable? So much for not letting him know I was snooping. He might be a little thick and clueless at times, but he's not so thick that he wouldn't smell something fishy going on.

I downed the night's fourth cup of coffee, sure that the caffeine wasn't doing much for my sleeping habits or my health. I knew I was becoming addicted to the stuff, but didn't really care enough to take the effort of quitting.

My head screamed that there had to be a solution to the problem. It raved at me as I agitatedly walked from one side of the living room to the other, muttering. Why should this little thing be something to drive me insane over, anyway? It was ridiculous. I should have been worrying about the fights that Danny got into on a regular basis, but no...

My mind twitched, and so did my eye. All the coffee, all the stress, and all the inconclusiveness didn't prove to be a good sleep inducer.

"So... mum said that you have... a..."

"I know what she said, Danny. It's not the truth. I had to lie when I was asking her something."

"You lied about having a ghost boyfriend?" Danny looked incredulous, eyes almost reaching the point of glowing with disbelief. "What the hell brought that on?"

"I'm really sorry, Danny. I know I've dug myself into a hole, but I was asking about psychoanalysing ghosts, and they suddenly wanted to know why. It's better than telling them about your ghost half..."

"That is really messed up."

"I know..."

It was then that another wave hit me. I couldn't be sure whether it was pity, anger, or a strange mix of the two. It rolled off Danny in pulses, entering through my skin and reaching through my body. The feeling was chilling and eerie, and even now after I'd experienced it so many times, I just couldn't get used to channelling someone else's emotions. The anger was particularly odd, however, as it made my stomach bubble and my face become hot...

"Jazz... are you getting a temperature, or something?"

I shook my head, blinking my eyes in an attempt at confusion. "No. It's a bit warm in here, though. Oh – would you look at that, the fire's on four. That's it."

The fire was promptly turned down. But my face was still hot with anger that wasn't my own; how Danny wasn't going red at this level of anger was possibly one of life's great unsolvable mysteries. Of course, there was the whole half-ghost factor, which probably helped things. If anything, the increased blood flow should have been making him go green...

"Jazz? Anyone home in that head of yours?" the call snapped me out of my thinking. I realised I'd trailed off on my own thought train. "There's something else I should probably ask."

"What's that?"

"Why did you ask mum and dad about ghost emotions? Case in point, ones that travel in waves?"

So he was told. I should have known, really – how I didn't think of this outcome before surprised me a little; obviously I'd jumped into the whole situation a bit too quickly. Or would it be a good thing? Perhaps I could examine him while he was consciously aware I was doing so? Actually, so long as he didn't spit the dummy, this process would be significantly easier...

"Yeah, well... that's why I had to lie to them about knowing a ghost. I couldn't very well say that it was you, and... well, I'm wondering why it happens. If I had've realised it'd turn into a mess, I would've just kept it all under my hat."

"No, but... I'm interested. Why'd you want to know?"

"I... I might not look like I do, but I seriously worry about you," I admitted, taking a sip of the night's second coffee. "It's so strange, and I'm fairly sure only I can feel them, so... well, don't you want to know what they're all about, too? It's so mysterious, and I've never heard of any other ghost having this happen."

Danny opened his mouth and then closed it again, beginning to fiddle with the spoon in his helping of the caffeine-rich drink. He appeared to be mulling things over.

"...So... any theories?"

Perfect. He was accepting it – my main worry was that he'd reject the whole thing and get angry like last week, which obviously, wasn't a good situation to be in. I began to think, steadily conjugating what I had in mind.

"I think that... your ghost half might be feeling different emotions than you. Like – I dunno, a divided consciousness. That'd be why you have no idea what emotion they are or even that they're happening at all."

"But that's crazy! You know that it's – it's me, that's all there is to it. Phantom's not a whole other person. It's just me with white hair and green eyes!"

I put my hands up defensively. "Hey, it's just a theory!"

"Point..."

The talk for the night didn't get much further than this. Truth be told, I couldn't actually think of what else I could test for, so we sat there for the rest of the time with coffee mugs in our hands, watching the television. I figured that this one would be a waiting game, as much as it pained me to realise this. I wanted answers, now, and I'm sure that Danny did too.

At the end of the visit, however, something rather interesting happened. It was a development that was both new and extreme. When Danny walked out the door, I patted him on the back just as a 'keep safe' sort-of gesture. But something happened – I froze in position, feeling wave upon wave of relentless anger course through me from the point where my hand had touched him. Like hot red pulses, it travelled through every cell to the nucleus, penetrating every single little atom. The organs in my stomach wobbled, my throat became all choked up, and the blood vessels in my head and eyes felt like they were about to burst completely...

This wasn't just rage. This was something else at work entirely.

Danny was screaming at me in the background, but the only thing I could make out was him yelling that my eyes were going red. From there, I can't remember anything; I only know what was in Danny's own recount of the story.

I convulsed, snapping my eyes shut, and then fell to the ground with a silencing thud.