Chapter 09

It was cold, so cold that Tom couldn't feel the tips of his fingers. He stuffed them into the pockets of his sweater, trying to stop shivering uncontrollably, and hesitantly looked over his shoulder. The young man couldn't shake the feeling that someone was following him.

He pressed on through the knee deep snow, squinting his eyes against the sudden gust of wind, driving against his exposed skin like thousands of icy needles. Tom could barely see a foot in front of him; the world seemed to be lost in a mass of snowflakes, the cold, powdering substance coating everything in a thick white blanket. The dreadlocked male felt his heart rate increase; something didn't feel right. Something wasn't right; it wasn't just a paranoid feeling, it was real. Something was so, so wrong.

Tom felt claustrophobic, closed in, stuck amongst the seemingly never ending snow and unaware of where he was. He couldn't see anything around him, and he was absolutely positive he wasn't alone. Stumbling through the deep snow, Tom wrapped his arms tightly around his torso, desperate to try keep warm, although he knew it was an impossible task. Surely he would freeze to death soon.

I'm going to die here.

He tried to shout out for help, but when he opened his mouth, his chest seemed to constrict and he was suddenly winded. He couldn't breathe. Was this what it was like to die?

Tom collapsed into the snow bank, numb to the chilling snow soaking through his clothes, and gasped for air; he was suffocating, he was dying.

"Help," he finally managed to gasp; his voice tiny and hoarse, almost lost upon the howling wind. He heard a childish snort of laughter, and managed to look up, trembling. He was left even more breathless, if possible.

Bill was standing over him, arms folded across his narrow chest and a smug grin on his face, but that wasn't what had caught Tom off-guard. Bill wasn't semi-transparent, oddly colorless and blurred at the edges. His image was solid, and Tom could see the deep, jet black color of his hair, the dark caramel hue of his eyes, the delicate pink of his lips. He was alive; Tom could see the other mans breath on the chill winter air.

Tom lurched forward, still trying to retrieve his breath, but Bill took a graceful step backward and Tom collapsed face first into the snow. Why was Bill just standing there, why wasn't he helping him? Heaving himself up weakly, Tom watched as Bill knelt down next to him, that strange, twisted smile still gracing his lips. The nineteen year old reached out, and his hand finally closed around Bills wrist. He could feel the heat from Bills skin, and wondered why the black haired man wasn't cold, like him. His skin was so warm that it burned. Toms wide, panicked eyes briefly met a pair of almost identical ones, and Bill looked at him with something that resembled care, although Tom could find no warmth in those dark eyes.

"W-Why aren't you…" the dread-head gasped out between chattering teeth. "…Dead?"

Bills smile widened, and he leaned closer to the other man. Tom could smell something that resembled lilacs and cigarettes, and tensed as he felt Bills finger tips ghost against his own icy cheek.

Just as the brunette was about to whisper something into his ear, a sea of darkness washed over Tom, and he was enveloped in black and silence.

***

Tom woke with a startled gasp, sitting upright and trying to catch his breath. He noted the familiar surroundings of his apartment, and sighed out in relief. Just a dream, a nightmare. Not real.

He wiped the back of one hand over his forehead, trying to rid his skin of the cold sweat, and it took several minutes for his breathing and heartbeat to become regulated. Everything had felt so real; the cold, the scorching heat of Bills skin against his own. Every detail had seemed to real to be a dream, everything down to the scents.

Tom shuddered before rising from the bed, and silently padded into the kitchen to get himself a drink of water, but stopped in his tracks when he spotted the oh so familiar ghost standing in front of the window in the living area, his back to Tom.

Just a dream, he reminded himself as he stared at Bills transparent, glowing form. Bill was dead, Bill was a ghost, and Bill most definitely wasn't going to come back to life anytime soon. Although Tom did find it slightly strange that the ghost was still there; he wasn't sure if Bill actually went away, or just lurked while invisible, but the ghost rarely ever showed himself at night. Tom hoped that it was because Bill had the decency to go away and give him some privacy while he slept, at least.

The dreadlocked man poured himself a glass of water, and Bill looked over his shoulder. Tom sat down in one of the kitchen chairs, leaning his elbows against the surface of the table. He felt wide awake, and knew that there would be no chance of drifting back to sleep tonight.

The ghost was turned away from him again, looking out the window, the palms of his see-through hands resting against the window sill.

"Shouldn't you be asleep?" Bills voice was nearly inaudible. Tom paused for a bit before answering.

"Can't," he replied, "shouldn't you be… where ever it is you usually go at night?"

"No," the ghost answered firmly. Something in the tone of Bills voice told Tom not to press on with the subject. And then there was silence yet again. Tom absently tapped his fingers against the table top, looking up when Bill turned to watch him again.

"You had a bad dream."

It wasn't a question, it was a statement, and Tom paled. He wondered if Bill could somehow manipulate peoples dreams; maybe the nightmare was all his doing, maybe he had some kind of creepy talent for that.

"I heard you yelling out," Bill added upon seeing Toms startled face. Tom exhaled. Of course. He was just overreacting again.

"Oh," the dread-head muttered. "Oh, yeah." Tom drained the last of the water from the glass and set it down on the table with a clunk. He bit at his bottom lip anxiously; there was a question burning in the back of his mind since he had woken up from the nightmare.

"Bill?"

The ghost turned to look at Tom again. He was a little surprised that Tom had actually called him by his name; something that he had only done once before.

"What's it…" Tom trailed off, fiddling with the hem of his too-big shirt. "…What's it like to die?" Bill looked at him with an expression akin to shock; Tom was… normal, for once, not yelling at him, and seemingly interested in the ghost. This was a little strange.

"It's… I mean, I guess it's different for everyone," Bill began slowly, drifting closer to the other man. "For me… it was horrible; you can't even imagine." The ghost paused, and Tom suppressed the urge to ask him to continue. He didn't know if Bill was able to talk about his death or not; maybe it was a touchy subject.

"The only thing on my mind was hoping to God I'd die on impact," Bill muttered. "But, I didn't."

"Ugh." Tom made a face at the ghost. "Please, please don't go into detail."

Bill shot him a glare. "Hey, you asked. But I won't, because I don't really remember anything other than the excruciating pain when I hit the pavement, and having my soul torn from my body after I died in the hospital."

"Oh, my God," Tom mumbled, and Bill looked at him with raised eyebrows.

"Why are you so interested in me, all of a sudden?"

The dreadlocked man shrugged weakly, a faint blush coloring his cheeks. "I don't know. Because you're… interesting…" he finished lamely. "But… having your soul torn from your body? Is it painful?"

"No," Bill shook his head, "I couldn't really feel it. Your soul just sort of drifts apart from your body. It's weird; I can't explain it. You still feel like yourself somehow, I didn't think anything of it until I looked behind me and saw my own body laying in the hospital bed, and then I finally realized what had happened." The ghost chuckled lightly. "Now that was messed up."

"And then what, you just came back as a ghost, and that was it?" Tom asked, leaning back in the chair and folding his arms across his chest.

"No, after your souls left your body, you get sent to a place for the deceased," Bill replied. "The afterlife, I guess. You get to choose whether you want to return to the world as a ghost, or move on."

"Move on?"

"Yeah, but I don't know what happens or where you go, since I was obviously too afraid to leave everything behind. Which is why I chose to come back as a spirit."

"So you can go back to your family and everything, and still talk to them and stuff? Is that why you wanted to return as a ghost?" The dread-head questioned, watching Bill with interest. The ghost gave a firm shake of his head.

"No, definitely not," he answered. "One of the main rules when you return to the world: it's forbidden to contact anyone you knew while alive. Sure, you can watch them from afar, but you can't show yourself or speak to them. Ever."

"That must be awful," Tom said, voice barely above a whisper. Bill nodded in agreement.

"You have no idea."

Bill sat in the chair across from Tom, his mood seeming to lighten considerably.

"I told you about me, now you tell me about you."

"There's nothing to tell you, really," Tom said, grabbing the glass that was previously set on the table top. He felt like he needed to occupy his hands, somehow. He allowed his fingers to ghost across the smooth rim of it, and focused on staring intently at the floor.

"Oh, c'mon, your turn," Bill implored. "Don't be so stubborn."

"There's nothing to tell you," Tom repeated. "I'm boring, Seriously."

"Tooooooooom," Bill whined, looking at the dreadlocked male with a pout. "I told you my life story, now tell me yours!"

"Life story?" Tom snickered. "You told me about dying. That's hardly your life story."

"Whatever, I still told you."

The nineteen year old let out a sigh and rolled his eyes. He couldn't stop a tiny smile from forming on his lips. "Maybe some other time."

"Promise?"

"Promise," Tom sighed again. "Because I know you won't take no for an answer." Bill clapped his hands together soundless and practically squealed. Tom winced, and let out a laugh. Maybe it was the lack of sleep, or maybe he had already completely lost his mind, but he seemed to be able to tolerate Billnow.

Maybe, he thought, maybe this really isn't so bad…

Super quick update! I'm actually happy with this chapter, for once. Weird, I know. XD