(A/N: I realized the other day that maybe some readers might be confused over why Joey can see the ghosts without the glasses. The glasses are "spectral viewers" and Joey herself is in fact a "spectral viewer" Hence the title. Hope that cleared any confusion :)

Joey awoke less agitated than when she went to sleep. A good night's rest could do wonders. Well, a good day's rest. Since coming to the Kriticos house she had put herself on a vampiric schedule of sleeping in the day and being awake in the night.

She walked aimlessly around the ruined halls looking at the barrier spells. All her life she had tried to learn Latin., but she only got as far as far as a few spoken phrases. It was hard to learn a dead language in the world of the living.

Rounding a corner with her hand on the wall, she gasped in pain. That was where her brother had been killed. She could see the event play out in her mind. The body wasn't there anymore. Arthur Kriticos had been kind enough to bury it.

She continued on until she came to a stairway going down. In the five days she had been there, she hadn't once checked out the basement. She looked around to see if Dennis or Royce were near by. She knew neither of them would want her down there.

The darkness down there was oppressive, and the only relief came from the ethereal glow of the abandoned containment cubes. She walked among them, touching the panels and seeing their deaths. Finally, she came to the one with the Torn Prince symbol etched deviously into the Ectobar.

Sh stood staring at it a moment, not sure if she even wanted to know. But she had to. She brushed her fingers down the glass and an anguished cry left her throat as Royce's death flashed through her head. She gasped for breath but refused to let go. When it was over, she placed her head on the unusually cold wall for support.

Tears spilled down her cheeks. Of all the horrible deaths she had seen in that basement, only his made her cry. As much as she hated that weakness in herself, she knew it only strengthened her resolve. Royce Clayton would live again, no matter what the price.

"What are you doing down here?"

When she turned her head to look at him, Royce could see her cheeks glistening with tears. She was making this whole situation harder on him. He wanted to reach out and dry her eyes, but he steeled himself against it. Now was not the time for his silly emotions.

"I don't want you crying for me," he said hoarsely.

"I'm not," Joey retorted, wiping her cheeks. "I was tearing up over that pretty car of yours. It got smashed up bad."

"You don't belong down here. "Royce looked into his used-to-be prison. A bit of anger surged up in him.

"I had to Royce," she said apologetically. "I had to see..."

"Do you really wanna see what happened?" Royce grabbed her upper arm roughly. Unknown even to himself, he had reached a boiling point. "Do you?"

Joey looked up into his eyes. They were glazed over with unspeakable rage. It scared her, but she would not let it show. "Yes."

A painful gasp escaped her lips as Royce's death was played out again. This time she saw it through his eyes. He was already flying down the road at this point, thinking gleefully of how he had walked away from that Ford like it had been standing still.

The speedometer was bottoming out now, and it gave Royce a major thrill to know his Chevy ran that smooth even at top-end speed. But he wasn't stupid. A hairpin turn was up ahead and he had to slow down.

He depressed the brake slowly, attempting to ease the car out of its high speeds. Nothing happened. He slammed the brakes hard, panicking. Joey could feel his body constrict, as if he couldn't breath. The brakes weren't working and the sharp right turn loomed before him in the darkness.

He spun the wheel, hoping, praying, begging, the car could take the turn at its velocity. All of his cursing and crying couldn't help him. The left side of the car lifted off the pavement, the heavy Chevy balancing on only its right tires momentarily before hitting the graound on its right side. The passenger door was ripped away and in the same instant Royce's hand slipped off the steering wheel, causing him to slide down the seat.

Royce cried out in pain as his right side hit the swift moving asphalt. It began tearing chunks of flesh and bones off his body. He screamed louder than he ever thought he could and kept screaming even after he couldn't hear it any more. He was dragged this way for an interminable length of road and time.

When to car finally flipped onto its roof, Royce was left on the street not too far away. He wasn't screaming anymore, he was having a hard enough time breathing. He struggled with a few short gasps through shattered ribs until he finally quit breathing all together.

---

Joey's knees buckled and she fell onto his ghostly body. Royce's anger was quickly replaced by fear. "Oh God! Joey!"

He wrapped his arms around her, trying to support her. She remained limp for a few moments before she began trembling against him. A second later she was balanced on her feet, stepping away from him.

"I'm fine. I'm okay," she said hoarsely, wiping her face clean of a few stray tears. She heemed to be reassuring herself of that fact more than Royce.

He reached out for her, but she backed up to the wall, her chest heaving. "Just... give me a minute... to catch my breath."

Looking at his outstretched hand, Royce thought he could cry. In fact, he knew if he were alive, he'd probably be weeping like a little child.

"I don't know why I did that..." he said pleadingly, desperate to make her understand he hadn't meant to hurt her. He truly sisn't know why he had done it at all.

"I bet I know why."

Royce spun toward the vaguely familiar voice and came face to face with a color-faded specter. It was the suit who had come through the basement on the night the twelve ghosts were released. Royce stepped in front of Joey protectively.

"Well, it it isn't Road-rash Royce," the suited apparition remarked. "And Joey Rafkin, the guest of honor."

Joey's fingers clutched Royce's arm as she pulled herself from the wall. She rested her cheek on his shoulder, still a little wobbly. "Ben Moss."

Royce looked down at her, questioning her knowledge. In an almost imperceptable move, she indicated the red slashes on her shirt. He knew instantly that this new ghost had been in her vision, bent on hurting her. A different kind of rage swelled within him.

"That's right, girly." Moss couldn't help but smirk when she stood up on her own. Eyeing her up and down, he said "My, my. How can a hot chick like you be related to that crackpot Rafkin?"

"At least he's not some deranged psyche lawyer like you," Joey spat.

Suddenly, Moss was a few feat in front of her. He grabbed her wrist tightly, dragging her forward a step. With a maniacally raised eyebrow, he said "I can show you how deranged I really am."

In an instantaneous moment, Royce had his bat and was striking Moss in the back. The grip on Joey's wrist let go as the ghost lawyer fell to his knees. She jumped away as his back half slid off to one side, leaving the front half up.

Moss couldn't move his lips, but his ethereal voice still sounded arrogant as it said "It'll take a while to pull myself together. Run if you like. I'll still be seeing you."

The front half began tipping forward but disappeared before hitting the floor. Joey looked up to see Royce reappearing without his bat.

"Come on. Let's get you upstairs." Royce seemed unsure of himself. He didn't know what to do with his hands. Joey solved the problem by again wrapping her finger around his upper arm. Very gently, he led her out of the basement.