Thanks to those who are taking a chance and reading the story!

Bendemption: Thanks for thinking it's a promising beginning. Hope you like what's to come! Feathers: I'm glad you love it! More is on the way!

Just some notes to get out of the way before you start reading:

1. I took a lot of inspiration for Ben's character and life from Adam Driver and the characters he has played. Ben is like a mish-mash of all of them. He swears a lot, so get ready for that!

2. While this story does have smut, it is also rated mature for graphic violence, bad language, and stories you might find disturbing and make you uncomfortable. This fic is gonna get dark at times. If you've read my other fic, The Space Between Stars, then you know what you're in for. But there will always be light at the end of the tunnel! Promise!

3. Ben served in the military as a Marine, so he is very protective of people who have also served and has respect for the military for the stability it gave him. He enjoyed being a Marine, he loved it. But I will not be writing about whether he believed the war in Iraq was justified or bad or any of that. I'm not writing this story to push a narrative or to preach to anyone. I also ask you not do that in the comments.

4. I don't know much about the military, nor about lawyers. I do a lot of research, but I can still get stuff wrong. So if there are discrepancies, you can always private message me or just move on. This story ain't gonna be perfect!

5. This chapter is a huge information dump, so if you find it boring, I do apologize. But it had to be done. For you guys to understand the story, I needed to explain some things straightaway.

Okay, now onto the chapter!

Chapter Two: Of Flesh and Shadow

"I still remember my first time."

The young man – Craig or Carl or something with a C – kept wiping his hands on his jeans. Up and down, up and down. From an initial assessment, it was easy to think him homeless: unkempt blonde hair, dirt on his face, loose clothes tattered and worn.

He continued, those sweaty hands rubbing at his nose. "We were moving through a village, had intel that al-Qaeda was there. By the looks of it, most of it was deserted, had been for a while. But I was going through one of the small houses and this guy was just suddenly there. I shot him in the chest, didn't even wait to see if he had a weapon. He did, though. A kukri knife in his right hand." The guy scratched the back of his neck, knee bouncing up and down. "Yeah… not much of a war story. Never any really good ones like in the movies. They're shit, ya know? A guy was there, boom, dead. I was so scared by what I'd done I didn't fire my weapon the rest of the day. I thought, well, that's it. You kill someone and you're not you anymore. But that was a lie. I'd been that person for a long time and just didn't know it."

The young man went silent for a moment.

Between 6th and 7th street in the East Village of Manhattan, a meeting was being held in The Collegiate Church's basement late in the evening. The air was cooler down there, a bit mildewy. The cement block walls had been whitewashed in cream a few decades ago, the color peeling and leaving residue on the low-napped brown carpet, the kind of off putting color you'd find throughout many houses in the seventies.

Chairs formed a tight circle in the middle of the room, most of the twenty or so seats filled with men and women aging anywhere from early twenties to being eligible for social security checks. Long tube fluorescent lights hung from the low ceiling, its job to give everyone a headache by the end of the meeting. The loud buzz from the electrical current certainly upped the effectiveness.

And Ben had already bumped his head on those annoying fucking rods. Twice.

He glanced around, looking through the dark lenses of his Ray Bans. Most people were looking down at the floor or staring intensely at their laps. Everyone was quiet, but that was how these get togethers went – you listened and didn't judge. If you couldn't do those two basic things, you got the fuck out. Seeing how everyone in the room had served in the military in some capacity, there was no shortage of person's who wouldn't gladly boot a rude piece of shit out to the curb.

"I should think about that moment more often, but I don't," the guy added, wiping at his nose again, hand shaking. "I mean, I used to think about it all the time, after…. But instead, I think about when I was ten and our dog just had a litter of puppies. We had enough animals on the farm, and my old man couldn't find anyone to take them. Even for free. So he had me dig a hole, put the puppies in there, and kill them. I asked for the gun, but he told me, "You need to grow up, stop whining and crying all the time. Life is hard, no one's gonna to be there to make it easy for ya."" The guy paused. "He gave me a shovel, told me to bash their heads in."

"Did you?" a voice in the crowd asked. A few people shushed. You weren't supposed to ask questions.

But Carl/Craig nodded in the affirmative. "I think about those puppies every day. The squeals they made as I…. And the mother, trying to get out of her kennel. But I don't think about the actual people I've killed. Something must be wrong with me. Right? I mean, people are people, while animals are just animals." The guy cleared his throat. "So yeah, I got into H after I came back." Ben winced on the inside. Towards the end of his spiral, he'd gotten into heroin. "Did it for years. It wasn't until I went to jail twice that I could admit I had a problem. I've been sober for five weeks, but… it's hard, ya know? Goddamn shakes. And finding a job is impossible." The guy chuckled, but it was without mirth. "I went into the military thinking it would help me toughen up, like my dad wanted. Maybe even help me forget him. But it didn't. The military didn't help me forget all the shit I took from him. And now without the high… it's just hard. Living. Figuring out life."

Craig/Carl went quiet.

Ben had never attended a meeting like this before, a veterans support group. Back in LA, he went to AA/HA almost every night. He had every intention of doing the same here. But when he made the move to New York last week, he came across this meeting in an Internet search and figured he'd give it a try. He'd been a Marine, could maybe relate to some of the things that were talked about. Like the guy's craving for just one more hit. Or how scared he'd been after killing someone for the first time. Ben had felt the same, too… when he killed that child murderer at the age of fourteen.

May he not rest peacefully in Hell.

"Hi, my name is Steve," a guy three seats over from Ben said. Greetings were given all around, then the room waited for Steve to continue. "I guess I came tonight because I have nowhere else to go. But I'd rather be here than drinking." There was a beat of silence. Yeah… alcohol was Ben's main weakness. "I was in the Air Force…."

And that was pretty much how the night went. Person after person speaking up and talking about their problems. Ben listened, but didn't share. Some of them had addictions; some of them just struggled with personal demons.

Ben dealt with both. Though, a small portion of his problems derived from military service, while the majority came from his everyday life. Still, it was comforting to listen to those who were brave enough to share.

When it was 21:56, the woman who'd been moderating stood up. The rest of them did the same. "And now for a short prayer."

Ben was surprised when those next to him grabbed his hands. Good thing he kept his gloves on throughout the meeting. Last thing he needed was to have an episode in front of all these people. It didn't always happen when he touched someone skin-to-skin, but he didn't particularly like seeing flashes of a person's impending death. On two separate occasions, it had caused him to have a seizure.

When it had first started, he did try to tell the person what he'd seen – stay away from that boat or go have a check-up with your doctor because hey, you're gonna die soon – but all that did was get him labeled as someone with a few screws loose.

Yeah…. He didn't do that anymore. Ben made it a personal rule to keep his mouth shut. Saying something never changed the outcome. No one had ever listened to him. They all ended up dying closely related to the way he'd seen. The obituary section of the local newspaper helped to confirm as much.

Then there was the reason why he wore dark tinted sunglasses on the daily. At 26, he started noticing these black, inky clouds looming over random strangers. It was thicker than a shadow, dripping black goop that would vanish before hitting the ground. Those people, Ben learned, were the type you stayed away from.

Ben had interacted with murderers, rapists, and even pedophiles during his short stint in criminal law. Rarely did he see the dark substance attached to any of them. He figured even those with the worst sins had a sliver of guilt embedded in their soul.

No... it was the ones who were unable to feel remorse, who had no conscience, who were evil by biblical standards and capable of monstrous acts that the darkness attached itself to.

The shades made it so Ben didn't see any of that. He didn't want to.

While everyone closed their eyes and bowed their heads, Ben looked to the floor, waiting for the prayer to be over. He was the first one out after the amen.

It wasn't that he didn't believe in God or anything. After all the weird supernatural shit he could do, there had to be someone up there toying with his life. It was just he didn't think God believed in him… which was why he was cursed.

As the cool spring air hit him, he took a long drag of it into his lungs. In his laid-back ensemble of dark jeans, a thin black hoodie and black Air Jordan sneakers, he waited on the sidewalk as the rest of the group funneled out.

"You wanna help that kid, don't you?" Kylo asked, the question going through Ben's mind.

Ben's gaze went to the cement. With the dim glow of the church's outside light, he could see the outline of his shadow. Of Kylo. While the entity held no facial features, Ben glared at where the eyes would be if Kylo had any.

Talk about demons – that piece of shit fit the bill perfectly.

Ben glanced up the church steps when he heard Carl/Craig's voice saying goodnight to one of the other attendees.

"Hey," Ben called out, catching the guy's attention when he got on the sidewalk.

Carl/Craig gave Ben a quick once over. "You new here? I haven't seen you at these meetings before."

"Moved to New York last week."

"Where from?"

"LA."

"Quite the change. Don't know why you'd give up the sunshine and beach for"– Carl/Craig waved his hands around in an unimpressed motion– "this."

Ben thought of that anonymous letter, remembered reading how the person knew he was a murderer and would expose him if he didn't leave Los Angeles immediately. He'd only ever killed two people in cold blood: that child serial killer he saved Rose from when he was younger, and the dad who killed his four-year-old daughter when Ben had worked in criminal court. The sender had been aware of both instances.

Ben couldn't figure out how.

"It was needed," Ben said nonchalantly, though his insides churned. "And I attended college here when I was younger. I prefer New York weather over sunshine and the beach, anyway."

The guy snorted. "To each their own, I guess. What's your name?"

Ben held out a gloved hand. "Ben Solo."

"Cooper Camden."

Kylo laughed. "You suck with names, you know that?"

Ben ignored him.

Ben made sure he didn't crush Cooper's hand, trying to make it a socially acceptable handshake. Ben's strength was higher than average. Like, really high. With every passing year it got worse, to the point where he was tired of breaking shit all the time

Cooper eyed the black leather gloves covering Ben's skin. "You get cold easily or something?"

"Germ aversion."

"And the whole I-wear-my-sunglasses-at-night thing?"

"Extreme light sensitivity."

"You've become really good at lying," Kylo said. Truly, Ben had. It wasn't his first time with these rounds of questions.

Cooper nodded, then shrugged. "Well, we all got our stuff."

"Yeah…." Ben shoved his hands in his pockets. "So. I was, uh… I heard what you said in there. I wanted you to know that I can relate. And if you need help with anything–"

Cooper went straight to being offended. "Do I look like a fucking charity case to you? Cause I don't come to these meetings looking for a handout. I ain't like that."

The guy walked away.

Ben hurried after him. "Hey, man, I fucking get it. I'm a Marine, too." At that, Cooper stopped. Ben got in front of him, but didn't get too close. He would prefer not to get punched in the face. "There's a pride that goes along with that, and it makes us terrible at asking for help. I got into drugs and alcohol a couple years after I got out, ruined my life and went to court appointed rehab for it. But I had outside help and it made a huge difference."

"Where'd ya serve?"

"I was sent to Iraq. 1/1 Weapons Company."

"No shit. Same. I was a mortar man."

"CAAT platoon, gunner."

Cooper nodded, warming up to Ben's presence. "When were you at Camp Pendleton?"

"I joined right after September 11th. I was 17, but turning 18 in November."

"Ah. You're a few years older than me, then. I didn't start my service till 2004. How many tours?"

"One. I was medically discharged. Got ambushed and…" Ben's throat tightened. He didn't like talking about what had happened. "My back and shoulder hasn't been the same since. But that's war for you."

"Hoorah," Cooper said under his breath.

Ben got out his wallet, grabbing one of his business cards. "Just… if you need anything, you can call or text me on my cell. No matter the time."

Cooper considered the card, like he was fighting an inner battle on whether to take it or not. In the end, he did. "A lawyer," Cooper said as he read the small print. "Must be nice to have a fancy job."

"It wouldn't have happened without that help I was telling you about."

"Did you get your degree at NYU? I had a cousin who did law school there."

"No, I went to Yale."

"I thought you said you went to college here?"

"I did for a bit, after the military." Ben didn't want to get into specifics. That part of his life was when everything went to shit. "Then I went to Yale."

Cooper glanced at the card. "Thanks, man. You a sponsor or something? Cause I already have one."

"No. Fuck, I wouldn't be good at that type of thing."

"You seem to be doing a fine job talking to me." Ben didn't know how to respond to the compliment. Cooper nodded with his chin toward the church. "You gonna keep coming to these meetings?"

"Couple times a week, at least. I usually go to an AA group near where I live. But I think I'll come by Thursday night."

"Cool." Cooper pocketed Ben's card. "Well, See ya then."

Ben watched him amble down the sidewalk, giving Cooper a head start since that was the way he needed to go. No need to make the encounter more awkward by trying to figure out if he should walk faster or slower than the guy.

"You have such a soft spot for the lost and downtrodden," Kylo observed. "Especially if they're an ex-Marine."

"Cooper's a Marine, not an ex-Marine. That isn't a thing, so don't fucking say that."

"Touchy, touchy."

Ben glanced across the street–

His heart froze. For a second, he thought he saw the flurry of thick skirts going around the corner, long brown hair flowing behind a hurried silhouette.

Ben closed his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose beneath his glasses. Was that just his imagination? Or were his meds no longer working?

"Aren't you going to go after her?" Kylo asked.

"No."

"Pussy. You never go after her."

Ben suddenly straightened.

There was that flash of suspicion, that hard angry look forming on his face when he felt the distant touch of… malevolence. Followed, as it usually was, by his jaw tightening, muscles clenching.

He turned around, gazing up the church steps. Standing at the top was a red-haired man, tall and lean, his steely eyes looking directly at Ben. This guy hadn't been at the meeting.

Ben's body had this weird sensation of shifting even though he didn't move, like his bones were vibrating, his mind trying to grasp onto something… far away. A piece of information.

The guy lifted his hand, giving Ben a wave.

He didn't reciprocate. Instead, he pulled out a dum dum from his pocket, unwrapped it, and placed it in his mouth, holding eye contact with the stranger. It was tempting to go up to the redhead and demand what his deal was, but Ben avoided confrontation like that as if it were the plague. When he was younger, he hadn't. Now, he tried really hard not to be that person anymore.

And his sunglasses stayed staunchly in place.

He turned and walked down 7th street, heading toward the sixth local train at Astor Place. He supposed he could've just teleported home by disappearing through the shadows. Rose dubbed it 'night travel', even though he could do it during the day as long as he found a dark corner to slink into. But Manhattan had a lot of cameras, and you never knew who was watching in an alley.

Besides, public transportation helped him feel somewhat like a normal person.

He hadn't felt like a normal person in a very long time. A new ability seemed to emerge every few years or so, turning his life upside down as he tried to cope and control it.

Most of them were fucking inconveniences.

For two blocks, Ben could feel the guys eyes on him, like tiny little pins pricking across the skin on his neck. Then it was suddenly gone, replaced by the cool spring air.

Kylo stirred. "You know him?"

"Nope," Ben answered with his thoughts.

"Is he a serial killer or something? You only get this feeling with really bad people."

"Like I said, I don't know him."

"Well, you better watch your back. I think he somehow knows you."

God, the last thing Ben needed was for his life to get complicated while being in Manhattan. One more thing to add to his already insane existence might just cause him to have another psychotic break.

Ben swiped his metro card and went to lean against one of the tiled pillars, getting out another sucker and popping it into his mouth as he waited for his train back to the Upper East Side. His phone vibrated in his pocket. It was Rose.

To Ben:

I have some free time if you want to swing by the club after your meeting. I still haven't seen you! We'd hang outside, of course. Or grab a bite to eat at a place nearby.

To Rose:

I'm pretty beat. Just want to go to bed, tbh. But sometime during the evening this week would work.

Ben heard a train approaching. It was the one he needed.

To Ben:

I have rehearsals all this week but you could come by and visit me there. It's a playhouse in Brooklyn.

Ben glared at the phone. The train squealed as it slowed.

To Rose:

Rose.

To Ben:

Ben.

To Rose:

I don't go to theatres. You know that.

To Ben:

Not even to see me? Your bestest friend in the whole entire world? Who has always stood by you no matter what?

The doors opened and Ben got on, easily able to find a spot on the bench with how late it was.

To Rose:

Are you seriously trying to guilt me into going?

To Ben:

You've been busy all week and I've been stressed running the club while Paige is gone. Our schedules are just so conflicting right now. If we wait for a moment where both of us are free, months will have gone by. And I will guilt you into getting your ass down to the theatre if I have to. I have no shame.

"No, you don't," Ben muttered under his breath. The train jerked as it propelled forward.

To Rose:

Fine, you annoying fucking mouse. Text me a time for tomorrow and an address and I'll be there. But no longer than twenty minutes.

Ben prayed he didn't regret agreeing to this. He hadn't been to an actual playhouse in years. Theatres represented his shattered dreams of becoming an actor and reminded him of the day he was kicked out of Julliard, ending in his arrest.

Ben back then was a mess and an asshole. Ben now was… pretty much the same thing, but in a different context and without the drugs and alcohol.

Man, did he sometimes miss the partying and the sex, the alcohol and the drugs.

Knowing he had an affinity toward addictive behavior, he had to find something to replace all that shit with. Give his hands and body something to do. Exercise only got him so far, and therapy only slightly muted some of the impulses.

"What do you enjoy?" his therapist had asked. "Something you look forward to, that makes you happy… even if it's small."

First thing to pop in his head? Lollipops, preferably dum dums. He loved those little fucking candies. Tasting them and crunching on them gave him a small rush of satisfaction. Not to the extent H had, of course, but it was enough. And with his mouth preoccupied, it helped curb his want for a cigarette. Gum was an alternative, but Ben couldn't deny his sweet tooth for too long.

He bit down on the mango-peach flavored sucker, grabbing for a third from his pocket. Mmm… raspberry-blueberry.

Ben's mouth watered in anticipation.

()()()()()

Groggily, Rey blinked and was met with the murky image of a water stained ceiling. Once she recognized the haziness for what it was, she bolted upright, her knitted green blanket and unread book falling away from her torso.

She didn't move, her eyes fixated on the pile of clothes at the end of her bed. Her consciousness took in none of it.

His face swirled in her mind, as if still holding onto the memories of when they first met.

Ben.

When was the last time she'd slept? Two months ago, the night of Valentines Day, that ridiculous holiday that was invented to get consumers to buy chocolates and roses and sell the idea that love could conquer all.

Her and Finn had stayed in that night, watching a lineup of movies and shows Finn deemed Rey's Depression Medication. The label wasn't far off. Since medicine didn't work on her and alcohol had no effect, she had to find other means to help her not wallow in misery.

To Rey, Valentines Day was the second worst day of the year – the first being the anniversary of Ben's death.

On that day, she didn't watch anything, didn't go anywhere, didn't talk to anyone. On that day, she slept, because in her slumber, she always dreamed of him and the life they had made together. During those first few years of endless permanence, she had slept a lot, seeking his face behind the curtain of her eyelids.

Rey realized what she'd been doing was akin to torture, that she couldn't keep seeing him and live somewhat sanely.

Sleep was now a rarity.

There was a soft knock at her door, pulling her out of her thoughts. "Rey," Finn called out. "Is everything okay? You need to leave soon if you want to be on time for your new job."

Rey snatched her phone off of the side table. It was seven-thirty. She scrambled out of bed and rushed to the door, swinging it open and heading straight to the bathroom.

"Whoa," Finn said as he got out of her way. "Were you… were you actually sleeping?"

Rey didn't answer him.

She splashed water on her face and did a haphazard job at brushing her teeth, not like she needed to. No matter what, her mouth never soured. But she kept up the routine of using toothpaste because she loved the smell of mint on her breath.

Studying her reflection, Rey went through her minimal makeup routine: tinted brow gel, eyeliner with a small wing tip, mascara, and deep red lipstick. Her complexion was always even and never blotchy, which allowed her to forgo foundation altogether.

She ran her fingers through her hair, combing out her bed head. Her soft brown tresses held a permanent wave no flatiron could get rid of, her hair remaining just above her shoulders and never growing. The same went for her fingernails.

In every sense of the word, her body really was frozen in time.

Immortality had given her a permanent angelic appearance, garnering a lot of double takes whenever she was out in public. The regular population knew something was off with how perfectly beautiful she was, but the truth was just out of their reach: She wasn't one of them. Hadn't been for a while, now.

But her truth? The one she kept close to her chest?

She would rather have stayed dead than to have clawed her way out of a grave and be met with the reality that she could never die and join Ben in the afterlife – which, it turned out, was a very real place.

She discovered that when she met Finn back in 1926 while living in Chicago.

The pair had immediately recognized an energy in each other that was similar to their own. It hadn't been the first time Rey had seen someone like him. She had tried to talk to others, but they always disappeared whenever she got too close. Finn was the first of his kind not to vanish into thin air. In fact, he was the one who went up to her and introduced himself.

They bonded rather quickly after that. Once they trusted one another enough, she told him her story. In exchange, he divulged that he helped lost souls progress to the next phase of their lives. Most people who died moved on without needing help to get to the afterlife, the soul already knowing what to do after separating from the body. But every once in a while, those with unfinished business were able to will themselves to stay on the earthly plane. Some were even dangerous, twisted by their need for revenge, their rage allowing them to wreak havoc on the human world. Maybe even spark a haunting.

And that was where Finn came in, collecting wayward souls who didn't belong among mortals.

The official name for him was something in a language Rey had never heard before, a very old celestial dialect mortals had no knowledge of. A rough translation into the English language would be 'Emissary', but that was only really used in formal situations. The titles the Emissaries went by while on earth depended greatly on what the locals used – like Yamaraja in Hinduism, Ankou in Celtic folklore, or La Santa Muerte in Latin American mythology.

It was amusing to see Finn's disdain for the growing popularity of the name Grim Reaper in English culture – which was why Rey used it every chance she got.

It had been just the two of them for so long – traveling together, confiding in each other, laughing and crying – they were almost like a family.

Rey rushed back to her room just as her cat darted out from underneath the couch, frantically running between her feet and demanding her attention. With super sharp reflexes, she was able to dodge BB the 8th with deft steps, making it to her room with ease.

Finn called out to the little orange and white furball, beckoning it to come eat its food and behave. BB-8 hurried over to his bowl on the kitchen floor.

While BB-8 was close in appearance to the original BB, his personality more resembled that of BB-3 and BB-6: Needy, but shy; erratic, but scared easily; cuddly, but sometimes went days hiding from her and Finn, like he was trying to prove he was capable of being independent.

No matter what mannerisms came along with each orange cat, Rey would always go out and get another once the previous passed away. She didn't like to be too introspective when it came to her need of replacing BB, but she figured it had to do with losing her cantankerous, but lovable, feline friend the same day she lost Ben.

These cats filled a tiny sliver of the gaping hole that had formed in her heart.

Rey checked the time on her phone.

7:42.

She needed to be in the office at 8:30, but even if she left in the next five minutes, the subway was going to be packed, more than likely making her late.

Rey raided her closet, finding a black pencil skirt and white blouse. Where was her nude bra? Her breasts were small enough that she didn't need to wear one, but she'd never been one of those women who were comfortable showing off parts of their sexuality. Like, say, nipping out of a shirt, which would definitely happen if she went braless.

Even after a hundred years, it was hard to shake off how she was raised. And how she was raised was to always be a lady.

Rey dug through the pile of clothes at the foot of her bed, tossing most of them onto the floor.

"You doing okay?" Finn asked from the doorway.

Annoyed that he was still watching her, Rey curtly said, "I'm going to be late for my job, so no, I'm not doing that great."

"I meant are you doing okay after falling asleep? I know you dream of him every time you do."

Grasping the bra in her hand, Rey stilled. Finn and her have been friends for 94 years, but if there was one topic that was strictly off limits the majority of the time, it was Ben.

She took two deep breaths before glancing up at him. "There's only one day a year where it's acceptable to bring him up to me, and today is not that day. You know that."

Walking up to him, she slammed the door in Finn's face. She immediately felt bad for doing so, giving out a soft apology.

Finn dismissed her dramatics by saying, "It's okay."

Her shoulders slumped as she fought against the moisture accumulating in her eyes. She brought her left hand up, studying the gold band on her ring finger. As long as she could help it, that piece of jewelry never came off. The last time it had was when she worked at a factory making ammunition during World War II.

Stop reminiscing, she scolded herself. No time!

She shoved the memories back in the catacombs of her mind and made quick work of changing into her professional attire.

When she was buttoning the top part of her blouse and checking herself in the full-length mirror next to the dresser, she heard Finn's muffled voice through the door. "Rey… you've been falling asleep more and more lately, and I'm starting to worry about you."

Two times within the last year was hardly exorbitant. "I'm fine," Rey said. It didn't sound convincing, even to her.

"You don't seem fine."

"That's because I'm gonna be late!" she grumbled as she slipped on her four inch, pointed toe black leather heels. Immortality had given her an unremarkable sense of balance and invincibility, with the added perk of never feeling physical pain. Hence why she could live in heels if she wanted to: no blisters, no foot pain, and no permanent consequences to her lean frame.

"That's not the only reason," Finn countered. He must be feeling particularly brave today since he was risking the blowback that came with her anger. And if he was willing to put himself in her crosshairs, she knew he did it because he cared.

Dammit.

She grabbed her phone and swung open the door, startling Finn. "Okay, fine. I dreamed of him last night," Rey conceded reluctantly. "And I dreamed of him on Valentines Day, too. Happy?"

"Only if you are."

Rey stared at him flatly. "I'm never happy."

"And that's a problem."

Rey groaned and pushed past him, crossing the living room to get to her brown leather satchel on the kitchen counter. "I can't do this right now, Finn." She shoved her phone inside, making sure she had her laptop and other essentials for her job. "I need to get to work before I'm fired on my first day."

Finn snort-chuckled, which earned him a dagger-like glare. "Like you need this job." He leaned against the island, watching her go through her bag. "A secretary to some fancy schmancy lawyer at a marketing firm? The wage they're paying you is laughable."

"I'm not doing it for the money."

"Oh, I know. You've worked for NASA building rockets for the space program, and your investments over the last few decades have made you wealthy. But what about your pride?"

"I have none. And I can't go back to NASA yet. It's still too soon."

"Thirty-five years is too soon?"

She was missing her computer charger. Her eyes caught it still in the outlet between the couch and the stand holding her cello. The cello Ben had bought her when she was 13. "My old supervisor still works there," she said as she pulled the cord from the wall, rolling it up. "I can't take the chance he recognizes me and asks questions."

"You were going by Kira Johnson back then. And how good can the guy's memory be? Honestly. He should be a walking skeleton by now."

Rey placed the charger in her bag and zipped it closed, feeling an extra dose of sorrow thinking about how she had to give up NASA. "I can't risk it, Finn."

"You hate being a secretary. This is what, the twentieth time you've been one?"

Twenty-second, but she didn't correct him. She'd been a lot of things over the course of her unstoppable existence: secretary, house cleaner, nurse, barista, student at Harvard, aeronautical and aerospace engineer, waitress, pet walker, and on and on the list went.

Rey pegged Finn with a serious stare. "I don't need to like it. I do these jobs to give me something to do. Either that or I go insane."

Finn sighed, which Rey interpreted as him being done hounding her for the day. She checked the time on the antique clock next to the window in the living room. It was 7:58. Rey marched to the door, adjusting the satchel on her shoulder.

"What time are you going to be home?" Finn asked as he followed her.

"Around five-thirty."

With some manners still in place, Finn yanked open the door for her, putting in some extra effort due to the layers of paint causing the frame to stick. "I'll have dinner ready by the time you get back so we can leave for rehearsal at six."

Due to the frenzy of the morning, Rey almost forgot about the play they were participating in at the small community theatre in Brooklyn, cleverly named Curtain Call. It was a rendition of Agatha Christie's And Then There Were None, one of Rey's most favorite authors.

While Finn had a part in the play, Rey was not an actor. Not by a long shot. But she was able to fill an open spot for a cellist in the small orchestra, which made Finn happy. According to him, if she wasn't somehow involved in the play, then he couldn't be involved in it either. It had something to do with how Grim Reapers weren't allowed to interact with the human world.

Rey didn't see how her being at the playhouse made it okay for him to be there, but whatever. She didn't try to delve into it. Truthfully, she was enjoying the opportunity to play her cello in an orchestra. She didn't want to worry about the opportunity being taken from her if Finn were to get in trouble.

Nothing was going to happen. He wasn't going to get caught. But just to be safe, he really should stop flirting with Rose in between scenes. Rey didn't know how to bring that up to him. He was way into her.

"Finn, neither of us needs to eat to survive," she reminded him as she stopped at the top of the stairs in the hallway. "We can forgo dinner for one night."

"I know it's impossible for you to get low blood sugar, but I swear Rey, you get hangry when you don't eat. You know that."

Rey narrowed her eyes. Finn knew her way too well. "Fine," she yielded. "Yorkshire tapas puddings, the ones I taught you to make."

Finn mocked offense. "Like I'd ever deviate from your recipe. Spiced chicken, with a tomato and saffron sauce, topped with toasted almonds – I got this."

Rey's frantic demeanor broke a little, a small smile slipping through her defenses. "You spoil me."

"Well, since you let me be on your checking account, the least I can do is cook for you."

Rey rolled her eyes and waved him goodbye.

With such strict rules that went along with Finn's job, he had no way of acquiring money. Rey basically supported him by allowing him to live with her and have access to her bank accounts. When she told him he could buy whatever he wanted, he took that quite literally. Finn's room was basically just a closet of clothes and shoes. Reapers were only given their token black suits to wear, but when he wasn't on the hunt for an elusive soul, Finn preferred to dress like a casual mortal.

And Rey found out quickly he had expensive taste. How he was more pretentious about fashion than her, Rey had no idea. But she didn't care what he bought with her money as long as he didn't drag her along on his current obsession of geocaching.

The moment her heels hit the tile on the first floor, she shot her arm into the air and caught a falling umbrella. Slowly, she craned her head up, scowling. Finn was leaning over the fourth story stairwell, gazing down at her with amusement.

"Just wanted to make sure you still got those reflexes," he called out to her. "And the Weather Channel said there's a chance of rain today."

Rey gave him a salute with the tip of the umbrella, cheeks dimpling. As she crossed the narrow corridor, she heard Finn yell, "Have a good day, peanut! Don't let those sexist men talk down to you!"

She chuckled and ventured out into the streets of New York.

With her apartment located on 30th and 4th, Rey lived right next to Korea town. She blended in with the rest of the commuters who were hurrying to get to the downtown subway line on 28th. It was packed, as expected. She squeezed into the small car, holding onto the railing above as bodies pressed into her.

Bodies pressed into her. She closed her eyes, trying not to focus on her need for personal space.

Rey hurried out of the car once it stopped at Canal St. and maneuvered herself through the throng of people as she jogged to the correct high-rise. With her security badge in hand, she was admitted into the lobby and took the elevator up to the 31st floor, her breath and heart rate not once spiking.

Which was Rey's new norm.

Throughout the years, Finn had put her through a series of tests to see exactly what she was capable of. She discovered that she never tired, never had hunger pains, always had a steady stream of energy, and her physical strength far exceeded that of the world's strongest man.

But while her body never reacted to physical exertion or hardship, it sure did respond to emotional changes. She still cried over heartbreak, her skin became sweaty when anxious, and her hands trembled when nervous.

So really, by all accounts, her mentality was her worst enemy.

The elevator dinged and opened. Darting down the carpeted hallways, she went straight for the Law Department, greeting the receptionist as she walked by. Rey was already accustomed to the overall layout of the floor from her orientation last week; she knew exactly which office she was assigned to.

When she walked into the room, she glanced around. There was a pair of grey couches that formed a little waiting area in front of her desk, a multitude of shelves lining the walls that held books, and a door behind her workstation that led to her boss' private office.

Rey exhaled, already making plans to somehow bring a touch of color to the bland workspace. Mitaka did say he wouldn't mind a woman's touch when it came to decorating.

She put her bag down on the desk and went straight for the Keurig situated across the room. Mitaka had been very nice and cordial when they met during her training, giving her clear instructions on how he liked to have things done. He hadn't said anything about having coffee ready by the time he got into the office at 8:45, but to play it safe, Rey made the man a steaming hot cup of joe. Just in case. She found out from the front receptionist he liked it with a splash of cream.

The door opened. She glanced behind her shoulder, seeing her boss striding in quickly, frazzled. He stopped when he noticed her, as if surprised by her presence. She glanced at the ticking clock by the door. He was a few minutes early.

"Rey. Good morning."

"Good morning, Mitaka," she said smoothly. The guy preferred to go by his surname, not Mister or Sir or Dopheld. Just Mitaka. "I was preparing some coffee if you'd like to have any."

"Oh, uh…" Mitaka placed his briefcase on the sofa, rubbing the back of his neck. "Actually, that won't be necessary. There's been a slight change of plans."

A jolt went through her body as her heart skipped a beat. Did he know she was five minutes late? Was he really that much of a stickler when it comes to tardiness? "Am – am I being let go?"

"What? No! I just need to reassign you to one of our other attorneys. The head of our department, actually." Rey closed her eyes briefly in relief. She hated looking for jobs. "He's transferring from our west coast office and today's his first day. But the secretary we hired for him quit just this morning and I promised him that the transition would be smooth and easy. He, uh… made it quite clear he didn't like unwarranted stress."

Rey hesitated.

So far, Mitaka seemed to be a kind and polite person, both of which were rare qualities to find in a superior within this profession. She really would rather work for him than someone else. But he was gazing at her with such desperation, that she couldn't help but feel a little sorry for him.

"Well… I guess if it would help, I can–"

"Marvelous," he cut her off, taking what she was about to say as an agreement. He snatched up his briefcase and beckoned her to follow. "I'll show you to his office."

Rey left the coffee behind and reluctantly grabbed her satchel. He guided them to the end of the hallway and into a corner office, one that had big windows and offered a very agreeable view of Manhattan.

"The layout is similar to mine, but bigger," Mitaka pointed out. "And thank you so much for doing this. I've been panicking all morning…" Mitaka continued to ramble as Rey took in the space.

Black leather couches and a chrome coffee table were set up to the right, while her larger-than-needed desk was to the left. Bookshelves lined the walls, filled to the brim with antique looking texts that held all the knowledge pertaining to American law. Or maybe they were fake and just decoration. Lots of lawyers did that.

The office was more sterile than Mitaka's, that was for sure. Felt colder, too. Would it really kill these people to add just a little bit of color? Nothing as radical as yellow, but maybe a hint of red or blue somewhere?

"I'll forward you the email his previous secretary sent me with how he likes his schedule to be handled and what he prefers to eat if you ever order in. Mr. Solo can be very particular about his diet –"

Her attention snapped to Mitaka. "Mr. Solo?"

"Oh, yes. His name is Benjamin Solo. Probably a good thing to know, since your his secretary," Mitaka joked.

His voice grew distant as Rey became lightheaded, not being able to take in much of what the man was saying to her. All she caught was that her new boss wouldn't be coming in until early afternoon, and that she should go over the notes from the email Mitaka was about to send her.

A cell phone went off. Mitaka's. He answered it, leaving her alone in the office as he hurried out the door.

On shaky legs, Rey sunk down to the sofa, becoming lost in her own thoughts and memories.

The odds of her boss having the same name and profession as her deceased husband were astronomically impossible. And yet….

No.

It couldn't be anything but a coincidence. Ben was dead. She'd held his body in her own two arms, had seen his blood-drained face, had heard from the dank confines of her jail cell that his parents had buried him hastily on their estate.

Ben was gone.

Though, Rey never could find the grave. Leia had to have hidden it somewhere, maybe as a final 'Fuck you' to Rey for betraying her son. A move like that was right up that woman's alley. Not that Rey ever got to confront her about it. The Solo's had disappeared right after Ben's funeral… along with her parents. None of their friends or acquaintances remembered who they were, as if they never existed.

Everything forgotten.

Except for that one woman, that stranger waiting in Rey and Ben's empty home after Rey had dug herself out of the dirt. The short woman had saved some of her and Ben's belongings in a trunk, telling her that no moment should be forgotten – not the good, nor the bad. Then she vanished, blinking out of existence.

Rey never saw her again.

She searched through her bag and pulled out the wooden frame she bought from Target. Inside was a picture of her and Ben, taken on the day of her 18th birthday. Even though they'd been married over a year, that day was the day she truly started to fall in love with him.

Ben had wanted to commemorate the occasion with a picture. They went to a local studio on 5th Avenue, the photographer placing her in a chair. Hands in her lap, Ben stood behind her, a palm on her shoulder. Their smiles were faint, but their eyes showed how incandescently happy they'd been.

It was so long ago, another lifetime. But the memories were just as sharp as if she just lived them.

Rey touched her shoulder, as if she would find Ben's hand there. It wasn't, like always.

()()()()()

Standing under the spray of scalding hot water, Ben rubbed his eyes with the corner of his palms, a brilliant flash of green, violet, and white exploding behind his lids. He kept his eyes closed as he held his breath and let the water pelt him right in the face.

He was disappointed in himself for adding two minutes onto his run through Central Park, having done this established route of four miles just two days prior.

Just because strength wasn't an issue for him, didn't mean he was inherently a great runner or overly muscular. He had to gain bulk and cardio endurance just like everyone else: good old fashioned exercise. Ben just had to lift a lot more weight than what a normal person could handle in order for his muscles to give out.

As he shampooed and conditioned his hair, it was difficult to lift his arms, his muscles having liquefied from going hard on the weight bench. The urgent search to find a place to live in Manhattan and the time it took to move into the penthouse had been exhausting and arduous, making him slack in his exercise routine.

And Ben was all about sticking to a schedule. If he didn't he became antsy, and when he became antsy, he couldn't concentrate and focus, allowing that cruel voice of addiction to slither through his defenses and entice him with a drink.

God, he really could use a drink.

No, he internally rebuked, twisting the shower knob all the way off with a little too much force. It miraculously didn't break.

He dried off, glancing around the bathroom that was bigger than most New York City apartments. The look of it wasn't muted enough, the marble floor and countertop exuding an overly sophisticated elegance he didn't really feel matched his personality. With everything being so white and reflective, he almost needed to squint his eyes against the overall brightness.

The shower he could definitely get used to, though. It was huge, easily accommodating his size with room to spare. The three showerheads were such a bonus to have after a workout; Ben wondered how he ever lived without them.

The rest of the penthouse was similar to the style of the bathroom: white quartz countertops, white cabinets in the kitchen, and light grey paint coating the walls. White and light, that seemed to be a running theme with the previous tenant. At least it hadn't been yellow.

The furniture he had control over. He got it all in black – the leather sofa, tables, chairs, everything.

Hanging the towel on a rack, Ben padded naked into his room, his steps soft against the dark hardwood floors. His clothes were situated on his ebony sheets: black Armani suit, dress shirt and tie, with Louboutin shoes to complete the overall look.

Ben had expensive taste, but if he could afford it, why not? The trust fund and old money he'd come into when he turned twenty-one made him a multi-millionaire. Add on the celebrity clients he had on the side, and money was never an issue for him.

Which reminded him, he needed to look over that studio contract for–

Pulling on his boxer briefs, Ben's ears suddenly popped, the sounds of New York being sucked into a vacuum that was as inescapable as it was unwelcome.

He scrambled to the bedside table, opening the section of the pill organizer labeled Monday. It was empty. He'd taken his meds this morning. He had remembered.

Ben cursed, scrunched his eyes tightly closed, and covered his ears. Even through the heightened heart rate that thrummed through his eardrums, he heard her, the hallucination that'd been plaguing his existence since he was twenty-two.

His shadow nudged at his heels, attempting to make him turn around. Ben was staunch with refusal. The cursed thing remained persistent, pulling and tugging and sending out waves of frustration.

"You can look at her without me turning around, you fucking parasite," Ben growled.

Kylo didn't appreciate the tone.

Latching onto Ben's brain waves, Kylo flooded his mind with a live broadcast of the woman currently traipsing around the room.

Wait… was she... dancing?

She twirled on light feet, her arms bent in the air as if dancing with a partner, her smile eating up most of her face. She laughed that precious fucking laugh that warmed Ben's heart every time he heard it, her dress fanning out with her lithe movements.

That was always how it was when she showed up. Well, not the dancing thing. That was new. But whenever she appeared, she never acknowledged his existence. It was like she was living her life without interruption – pouring herself tea or cleaning or reading a book. Maybe even gardening. Sometimes she talked as if having a conversation with someone Ben couldn't see or hear, making it hard to follow what was being discussed.

Whatever she was doing, she never noticed him.

The woman eventually faded away. His ears picked up the sound of outside traffic.

Ben slid to the ground, his back resting against the bed, a shaky hand running through damp hair.

He was a fucking crazy person. There was no way to sugarcoat it.

For as long as he could remember, Kylo had been a constant presence in his life. When Ben was a kid, they'd been… pals, of sorts. Ben hadn't understood the unusualness of it all, talking and confiding in a shadow. People just thought he had an imaginary friend.

Then the voice started. Her voice. He'd hear it randomly throughout the day, none of it ever making sense.

"The day is so beautiful, we should have tea out in the gardens."

"Could you help me take off this corset?"

"Your mother would have our heads if we skip another family meal."

"I love you."

Even with the clear affection in her tone, Ben was still terrified by it all. Kylo, however, couldn't get enough of it. When her voice first started in his teens, they constantly fought over what to do. Ben wanted to ignore it completely, Kylo wanted to investigate further.

Ben got his way.

For a while, he felt in control of his life. He even knew how to come across like an average teenager. That all changed on a drizzly fall afternoon when he decided to take a new route home from school.

He passed one of the houses and couldn't ignore the feeling that overcame him. It was vile. Dirty. Suffocating and thick, with an energy that scratched across Ben's skin like claws.

He had to see… had to know what it was.

When he crawled inside through a basement window, his hands touched the cement floor. Ben tried to gasp, but nothing came as he choked on his own dry tongue. Death, that was what lay hidden below. He could sense the decaying corpses, that they all had led a life as innocent children.

Girls.

So young.

There was a whimper from the corner. A girl was tied up, frightened and shaking.

It was an eight-year-old Rose. Ben freed her, hoisting her up through the basement window, telling her to go next door for help.

She had begged him to come with her. She was scared, could barely talk through the intense trembling. But Ben had something he needed to do. Once she had scurried away, he went on the hunt. With Kylo's help, Ben found the guy upstairs and killed him, making it slow and excruciating.

Rose had watched, having snuck back in the house while Ben was unaware. She swore never to tell anyone what he had done, and for being a little eight-year-old, she was true to her word. Ben left before the police came. Rose feigned confusion, telling them she had freed herself and found the guy already dead.

They'd been friends ever since, both watching as the other went through their own ups and downs in life, their own struggles. Even during the time at Julliard, when Ben got to peak levels of assholery, Rose still emailed him daily, updating him on her life. He ignored her for months. He'd been a horrible friend.

She forgave him after he hit rock bottom and contacted her. That was a hard conversation to have. Ben wasn't accustomed to admitting he was wrong.

Ben paid Rose's college tuition and even footed the bill when she got her business degree. She had needed a lot of help financially back then after her parents passed away a year into attending classes.

He went on to invest in the nightclub her and her sister Paige opened up, becoming a co-owner. Being an alcoholic, Ben had only been inside the place once, right before it opened. He let the Tico sisters run it without him, content with just giving them whatever money they needed.

So… yeah. He only had one friend in a world that housed 7 billion people. And out of those 7 billion people, Ben had found the best one.

Rose was the only living soul who knew the extent of how he was different, that he had abilities science and logic couldn't explain. He confided in Rose every time a new one popped up, and she always talked him out of locking himself away in a mental hospital somewhere. To her, the things he could do were a gift. Without them, she'd be dead.

To him, they were a punishment. Perhaps a higher power was damning him for what he'd done, like a severe chastisement for committing murder.

"That man deserved death," Kylo told him. "Remember all the little girls he molested and killed?" Ben tried not to. "You're a hero. Without us, Rose's fate would've been the same as theirs."

"Don't try to come off as righteous," Ben argued, his voice not nearly as strong as he'd like it to be. "Your need for violence is something I constantly have to keep in check."

"You didn't complain when I helped you kill him. Or that other one." Ben swallowed, his body blistering with heat. "Because you liked it. I felt that you did. You lie to yourself by saying it disgusts you, that your violent tendencies are because of me, but you still dream about the time you killed both those men."

Ben's nostrils flared. "Shut up."

"So really," Kylo continued, "which of us is pretending to be the righteous one here?"

With Ben's knees bent and feet flat on the floor, the shadow stretched along the hardwood and slinked up the wall, looking down at him. Before he could stop himself, Ben jumped to his feet and punched at the silhouette, his fist going through the drywall.

He pulled out his arm. The hole he created went right into the bathroom.

Kylo laughed, slow and deep. "You call me pathetic. But you're the one not living up to your full potential."

Ben surveyed the broken skin of his knuckles and the blood sliding down his forearm. "At least I'm not fawning after someone who isn't real," he said as he went to the sink in the bathroom, running warm water over his hand, not reacting to the sting. "You basically drool every time that woman shows up, like she's some goddamn eye candy or something."

"She belongs to us. We belong to her."

"It's the 21st century, dumbass, someone can't belong to you," Ben countered, going for the first aid kit beneath the sink. His hand finally started to pound, pain blossoming up his arm. "And she's a fucking hallucination. Or does your lack of a brain make you incapable of not knowing what that means? She. Isn't. Real."

"Yes, she is."

Ben rolled his eyes, flexing his hand to make sure nothing was broken. "Then how about you leave me alone and go be with her. Oh, wait. You can't," he mocked, feeling satisfied by Kylo's simmering annoyance.

Ben wrapped a bandage around his mangled knuckles. Smaller injuries tend to heal quicker, usually within a few hours of acquiring them. More serious ones required medical attention, like the wounds he sustained in Iraq. Those his body couldn't mend on its own.

He glanced at the newly created hole in the wall. He'll have to contact somebody to fix it. He had someone on speed dial back in LA, cause shit like that happened on the regular. But here, he only had Rose. Girl didn't even know how to use a hammer and a nail.

Browsing through Thumbtack was now added to his to-do list while at work.

Hand taken care of, Ben went to his dresser and checked his phone. There was an email from his uncle and some texts from Mitaka, all of which was just him being a brownnoser.

He opened his Gmail account, reading over the contents quickly. His uncle, Luke Skywalker, esteemed psychologist and respected by many in his field, was going to be here in a week to give him refills on his medications.

Ben grimaced.

He hadn't seen his uncle in three years, preferring to converse with him through text or email.

Since Ben had left LA in a rush, and with the complications of getting antipsychotics filled at a pharmacy when he wasn't yet a resident of New York, his uncle was going to have to bring the refills to him in person. And apparently, sending them via mail was a no-go.

It wasn't that Ben hated the man… or maybe he did, he wasn't sure.

The relationship with his uncle was… very complicated. The man had raised him, made it so he didn't face criminal charges for the whole incident at Julliard, and aided Ben in getting to attend Yale's law school by smooth talking a very reluctant admissions office.

Ben had a near perfect score for the LSAT. That alone should have been enough for him to get him in. It hadn't been once they found out about 'the incident'. Good thing his uncle had a few connections.

Luke had helped him a lot throughout his life; Ben could admit that. But the one thing that he just couldn't get passed?

Luke wouldn't tell Ben the truth about his parents. Not how they died. Where they were buried. Why Ben couldn't find any information on them. Nothing. It was like they didn't exist. All his uncle could offer was a promise to tell him the whole truth once he was older.

Well, he was now 36, turning 37 in November and no closer to the truth. Not even private investigators could dig anything up.

Ben cut Luke out of his life as much as he could. His uncle's promises had been bullshit, and it hurt Ben deeply to finally realize that he was being lied to just to be placated.

Dressed, Ben went to check over his appearance.

"Looking sharp," Kylo commented.

Ben ignored the compliment – it sounded more like mockery – as he went to the bathroom to put product in his hair. "I don't want any of your usual shit while I'm at work today."

Kylo didn't answer.

Hair coiffed and perfectly placed, Ben placed his hands next to the sink and just looked at himself. He'd never liked his face. His nose and eyes, chin and lips never meshed well together, in his opinion. But something about it had held women's interest while he was at Julliard. He honestly couldn't put a number to how many of them he fucked during that two year span. Couldn't remember most of their faces, either.

He had toyed with so many of those women, leading them on or getting them to cheat on their partners, seeing how far he could take it. It had all been a game to him. He ruined people's lives. And for what? None of it brought him happiness.

He'd been so cruel…. Was he still that person?

His hands began to shake, body growing hot.

He wanted a drink. Just one.

"She'd be disappointed if you ruined your sobriety," Kylo commented. "She'd be less inclined to be with you if you ruin your life again."

As much as Kylo was a sadistic presence in Ben's life, he had always disapproved of all the drinking and the women and the bars Ben used to frequent. Other than murder, his shadowy counterpart judged him pretty much on every aspect of his life, down to his choice in vitamins.

Kylo preferred the Flintstone chewables. Ben thought them too chalky. They compromised with the gummies.

"I doubt a hallucination would care," Ben said, his mouth a hard line.

"What if I care?"

Ben shook his head

This shadow, demon, evil spirit – whatever the fuck it was, was an expert at giving Ben emotional whiplash. One second the thing was being a condescending prick, and the next, it acted like it actually gave two shits about his well-being.

Ben flexed his hands, trying to alleviate the shakes as he left the bathroom.

"All you care about is being with that ghost of a woman," Ben said as he grabbed his leather messenger bag off the kitchen island, "and you can't do that without me… since you're nothing but a shadow." He grabbed a handful of dum dums out of the bag in the pantry, unwrapping and popping one in his mouth. He shoved the rest into the satchel.

Kylo sulked and retreated.

Ben enjoyed the blissful silence left behind in his wake. But his shadow only left him alone because Kylo knew, just as Ben did, that no matter how much he mocked him for being infatuated with an apparition or refused to look at her when she appeared, Ben wanted to find her just as bad as Kylo.

But if Ben gave in and aimed his obsessive personality at that woman, it would no doubt consume him. It would be worse than the alcohol and the drugs, because with her, there was no fix, no end… because she wasn't even real. He'd be chasing a ghost for the rest of his life.

He couldn't do that. He couldn't live that way again. And if he ever fell back to the way he was before, there would only be one way out this time.

Death has always been a constant companion in Ben's life, and he'd pay the malevolent bastard a visit by shoving a pistol in his mouth and pulling the trigger.

A/N

For the beginning of the story, when Copper is speaking, I took some inspiration from a scene in Chernobyl about when he kills the guy. The stuff about the animals... well, it's actually a true story of someone close to me. Don't worry, I asked permission to use it in the fic.

If you're a little confused or lost as to what has happened in the past or why the hell Ben has those weird abilities, that is intentional. I haven't revealed everything yet. But don't worry, answers are coming!