Hello! This is the first chapter of what I'm hoping will be an exciting fic. It's been a long time since I've written fanfiction, so my apologies if I'm still a bit rusty.

I don't really have a concrete schedule for when I'll be posting chapters, so updates will probably be sporadic.

Enjoy!

Update: Just needed to fix this for my own sanity.

Chapter 1

Aerith

Could you give her one last rose for me?

It was that request that had sent me back into the house to grab my shears and gardening gloves. On my way back out the door, Mom called, "Aerith? I thought you left already."

"I forgot to grab something. I'll just be a few more minutes and then I'll head out to see Martha," I said as I pulled my gloves on and strode out to the garden. I had already finished the floral arrangement I had been working on for Martha, and Rich had always been a good customer, so this was the least I could do for him. Especially given the circumstances.

Passing the patches of lilies and peonies, I headed for the rose bushes and started looking over the petals of each bloom, trying to find the least wilted one. The roses were starting to go out of season, and I had already sold most of the beautiful ones earlier in the year. I wasn't sure if I would even find one in the color that he had always bought before since red was the most popular color for roses, but I tried to be hopeful as I inspected them.

And then I found it: a bright red rose, its silky petals looking as if it were the peak of the season. Careful to avoid the prickles, I took the stalk in my gloved hand and cut the stem with my shears. I twirled the stem between my thumb and forefinger as I walked back to the house, watching the vibrant petals swirl in mesmerizing circles.

Upon reentering the house, I set the rose down on a paper towel on top of the dining table and went to swap out my shears for the paring knife I kept in the set of drawers I stored some of my flower arranging tools in. Taking a seat at the table, I dethorned the rose, running the blade along the stem until there were only knots where the prickles used to be.

After another snip with a pair of scissors to get the stem to the right length, I placed the rose among the flowers in the floral arrangement's vase and cleaned up the table for Mom so she didn't have to before dinner. After shutting the knife and scissors away in the drawer, I set my flower basket in the crook of my elbow, picked up the vase, and headed for the door.

"Okay," I called to my mom over my shoulder, "I'm heading out for real this time. I'll be back later."

Mom stuck her head out of the kitchen and said, "All right, but don't be too long. Once I'm done with this order, dinner will be ready before you know it. Give Martha my condolences."

"Okay!"

Clicking the door shut behind me, I headed through the garden, over the bridge, and up the wooden planks toward town. I didn't have to go far though, just to the retirement home at the end of Petal Lane. My boots kicking up dirt, I walked the short distance and tried not to let the water slosh around in the vase too much.

When I arrived there, I spotted her immediately. She was sitting at a table alone, eyes downcast with her hands folded on the table. Not too far off was a middle-aged couple that I recognized as her son and daughter-in-law talking on the phone. Her gaze flickered toward me as I approached.

"Hi Martha," I said.

She looked at me with tired eyes and greeted me with a melancholic expression, eyes on the verge of misting over. "Hello, dear."

"Mom and I are terribly sorry to hear about Rich."

"Thank you."

"I know it's not much, but I brought you some flowers."

I placed the vase on the table in front of Martha, and her gaze shifted to the flowers. They were purple and white hyacinths—purple for sorrow and white to say I'll pray for you. She leaned forward and inhaled their fragrance, her expression becoming a little less mournful; the scent of hyacinths was said to help ease feelings of grief.

"They're lovely," she said. "Thank you."

"Also" I began as I plucked the lone rose from among the hyacinths, "I was asked to give you this."

Upon handing it to her, the corners of her mouth turned up in a sad smile. "Rich used to bring me roses just like this one. I remember he started doing that not too long after you began selling flowers." Martha's gaze went distant as she continued to look at the rose, like she was seeing past it to one from another day. A better day.

I recalled her husband buying roses from me when he had gil to spare, and I remembered thinking it was so sweet to still be so in love after all those years. That must be nice…I thought.

"Well, I won't keep you," I said, as I saw her son and daughter-in-law coming back over to join us.

"Would you like me to bring some flowers for his grave tomorrow?" I asked. "Free of charge, of course."

"Oh, that would be fine, thank you."

I gave my condolences to her family and turned to leave when Martha called, "Aerith, could you bring me one of those yellow lilies tomorrow, as well?"

While yellow lilies were symbols of joy, thankfulness, or even lies depending on the context, around here they were also considered a sign of reunion. And she wanted to tell him that she'd see him again. I suppressed a smile at the sweetness and said, "Of course."

Giving her and her family my final goodbyes, I headed for the church. I waved to the kids at The Leaf House and was just about to pass one of the alleyways when I saw someone out of the corner of my eye. I turned my head and there was Rich. Well, more like the shade of him at least. All of his features were there, but his form lacked substance, making it almost seem like he wasn't there.

"Thank you," he said.

I gave him a subtle nod and smile. He grinned, the same one that he would get on his face as he would make his way back home to his wife after buying a rose.

And in the next blink of my eyes, he was gone.

I continued on my way as though I was a normal person who hadn't just seen a ghost, but it wasn't that strange to me, given that I had been able to see them for as long as I could remember. They were just a part of my everyday life. There was never a time when I wasn't able to see or speak to them.

I hadn't realized as a child that this wasn't considered normal, mostly because my birth mother also had the same gift. She had taught me about them, why they were there, how to ease them from this plane to the next, and how to take care of restless spirits in the event that they were causing problems, though I'd learned that from her old journal much later when I could final comprehend what it all meant. It wasn't until after her passing and my subsequent adoption by Mom that the abnormality of what I could do became apparent to me.

Ghosts really only continued to linger on this side of the veil if they had reasons for sticking around. Sometimes they had unfinished business, but other times they actually still thought they were alive and had a hard time accepting their deaths, especially those that had died suddenly. I did what I could to help them pass on, usually by giving their loved ones a message. Some ghosts were easier to help than others though. And some just didn't want help at all, which was fine as long as they were peaceful. I had never come across any that weren't so far, but after reading my mother's journal I had bought some salt and a lighter after work one day a few years back. I wasn't sure if I would ever need to use them, but what could it hurt?

The journal also specified the properties of certain flowers. Some worked great as ghost repellent while others grew in response to them. That information provided little help given that, aside from my house and one other location, nothing grew since Midgar was situated in the middle of a desert. It never stopped me from keeping an eye out when I was walking through town though.

After trekking along the sandy paths through the scrapyards on the outskirts of town, I reached Sanctuary Way and the church's mismatched steeples came into view. I picked up my pace; I had told Mom that I wouldn't be too long. Reaching the façade, I rushed up the steps and pushed open the large, wooden doors.

Although the building was still standing, the state of the church was in the same sort of disrepair it had been in since I had found the place. It had been that way for a while though. There had been a rocket launch test long ago that failed and crashed into the back rooms. There were no casualties since no service was being held at the time, but no one had gotten around to repairing the building for one reason or another—though that was potentially due to either a lack of funds or no insurance policy. Or that it had just been forgotten, the rest of its deterioration left up to time.

So much of the place had fallen apart since then: the bottom half of one of the decorative pillars had fallen away; the tapestries that hung above the doors in the back frayed at the ends and were in danger of falling; a chandelier had rusted on its chain and had fallen onto one of the pews; the floorboards were all torn up—probably from people needing free, spare (although possibly rotting) lumber; and there was a large hole in the roof, light pouring onto the patch of soil in the floor that I had been using as a flowerbed.

I walked down the nave toward the lilies, my boots thunking against the wooden boards. Setting my gardening-tool-laden basket beside me, I got to work tending to the flowers. It was one of my favorite things to do. There was just something about looking after the flowers that always set me at ease, kind of like how caring for houseplants was therapeutic for people.

At that moment, I saw that the flowerbed was a bit crowded and some of the lilies would need to be harvested. Grabbing my gloves and pair of snips, I started to clear out spaces where the flowers were too close. I was going to either sell or use these for a floral arrangement later, so I gently placed them on a fold of paper I set on the floor as I worked. I was so engrossed in what I was doing that I hadn't even heard someone come in.

"Thought I'd find you here," a familiar voice said from behind me.

I whipped around. "Zack?"

And there he was. It had been five years since I'd last heard from him, and he still looked much the same. Same hair, same physique, same face—well, okay, his chin was more chiseled out—and the same big, goofy grin. But there was something off in his eyes, and I couldn't quite place it.

"Hey, long time, no see," Zack greeted. "How've you been?"

"Oh, I've been good. Selling flowers, mostly."

Zack strode closer. "How's that been going?"

"Pretty good," I said, taking off my gardening gloves. "I've started taking orders for floral arrangements, too."

"Nice!"

"What about you? What have you been up to?"

"Oh, you know, just going where the work takes me."

That was not the response I had been expecting. I had been ready for Zack to launch into a slew of funny stories about what he'd been up to over the past several years, not a vague statement. Zack had never been one to downplay anything—he was an open book and quite a talker; he could go on for hours if uninterrupted. But he wasn't giving me the entire story, and I was curious as to why. I didn't press him on it, though; he'd tell me about it in his own time if he thought it was important.

"And Cloud?" I asked. "How are things with him? You guys are still together, right?"

His face lit back up again, just like it used to whenever he started talking about Cloud when Zack and I were dating. "Yeah, he's good. We actually just got moved into an apartment in Sector 7."

"What, really? Aw, you should've brought him with you. I didn't get to meet him before you guys left for that trip."

"He's actually working right now. But you'll get to meet him real soon, promise."

"Good," I said. "So, what brings you guys all the way back here after all this time?"

"Work. Thought we'd come back to Midgar and start job-hunting, but we ran into a friend of Cloud's who said she had some work for us."

"What sort of job are you guys doing right now?"

"Well…" Zack said, giving me a conspiratorial look, "we're working as film crew for a group of paranormal investigators."

"Really?" That piqued my interest. "I didn't think you were into all that stuff."

"Well, it's a job that pays the bills." He scratched the back of his head before clearing his throat. "Speaking of which…I stopped by to see if we could get your help with the investigation we're going to be doing within the next few days."

"My help…" I understood immediately what he meant.

"Yeah, the team wanted to have a medium with us on the investigation, and I told them I knew someone, so…"

"Yeah, sure, I'll help," I responded, seeing no reason why I should say no. Zack was an old friend, and it wasn't like him to approach someone for help if the motivations behind it weren't good, or at the very least honest. Besides, it sounded like an interesting way to meet some new people who wouldn't think I was completely out there when I told them I was a psychic medium, and gods knew I could use a new friend or two.

"Okay, cool," he said, pulling out a business card and pen out of his back pocket. He scribbled out the address and handed me the card. "Stop by this address tomorrow and the lead investigator will give you the details."

"Okay," I said, flipping the business card over between my fingers. "I have some work to do in the morning, so I'll drop by in the afternoon if that's okay."

"That works. Well, I'm going to head back. I'll see you tomorrow?"

"Yep!"

I waved as he strode out the door into the blinding light of the sunlamps. Once the doors creaked closed behind him, I looked at the business card in my hands. One side read AVALANCHE Productions along with some contact information for a Barret Wallace. On the other side was the address for a place called the Seventh Heaven Bar somewhere in Sector 7. I'd never heard of the place, but I was sure I'd find it.

I finished up with the tending, and as I was putting everything back in my basket I thought about what Zack had told me.

Wonder where they'll be investigating…and why having a medium along is so important…

That's when the whispers started. It was soft at first, and I thought it might be people outside—the sound frantic, like someone was seriously hurt, but the voices died down as I got closer to the door. Turning back around, I approached the flowerbed, and the voices intensified and turned into a wild buzzing hum like flies.

I gulped and slowly knelt down beside the lilies and leaned in closer, trying to catch the words. The flowers hissed, "Something wicked this way comes."

A chill ran up my spine to the base of my skull, and I shivered, wrapping my arms around myself as I stood back up. I saw a shadow flicker out of the corner of my eye from behind one of the pillars. I didn't stick around to see what it was, just grabbed my basket and booked it back out into the light, letting the doors slam shut behind me.

Thanks for reading!

Meanings and properties of hyacinths are from The Complete Language of Flowers: A Definitive and Illustrated History by S. Theresa Dietz.