.

"You're part of this conspiracy, too?" asked McGee, backing up a few steps. He wasn't quite ready to confront the whole 'speaking to a dead person' thing. Not yet.

"Well. Yeah. As far as a conspiracy exists anyway. You are standing on my grave." A wisp of mist peeled off the ghost, and the edges of his form flickered.

"Your…" He resisted the urge to glance at the gravestone. All the offerings made more sense if people thought their hero's body was there.

… Everything about this situation was insane, wasn't it? He was here, talking to a ghost he'd thought was fictional five minutes ago and standing on his grave. Not that he hadn't thought all ghosts were fictional up until a couple of hours ago.

"Yep, it's mine. Which is why I came down here. I can tell when someone is making weird promises to my dead body. It is a school night, you know?"

"People keep saying that. Why does it even matter that it's a school night?

"Because I like going to school, and contrary to popular opinion, ghosts do need rest. We sleep when we're dead and all that."

"Was that a pun?" demanded McGee, incredulous.

"More like a play on a common figure of speech or a literal metaphor, but, sure, call it a pun. Why are you so focused on my death, anyway?"

"You, I, what, this," babbled McGee, trying to get a handle on his thoughts. "You're a pre-teen who was buried in the woods. I'm not heartless."

"Rude. I'm not a pre-teen. And I was sort of the one to do the burying, so…" The ghost tilted his head, frowning slightly. "You're not having a heart attack, are you?"

"No," said McGee.

"It's just, you're really holding onto your chest, there. I could fly you to—"

"I am not having a heart attack," said McGee. "Stop changing the subject! You-! You're-!" McGee sat down abruptly, careless of the condensation on the grass.

"You know, it's normal to have an existential crisis when confronted with your own mortality."

"I've already confronted my mortality! I'm a police detective for goodness' sake!"

"Okay, okay. Jeez."

"And you- Your death. You said I already knew how you'd died. What's that supposed to mean?"

Phantom shrugged. "It's listed as an accident. And it was. I asked them not to put down the details. I like my living family to have privacy."

"And the whole conspiracy?"

"Be honest," said Phantom. "It isn't really all that much of a conspiracy. The town gets most of its revenue from tourism. We're actually pretty public about it."

"But that's not real."

"Some of it is." The ghost rubbed the back of his head. "We kind of all know you were sent to spy on us," he said. "So, you're probably wondering how to spin this."

McGee felt his eye twitch. "Collins and Patterson told you?"

"Not really. It's just obvious. But, like, outside of the GIW, no one is going to believe you that the reason for Amity being so messed up is ghosts. And you've seen the GIW."

"They chased glowsticks around a park," said McGee, dully. The action made more sense now that he knew about ghosts, but still.

Phantom laughed, a twinkling sound. "Yep. That was a good one. Anyway, I don't know what your bosses are like, but I guess your options here are to either quit, or, well, if you can't beat 'em…"

"Is this a recruitment pitch? Are you, a ghost, trying to give me a recruitment pitch to join your vaguely illegal conspiracy town full of corruption and unsolved murders?"

"First off, to get unsolved murders here you have to go way back. Like I said, my death was an accident. Secondly. Is it working?"

McGee put his head in his hands.

"Welp. It isn't like you have to decide right away. Your timeline's determined by whoever your bosses are. No one here hates you, though, if that makes it easier. Collins and Patterson wouldn't have shown you the Neon District, otherwise. They'd have waited 'til you ran into a daylight battle, tried to scare you off. That kind of thing."

"This is them not trying to scare me off?" asked McGee, humorlessly.

"Yeah, I know, it doesn't seem like it, but it's true." Phantom paused. "Ah, that wasn't exactly the thing to say to put you at ease, was it?"

"What," said McGee, "is worse than this? What is worse than the dead coming back to like and those alien-looking green blobs coming through and the Fentons, oh my god, what is worse than what they were driving?"

"Oh, gee," said Phantom, not meeting McGee's questioning gaze. "Would you look at the time. I've got to go. School night and all."

With that, the ghost disappeared.

Slowly, McGee dragged himself back to his car, turned it on, and just sat there, heater on full blast. This was… a lot to take in. A whole lot.

He rubbed his hand over his face.

Ghosts.

Real ghosts.

Who had opinions about investigations into their deaths.

Had he somehow been sucked into a demented supernatural buddy-cop drama? He was tempted to go searching for cameras.

He was tempted to invest himself fully into whatever this was, because didn't everyone dream about being in a story like this? Being involved in something fantastic and meaningful? Being the hero of a story, no matter how short?

But this was really to much for someone his age. And he really had to come up with something to say to his bosses, because he really, really doubted that they'd accept him quitting to join the Amity Park Police Department as a non-spy.

He closed his eyes and let himself breathe. He didn't have to decide how to handle this now. Maybe he'd take Collins and Patterson up on that day off. Think about it for a while.

But.

Ghosts.

Could he live with himself if he just left?

Ice glittered on the ground illuminated by his headlights, as if mocking him for his earlier ambitions about solving cold cases, for all the ignorant thoughts he'd had when first arriving. Could a case really be called cold when the victim was available to give an interview?

Well, yes, assaults went cold all the time, but, still…

Even if McGee didn't know the details of his eventual decision, he knew, then, that even if he left, he'd never be able to forget Amity Park. It was too good of a mystery. And all other fantasies pushed aside, he'd become a detective to solve mysteries.

In short: he wasn't leaving.