Four weeks into their ghosting experience, the Harmons realized they had a serious problem.

If they wanted to stay sane and stave off boredom, they needed every resource they could possibly have, but how could one go about paying for electricity under a name that carved on a grave? For a few weeks after Ben's death, the power had been kept on by their paid bill and the necessary follow-up investigations, but it soon ran out. Violet ran downstairs to tell her parents, which they usually would've shrugged off, but this called for a talk.

The family had initially gathered, unsure, to discuss their new options in the afterlife. Violet sat between her parents, twisting her rings around her tiny fingers and toying with her hair. These were uncharacteristically feminine motions and both her parents could tell that she was frightened for this talk.

She had tried so hard to deny any interest in her potential when she was live – much like any other teenager her age – but now she was stuck in the vast yawn of the afterlife with no connections and no guide.

The family conference was strange for all of them. Ben and Vivian sat flanking Violet, in their atypical half-sphere formation of parental domination and comfort, but it was much more serious now. She wasn't rolling her eyes or texting their efforts away. They all needed comfort.

Ben, ever the psychiatrist, suggested that they start with a list. He had one of his old patient notebooks open and wrote OPTIONS on one side, under which he put a beginning bullet.

"This doesn't have to be the end for us," he started, folding his hands. The room was silent. Vivian was tense, watching him – she wasn't putting a lot of faith in this talk.

If they had been alive, composed of cells and blood and marrow and lymph, it would have gone a certain way.

Violet would've come to the dinnertime talk under sheer obligation and fear to being penalized for her absence, but she would have her phone in her hand or one earbud in. She would be pointedly distracted while they talked. Her replies would be snappy, short, and mostly for shock value- and it would work. Vivian would lose patience ten minutes in and leave the table, rubbing her temples and ready to cry. Ben would try to reason and bargain eventually tell her to leave, go to her room, because if she wasn't going to watch out for her mouth or her grades or her future, then he wasn't going to waste his breath. The little 5'5'' figure would stomp off immediately, more shaken than she showed, and spend the rest of her night either online, on the phone, or laying on her bed, listening to music until she fell asleep.

But here, she was looking at her father.

"We have some options. Violet, honey, how do you feel about your education?"

A heavy moment where Violet hmmed and looked down at the table.

"I know that school was rough for you. You barely got a chance before all this happened," Vivian chimed in.

The suggestion of a smile lifted one side of Violet's mouth and she shrugged a shoulder underneath her cardigan. Back to being cool. Forever non-chalant.

"I wish I had tried harder," she finally said. The finality in her quiet voice broke Ben's heart. Ever since they had reunited, she had been much more honest than she had ever been alive. The dam had broken.

"I was thinking about college, a little bit."

Both parents had feared as much – what could they do for her now? What college options did she have?

She had to be invisible for the rest of eternity. How could they give her opportunities in limbo?

"There are tons of free courses online," Vivian said suddenly. "We just need power. We need a way to keep the power on, but then I can start up some sort of online service to sell – get the checks mailed to a PO box under someone else's name, have Constance cash them for a fee."

"That's brilliant, Viv," Ben murmured, scribbling away. Violet had notably perked up.

"That's true. There's tons of that shit on Youtube. Tutorials for everything. Dad, you could do like.. online psychiatric counseling. Under a different name or something."

"Absolutely."

The room seemed to brighten before them as the paper slowly filled with Ben's hurried handwriting, detailing the possibilities that would outline their next years, decades, centuries.

"We just need another person who's in on it to wrap up all the connections. What can we do about the power?"

"I don't think Constance would help."

"Nah."

"I don't really want Larry in the house."

"Perfectly understandable."

"Marcy," Vivian offered, tentative.

"She's not in on it, Mom."

Marcy in question had been at the house every few days, prepping it for resale and trying to nullify the house's horrific timeline.

"I think it's time we introduced her to it. What's the harm? We just need to get her to understand and I'm sure she'll do it."

There was a weird air of pressure to the subject, the subtext that quietly detailed in that they'd be frightening and traumatizing this woman. The deal might even end up with her dead, but that went unsaid. They needed another arm in the outside world.

They needed to rope Marcy in.