Gilbert got out of that manor as quickly as he could after Alfred started to throw things again. He wasn't very fond of taking books to the face or heavy paper weights to the head. He wasn't aware that he had left the front door open, only just the passing of the overgrown greenery of the manor's gardens and old stone structures dotting the grounds, supposedly used to decorate but looking crumbled in their aging states.

Gilbert didn't run for long, only just long enough that he felt he was safe and out of reach of the loud ghost's far reaching throw. He was out of sight of the occupants in the house, but still in the gardens of the large manor. There was no need to run anymore and Gilbert found himself looking around the overgrowth of the unkempt gardens. Bushes grew whichever way and weeds sprouted in the oddest places. The grass needed a serious trim and the hedges that surrounded the area no longer even looked like hedges. Gilbert remembered seeing a statue or two as he had run past, but the only stone structure in sight now was a large fountain that seemed like it would have been a beautiful sight when it was working water over its edges, but now looked worn down and dirty.

Gilbert looked ahead, seeing he was nearing the wrought iron gate that would release him from the manor's hold. Instead of walking towards it, though, he turned and strode his way to the ancient fountain. Upon arriving to his decided destination, Gilbert stopped before the stone fountain, looking it over again now that he was closer. It was completely dry. Not a speck of water, even from the rain lay at its basin. Gilbert sat on its edge, deciding that he didn't need to be home anytime soon anyway.

That's when he saw it. From the corner of his vision, something caught his eye and he looked twice back over before he saw it. It was a stone. A simple rock lay at the bottom of the fountain. It looked smooth, like it had been lapped over with water for a good part of its life instead of having experienced the uneven erosion it would have where it sat now. That's odd. What would a rock looking like that be doing there?

Gilbert hoisted himself up from his new sitting position. He wasn't one for staying still anyway. He shuffled around the fountain, end goal: to retrieve that rock. He stopped in front of the other side of the fountain and tested one knee on its edge to be able to lean down for his prize.

When he gripped it in his hand he straightened up, smiled, and threw the object into the air to catch it. When it landed back in his palm, as he snatched it out of the air, it fit perfectly in the center of his hand. Then, like a shockwave, as the stone made contact with his skin, his eyes couldn't see what surrounded him anymore. His vision was not black. No, images filled his vision, first coming to him in black and white then focusing and filling with in color.

-/-

He was walking in the forest. The man was used walking. Wherever. Whenever. Walking was what he had been doing for hundreds of years. His worn tennis shoes adorning his feet proved it. He had only gotten those shoes a year ago.

This man had a bored expression on his face. His hair was straight except for the tiniest curl that poked out towards the nape of his neck. He wore simple clothing: an old shirt, jeans, tennis shoes. The articles were all clean yet very shabby, as if it was the only set he owned.

As color spread into view it was shown that the man had a ghostly complexion - not as transparent as some real ghosts Gilbert had met, but the solid white of a pale human. His hair was a soft blonde and his eyes a dark blue. In the sun that shined through the trees above, a metal cross shined momentarily, showing the gleaming hair clip the man wore to pin back the hair that would have no doubt fallen into his eyes.

The man continued to walk until he reached the edge of the woods. Stepping out, he looked around only to realize he was not in the place he had been aiming to arrive. With narrowed eyes, the man scanned his surroundings.

The gardens around him were very green, though it looked like it had been years since anyone had taken any care for it. Flowers sprouted where they pleased and there was a fountain to his left. This place almost felt… familiar.

It wouldn't hurt to explore around would it? The man paused. It probably would hurt. Fate hates those who think they know things. Fate especially hated him.

Either way, though, he was lost. He had to figure out where he was. According to his map, town should have been close. Would it be wise to go back in the woods and follow his original trail or go further into these gardens and hope he found something? There would probably be a road somewhere further this way…

Nonsense, he'll just use his magic. A simple tracking charm will drain him a bit but, in the end, not being lost was worth it.

A few words in his native tongue did the trick. He was skilled in traditional Norwegian magic, though he could do other types if the need called for it. That need hadn't arisen in, oh, a hundred and fifty years, was it? He was probably rusty, but never mind that. He most likely wouldn't need it anytime soon.

And, like that, the man's direction was clear. Nothing led him and no glowing path alit to show him the way. It was as if his feet just knew where to take him and he let them. Soon he was walking through the gardens with doubt etching into his brain. For some reason it felt as if he was approaching danger. He had learned to trust this instinct throughout the years. Not even his magic was always reliable. Yet he followed his feet anyway. This was the way he had to go; he just needed to keep his eyes out for trouble.

He passed the large fountain he had seen before and continued until he saw a large gate, black rusty iron rods fixed in brick columns. His feet didn't lead him to this exit, though. Instead, he passed the gate and continued into the grounds. He hadn't gone very far before he saw the silhouette of a person.

Now, this man was very cautious. He'd had years to hone this sense and listened to it in whatever trouble he might have encountered. When a single person appeared in an altogether seemingly abandoned… somewhere, he still wasn't sure exactly... anyone would be on the wary side. He was fully prepared to fight or flight as he saw this other person strolling through the overgrown grass, spotting something in the dirt by a squat-looking bush and bending down to pick it up.

For the first time in the man's life, though, caution was thrown into the wind. When the man saw the face of this other something clicked and the man's desperate heart was not prepared as every defense in his body, his magic, his mind, shut down.

This other person, he was around his own physical age, maybe a little younger, but that was how the man saw all of them. Happy and curious eyes connected with his dull yet bordering on shock-filled ones. Wild, spiky hair and a wide smile and an unreal yet unmistakable face. It was him…

"Oh, hi! I didn't expect to run into anyone here!" The other greeted and stood from his place where he knelt. The man was still in shock, though, and refused to say anything in return. He was still looking over the other, not believing his eyes. It was impossible. After all these years he had started to believe it was truly impossible…

"W-who are you?" The man asked. That was odd; he never stuttered. He watched the man with wide eyes, the shock was starting to dim and, replacing it was another look, one almost of fear.

"Um…" The other seemed put off by how startled the man was, "Matthias. And you?"

The man didn't answer him. Hope was finally starting to fill his chest and the fear was leaking away from his eyes. He was here… It wasn't impossible!

Then the man's attention was stolen away by the figetting of the other's hands. There was something there he was playing around with. Perhaps it was whatever he had found in the dirt just before? It was small and ordinary…

No. The man stilled once again, shock settling in once more. Disbelief swallowed him. Fear swirled in his mind. Anger stabbed his chest. He hadn't felt so much emotion since… he had long forgotten. These emotions felt foreign though and that was enough to tell him that it had been much too long to have all these feelings consuming him at once.

The object in the other's hand was a small rock - smooth, grey, deadly. Not in the traditional sense; it certainly wasn't sharp or particularly heavy. The man knew better, though.

He stepped forward, desperate to get it away from the other. Please no. His mind screamed at him. Anyone but this one. He snatched the stone away to the other's surprise and wretchedly pitched it across the yard, hearing the dull clack of stone hitting stone. He didn't care where it went; he just prayed that he had gotten it away in time. That it was gone and would stay away forever.

"Hey, what was that for?" The guy didn't seem to know if he should be angry or just plain surprised. The man with the light hair and metal clip looked back to the other, dread filling his chest. He knew it wouldn't be that easy… Could he have really stopped it by grabbing it away?

"I'm sorry." The man nearly whispered, his eyes seemed to be darkening and his face fixing back into a neutral expression. Inside, he was collapsing, crumbling.

After all these years, he had found his hope only for it to be taken before he had even arrived.

-/-

When Gilbert snapped back to reality he felt the impact of the stone hitting his hand. The images - memories - that had flit through his vision like an old reel of footage, becoming smoother and steadier as it played on had lasted less than a split second. Gilbert was stunned. What was that? Were those really memories? Had that really happened?

What shocked him more than anything was the appearance of Matthias Kohler in the vision. Matthias had used to be a student at his school… a kid in his town that had disappeared two years earlier. Why would he have had a vision like that? Why had he seen anything at all?

What did Matthias have to do with this place? Who's memories had that been?

He stared down at the stone. He remembered the fear that had coursed through the man in that memory - as if this rock were the most frightening object in the world. His own chest was starting to swirl in fear from the sight. There wasn't a particular reason and of course the awesome him wasn't scared of some little stone! After what he had just seen, though… he couldn't help but feel a bit restless looking at the stone.

With a clatter sounding in his ears, Gilbert realized he had dropped the rock. It had bounced off of the stone fountain and onto the grass beside it. He took a step back. Then another. Soon he had turned and started to quickly walk away.

He left behind that stone. He left it and never saw it again.

Gilbert went straight home, not realizing as he went through the gate or took dull but purposeful steps down the hill or passed house after uniformly boring house. By the time Gilbert had arrived home, though, he was sweating.

He touched his forehead, wondering when that had happened. He hadn't run at all on his way there. He had been utmostly desperate to get away from the manor and get away from Bell Avenue, but Gilbert hadn't run. His pace had been a quick, purposeful walk the whole way, never minding his steps and almost like he was a robot on autocontrol. He had never run, though, so why was he sweating?

Actually, no. He recalled. As he had gone he had remembered that his pace had changed. It had begun to slow as he was making his way down the road leading to town. By the time he had arrived to his own street he had been limping with the effort of a light-headed person who hadn't eaten all day. He had been shuffling along, ready to collapse from the sheer exhaustion of it. Had he really been so out of it to not realize how terribly tired he was?

As he shut the front door to his house behind him he realized also that his palms were clammy and his mouth felt like it was full of cotton. His legs felt like gelatin and his breath was labored.

No one was home. His grandfather was at work and his brother was probably at the library or something equally nerdy. There was no one to witness as Gilbert collapsed on the floor, unable to sustain his own weight any longer. When his vision blurred, he knew he would be face down on that floor for some time.

Then, he drifted into darkness.

-/-

"It's odd. Not like a normal sickness." The hushed voice of someone familiar to Gilbert lulled through his groggy mind. He no longer felt the hard floor beneath him but the softness of a bed - his own bed. Wait, why would he be on the floor anyway?

"Not a normal sickness? Do you mean like cancer or AIDS or something?" Another familiar voice asked and the dull smack of someone getting lightly hit over the head sounded through the room.

"No, Antonio. I mean not normal." The emphasis put on the last two words made Gilbert start to open his eyes. What was Francis going on about?

"Ooohhh." Antonio responded, Gilbert could now see how his eyes widened in understanding.

Francis shook his head. "You are so oblivious at times, mon ami." Was it Gilbert's imagination or did something cross over Antonio's face just then. A sadness. An age-old pain in those normally bright and carefree eyes. Then his Spanish friend looked over and the expression was gone, seeing him awake.

"Gil, you're awake!" He exclaimed and Francis turned in surprise.

"Oh, Gilbert, we were so worried! We got here and you know what we found? You, lying on the floor, right there in the hallway! I thought we would have to call 911!"

Now, this was the part in which Gilbert would usually jump up, good as new, and tell his friends off for even thinking the awesome him couldn't handle a fever or whatever this could have been. Instead, Gilbert made to lift his head to merely have a better look around and it exploded in pain. A headache? Was this what people called a migraine? If so, migraines sucked! Gripping his head, Gilbert moaned and fell back onto his pillows.

"Does your head hurt?" Antonio asked, concern lacing his voice. Gilbert really wanted to scream 'No shit!' but couldn't seem to work past the gonging of cymbals in his head. "Do you think he got a concussion when he fell?"

Francis ignored the question and placed a hand on his forehead. It hurt. Everything hurt. The inside of his head felt like a war zone. Was it the sound of the bombs causing the pain or the shrill flight of the biplanes passing by? After a moment Francis retreated his hand and stepped away. "Antonio, watch over him." Gilbert has never seen him act so serious or so straightforward for that matter. Without another word, Francis was gone.

Gilbert writhed in agony with no words from Antonio to distract him. To be honest, he was glad. Sound would have made it worse. It hurt when he had his eyes open, blinded by the natural light streaming through the blinds of his window. It even hurt when his eyes were squeezed tight, causing a constant pounding in his head. It hurt to listen or to speak or to move or to think. Damn, mind. Stop thinking things!

Gilbert was relieved, though he wasn't sure why, when Francis returned quickly. He approached Antonio. "Antonio dear, would you get something to mask the flavor? Something strong." He was back to his normal way of talking but he sounded more distracted than usual. When Antonio came back brandishing a bottle of beer Francis gave him a look.

"What? It's strong and don't tell me he doesn't already drink the stuff." Antonio defended himself. Gilbert had to agree. Beer was no foreign substance to him despite being technically a minor.

Francis poured some of the beer into a tall plastic cup then mixed something else into it as well before shoving it into Gilbert's hands. "Drink up. The whole thing." Gilbert must have given him some sort of 'Are you crazy' type look because Francis rolled his eyes. "Oh, it's nothing bad. Do you want that headache to go away or not?" That was enough to convince Gilbert and he gulped the whole thing down in one go. Francis took the cup away and turned back to Gilbert's desk where he had set up his own little brewery with the still mostly full bottle of beer and some sort of weird vial that he must have brought from home. Was that some sort of medicine he had mixed with it?

Gilbert felt tired again. Not the same overbearing exhaustion as when he had passed out in the hall but a steady drifting, like it was the middle of the night and he had finally decided to go to bed. He looked over at his friends again as his eyes drooped.

Francis picked up the vial and just as he was about to put it away in a little pouch he had brought, Gilbert spotted it and squinted. The vial was glowing. There was no doubt that the orange liquid inside was glowing if not a little dimly.

Gilbert didn't have much time to wonder about this though, as the next thing he knew he was asleep.

-/-

Gilbert spent the next few days like this, drifting in and out of consciousness. He didn't eat much and he certainly didn't get anymore beer like his friends had nicely given him that first day. He stayed in bed, suffering under the care of his grandfather and brother. His grandfather told him to man up. His brother told him to rest and get well responsibly. Neither sounded particularly appealing to Gilbert. On the one hand, Gilbert didn't enjoy being responsible. On the other, the thought of 'manning up' and leaving the bed made Gilbert want to throw up and that was one thing the sickness had not inflicted upon him… yet.

On the upside to this whole endeavor, he got to miss school for three whole days. The downside, he didn't get to visit Matthew for this same length of time and Gilbert was dying to go back. When he had brought his Walkman the first time he had known that he wanted to come back with more cassettes for the shy ghost to choose from. The thought of seeing Matthew again brought a smile to his lips. It then soured as he thought of the gardens he would need to pass to get there. Those gardens left a bad taste in his mouth and he would much rather never see them again. Especially that fountain where he had left that stone.

He was spooked by that small rock and for good reason. Of course, nothing like that was going to stop him from reaching the manor again! He was too awesome for that! And after those three days of hiding from the world and playing dead in his bed, he didn't let his discomfort of that garden or anything else stop him from arriving back at the front door to the manor that lay on Bell Avenue. The door was shut and the house was silent. The door was locked…

But that wasn't possible. Hadn't Gilbert and his friends broken that lock a week ago?

So Gilbert began to knock.


Hey! I'm back it seems? Yeah, so it was kind of a long time, but here's the fourth chapter! The fifth one's in the works. I've got other stuff I'm currently working on but hopefully the fifth shall be out soon! Hope you guys still like it and I'm sorry for the wait. Thank you to everyone who reads, follows, favorites, and reviews! You da bomb! ...too much? Sorry. Until next time!