A/N: Thank you sooo much for the reviews guys! Here's the second installment, I had it done already but I wasn't sure if I wanted to post it but your encouraging words were a big help.
To SkiBlueSkiesSnowyHills: Sorry! It was a mistake! Rory and Tristan have never met before, it was an honest mistake (and as you'll see, I make lots of them!). Thank you for pointing it out. Tristan Dugrey went to Chilton but ran away to Princeton before his 18th birthday. He doesn't go to Yale but Rory, who went to some other prestigious school, does.
One more thing: this chapter includes the same time and setting as the 1st one, but it's from Tristan's POV. This is probably the only time that two full chapters will be spent on one situation, I just want to fully introduce the characters to you. More action will arrive in the future, I promise! Enjoy!
Chapter 2:
Beyond the World of the Living
Tristan jumped as he heard the first clap of thunder. Startled, he gazed up at the angry sky and, upon seeing the dark, chaotic storm clouds, began searching for a place to wait out the storm.
The part of town that he was in now was filled with expensive department stores and high-class restaurants. Tristan didn't feel comfortable entering any of those places since he new that he would probably be asked to leave. Having never been able to afford his own car, Tristan had no choice but to go to the Second Cup on the corner. For one thing, he didn't like coffee. It smelled wonderful but it always kept him awake and Tristan had enough trouble sleeping as it is.
The second, more important factor was that the café was crowded with people. Tristan had never been a fan of crowds. It was so easy to hide or blend into a crowd, you could lose yourself and just let everything go and follow the current. But it was impossible to ensure your safety. In a crowd, people surrounded you on all sides, it was too hard to watch your back and the direction you're going. Anyone could pick your pocket or steal a cell phone and by the time you figured it out and turned around it was to late, the thief was lost in the sea of faces. Joining a crowd meant letting down your defenses.
And, of course, in a crowd, it was easy to confuse the living with the dead.
Tristan had always been shy and introverted as a child. The one thing that had always made him hide in the back of the classroom was them. He was afraid to let people see who he really was, afraid to let them know. He was a freak and he knew it.
For as long as he could remember, Tristan had seen things that other, normal people couldn't. Tristan had had to deal with them for as long as he could remember. Ghosts, phantoms, spirits, lost souls, whatever you want to call them. They haunted his days and plague his dreams. They were everywhere; all around him, walking among the living just like normal people. Most of them didn't know they were dead and the ones that did were the worst. Some of them wanted him to relay messages to loved ones, others wanted him to tie up their unfinished business. And some of them wanted to hurt people.
Tristan did the best he could to help them and send them on their way, but he lived his life in fear of them, in fear of everyone. He always felt detached, alone, different. Anytime he tried to live normally; he would see one and remember. It was like they were holding it over his head, wanting him to feel desolate, isolated. He could imagine it:
Na-na-na bo bo. You're a freak. Don't tell them, they'll all hate you, they'll be afraid of you. Compassion? In your dreams. They'll run screaming, is that what you want? Is it?
They were words he heard every single night in his dreams. Sometimes it was his mother's voice, sometimes it was his father's, or even the waitress at the Chinese restaurant, the old man asking for money, and even strangers.
He didn't want to end up in a laboratory, in a cell, or on CNN. He knew how people reacted to the paranormal; he could imagine the disbelief, fear, and, worst of all, disgust. He could imagine it, and had experienced it a few times from the families and friends of spirits who had selected him to speak on their behalf. And he hated it. Each time it happened a little more of him died, another piece of his courage was torn off and thrown to the wind.
That was one of the reasons he had left home. Shortly before his eighteenth birthday he had started hearing things that no one else heard, seeing inexplicable things that simply shouldn't be possible. They invaded his mind and his privacy, rearranged things in his room, threw things at him. But the most terrifying experience was when they touched him. As soon as he felt their cold, clammy skin on his, he was bombarded with heartbreaking images about their life and terrible images of their death.
And there was no one he could turn to. Tristan DuGrey didn't feel fear or seek out someone for help and he most certainly didn't go around speaking about the ghosts that frequented his life. If he had, his rich, socialite parents would sooner send him off to a psychiatric hospital than risk having their imaged tarnished. Tristan shuddered just thinking about the tortured spirits who were likely roaming the halls of a mental ward.
Tristan hadn't been able to handle it any longer. The suffocating fear that came along with the experiences were just to much for him to take, so he had decided to run away. Hartford society, more specifically his parents, would never understand. So he had packed up and left; bought a tiny apartment, gotten a low-paying job and decided to make a new life. It was new all right, new, challenging, and lonely. Tristan had never met anyone else with the same abilities as him and he had no idea where they had come from.
He sighed as he jogged across the street, already soaked through by the rain, deciding that it was better if he didn't think about it just now. He pulled open the door to Second Cup and winced as the bell above it shouted out his arrival. Many people turned to stare and he looked down, crossing the floor to stand by a window, until they looked away again, uninterested. He quickly scanned the room but, not wanting to appear rude, didn't really focus on anyone, instead he gazed at the rumbling thunder clouds and the pouring rain.
Fear gripped his heart as he spotted a lone man, standing in the middle of the road. He too, was soaked by the rain but Tristan knew that the water that soaked through this man's jacket was rain from a long time ago, from the night that he had died. Their was an open cut on the side of his head and blood oozed down his cheek. Tristan had seen it all before, he wasn't as scared as he was the first couple of times it happened, just uncomfortable and sorry. But Tristan knew that this spirit didn't want his pity, they never did, instead he could see the raw hatred in his eyes. He crossed his arms over his chest in an effort to shield himself from this ghost's pure contempt that chilled Tristan down to his very soul.
That's when she first spoke to him, her gentle voice easing his tired, frightened mind.
"You know, you're not supposed to stand in front of a window during a thunderstorm." Startled yet again, Tristan's head snapped up and he locked gazes with the most extraordinary cerulean eyes he'd ever seen. They were deep and peaceful and radiated kindness, her chestnut coloured hair flowed past her shoulders and down her back, and her slender frame reclined in a chair with a novel resting in her lap.
She was simply beautiful. The most exquisite, angelic creature he had ever seen and what shocked him the most was that she appeared to be directing her comment at him. Yeah right, keep dreaming DuGrey. And he was sure he was. It must have been a dream, but the feeling of fear and excitement were all too real.
He dragged his eyes away from hers and, ducking his head, looked around self-consciously feeling jealously towards whomever she was speaking to. Suprisingly, he couldn't find anyone looking her way so he turned back to her, still not sure what to believe.
"It's not safe," She added, looking him straight in the eye. Wow.
"Oh," He could feel the heat rising to his cheeks as he realized that she had been addressing him. Say something smooth, DuGrey, he ordered himself. "Thanks for the heads up, but I think I'm safe in here." Yeah, way to go. I'm sure you just knocked her socks right off!
Figuring it was a lost cause, he turned away and was in the middle of berating himself for being such an idiot when she blew his "socks" of by speaking again.
"You can sit down...if you'd like."
No way had this gorgeous girl just invited him to sit with her. Tristan ignored that shy, fearful feeling in his stomach and was about to say yes when he happened to glanced over her shoulder. Standing behind her with his non-existent hand resting on her shoulder was a tall, lean man about Tristan's age with floppy brown hair and angry, jealous eyes. The guy, like the one outside, was covered in blood that dripped off of him but never actually hit the floor. And, also like the man standing in the rain, he was dead but either didn't know it or didn't care. He had obviously lost his life in some kind of accident but something was binding him to this world.
That something, Tristan guessed, was the beautiful girl.
She couldn't feel the ghostly hand resting on her shoulder but Tristan could clearly see the rage in his dark brown, almost black, eyes. He was very protective, to the point of extreme, mad posession, of this oblivious girl and Tristan could feel the animosity flowing of off him in waves.
His ability to see beyond the world of the living had also heightened his senses so much that Tristan could feel the crowd's displeasure at the rain, the girl's confusion, and the spirit's malice. His eyes darting back and forth from the girl to the ghost, he realized that she was still waiting for his reply.
How could he have forgotten? Swallowing his fear and willing his hands to stop trembling, Tristan stared down at his shoes as he took a seat and shyly replied, "Thank you."
"No problem." She gave him a dazzling smile and Tristan thanked God that he was sitting down or else his legs would've given out. Her now confident air and bright, open curiosity and kindness drew him to her in an inexplicable way. "I'm Rory. It's nice to meet you."
He smiled back. Rory. It fit her perfectly. "Likewise." Real smooth, just like 007.
She laughed at that and he was so happy to know that he was the reason behind that melodious sound. "Do you always make conversation one word at time?"
He blushed at his monosyllabic way of speaking. "No."
She laughed again, this time louder, more free with a hint of triumph. He was so mesmerized by her that it took him a minute to realize that he had given her a one-word answer again.
Yet again, he found himself blushing and he inwardly cursed himself. What, is red the new skin tone? Gathering what was left of his dignity and relying heavily on his courage, he struggled to make amends.
"Let me try that again..." He took a deep breath, preparing himself for rejection. "It's nice to meet you, too, Rory. My name's Tristan."
~~~~
Get it? Tristan has a sixth sense! And yes, that ghost standing posessively behind Rory is Dean!
Am I confusing you? Great! Then my goal for today is accomplished! Jks! Please review and feel free to give constructive criticism or ask any questions!
To SkiBlueSkiesSnowyHills: Sorry! It was a mistake! Rory and Tristan have never met before, it was an honest mistake (and as you'll see, I make lots of them!). Thank you for pointing it out. Tristan Dugrey went to Chilton but ran away to Princeton before his 18th birthday. He doesn't go to Yale but Rory, who went to some other prestigious school, does.
One more thing: this chapter includes the same time and setting as the 1st one, but it's from Tristan's POV. This is probably the only time that two full chapters will be spent on one situation, I just want to fully introduce the characters to you. More action will arrive in the future, I promise! Enjoy!
Chapter 2:
Beyond the World of the Living
Tristan jumped as he heard the first clap of thunder. Startled, he gazed up at the angry sky and, upon seeing the dark, chaotic storm clouds, began searching for a place to wait out the storm.
The part of town that he was in now was filled with expensive department stores and high-class restaurants. Tristan didn't feel comfortable entering any of those places since he new that he would probably be asked to leave. Having never been able to afford his own car, Tristan had no choice but to go to the Second Cup on the corner. For one thing, he didn't like coffee. It smelled wonderful but it always kept him awake and Tristan had enough trouble sleeping as it is.
The second, more important factor was that the café was crowded with people. Tristan had never been a fan of crowds. It was so easy to hide or blend into a crowd, you could lose yourself and just let everything go and follow the current. But it was impossible to ensure your safety. In a crowd, people surrounded you on all sides, it was too hard to watch your back and the direction you're going. Anyone could pick your pocket or steal a cell phone and by the time you figured it out and turned around it was to late, the thief was lost in the sea of faces. Joining a crowd meant letting down your defenses.
And, of course, in a crowd, it was easy to confuse the living with the dead.
Tristan had always been shy and introverted as a child. The one thing that had always made him hide in the back of the classroom was them. He was afraid to let people see who he really was, afraid to let them know. He was a freak and he knew it.
For as long as he could remember, Tristan had seen things that other, normal people couldn't. Tristan had had to deal with them for as long as he could remember. Ghosts, phantoms, spirits, lost souls, whatever you want to call them. They haunted his days and plague his dreams. They were everywhere; all around him, walking among the living just like normal people. Most of them didn't know they were dead and the ones that did were the worst. Some of them wanted him to relay messages to loved ones, others wanted him to tie up their unfinished business. And some of them wanted to hurt people.
Tristan did the best he could to help them and send them on their way, but he lived his life in fear of them, in fear of everyone. He always felt detached, alone, different. Anytime he tried to live normally; he would see one and remember. It was like they were holding it over his head, wanting him to feel desolate, isolated. He could imagine it:
Na-na-na bo bo. You're a freak. Don't tell them, they'll all hate you, they'll be afraid of you. Compassion? In your dreams. They'll run screaming, is that what you want? Is it?
They were words he heard every single night in his dreams. Sometimes it was his mother's voice, sometimes it was his father's, or even the waitress at the Chinese restaurant, the old man asking for money, and even strangers.
He didn't want to end up in a laboratory, in a cell, or on CNN. He knew how people reacted to the paranormal; he could imagine the disbelief, fear, and, worst of all, disgust. He could imagine it, and had experienced it a few times from the families and friends of spirits who had selected him to speak on their behalf. And he hated it. Each time it happened a little more of him died, another piece of his courage was torn off and thrown to the wind.
That was one of the reasons he had left home. Shortly before his eighteenth birthday he had started hearing things that no one else heard, seeing inexplicable things that simply shouldn't be possible. They invaded his mind and his privacy, rearranged things in his room, threw things at him. But the most terrifying experience was when they touched him. As soon as he felt their cold, clammy skin on his, he was bombarded with heartbreaking images about their life and terrible images of their death.
And there was no one he could turn to. Tristan DuGrey didn't feel fear or seek out someone for help and he most certainly didn't go around speaking about the ghosts that frequented his life. If he had, his rich, socialite parents would sooner send him off to a psychiatric hospital than risk having their imaged tarnished. Tristan shuddered just thinking about the tortured spirits who were likely roaming the halls of a mental ward.
Tristan hadn't been able to handle it any longer. The suffocating fear that came along with the experiences were just to much for him to take, so he had decided to run away. Hartford society, more specifically his parents, would never understand. So he had packed up and left; bought a tiny apartment, gotten a low-paying job and decided to make a new life. It was new all right, new, challenging, and lonely. Tristan had never met anyone else with the same abilities as him and he had no idea where they had come from.
He sighed as he jogged across the street, already soaked through by the rain, deciding that it was better if he didn't think about it just now. He pulled open the door to Second Cup and winced as the bell above it shouted out his arrival. Many people turned to stare and he looked down, crossing the floor to stand by a window, until they looked away again, uninterested. He quickly scanned the room but, not wanting to appear rude, didn't really focus on anyone, instead he gazed at the rumbling thunder clouds and the pouring rain.
Fear gripped his heart as he spotted a lone man, standing in the middle of the road. He too, was soaked by the rain but Tristan knew that the water that soaked through this man's jacket was rain from a long time ago, from the night that he had died. Their was an open cut on the side of his head and blood oozed down his cheek. Tristan had seen it all before, he wasn't as scared as he was the first couple of times it happened, just uncomfortable and sorry. But Tristan knew that this spirit didn't want his pity, they never did, instead he could see the raw hatred in his eyes. He crossed his arms over his chest in an effort to shield himself from this ghost's pure contempt that chilled Tristan down to his very soul.
That's when she first spoke to him, her gentle voice easing his tired, frightened mind.
"You know, you're not supposed to stand in front of a window during a thunderstorm." Startled yet again, Tristan's head snapped up and he locked gazes with the most extraordinary cerulean eyes he'd ever seen. They were deep and peaceful and radiated kindness, her chestnut coloured hair flowed past her shoulders and down her back, and her slender frame reclined in a chair with a novel resting in her lap.
She was simply beautiful. The most exquisite, angelic creature he had ever seen and what shocked him the most was that she appeared to be directing her comment at him. Yeah right, keep dreaming DuGrey. And he was sure he was. It must have been a dream, but the feeling of fear and excitement were all too real.
He dragged his eyes away from hers and, ducking his head, looked around self-consciously feeling jealously towards whomever she was speaking to. Suprisingly, he couldn't find anyone looking her way so he turned back to her, still not sure what to believe.
"It's not safe," She added, looking him straight in the eye. Wow.
"Oh," He could feel the heat rising to his cheeks as he realized that she had been addressing him. Say something smooth, DuGrey, he ordered himself. "Thanks for the heads up, but I think I'm safe in here." Yeah, way to go. I'm sure you just knocked her socks right off!
Figuring it was a lost cause, he turned away and was in the middle of berating himself for being such an idiot when she blew his "socks" of by speaking again.
"You can sit down...if you'd like."
No way had this gorgeous girl just invited him to sit with her. Tristan ignored that shy, fearful feeling in his stomach and was about to say yes when he happened to glanced over her shoulder. Standing behind her with his non-existent hand resting on her shoulder was a tall, lean man about Tristan's age with floppy brown hair and angry, jealous eyes. The guy, like the one outside, was covered in blood that dripped off of him but never actually hit the floor. And, also like the man standing in the rain, he was dead but either didn't know it or didn't care. He had obviously lost his life in some kind of accident but something was binding him to this world.
That something, Tristan guessed, was the beautiful girl.
She couldn't feel the ghostly hand resting on her shoulder but Tristan could clearly see the rage in his dark brown, almost black, eyes. He was very protective, to the point of extreme, mad posession, of this oblivious girl and Tristan could feel the animosity flowing of off him in waves.
His ability to see beyond the world of the living had also heightened his senses so much that Tristan could feel the crowd's displeasure at the rain, the girl's confusion, and the spirit's malice. His eyes darting back and forth from the girl to the ghost, he realized that she was still waiting for his reply.
How could he have forgotten? Swallowing his fear and willing his hands to stop trembling, Tristan stared down at his shoes as he took a seat and shyly replied, "Thank you."
"No problem." She gave him a dazzling smile and Tristan thanked God that he was sitting down or else his legs would've given out. Her now confident air and bright, open curiosity and kindness drew him to her in an inexplicable way. "I'm Rory. It's nice to meet you."
He smiled back. Rory. It fit her perfectly. "Likewise." Real smooth, just like 007.
She laughed at that and he was so happy to know that he was the reason behind that melodious sound. "Do you always make conversation one word at time?"
He blushed at his monosyllabic way of speaking. "No."
She laughed again, this time louder, more free with a hint of triumph. He was so mesmerized by her that it took him a minute to realize that he had given her a one-word answer again.
Yet again, he found himself blushing and he inwardly cursed himself. What, is red the new skin tone? Gathering what was left of his dignity and relying heavily on his courage, he struggled to make amends.
"Let me try that again..." He took a deep breath, preparing himself for rejection. "It's nice to meet you, too, Rory. My name's Tristan."
~~~~
Get it? Tristan has a sixth sense! And yes, that ghost standing posessively behind Rory is Dean!
Am I confusing you? Great! Then my goal for today is accomplished! Jks! Please review and feel free to give constructive criticism or ask any questions!