Chapter 7

For a dead guy, Greg Thomas looked remarkably vibrant and alive. Shawn had always half imagined that if he really saw spirits they'd either be all pale and see through or they'd be all gruesome and zombie-like, taking on the form of their now decomposing body. This spirit was neither. He was sitting on Shawn's chair, really sitting with an obvious weight to his body that sank the cushions, while he watched Shawn sleep. In fact, the only tip off that he wasn't a live person was the fact that Shawn, too, was watching himself sleep, and that just shouldn't be possible. That and the ghost was surrounded by colors like fire, spiraling right through his flesh in a vibrant pattern that burned Shawn's eyes. The really weird part was that Shawn didn't have to ask who he was. Not there, standing outside of himself; he just knew. Freaking out didn't even begin to cover what he was feeling right then.

"So…" Shawn said, "Is this the part where Shyamalan Night jumps out and yells cut?"

"I was murdered," Greg Thomas said, his voice hallow and angry and scared. He didn't really seem to be speaking to Shawn, at least not the awake Shawn. Shawn turned his head to look at his own body lying on the couch, then turned away again to stare at the specter.

"I should not have died," the ghost said.

"Yeah," Shawn agreed, not sure of what to say. He wasn't supposed to really see spirits, not even dream spirits. He wasn't supposed to be standing next to his own body. Mentally Shawn added another smiley face to the pineapple column. Suddenly the ghost man turned his burning eyes to look directly into Shawn's. A very real, very strong hand reached out to grasp Shawn's wrist, the fiery colors flickering over Shawn's skin like burning embers. He tried to pull back, gasping sharply and Greg Thomas howled.

"Find my murderer!"

And then Shawn was gasping, sitting up on the couch and shivering violently. It took a moment to get himself under control as he looked around for the ghost, massaging his wrist. He looked at his wrist but there wasn't a mark on it. It had been a dream. Had to of been. So why did he still feel Greg Thomas in the room?

Then Gus ran into the room, concern flickering through his usual orange yellow aura. Shawn stared. Gus had an aura; there was no use pretending the colors he had been seeing were anything else. And Shawn was wide awake, and he wasn't looking from the corner of his eyes and he still saw it.

"What happened?" Gus demanded, taking in Shawn's pale, fearful expression, "Nightmare?"

Shawn opened his mouth, ready to offer some quip that would relieve the sick tension that coursed through him and hopefully dispel the waves of concern coming off his friend. But the words wouldn't come.

"I see dead people," he finally managed to get out, and then he giggled. This did absolutely nothing to dispel concern on his behalf.

"Really, Shawn, what is up with you today?" Gus demanded.

"Really," Shawn answered, "I really really see dead people. He wants me to find his murderer." Gus began to relax, sure that he understood now what was going on.

"That was a dream, Shawn," Gus said, "Have you been watching 'The Sixth Sense' again?"

"No," Shawn cried, and then, "Maybe, well, but that's completely irrelevant." But he didn't go on. He didn't talk about the colors or the feelings or the daydream woman. Because explaining it would be admitting it, out loud, to a witness. And if Gus didn't believe him, even with the mounting proof, then that would mean Shawn really was crazy. He'd rather be a secret psychic than a crazy out of the closet. Gus didn't want to hear it anyway; he was giving him that look, the one that said he was on to Shawn and he knew better than whatever story Shawn was trying to pull. And ninety-nine percent of the time, Gus would be right, even if Shawn would never admit that. Slowly, Shawn breathed out. Then he jumped up. And the phone rang.

"Lassie!" Shawn cried as he picked up, "What have you got?"

"How did you…never mind," came the predictable response, "What we've got are more bodies. The chief wants you to come in."

"On our way," Shawn answered. He spun around to face Gus as he hanged up. "That was Lassie admitting I was right all along and to say he needs me. Coming?"

"He said all that, did he?" Gus asked with a snort of disbelief.

"More or less, I may have been paraphrasing slightly," Shawn admitted, "But I so called the murder thing. They have more bodies."

"And that's a reason to rejoice?" Gus asked, "We aren't going to have to see them, are we?" To his surprise, Shawn suddenly blanched. Because one ghost coming into his dreams was more than enough. And what if the psychic-ness got worse? The colors had gotten stronger; what if he saw ghosts in the daytime too?

"Shawn?" Gus asked, a definite note of concern in his voice, "You sure you okay? I'm usually the one who…well…you know…"

"Runs at the sight of blood?" Shawn asked, carefully putting back his façade of carelessness. It worked; Gus scowled. "And to answer your question, no. We're going to the station. So come on."

"So now you want to ride with me?" Gus said, the odd green once again flickering across his colors. Shawn stared at him, confused. "Well," his friend continued, "I'm not going. It just so happens I have a date."

"A date? With who?" Shawn demanded, still confused over his friend's behavior. What good were psychic powers if he still couldn't get a read on Gus? "And how will I get to the station? I don't have my helmet, remember?"

"You said you did," Gus answered, frowning, "You said you hid it."

"I did?" Shawn asked, trying to sound both confused and innocent. Gus didn't buy it.

"Take your bike, Shawn," he said, "Or call 'Lassie' for a ride."

"I dunno…wouldn't that make me Timmy?" Shawn asked, "Come on, Gus, what if I need Magic Head in the case?"

"I told you not to call me that," Gus answered, "And I already told you, I have a date." Shawn turned away, his eyes flickering towards the door. Someone knocked. He didn't get a sense for who was on the other side, just an anxiety he couldn't quite explain. But then, most of Gus's dates made him feel that way; insecure, like Gus was going to choose some woman over him. So with a vague and slightly guilty hope that he could manage to scare away the date, Shawn opened the door. Only to freeze.

Standing waiting was the daydream woman.

Author's Note: For those who expressed an interest in knowing; I am from the US (Texas to be more exact). I am living now in South Korea for a year to teach English. So sorry it took me so long to update…especially such a short update. I'll try to update quicker next time.