Clay was, to understate, surprised. The last thing he would expect to see there would be himself. But that's what he saw. His own body lay there, partially supported against the wall. His arms were covered in shallow gashes, enough to draw blood but not enough to lose movement in his arms. The paleness of his face made the blood seem even more red, despite having dried into a dull brownish colour. His eyes were closed and sunken, and had purple underscores. Clay knelt beside his own, still body. His hair was a mess and his clothing had seen better days. And, he thought, he could do with a shave.

Was he dreaming? No... Something inside him knew exactly what was happening, but the rest of him didn't want to accept it.

It was more than an attempted suicide.

He sighed and looked at the pathetic man in front of him. He was in terrible shape. How long had he been like this? How long had Lucy looked into those dull eyes and told them he would be alright? Everything about him cried for help. How had he lived like this?

Clay stood again, not looking away from his body. He wondered if Lucy was the one who had found him like this. Yesterday he wanted it to be her, to have made her see what she did to him. Sure, it was satisfying to see that she was ridden with guilt. But something else in him felt awful for making her see all of this. Hearing about it second-hand would have been enough...

He turned away from the body. He didn't want the only one to mourn him to be his own ghost.

Ghost. He supposed he was just another Casper now. What could he be bound to? Wasn't that the rule, that spirits with unfinished business lingered around some object or place? He didn't have many possessions anymore. At least not in this place. If he was bound to something back at his apartment, surely that's where he would be. The thought of being bound to this place was too much. It must be an object.

As for 'unfinished business', he had no idea. The AI would take care of his promise to Juno. Unless he had to stay to see that through, but at least it would only be a few more months. Just until he was done helping Desmond with... With whatever he needed to help Desmond with.

Clay sighed and turned to his room, only to find the door latched. It looked like he would be staying out here for a while.

It wasn't much longer before the door slid open on smooth hydrolics and Lucy reentered. Her eyes were a little red still, but her hair was pulled back again and her clothing was free of blood. Two men followed behind her, dressed in blue coveralls and matching hats. The nametags on their chests introduced them in friendly red cursive as Morgan and David. Lucy pointed to Clay's body.

"Just right there. Thanks, guys." She gave his corpse a forlorn look, and bit her shaking lip. Seeing him like this must have been hard on her, as she quickly turned away again and became very interested in her clipboard. The two men just gave her a consoling smile and nod, and moved over to his body. The younger of the two, David, hooked his arms under Clay's; while the other, Morgan, picked up his feet. They nodded at one another and lifted him up, and together carried his body away. Helpless, Clay watched himself be carried in front of Lucy, who gagged a little at the sight. He wished he could console her, let her know he was alright. Let her know he was... well, here for her.

He tried again to comfort her, but she didn't react to his hand on her shoulder. She just rubbed at her eyes and thanked the men again, before shutting the door after them. Just a pool of blood remained where his body once was.

Clay glanced down to her clipboard, curious what she was staring at so intently. They were just blank pages, with a few random pen marks she made to make it look like she was writing. He hated himself for ever hoping she would be the one to find him.

After a moment she opened the door to his room, and he followed her inside. The messages strewn accross the wall over his bed made her gag again, but he was unphased by them. Though he was dissapointed in himself over how messy they were. He hoped, whoever this 'Desmond' was, he would be able to read them alright. At least they were all spelled right. Lucy scanned the room, her eyes passing right over Clay without seeing him. She walked around the rooms, her eyes getting redder with every symbol and message. After thuroughly surveying the rooms, she left him again.

At least she had left the door to his room open. Clay lay on his bed, wondering if he could sleep anymore. He thought he might try.