Chapter 13 - Meeting Melvin Winters… or, is it?
"What is going on over there?" Frank halted their walk to the main lecture hall where they had their first class that day and changed direction towards the excited group of kids near the lockers.
The commotion was loud and they couldn't tell whether it was a celebration or a fight. Dwarfing the rest of the gathering, there were three Howling Hyenas in the centre of the huddle, their imposing frames keeping the mob from getting too close to whoever was in the middle.
Joe recognized the leading Hyena by his dark mop of hair and the one he had labelled Baldie, whose real name was Leo, by his gleaming pate as they stood shoulder to shoulder, with Rogers' wearing a grin from ear-to-ear while Leo Baldie glared at everyone around them.
"That's Kent and his gang," he told his brother as they drew slowly closer. "Think they'll fill us in?"
"Nothing to lose by asking," Frank shrugged.
Rogers spotted them first and elbowed Leo, nodding in their direction. More growling and snarling from the towering basketball player caused the crowd to part before them, making a clear path to the middle.
He looks familiar, Joe reflected as they were finally in the middle of the commotion. The guy who was being flanked by Rogers, Chase and Leo was shorter than the Hyenas but taller than the two of them. He had the muscular, broad-shouldered build of a quarterback, long, wavy blond curls and a pair of piercing green eyes that missed nothing.
"Hey, guys," Frank smiled and waved. "What's the celebration?"
"Celebration is the word, kid," Baldie let out a rumbling laugh, thumping the new guy on the back resoundingly. Joe caught a flash of irritation in the guy's eyes before he hid it with a grin. "Look who walked out of the ICU and showed up at the college!"
"You're Melvin Winters?!" Joe blurted out, caught off guard. According to Gray's report and the stuff the Anarchists had told them the other day, the guy was supposed to be at death's door. Not walking around with a backpack hanging off his shoulders as if he had just rolled out of his bed at the dorm, not a hospital. Apart from a neatly healed cut marring his forehead and the cast on his right leg, there were no other indications that the guy had been lying in a coma not even eight hours ago.
"The one and only," Winters smiled thinly at him and Frank with a nod, not offering a hand to shake. "Who are you guys?"
"Frank Castellanos and my brother Joe," Frank introduced them, hiding his own surprise behind an assessing look Joe was well familiar with. "Good to see you back on your feet. We were told you weren't doing that great after the attack."
"I wasn't," Winters barely managed to hide his snarl as he replied. "But I got better. The doctors at Hope called it a miracle. I told them that I wasn't ready to lay down and die just yet."
Something was not right with Melvin Winters. Joe couldn't really ignore the strong sense of wrongness that screamed at him whenever that angry gaze focused on him. Winters was downplaying his unbelievable recovery with shy smiles and a few words, but the look in his eyes was telling an entirely different story. Of exactly what, Joe had no clue.
"Well, glad you made it," Frank said congenially, throwing his hand around Joe's shoulder in a casual move. Judging by Frank's tone, Joe knew his brother had felt the same thing from Melvin. "We'll catch up with you guys soon. Can't be late for the class. We've been warned that Professor Saul is a fire-breathing dragon to the late arrivals."
That earned a round of headshakes and condescending laughter.
"Run along, you wimps." Rogers waved a hand, gesturing to them to run along. "We'll find you at lunch."
"Tell me you felt the same thing with Melvin just as I did," Joe demanded the moment they were out of the view of the excited group.
"Yup. I did," Frank said in between a loud, long yawn, as they both stepped into the lawn they had to cross to get to the lecture hall. The building was only a few yards away to their left and the main building and the water fountain with Carl's memorial were to their right.
Joe noticed that his shoelace was loose and kneeled on the grass to retie it. He had been barely awake when he had gotten ready earlier. Frank helpfully took his backpack as it slid off his shoulder. "Any idea what it was?"
Frank was silent for a moment and when Joe looked up, his brother was staring into space at something behind him.
"Hey, Frank?" His call broke his stupor and Frank looked down. There was a look in his brown eyes that Joe couldn't quite decipher.
"Actually, yes," Frank said. "I have a pretty good guess."
"Please share with the class." Joe finished tying his laces and stood up.
Frank handed him his bag and closed his eyes. "He's possessed by a ghost."
Joe was struck speechless for several seconds. Frank stayed quiet, unmoving, his eyes firmly shut. "S-say what now?"
Joe's stammered words caused him to open his eyes. "Melvin Winters is possessed by a spirit that is not his own."
"How the hell would you know that?"
Frank nodded, pointing at something behind him. "Because I can see the same guy we just left back at the lockers staring at us from behind the lions of the fountain," Frank said faintly as if he couldn't believe the words coming out of his own mouth. Joe turned to where Frank pointed and gasped. Sure enough, Melvin Winters glared at the two of them from behind the third lion, waving in the soft breeze just like the flags flapping above him. "Only he looks a bit more transparent than the other Melvin we just saw…"
"Oh, crap!" Was all Joe could utter, as he stared back at the ghost in full view of the morning sunlight, transfixed.
"Is there any chance maybe, uh, we could pretend we didn't see him and walk away?" Frank asked, never taking his eyes off the blurry form.
As scared as he was, Joe knew that was not an option. In fact, that all too familiar, musical note was already starting to wake up in the deepest recess of his mind, reminding him of the job he had to do. He let out a loud weary sigh and let his shoulders slump in reluctant acceptance.
"I'm going to pretend you didn't say that."
His brother muttered a curse under his breath and ran a hand through his already messy hair. "Was worth a shot."
Ghost Melvin waved a hand, beckoning them closer. His form went fuzzy for a moment before he solidified back to looking like the younger brother of Carl Winters. When Frank and Joe continued to stay frozen, he ducked his head as if in defeat. Whatever strength he was spending on holding his apparition together seemed to wane at that moment, and he started to fade before their eyes.
That broke the spell that kept him rooted to the spot.
"Frank, come on."
Joe took off at a jog, knowing Frank would follow close behind as he leapt over the neatly trimmed bushes to get to the rapidly fading spirit. He had a feeling that the spirit Melvin had a good deal of information to offer if they somehow managed to communicate with him before he completely disappeared.
-oOo-
Joe ran around the memorial and the fountain and came to a stop only a few feet before the shaky apparition before it completely faded from his sight. Frank was behind him in the next second. Melvin started to gain more substance as they watched, wide-eyed, slowly solidifying into the same guy they had just spoken to by the lockers.
The ghost Melvin was dressed in a pair of black jeans and his red and white Wolves jacket, which were all torn, muddy and blood-stained. He also had blood running down the left side of his face out of the open gash on his forehead. Through the tears of his jacket and jeans, Joe could see the cuts and bruises that still bled and his right leg was twisted at an impossible angle, making it clear that it was broken at the knee.
Joe instinctively understood that this was how Melvin must have looked when he was discovered by Gray's security team. He was nowhere near as healed or mobile as the one who was being celebrated. The look of grief that warred with the pure anger on his expression told Joe that he was here to deal with some serious unfinished business.
"Hey, Melvin," he said softly, so as not to frighten the spirit. "I'm Joe and this is Frank. You uh, you wanted to talk?"
Melvin's dead eyes jumped between him and Frank in agitation. Then his face scrunched up in a frown as he tried to open his mouth and say something. Joe could see his lips move and teeth flash, but no sounds came out. He kept trying to talk, getting more and more frustrated by the passing second when he couldn't. His shape blurred and wavered, responding to his mounting anger. Then with another desperate movement that Joe was sure was a howl of defiance, he extended a trembling hand towards Joe, the expression on his battered face pleading. The ghost seemed to want to make physical contact.
Joe gulped and shared a look with Frank, who was already shaking his head in disagreement. "I think he wants me to touch him–"
"Absolutely not," Frank snapped, never taking his eyes off the silent apparition. "You remember what happened last time you did that, don't you?"
He did remember. But he knew it had to be done nevertheless. "Frank, it'll be fine," he said, trying to sound reassuring. "We need to know–"
"But Joe–"
"Just touch me if something starts going wrong," he said, cutting off Frank's protest in mid-sentence. "That'll break the contact."
It was just a hunch that had only started to form in his mind since yesterday night after he and Frank had exchanged stories of what happened to them when they were separated. Frank had touched him when his hand had been hurt by catching the violent spirit of the twister the first time, which had healed before their eyes. Then the black poison in Chet's veins dissolved when Frank had touched him. It had been Frank's touch that severed the hold the dead terrorist's spirit had on Joe when it had been suckered back into the tear in the sky that night. And only yesterday, Constance's strange, magical flower had reverted back to its natural state at Frank's touch as well.
"That's a lot of incidents just to be coincidences, brother," Joe had made the idle remark while they stayed up talking late into the night, lying on their beds in the dark. "Seems like you've got some weird crap going on yourself too, just like me."
Frank had, understandably, not taken that well. In a case of turned tables, Joe had to wake his brother up a few times from nightmares, which ended up in both of them showing up for classes today exhausted and sleep-deprived.
"Joe, I know what we discussed yesterday," Frank said, not yet convinced. "But how'd you know for sure? Or how am I supposed to know if something's wrong?"
"It's just a feeling, Frank," Joe said softly. "But I think this is the only way we can learn anything from him," then he grinned, half teasing, half serious. "Besides, you'll know when something is wrong just the way you always do, thanks to those big brother instincts of yours."
Frank pursed his lips into a thin line and glared for a long moment. Then he spared a glance at the transparent ghost that stared back with anguish in his eyes before letting out a sigh. "I hate this."
"Yeah, trust me, Frank," Joe said, slowly extending his own hand to the one that waited for him, waving in the air. "I don't think I'm going to enjoy it either."
Since he had been prepared for the pain this time, Joe managed to stifle the scream that almost ripped out of his throat. But he could do nothing to hide the wince or the hiss that escaped through his clenched teeth at the terrible burning cold sensation that tore through the skin of his palm the moment his bare skin touched the spirit. Frank moved closer instinctively but refrained from dragging him bodily away from the ghost with great effort if the way his brother's hands clenched into white-knuckled fits was any indication.
Joe had a moment to take a deep breath, flash a smile at Frank, and looked down at his hand covered by the cold, wispy cloud of the spirit. The next moment, the entire world around him went dark and utterly silent with no warning, pushing him off a pitch-black precipice that had no beginning or end.