A/N: my ADHD is really showing in this story, huh?

/

Cole decided his life had reached a new all-time low. Never once in his twenty four years had he imagined that he would be homeless and huddled around a flaming garbage can for warmth with a group of hobos. And yet that's what he found himself doing. Dignity had to take a backseat to survival these days.

The worst part was the smell. The heat was only making it worse. Cole wondered if he smelled as bad as these guys did. He decided glumly that he probably did. These days the only time his clothes got washed was if it rained.

Unfortunately, sleeping on the tops of buildings was fast becoming not an option as the nights got colder. Even more unfortunately, he couldn't think of a better option to keep warm at night. Turning on the spot to warm his back, Cole thought longingly of his apartment. Well, Trish's apartment now since she'd forbidden him from ever coming back. Cole ran his hand ruefully over his unshaven cheek. The apartment was warm. It had a shower! And a washer and dryer to clean his filthy clothes. He was suddenly and ruthlessly wrenched from his day dreams of pillows and sheets when one of the hobos addressed him.

"Hey there buddy," a toothless old man grinned at him. "You got any food on you?" A cruel wind blew at that exact moment, assaulting Cole's nostrils with the old man's stench. Cole had to work very hard to keep from gagging.

"Do I look like I have any food?" Cole said after clearing his nose, feeling irritated. He was as hungry as any of them. He folded his arms and stared into the depths of the fire.

"I ain't seen you around before," another one of the homeless guys said, eyeing him from under his enormous bushy eyebrows.

"Girlfriend threw me out," Cole said shortly, letting the bitterness show. The group laughed wheezily, some coughing and hacking, drawing their coats around them. At least these guys hadn't figured out who he was yet.

"My sympathies, friend," said the bushy eyebrow guy, patting him on the back. Cole resisted the urge to vomit.

"You heard of that Cole MacGrath fella?" said another guy seated across from Cole. Cole shook his head. He was expecting for the hobo to say something angry about him, some bullshit about how he deserved to have his head on a platter.

"I heard the reapers are trying to get him," the guy continued. Cole blinked.

"Why?" he asked. The hobo snorted.

"Hell if I know," the guy said, spitting on the ground. "Just heard one of 'em saying that he escaped. They want him bad. Been raiding buildings looking for him." Cole's stomach clenched painfully. So it wasn't just a coincidence that those freaks had him cornered in that alley. They were looking for him. His only consolation was that he hadn't left any of them alive. Except for that man with the hollow eyes and the white coat... Kessler.

Cole sighed. Instead of huddling around a flaming garbage can, he really should be thinking of a plan to get to the bottom of this mess. But... all this was bigger than him. The sick people, the Reapers, Kessler... where was he even supposed to start? At the rate he was going, he would barely be able to keep himself alive for longer than a few more weeks.

/

Cole was feeling apprehensive. He badly needed a change of clothes. But all his clothes were in Trish's apartment. He, however, still had a key. If he was lucky, maybe he could sneak in, take a few of his things, and then leave without her ever knowing he was there.

Cole approached the apartment with all the dread of a man going to face a couple of man eating tigers. He unlocked the door while holding his breath. He exhaled with relief once he saw that Trish wasn't home.

He used the bathroom first, taking the world's fastest shower and dressing at light speed. Then he snatched up his toothbrush and mouthwash. His mouth was starting to taste like a dirty sock and he was sick of it. He gave himself a hasty shave and managed to cut himself several times, making the sink look like a murder scene. The nicks on his face healed in record time.

You're a freak, Cole MacGrath.

He ran to the bedroom and ripped open the drawers, pulling out a few shirts, underwear, socks, and pants. He stuffed them into his backpack and stood up to leave. That's when he heard the bedroom door slam. He turned around with some trepidation to see Trish standing in the door, blocking his exit.

"What are you doing here, Cole?" Trish asked, anger burning in her light brown eyes. "I thought I made it clear I didn't want to see you."

"I just needed some clothes. I haven't exactly been able to do laundry since you threw me out," Cole said bitterly, deciding not to mention the mess he'd left in the bathroom.

"You killed my sister," Trish said in a dangerously soft voice.

"I didn't kill Amy!" Cole shouted exasperatedly, flinging his hand in the air in frustration. "I don't know how that explosion happened, or why I survived, but I would never do something like that!"

"You expect me to believe that?" Trish said, her hands balling themselves into fists.

"Yes, because it's the truth!" Cole said loudly. "Trish, you have no idea what it was like, okay? You think I wanted to hear all those people die in my head? I still dream about it sometimes..."

Dreams and hallucinations and voices and visions...

Trish didn't look moved by his plea. Instead she just continued to glare at him.

"I don't know why you're even bothering to try and defend yourself," she said coldly.

"I shouldn't have to defend myself from you," Cole hissed, leaning forward slightly, clutching his bag in one hand. "You're my girlfriend, you should trust me. Or did you never really trust me at all?"

"I'm not your girlfriend anymore," Trish said, completely stone faced. Cole withdrew, as if her words had physically hurt him. She folded her arms across her chest. "Just leave, Cole. I can't trust a murderer."

Incensed, Cole plunged his hand into his coat pocket and pulled out a crumpled piece of paper from a catalog. He unfolded it and waved it in front of Trish's face.

"You really think that a guy who was saving up to buy you this would have gone and killed your sister? Why can't you trust me?" Cole spat angrily.

"I don't know what to think anymore, Cole," Trish said stubbornly, though she had looked slightly surprised when she saw what was on the paper. "But I know you had a part in the explosion. And I know that I can't be with a man who helped bring about my sister's death."

Cole let out a frustrated growl. He threw the crumpled piece of paper at Trish's feet. Snatching up his backpack, he stormed past Trish out of the room. Once Cole had gone, Trish grabbed the catalog page and threw it in the trash. The page featured a beautiful three stone engagement ring.

/

The city was haunted. He was sure of it.

Sometimes he saw them out of the corner of his eye. Spirits, shades, and shadows of people. They disappeared as soon as he tried to get a closer look. None of them spoke to him though. Except for the voice of that girl...

This whole changing the future thing wasn't working out exactly as he'd hoped. So far all he'd accomplished was littering the streets with more bodies for the emergency personnel to collect... and completely numbing his sense of horror. He'd lost count of how many people he'd killed. Cole was starting to wonder if every Reaper he killed was another ghost haunting him.

Cole had been trying to investigate the Reapers. But every time he got close to one of their hideouts, they'd swarm him and he'd be forced to defend himself. Even when he'd managed to get into one the buildings they were lurking in, he hadn't found anything useful. Just a big, smelly, disgusting mess. There had been absolutely no clues as to why these murderous freaks wanted him. Were they all just nuts? Had their minds been poisoned too, and now they had just chosen him to fixate on for whatever twisted reason? Cole couldn't figure it out.

He passed a shop window and rolled his eyes at his reflection. His beard was starting to grow back. The jagged scar down the right side of his face made him look like a thug that had gotten in a knife fight in prison. His eyes had a dead, hollow look to them. He guessed he understood why people were steering clear of him now.

He nearly jumped out of his skin at a ringing sound coming from his pocket. It was his cellphone, he'd almost forgotten he even still had it. The damn thing wouldn't die as long as it was near him, apparently the electricity from his body kept it charged. But who the hell was calling him now?

It was Trish. Fuck. He debated for a minute whether or not to answer it, but eventually he did.

"Hello?"

"Cole, it's Trish."

"I have caller ID, you know," Cole said.

"I need a favor," Trish said, her voice tight.

"A favor?" Cole repeated incredulously. "You're seriously calling me asking for a favor? I've been homeless for weeks because of you and now you want a favor?"

"Yes, you owe us, all of us, for what you did, Cole," Trish responded.

"For what I did?" the man said, his voice rising angrily. "I think I've paid enough for whatever you all think I did, thanks."

"So you won't help," Trish said, her voice hard.

"Fine, help with what?" Cole asked, still irritated.

"I need you to go guard some medical supplies that are being airlifted into the city so the Reapers can't get to them," she said.

"Are you serious? You want me to get shot to pieces for that?"

"As I recall, bullets don't seem to have much effect on you anymore," Trish countered rapidly.

"Yes they do!" Cole roared at the phone. "It fucking hurts getting shot, you know!"

"But they can't kill you," Trish shot back at him. "I'd ask somebody else, but you're the only person I know who might stand a chance, as much as it pains me to admit that," she added unkindly.

"Thanks, that makes me feel all better inside," Cole responded nastily.

"You're welcome," Trish said equally sarcastically.

"What if I say no? Maybe I've got new friends now," Cole hissed. Trish laughed coldly.

"New friends? Right," she said.

"Aw, see I told you we were friends!" came a voice from behind him. Cole spun around so quickly he dropped his phone. It skidded across the asphalt.

"What?!" he projected loudly. He thought maybe a spirit had sneaked up on him, but no...It was that voice again.

"What?" the voice said.

"Go away!" Cole said, frantically scooping up his phone. He could hear Trish complaining loudly on the other end.

"No, I will not go away, Cole!" Trish shrieked. "We need your help and you're going to help, damn it!"

"Fine!" Cole shouted back, eyes darting all around looking for the source of that other voice.

"And tell that girl to get lost! You've got work to do!" she snapped before hanging up abruptly. Cole's heart skipped a beat as his phone went silent. His hand shaking, he slipped his phone back into his pocket.

"Okay, okay," he said out loud. "Where are you? She heard you!"

"Right here," the girl's voice whispered.

"Argh!" Cole growled in frustration, bursting into the lobby of an abandoned building. Throwing his backpack on the ground, he ripped off his jacket and shirt, followed quickly by his shoes and pants. "Is there a microphone on me? Is that it?" He shook his clothes, half expecting to see something fall out of them. But all that happened was his phone fell out of his pants pocket. He was reaching for his boxers when the voice piped up.

"Stop, you're making me blush," the girl's voice said with a little giggle.

"What is going on?" Cole hissed. "Trish heard you, so... I'm not crazy?"

"I don't think so," the voice said, sounding a little worried.

Cole huffed and pulled his clothes back on, feeling slightly embarrassed about his little freak out.

"Maybe... maybe all this electricity messed with my brain, and that's why I've been seeing and hearing all this stuff..." he said, shouldering his backpack again.

"What have you been seeing and hearing? Er, other than me, I mean," the voice said interestedly. Electricity traced his its way up his limbs.

"Ghosts," Cole said after a minute. "Everyone who's died since that explosion."

"Really?"

"Yes," Cole said heavily.

The voice didn't respond. Cole sighed. Even his imaginary friend thought he was nuts. He headed out towards the docks. Maybe if he did this for her, Trish might let him come home. It was a long shot, but he needed a bit of hope.