Empyreal
empyreal (em-pir-ee-uhl) adj. - pertaining to the highest heaven in the cosmology of the ancients.

-Nine-

Sam's beautiful eyes didn't open again for another couple of days. Her parents had finally been located – they had been out on the town and had stumbled in at three in the morning to find their front door wide open and their only daughter gone.

When Tucker and I visited two days later, Sam was still unconscious, a mask over her mouth and nose to give her air. She was battered and bruised from her ordeal, deep gashes running along her face and neck and arms. Her left eye was bruised right on her eyebrow, and the gash that was on the right corner of her lip running down her chin was so deep it would probably scar later on. Her mother had just left, having been escorted from the hospital in tears.

The attack on Sam had become the talk of the school. Everywhere we went, we were being cornered with shocked looks and being asked what had happened. It was so bad that finally teachers started handing out punishments to students who tried to weasel the truth from us, but that didn't stop the rumors from catapulting everywhere.

"This is the first serious attack," Tucker said, snapping me back to the present. We sat down on either side of her, chairs placed right by her head, where her parents had been keeping vigil.

"Serious?" I asked, looking up at Tucker. He continued to just look at her, his eyes traveling to her face.

"No one's ever really gotten this badly hurt because of a ghost before," he said, looking at me. His eyes were completely serious, his face stern. The look made me feel nervous. "I mean, people will get bumped and scratched – great damages to property are made, of course, but… no one ever gets hurt like this. No one—" he stopped and reached out, gently taking her hand in his own. "…No one ever faces death."

"This is getting bad," I said, agreeing. "I mean, Sam, she—she can't—What's going on, Tucker?" I said, looking up at him. Tucker glanced back up at me. I got off the chair and knelt next to the bed, holding her right hand in both of mine. "Have you noticed, that ever since I first came here, everyone around me has been… victimized." I gulped, my gaze never straying from Sam's face. "First you, now Sam—and each time it gets worse and worse. You were lucky, I just happen to be there. But now this…"

We were silent for a moment, and all I could hear was the muffled sounds of the hospital and Sam's gentle breathing.

"And Vlad," Tucker added. "Don't forget him. He's clearly up to something."

"He's a ghost enthusiast, I know he is," I said. "He has connections to Plasmius somehow. And I think he knows I'm actually Phantom. I mean, you saw his face when he first met me that day—"

"—After the theme park?"

"Yeah," I said, rubbing Sam's fingers gently. "He knows…"

Wait.

What if… what if Plasmius had sent that first ghost after Tucker? What if he had been watching me since the very beginning? It was a well-known fact in the Zone that I had become temporarily human. What if he's been watching me all this time? Through Vlad? With Vlad?

As Vlad?

"Tuck," I said slowly, "what if… what if Plasmius has been watching me this entire time?" The thoughts from the other night came back to me. "I think he may be after me for some reason. For some, unknown reason, Plasmius has been after me forever, and what if he thinks that he can kill off someone I know so that I'll return to the Zone or—"

"Whoa, Phantom, just re—Sam!" Tucker cried in surprise. I looked down and, lo and behold, Sam's eyes were open. She took a deep breath and squinted at us, as if she didn't recognize us. She was still lying motionless on her bed, but she shifted a bit, her eyes darting from me to Tucker. She finally groaned and moved up in her bed a bit, her face pale. She gave a small smile.

"Hi," she said in a soft, hoarse voice. She glanced around again. "Where am I?"

"A hospital," Tucker supplied. "You were… attacked."

"Attacked?" she asked, her eyes widening. "Really?" She coughed a bit and breathed deeply, closing her eyes again to rest. I had to contain all my willpower not to reach out and stroke her hair out of her face. I have never seen anyone look so helpless before…

"I remember now," she said in a softer voice than before. "The ghost. The monster. That was no ghost."

"Why did it come after you?" Tucker asked, flipping out his annoying little hand-held computer thing. (PDA, right?) Sam gave a tiny shrug and licked her lips.

"I don't know. It… I was just sitting in my house. That's all I was doing. Just sitting. I looked up and happened to see this huge thing outside, so I opened the door to see what it was, and… I don't know. I heard some laughter, and this bright pink flash, and the next thing I knew the ghost-monster was picking me up and throwing me into the air…" she trailed off, shivering with the memory. I moved a fraction in my chair this time, but still restrained myself.

Tucker was busy typing away, taking down notes on the attack.

"So, did the ghost throw you on the ground, too?" Tucker asked carefully, but I was still stuck on one detail.

I heard some laughter, and this bright pink flash—

I glanced down at my fleshy human hands, and I could feel the power of my ghost half soaring through my very veins, warming them. The blue veins in the back of my hands turned fluorescent green. I quickly put them back down in my lap.

Relax, I ordered myself. Relax. You just have to relax. It isn't him. You're crazy and think it is, but it isn't. It's not Plasmius. It can't be Plasmius.

I refuse to believe it.

The night Sam first woke, Tucker and I stayed until we were kicked right out. It was nearing eleven o'clock, and after I dropped Tucker at his house, I went home myself, thinking about Sam.

Not wanting the Fenton's to realize I was coming home so late, I slid into the house intangibly and zoomed right into my room. The house had been dark when I approached it, and I grinned in glee that I hadn't been caught. But as I did, I realized I could hear something beneath me.

I knelt down on the hardwood floor and pressed my ear to the floor, listening to the family room that was below me. I could hear the murmur of soft voices, and… was that crying?

I sat up, my hands pressed against the floor. The windows in the family room had been dark when I approached the house; surely I would have noticed people in the room, right?

I made myself intangible and slid through the floor, hovering just beneath the ceiling.

There, in the darkness, with only streetlight from outside pouring through the windows, sat Jazz and Mrs. Fenton. Neither woman was dressed for bed, nor did they look like they were going to bed anytime soon. In fact, there were several half-full mugs on the table beside them. They were sitting at the end of the long couch, a pile of papers between them. Mrs. Fenton was dabbing her eyes with what looked like a thin, white cloth, and Jazz was talking to her softly.

Curious, I hovered lower, trying to listen to what they were talking about. Mrs. Fenton sniffed loudly and gave a small gasp as she tried to contain her crying. I landed silently on the floor and walked forwards, invisible to them. The papers appeared to be an essay of some sort.

"…just wanted you to know," Jazz was saying when I could finally hear her. Mrs. Fenton nodded and gave a small smile. "Mom, please stop crying. I'm sorry that I brought this up, but—"

"Jasmine, honey," Mrs. Fenton said, cutting off her daughter. "I-I'm grateful that you wanted to share this with me, I really a-am."

"You don't sound grateful," Jazz replied in a low voice. Mrs. Fenton put her arm around Jazz's shoulders and wiped her face with the cloth.

"It's still heartbreaking for me," Mrs. Fenton said, sounding exasperated. By this time I was standing right beside them, next to the table. "But this essay… darling, sharing something so personal in such an eloquent way will surely win you that scholarship."

"I know," Jazz said softly. "I know, I know. That's the point of the scholarship. It was either this or the admissions essay."

"This is far too touching to be copied and sent to dozens of schools as a standard essay," Mrs. Fenton said with a chuckle. She laid her head against Jazz's and, for the first time, I truly saw the resemblance between Jazz and Mrs. Fenton. I mean, they had similar features like the same hair and the same small frame, but side-by-side, they could have been sisters. Their faces were shaped almost the same, except for the obvious difference in Jazz's nose and eyes, which I assume she got from her father.

For a moment, my chest twinged with pain; but as soon as it appeared, it vanished.

Jazz pulled back from her mother's embrace and pushed her hair out of her face. She stacked the papers in a pile and placed them on her lap, where the only words I could read where the title: Three Months.

'Three Months'? Three months of what? I stared at it, trying to figure out what it could be about.

"Oh my, look at the time," Mrs. Fenton said, glancing at the grandfather clock nearby. "It's almost midnight. Did you hear Danny come in?"

"No," Jazz said thoughtfully, "but we've been here for awhile. He probably walked right past us."

"I'll check on him when we go upstairs," Mrs. Fenton said, sniffing again and wiping her nose with the cloth. The two of them stood up, Jazz shuffling the papers into a white folder. It was then I noticed that she also had a thin, blue book in her hands, which she hastily shoved into the bottom drawer of the side table next to the couch.

Mrs. Fenton walked right past me and started heading up the stairs, and that was when I realized she was going to check on me. I zoomed straight through the ceiling as fast as I could, and without even putting on my nightclothes I hopped into the bed, pulled the covers up over my shoulders, and laid with my back to the door. Heart pounding, I squeezed my eyes shut and tried to slow my rapid breaths.

Footsteps outside the door, and then a crack of light as Mrs. Fenton cautiously opened the door to my room. I heard her footsteps as she walked over to the bed. Steady breathing, right above me. She pushed the hair from my face and I felt her fingers graze my cheek. I felt something cold, too, something metal against my face when she removed her hand.

With that she turned around and left the room. I turned onto my back, my body suddenly aching with fatigue. All I wanted to do was close my eyes and drift off to sleep. I loved sleep ever since I first became human. It was such a comforting, soft feeling, almost like heaven had me in its grasp. I couldn't help it; "Heaven" was a place I would never see.

I opened my eyes, staring at the ceiling. I wanted to know. I wanted to know why they were crying. That was Jazz's essay, the one that she had when I first started school here. Her college essay. About something incredibly private,

There was something far more emotional in this family than I had first perceived. For some reason, I was put here. I was sent to this family. To protect them? Not likely. To help them? Doubtful. So then, why?

I clenched my fists in frustration as my thoughts bounced around my head. Why? Why? Why?

I wanted to find out.

After a short stint in the hospital, Sam was moved into her mansion in the upscale neighborhood of Amity Park. Apparently, she was filthy rich. Didn't see that coming.

Much to her dismay, she was secluded to her bed against her will, with servants and doctors waiting on her hand and foot. Every time we got the chance to talk to her via the internet (what a useful thing!) she sounded angry and pissed. She had a scar on her lip from the ordeal, and some of her deeper wounds that had gotten slightly infected were still healing, but it was no reason to keep her at home for so long.

We finally got the chance to go visit her about a week after she was moved into her home. I, for one, was deeply impressed with the size and stature of her house. In the Zone, since space was so limited around where I lived, the size of your living space showed your power. And she had power.

When we went up into her room, I wasn't surprised to see the dark walls, slightly disturbing posters, candles, and drawn shades. Sam was sitting with her dark bedspread pulled up to her lap, wearing a black shirt. The only thing different was her hair was pulled back completely, into a tiny ponytail bobbing behind her head. She wasn't wearing any make-up, either, which was a surprise. But I think the most surprising thing about her appearance was her naturally rosy cheeks and pinkish-pale skin tone. Yes, she was pale, but not as pale as she was in school. She really poured on the contrasting make-up, was my guess.

She smiled when she saw us enter, and Tucker immediately stole her desk chair, spinning around in it. On her lap was a small, thin computer, which was how we had been contacting her over the past week.

Unfortunately for me, Tucker had stolen the only real seat, so that left me with the edge of her bed. And I don't know why, but I almost couldn't bring myself to sit down. I don't know much about human relationships, but from what I've gathered in the Zone, a bed was a… consummation place, I guess.

I don't even want to go there.

Trying to contain my blushing, I gingerly sat down. Luckily, Sam immediately shuffled out from underneath her blankets and sat next to me, thrusting her computer onto my lap.

"Okay, so, I've been doing some research for my class, and I guess this 'Vlad Masters' guy is huge in the ghost field," she said, pointing to something on the screen. A bazillion windows (I think that's what they're called) were open before me, and I couldn't make sense of them. Tucker sidled over, leaning on me to get a good look.

"What class?" Tucker asked. Sam blushed and looked down at her hands.

"Er, well… I sort of teach a class at the Skulk and Lurk," she said. I had no idea what she was talking about, but Tucker looked surprised.

"Wait, you teach? Really?" he said, sounding surprised. Sam nodded.

"It's like a mythological-religious theory class," she said, turning back to the computer. "But enough about that. Look at this. This is ridiculous. Vlad Masters owns a dozen corporations, and does his own ghost researching on the side."

"Why are you so fascinated by him?" Tucker asked. Sam looked up, thought for a moment, and shrugged.

"I'm… I'm not sure," she said thoughtfully. "Something about him – I can tell. There's something to this guy."

"Like what?" I asked, although I could feel something creeping into my stomach. I had the same, indescribable feeling that she was trying to explain.

"Like… like he's doing something. Or he's done something. Horrible," she said, trying to explain.

"Like, he's—"

"—evil?"

"—and plotting?"

The three of us looked at each other, eyebrows raised, confused expressions mirrored. We had all just answered each other's unasked questions. In that moment, something fell over us; a wave of familiarity, a blanket of caution. It was that feeling again. This was getting ridiculous. The feeling that we'd met before. And that, without having any evidence at all, we knew what we had to do. Who to fight.

All three of us shivered.

"That… was so weird," Tucker commented. "It was like major de ja vu."

"Yeah," Sam agreed. "It was. It was a lot like de ja vu." We turned back to the computer, where Vlad's smug expression loomed in front of us.

"What happened to him after he went to college?" I asked. "I know he was good friends with the Fentons."

"That's obvious. I mean, why else would he be sitting in their living room?" Sam asked. Tucker stood up and went back to his chair, spinning around again. Sam's half-covered thigh touched my leg, and instantly sent shivers up and down my body. Only these weren't the same as before. She was wearing shorts, and it was obvious she didn't have bare legs often because her legs were milky white, untouched by the sun's glare. It took all of my self control not to touch her, to feel her smooth skin beneath my fingers. With every passing day, every time I saw her, I felt as if she were the air I breathed, and without her, I couldn't live.

I had to find out why she was attacked.

"I'll look up Vlad after he got out of college," Sam said, and I had to stand up and walk away from her. She didn't notice; she was too busy searching for Vlad.

For ten minutes we were in silence; Tucker playing around in her desk chair, Sam busily searching, me, thinking. That's all I did. Think. I wish there was some way to talk to Master about this; surely he knows what's going on. There's no way he couldn't know.

Finally, after ten more minutes, Sam gasped. Tucker and I looked up over at her, wondering what was going on.

"Guys," she said, her voice barely above a whisper. "You'll never believe what I just pulled up."

"What?" I asked, and we walked over. On the screen, a newspaper page from twenty or so years ago was looking back at us. It was the Madison Times. The front page story was about a new industry being built in downtown.

"What about this?" Tucker asked. "Madison, Wisconsin. Who cares?"

"Look at this article," she said, pointing. "I pulled this by hacking the Madison Times archives. This issue isn't listed anywhere else for some reason."

"Why were you trying to access it?" I asked.

"Because I kept getting results for the name 'Vlad Masters'. Just look!" she cried, exasperated. Tucker and I leaned in, reading.

" 'Local college student dead'," Tucker read in the side-story on the front page. "So what?"

"Keep reading," she said, her voice shaky.

" 'This past Sunday, a young, promising researching from Wisconsin State University passed away from complications from a laboratory accident'," I read. " 'This student was none other than twenty-three-year-old Vladimir Masters, a local resident of Madison. It is believed that Masters, a life-long resident, had few friends in school, but did have a couple very close friends. However, contact has been nearly impossible due to their unknown whereabouts after their graduation last spring. Masters, who had no living family nearby, is going to be buried beside his mother in the Spring Hill cemetery after a service this Friday'."

The three of us sat in silence, staring at the screen.

"This was twenty years ago," Sam murmured. "How can… how can he have died, but… but be a huge business tycoon?"

"He can't," Tucker said, shaking his head. But I said nothing. My worst fears had been confirmed. In the pit of my stomach, I could feel it. The horrible realization that Vlad…

Somehow, in some way, he was responsible for something, somewhere, that involved… me.

Oh no! An attempt at plot development! Augh. I apologize for taking nearly a month to update, I didn't anticipate the amount of schoolwork I would have come senior year. I also didn't expect to get so into that Almost Lovers series. AND I lost my notes for this story, so I had to struggle to remember some plot points. So... this chapter has literally taken me a month. But it's long. And hopefully informative. I find it a bit too predictable, but eh, I had to get some explanations in. Sorry it's so confusing and repetitive. Anyway, I did this instead of one of the many essays I have due for various writing classes. I would have had this last night if I wasn't watching Star Wars with a friend of mine. We're trying to watch the all the episodes in order. We watched all of 1 and half of 2, and will be resuming this Friday night. Heh. Anyway, yes, an update, I wanted to get one out before I hit the month mark of no updates!