Chapter 3:

Our moments like that went on for a good year up until New Year's day, 2005, till he finally walked out of the bedroom and into the kitchen where I turned the faucet on and then off again out of pure boredom.

"Okay, stop!" Sam's voice bellowed throughout the room, making me pause in my trek. I looked up from the rushing water out of the faucet and then turned it off. A couple of droplets of water snuck out of the faucet, making Sam even more irritable. Wincing, I turned it off all the way until the droplets stopped.

"Why haven't you killed us yet?" he demanded, arms spread out in an angry fashion.

I pressed my lips together curiously. Odd question from this boy studying to get into law school, but I'll take it.

"I'm not the killing type," I said plainly, but truthfully.

"That's not true. Every ghost I have ever encountered has been vengeful, why not you?"

"Every ghost?" I questioned curiously. "What are you some kind of ghost buster like Christina Ricci's dad, Bill Pullman, in Casper?"

Sam quirked an eyebrow at me out of curiosity. He was about to reply to that, but then stopped for a brief moment when it seemed like he was going back in time in his head to a time he didn't want to go. I sensed there was much going on in him than he let on, on the outside of what he appeared to be.

"Was," he said.

"Was?"

"It was a family thing," Sam shook his head dismissively, not wanting to get into it. "Now, it's not. School's more important."

"Uh-huh…" I said slowly with a nod of my head.

"You still didn't answer my question," Sam glared.

"Which was?"

That only angered him more. "Why haven't you killed us yet?!"

I cringed slightly. "I told you. I'm not the killing type. I vowed not to be," I replied firmly. I then took a look to consider why he was angry and saw his unkempt state of mind right now. Not just mind, but everything. He had blood shot eyes, dark circles underneath them, and his short brown hair was messy as if he'd been tossing and turning trying to get a good night's sleep.

"You can check the records," I said finally, letting the air settle between us.

"I will," defiance escaped his reply. "That's a good idea."

"At three in the morning?" I asked. Skepticism dripped from my lips.

"If it will help me sleep and make you go away," Sam said.

"Everything's locked," I pointed out.

Sam smirked. I didn't like that smirk. It was as though he had a trick up his sleeve. Perhaps many.

I sighed. I waited till he put some pants on. Not a moment later, we were off on a little adventure, creeping through the apartment's complex's hallways. We'd made our way to the landlord's office where Sam thinks the records of last tenants might be. I never would have thought to look there. I would have checked obituaries or something, but maybe this was easier, and less depressing.

I stood by him in the darkness while he held his flashlight in between his teeth, and took out a set of tools from his back pocket. He started to manipulate the lock. I narrowed my eyes questionably at his smooth skill.

"So, do this kind of thing often?" I asked.

"It was a family thing," he shrugged, concentrating on the lock. I smiled, realizing he already used that as a reply. Guess he didn't like to talk about it all. Made me even more curious.

"Ooh, like the mafia? Godfather part 1 or 2?" I asked.

Sam scoffed a bit, "Neither. It's not like that. It's a long story. Probably wouldn't believe me if I told you."

I raised an eyebrow at those very words and looked down at what I was, then smirked at him. "Sam? I'm a ghost haunting your apartment building."

"Heh. Right," he pushed the door open and closed it after I followed him inside. "Keep a look out."

I nodded a bit, staying close to the desk, and sat on top of the edge, while Sam went over to the filing cabinets lined up against the wall. He started digging.

"When did you die?" he asked.

"1998. October. Two days before my birthday," I said as though I had it memorized. I more than likely did. It's all I kept thinking about. "Why, does that help narrow the search down?"

"Sort of," Sam said absentmindedly, pulling out stacks of manila folders with colored tabs on them onto the desk. He stood over the desk and started thumbing through each one. I looked at the year from 1998 to 2005. That's how long I've been dead. Seven years.

He was reading every file for what it seemed like five minutes each, trying to do it fast, but also trying to get the most information he could out of what he had.

"You're a stickler for details aren't you?" I asked.

Another scoff left his lips until he finally finished each stack. No obituary clip in the folders. No one died. He should've been satisfied by that but he seemed a little more perturbed by it than anything else. I guess he hasn't met any nice ghosts in his line of work, or whatever it is that he did.

"See?" I said as he clamped his hands together and leaned his chin on them, elbows on the desk. "I'm not a killer ghost."

"I guess your not," his brows furrowed, bristling with confusion as he thought more on my case. "Huh. Dean's not gonna believe this."

"Dean?" I asked, sounding out the n exasperatedly. Who was he?

"Yeah. My brother. Uh…" he glanced at me at my questionable look and he shook his head. "No one important. Anyway, we should go. I have a clean record, and I don't fancy getting caught."

I sighed, but nodded in agreement. He was trying to get into law school after all. His file should be squeaky clean. I could remember Katherine saying how hard it was to stay perfect.

I watched him quickly shove the files back into the office and then turned my head to see if anyone was coming through the window of the landlord's office. He picked up his flashlight and tools, placing them in his pockets.

So far, so good. It was all quiet.

We crept out of the landlord's office, locked it back up, and headed back down the hallway, heading back to the apartment.

"So. Melinda F. Grey. Katherine Johnson. Tenants of 1998," Sam mused out loud, hands in his jean pockets. "Which one are you?"

"I'm Melinda," I said gloomily. "Katherine Johnson was my roommate and the one who killed me."

"You were murdered?" Sam stopped shuffling his feet beside me. I turned towards him to see his jaw dropped in shock. We were just inches from his apartment.

"Mhmm," I nodded sadly.

"Huh," his gaze dropped suddenly for a brief moment in mid-thought I'm sure.

"What?"

"Well, usually murder victims don't wait this long to kill people," Sam said.

I cringed, thinking of Jason.

"I almost did," I said softly, still unable to forgive myself for the way I'd gone after him that night. "I've regretted it ever since and tried to stay away from people. I scared most tenants away…and for a while it was quiet, comforting. But when you and your girlfriend came in, I felt…connected. I don't know," I shook my head. "I just didn't feel the need to kick you out. Anyway, I'm sorry I woke you. I just get bored, anxious. I need to do something so I turn faucets on to watch the water or walk-"

"A little bit too loudly," Sam said.

"Sorry," I winced. "I'll try to tone it down some. It's just I don't have a yo-yo, or a hacky sac to play with, and I don't want to break your girlfriend's vases. I like actually like sunflowers."

Sam smiled lightly. "Well, I do have one way that could help us both sleep. If you're willing to give it a shot."

"Shoot," I shrugged. "Anything." I was desperate to get off this plane. I didn't like it anymore.

"Where are you buried?" Sam asked.

I smiled. "I wasn't. I was cremated."

"Cremated?" Sam repeated.

"Yep," I nodded.

"Why?"

"Family tradition. Plus, it was the nineties," I said with a shrug, glancing at my purple chipped nails.

"So?"

I sighed exasperatedly. Honestly people need to understand that the nineties was the coolest decade ever, even though it had some drawbacks. If I could go back to that time again, I would. Morning cartoons were the best. They made me care about getting up in the morning.

"So, my family was the end-of-the world type. The Y2K and all that? We were preppers. Dad even built a bomb shelter. My parents were hippies through and through. They watched way too many end of the world movies, and man there were a lot of them," I watched Sam's wide-eyed expression the more I spoke about my family. "Anyway, they didn't want us to become zombies like Resident Evil and Night of the Living Dead."

"You've got to be joking," Sam said, clearly annoyed that maybe getting rid of me wasn't going to be that easy.

"Wish I was," I said truthfully remembering my father's monthly drills. I loved my parents, but they were a handful and a little bit over the top sometimes.

"So no bones to salt or burn….great, uh, well, there's got to be another connection keeping you tethered here," Sam said, thinking out loud. I watched the wheels turn in his mind.

"Like an object, a locket, a picture frame, best friend charm, an old CD..." Sam rattled at the top of his head.

"It's worth a shot," I shrugged, trying to remember our friendship that Katherine and I had. It was hard to go back to a time and remember that we even had one. "But none of that is here anymore. All gone." I said sadly, now missing my Spice Girl's CD. She probably stole that too.

"Do you think Katherine would have any of that?" he asked hopefully.

"Maybe," I said. I wasn't sure. She was glad that I'd been pushed over. I didn't think she'd care enough to keep a keepsake.

"Okay. We'll do some more digging tomorrow after my mythology test," Sam promised. "Right now, I need sleep."

"Mythology?" I asked as a small smile curled on my face.

"Yeah?" he asked, a yawn leaving his lips. "It was an elective."

My smile brightened. "I minored in it."

For the first time that night Sam gave me a real smile and it made me feel good.

"Did you want to be a mythology professor or something?" he asked, genuinely curious.

"That was my backup plan," I smirked. "Anyway, I'll try to keep the noise down. Night, Sam. And Sam?"

"Yeah?" he asked after getting into his apartment, pushing the door open halfway in between the threshold.

"Thank you," I said.

He nodded, and I followed him inside. He closed the door behind me and locked it several times. It was interesting that he treated me like a human being even though I was dead.

I watched him head to the bedroom and listened to him, put away his flashlight and his break-in tools. Then he plopped down once more on a comfortable mattress next to his girlfriend. I hoped he got some sleep. Those mythology tests are tough. I looked around the apartment once more. I was left alone. It was very lonely being a ghost. It was also a struggle, internally, trying to fight and ward off my anger and need that was strong within me. I wish I didn't feel so angry all the time. It'd been fun being a ghost for all of seven years, but the fun wore off way too fast for my tastes. Oh well. At any rate, I liked Sam, and I really hoped that he could help me move on. Hopefully in time before I killed someone.

~*SPN*~

Sam and Jess got up extremely early to go to school. Jess wished him good luck on his test with a hug and a peck on his cheek at the door. I was sitting on the couch, waving at him. He gave me a tight grim smile. I wondered what teacher he had if it was the same one. I offered to help him on the test, go with him, while was pouring a cereal bowl for breakfast before he left, but he shook his head. He said he'd be back in an hour, so I waited and waited. I'd done a lot of waiting. This wasn't new. But I was patient, every so often looking at one of the vases on the table by the door. It had a blue bowl on it and the sunflowers looked at me sadly. Jess forgot to water them today. It wasn't like I could water them. I turned away, shaking my head.

I was pacing back and forth when the door opened. I stopped and turned to look at the door and Sam walked right in with his messenger bag and keys in hand. He dropped them into the small blue bowl and headed inside. I heard him yawn as he closed it behind him.

"Hey," I greeted. "How'd it go? Is Professor Stone as tough as I remember?"

"Yep. And you're right. She does look like our Golden Girl, Rue McClanahan." Sam added half-heartedly.

I grinned. It was nice to know that things still remained the same. He walked into the kitchen and set his bag down on the counter, and grabbed a water bottle from the fridge. He twisted it open and took a large gulp before he started to open his bag, lifting the flap up. He pulled out his silver laptop that Jess had given him for Christmas. He'd given her the most beautiful silver pair of earrings I'd ever seen before.

He set up the laptop and walked around the counter to sit on the stool. I walked to the edge of the counter and plopped my elbows on it curiously.

"What are you doing?" I asked.

"Research," he said simply.

"On more mythology? How bad did you suck?" I smirked at him.

"On you," he corrected, giving me one of those, I-didn't-suck looks on his face. "Need to find out where Katherine Johnson lives now."

"You're still going to help me?" I asked.

"Yeah. I made a promise didn't I?" he said. "Plus, I really can't afford to fail a class if I'm going to be a lawyer in the future."

I smirked at him. Of course. "Yeah. You did. It's just I've honestly never met someone like you to be so well versed in ghosts. I thought it was going to take years for me to finally die off…again. I'm not really sure how that works."

"Usually it does take years. If I didn't come to the apartment sooner, you might have killed and maybe more. My family would have eventually found your string of mysterious murders and figured out a way for you to move on sooner or later," he told me.

I listened, taking it all in of what he was telling me about all this stuff.

"Guess it's better than later."

Sam typed onto the keyboard. And for a while it was quiet, just his breath and the typing could be heard throughout the apartment. He was searching Katherine Johnson in one of these online nation wide-search sites. It kind of reminded me of So Weird. That show was everything. I missed it and never got the chance to finish the ending. Plus I was entering adulthood, a weird transition in my life when I was becoming a woman. No longer just a girl. But I'd still listened to No Doubt.

I was glad that he was trying to look for Katherine because I wasn't even sure where she'd be right now. We always talked, but it was always up in the air of where she'd live, etc.

"Ah-ha. Bingo. She lives in San Fran," Sam said, clapping his hands together, a bit of excitement riveted off of him.

"That's perfect. Not that far away right? We can go see if she has anything that could help, right?" I asked, hope creeping up in my voice threatening me to be hopeful. It was a weird feeling because I haven't felt that in a very long time, not since this one came along. If he could help me, I would be forever grateful and in his debt. I didn't want to stick around here for another seven years drowning in pain in misery and I didn't want to kill someone.

"I, uh, got work in four hours," Sam frowned.

"It's only a couple of hours out. Or you know, there's always the phone?" I suggested, trying to be as helpful as I can be.

"Heh," he grimaced slightly. "That never works. Usually get a dial tone or a straight up voicemail."

Sam ran a large hand over his hair. "No. Going in person is always better."

I nodded, smiling. Yay! Field trip. To San Francisco it was.

~*Supernatural*~

San didn't talk much on the road. We listened to music instead. But our quiet moment ended when he pulled up to a large driveway. I looked up at Katherine's town home/manor-like building that was nestled in between other houses that looked like it but in different colors. It had a faded maroon color with white trimming around the windows and front door.

I bit my bottom lip, suddenly getting cold feet.

"I'm gonna stay here," I said suddenly as Sam turned off the engine. He opened the door, and shoved his keys into his pocket. Then he dipped his head in, wondering if he heard me correctly.

"You're coming with me," he said as plain as day. "Gotta face your demons sooner or later, right?"

I pressed my lips together regretfully and sighed in a huff. He had a goddamn point. Unfortunately, he was absolutely right. I got up, forcing myself to get up that is, and walked right through the car door, and onto the pavement. I jogged up to catch up with Sam till I reached the door of the manor.

"Don't touch anything. I doubt she'd be able to handle a blast from the past and ghostly encounters. That's enough to put someone in a mental hospital," Sam warned.

I nodded. "Got it," I said, placing my hands back inside my jean pockets behind me, waiting as Sam pressed the doorbell. She obviously did well for a lawyer, I glanced around me at the small garden in front on the windowsill, pots of flowers all lined up, and the grass was well manicured.

"Looks like she's not home," I said after a wall of silence slipped in between us. I started to walk back to the car. Sam attempted to stop me, but realized he couldn't. I smirked smugly.

"Wait," Sam called after me, making me stop dead in my trek. I felt my shoulders slump forward and spin around on my heel to face him. He gave me a look and I marched my butt right back beside him.

"Fine," I scowled.

The door finally opened to reveal an older woman. I raised my eyebrows in shock. Sam noticed my look and spun around to face her. He cleared his throat nervously.

"Katherine Johnson?"

"Who's asking?" the woman narrowed her eyes at him suspiciously.

I bit my bottom lip in realization, shaking my head. "It's not her," I said softly. Sam glanced down, sneaking a glance at me, but then back up at the older woman with dark red curly hair. She was blocking the doorway, keeping the door tight against her, not letting us see inside the manor. The woman definitely had Katherine's beautiful bold and brown eyes though.

"I'm a friend. Is she here? It's really important," Sam said, thinking quickly on his feet.

"I'm afraid not," she frowned, wrinkles in her face thinning around her smile, making her tired.

"Did we just miss her?"

I eyed Sam worriedly, noticing that he'd just said the word 'we' when he was by himself. I cringed, wondering if Mrs. Johnson noticed, but she didn't seem to.

"Something like that," she said cryptically. I heard the bitterness loud and clear, especially when she tightened her blue knit sweater for warmth.

"What do you mean?" Sam pressed.

"She's dead."

My jaw dropped at the cold and blunt reply. Well, I didn't see that coming. I thought for sure that she would have a fantastic life as a divorce lawyer, marry Jason, and then have a family. Honestly, I was rooting for that. Death was not something I predicted for her.

"Come on in," she said with a sigh as she saw Sam's dejected look. She let us both pass, even though she couldn't see me and closed the door.

She led us into the living room. We waited till she came back. She'd offered Sam some lemonade and to be polite, he accepted. Mrs. Johnson's living room was filled with the same furniture. I could see that she kept the two tea tables with her that were nestled in between the couches and the chairs facing each other like they used to in the old house Katherine lived. We lived like down the street from each other in the New England area. Her mom never wanted to be that far apart from her daughter, so when Katherine got accepted all the way to Stanford, the whole family moved to help Katherine settle in. My family stayed and visited when they could. My parents said they were on an RV road trip and had decided to visit me unexpectedly, a surprise for my birthday. I was turning twenty-three. Was.

Mrs. Johnson returned with a tray of lemonade in a clear iced pitcher and two glasses, one for her and Sam.

"So, how do you know my daughter again? Sam, was it?" she asked, casting a glance over the coffee table as she placed the dray down carefully onto the coffee table. She poured the lemonade into a glass filled with ice and handed it to him. He reached over for it, thanking her, and she poured herself one before she took a seat across from us.

I sat next to Sam. A sudden shiver passed over her.

"Thought I turned the air down. Are you cold?" she asked as though I were a draft of cool air. That made me feel-oh-so-good, but then I realized the living didn't care much if the dead were near or whatnot. Like Sam said, she might not believe in the afterlife like he did.

Sam shook his head. "I'm fine thank you. And uh…tutor. She uh, was trying to help me pass and get into law school. I'm fixing to get into law school this fall actually," he said, a smile broadening his handsome features. "But, um, I was hoping to get some more help from her, just extra you know? But, uh, how did she die if you don't mind me asking?"

"Suicide," she replied that stung my well-being. "Three months ago. My daughter just couldn't take it anymore."

"Take what?" Sam asked, reaching for the glass of lemonade respectfully. He took a sip at the sour taste and set it back down forcing the rest of the lemonade back in his throat.

"Oh, I don't know. The guilt she was feeling? She said it was her fault over and over again. The loss of her best friend Melinda? They were like sisters, you know. They used to play together every day. Grew up together. She once told me that life wasn't worth living without her best friend. Katherine was an only child. I told her it wasn't her fault and that it was just an accident." A glazed look appeared on Mrs. Johnson's brown eyes that suddenly became lost in the past.

"Would they have exchanged items like best friend charms? Do you think she has any of Melinda's stuff around?" Sam asked tentatively at the very tender subject.

"No," the woman shook her head. "She got rid of everything that was a terrible reminder of what she claimed was her fault," she said softly. "But, there is one thing that always remained the same throughout the years. I'll be right back."

She got up and left us be, leaving me feeling even more like crap.

"This is not the life I wanted for her," I whispered. Sam looked at me. I could feel his gaze, watching my side profile as I stared into the wood on the coffee table until Mrs. Johnson came back with an old picture. She held it tight in her hands.

"She was a good kid. They both were," she said, the sadness just dripping out of her voice. I felt everything inside of me twist in anguish. I played with the hems of my shirt, trying to keep myself from touching something out of my peripheral vision. I was having a silent mini panic anxiety attack, tempting me to flick something at Mrs. Johnson.

She handed Sam the photo and I looked at it, grateful for the distraction. It had a bit of wear in it, kind of folded. But that was the one. It was the same photo that I'd thrown at Katherine and Jason that night at the door. That had to be it. I felt a strong connection to the photo. But, then again, I was feeling an odd connection surge through me just by being here.

"Can I borrow this?" Sam asked.

"Honey, you can have it. I'm not sure why, but I feel like she's always been around. I know it sounds silly, but do you believe in the afterlife?" she asked out of the blue.

I quirked my head to the side at her curiously and then at Sam.

Sam immediately smiled. "I try not to."

She looked perturbed by that answer, so he shifted in his seat to help clarify what he sad. "Sometimes it's best to let go of the people we love then to hang onto something forever."

"I suppose," she said thoughtfully, eyes drawn together. "Well, if she is around, I hope she realizes that it wasn't my baby girl's fault with what happened that night. Katherine was going through a lot at the time. I know it's not an excuse, believe me, but the poor girl had a lot on her shoulders, especially with her daddy's and mine's divorce…. well," she licked her lips and looked at Sam. "It was a lot. Just know that it wasn't Katherine's fault."

Sam nodded. "I think she does."

~*Supernatural*~

Mrs. Katherine Johnson (Kat was an old family name, I remembered now) let us out and I couldn't believe she let Sam keep the photograph. Maybe it was a sad reminder. But I always thought photographs were meant for happy memories of all things. Wasn't that why we took photographs in the first place? To hold our memories?

We'd driven for what it seemed like hours, but it was mostly twenty-minutes into the small town. Sam was trying to find a gas station and he finally found one so that we can get back to Stanford in time for his work. He was a bus boy at one of the local bars.

I'd been going over in my head at what Mrs. Johnson said. It just made me realize how far apart Katherine and I were becoming. Maybe there was a lot going on that I didn't realize that was unraveling in her life. I just wish that she told me so I could help her and not let her keep it all bottled in.

Sam returned, and got back in his seat. He came back with a metal lighter in his hands and noticed I was staring at the picture, resting on the dashboard. Happy faces stared back at me, but now they seemed to mock me.

"You okay?" Sam asked me. Real concern in his tone had been expressed for me.

"I did kill someone, Sam. I killed my best friend." I wish I could cry. I wanted to go back to my apartment and curl back up against the wall and never come out again. I didn't deserve retribution.

"Hey, hey, no you didn't," Sam said, shifting to the side to look at me. His voice was so kind and warm. I suddenly wished that he could pull back my curtain of wavy brown hair away from me, but then shook that thought away from my mind. "She…couldn't deal," he continued, not letting me get lost in my new best friend, the silence. "She tried…and then…" he stalled, but then quickly tried another tactic.

"You're not a killer ghost, Melinda. And, if you let me? I can put this all behind you. It would just be a terrible memory," He said, reaching for the photograph. He flicked the metal lighter in his hand and I saw the small flame ignite close to the edge of the photograph.

"So, you burn the photograph, I go away?" I felt so hollow.

Sam nodded. "No more pain."

I liked the sound of that. "Okay," I drew a deep breath. "Make it quick."

The corners of his lips lifted into a smile, and he dipped the photograph into the flame. The flame melted the photograph and I watched it burn away. I didn't feel anything. I didn't see myself disappearing into fiery embers or into bright white lights or whatever ghosts did when they disappeared. It wasn't until when the photograph was fully eradicated that I disappeared.

~*SPN*~