Despite nothing having changed between Mitchell and Annie, there was an unspoken boundary set when it came to the physicality of their interactions.
George noticed.
Everything was, seemingly, as it should be. They would laugh and tease yet, when in the past touching had not only been common, but an expected source of comfort, both Annie and Mitchell appeared to respect more of each other's personal space. It was something more for Mitchell to blame himself, as it had become clear that his actions had caused a rift. At first, he thought he was imagining things, but it had become painfully clear when watching telly together one night.
Mitchell was sitting to the right side of the sofa while George was on the left while Annie was busy in the kitchen, the dings and clangs coming there making both boys feel at home. Annie had then come carrying her trademark teacups and handed them over. After receiving his, George noticed Annie deliberately avoiding touching Michell's fingers when handing him his cup, and how he seemed to have been doing the same, while in the past, not only the contact would have been normal, but Mitchell would have even pulled Annie down on his lap teasingly.
"What did you do to Annie?" George asked his friend, taking advantage of Annie having gone back to the kitchen to fetch a cup of her own, that she would keep on her hands and stirred with her spoon just for the sake of familiarity.
Mitchell worried at the question, but feigning innocence he asked in response, "What do you mean?"
"Well obviously something happened because you both are acting strangely around each other."
"I don't know what you mean," Mitchell replied, knitting his eyebrows and turning back to the telly, "everything it perfectly normal between us."
"Yeah, right. That is how I know something is wrong. You are bot acting too normal, like you're following a script on how flatmates are supposed to interact with each other. No one has ever been remotely normal in this house!"
Mitchell exhaled, knowing there was no way to get George to drop the issue.
"What does the supernatural have to do with any of this?" He asked with exasperation.
"Nothing! You really think the supernatural is the only thing keeping the household not normal? It's really embarrassing for you to be so naive at your old age."
"Your condescending tone never ceases to annoy me," Mitchell replied, taking a sip.
"Whatever," George said, sharing his head at Mitchell's defensiveness. "Now, spill, before she comes back."
"Everything is fine George."
"Sure! Don't tell me," he replied with a shrug. "I'll wait for Annie to tell me what you did."
"What I did?" Mitchell asked sitting up and narrowing his eyes.
"What are you boys talking about?" Annie interrupted as she approached with both hands wrapped around a large pink mug.
"Nothing," they both replied in unison.
George would have forgotten about the issue if only Annie had sat on her place in the middle of both her flatmates, but instead, she went past it, and started wedging herself in between George and the arm of the sofa.
"Annie!" George wailed, his voice going a pitch far higher than what he had intended.
"What? I'm just sitting down. Don't get your knickers in a bunch."
"Do you have to sit on me, though?" he asked while Mitchell watched half delighted at the friendly animosity.
"No! You're supposed to scoot over. Didn't anyone teach you manners?"
"Pot? Kettle? Ring any bells?" George asked her with his eyebrows as hight as they could go on his forehead. "Sit next to Mitchell! There's plenty of space there, you know? Are you now afraid of catching vampirism or, I don't know, some exotic strain of supernatural gonorrhoea?"
"I don't have STDs!"
Now it was Mitchell's turn to have his voice raise a few octaves.
"Well, I don't understand why you're not sitting next to each other."
Annie started feeling a self-projected warmth on her cheeks, while she continued looking directly at Mitchell.
"Why do I have to sit in between you guys? I don't recall it being written down in the house rule book or something," Annie complained.
"Well, I want you to sit in the middle because at some point one of us is going to start cuddling with the person next to them and, no offense mate," he said looking at his friend, "I rather not cuddle with Mitchell."
"None taken, bro."
"Is that what we do?" Annie asked worried.
"Yes Annie, that's what we do," George explained with his hands already in the air, doing the same ridiculous over-gesturing he always did when he was well into a rant. "I cuddle with you or you cuddle with Mitchell or you cuddle with both, but Mitchell and I do not cuddle with each other."
"I seem to recall an exception the night we watch The Notebook," Annie replied, looking at her silver teaspoon stirring her tea slowly.
"We. Do. Not. Talk. About. The Notebook," Mitchell said over enunciating each word. "It was a long movie and it was boring and I was tired! I didn't know I had fallen asleep on George's shoulder!"
"That's exactly why we need Annie to sit in between us!" George added.
Annie groaned, and despite her annoyance, she said at last, "Okay fine! But you have to agree that there is something seriously sick about our house dynamics."
"Well, add that to the list!" George replied. "Now, you kiss and make up with Mitchell so we can watch the film."
"I've already told you George, we're not fighting!" Mitchell yelled with exasperation.
One of Annie's eyebrows shot up at the implication.
"Were you talking about me while I was in the kitchen, making your tea?! What did he tell you?" Annie asked turning to look at Mitchell.
"That apparently there's some… weirdness between us."
"Exhibit A: You avoiding Mitchell and treating him like a leper," George argued in his defense.
"I am not!" Annie protested.
"Why am I always the one with horrible diseases?" asked Mitchell.
"It's called a figure of speech!" George explained.
"I think everything is perfectly normal." Added Annie.
"Again with the normality! Since when have we all been anything remotely similar to normal?"
"Okay George, fine. I had just been thinking too much about my interactions with you boys and thought that I had to take a step back. I know I'm too nosy, clingy and touchy feely. I was trying to respect boundaries, as you are always reminding me."
"You are not, don't be silly Annie," Mitchell argued.
"No it's not. It's the truth," George commented, "but that is who you are. I'm going to ignore the fact that you imply it's got anything to do about me when you don't seem to worry about my personal space but only Mitchell's."
"Fine!" Annie yelled, throwing her arms in the air, and moving to the middle of the sofa. "Look! I'm sitting down in the middle! And I'm holding Mitchell's hand and I'm not catching syphilis!"
"Oi! I have feelings too! I'm not a leper and I don't have STDs. Put the bloody movie on!"
A couple of nights after the movie fiasco, Annie had gone out at night to wander the streets and think. The boys had long started to accept it as another one of her idiosyncrasies and they leave her be, though always reminding her to be careful.
It sounded so idiotic to her since she was already dead.
But that was the perfect explanation of why wandering the streets of Bristol at night was so important. Annie had been so sheltered growing up, so caught up in the image of what she should be. She had never walked at night on her own because it was deemed too dangerous. The biggest joke was that her demise had come inside the safety of her own house. At night, in the deserted streets, she felt free and powerful. She could walk for miles thinking until dawn would find her and wake her from her reverie.
She was still ruminating the changing nature of her and Mitchell's relationship, as she walked the cobbled streets. She and Mitchell had always been best friends, closer than how she had been with George. Despite how much she cared for him, at first, he had been far from her biggest fan, and there had also been something drawing her closer to Mitchell, perhaps because both were dead.
Her relationship with Mitchell seemed to be the same on the surface, though they had not yet talked anymore of what had happened that night and everything had gone back to the usual with the sole exception of physicality. Closeness was now painfully obvious to both and their interactions seemed over thought and analyzed.
The first light of the day had not yet broken but it loomed near when a sudden screeching of tires caught her attention. She was just in time to see the car crash against a pole. Annie ran instinctively to try to help the three figures inside slumped over. She had struggled with the wrecked door trying to open it until she noticed the absence of movements in the bodies inside. It was clear that it was too late to try to save them.
The thought had barely started to form inside her head when she felt someone pulling at her arm. She turned around to see the former occupants of the car in their ghost state. As she was about to start her explanation to calm them down and point them towards the next step in their journey, she realized they didn't seem confused or in need any help.
"You're quite a pretty thing aren't you?" one of them asked in a way that unnerved her.
"Let go of my arm," she replied calmly but sternly.
"Aren't you going to guide us to our afterlife?" another one asked.
She saw the doors.
"Let me go!" Annie yelled when she knew what they intended to do.
"Oh! But we could have so much fun! I've heard you like to play hard to get," the male ghost said with a wink that made Annie's ghost skin cover in goosebumps.
She was backing up as the three of them were tugging at her sleeves.
"Those are not my doors. You can't make me go!"
"Well dear, rumour has it you don't like your door so much."
Run.
The word was being yelled inside her head.
"That's not where I belong!"
"Well this is not where you belong either, so you're coming with us."
The struggle was getting violent.
"Let me go!" she said, running and letting them keep the grey knitted cardigan.
"Oh, you can run Annie. But you're going to get caught! Has anyone seen you lately? I've heard you used to work at a pub but everyone started ignoring you!"
They knew how to get her attention. She turned slightly still trying to get away.
"George and Mitchell can see me!" she yelled trying to convince them as well as herself.
"Yes, but for how long?" one of the cruel men taunted her.
Annie didn't stay, but as she ran away, she could still hear them sneering at her.
"Are you feeling light, Annie?"
"You look a little pale, or is it see-through? One day they'll let go of your hand and you're going to lift off like a helium balloon and no one is going to catch you," another voice said.
"She'll be gone, gone, gone!"
Annie ran until she could barely hear their cackles behind her, still tears prickled her eyes and the fear caught in her throat.
By the time she reached Windsor Terrace Annie was in full-blown panic. She needed to find her boys and have them tell her those had been just lies. Though it was still dark but she could hear sounds from someone inside the house getting ready for work.
Unbeknownst to Annie, George had already left a couple of hours before, but Mitchell was coming out of the shower and he was getting dressed as she was going for the doorknob. Annie's hand ghosted over the handle as she reached to grab it, and so she went through the door even more frightened.
She felt herself fading, as she ran up the stairs and attempted to call for her friends, but no sound came out of her mouth. Reaching the top, the momentum made her slam against the wall just as Mitchell was coming out of the bathroom heading towards his room. His eyes looked up and they lined up with her own, Annie thought it would take a moment for him to take in the state of fear she was in, but very soon Mitchell's eyes looked down and he walked past her as if she was not there.
Annie felt deep despair taking hold of her, yet, somehow, she got into Mitchell's room, lunging herself through the door. She landed on her knees and the scream she had been holding came out more violent that what she had expected. The resulting sound was a sad wail that made Mitchell turn and see her hit the floor. Mitchell got down immediately to gather her in his arms, with his hands going all over her arms and face, trying to find what was wrong with her.
"Annie! Annie!"
She looked at him and he was able to see the panic on her face. Her arms were bare and he could notice impossible scratch marks on them. The sight made the borrowed blood in his veins boil.
"Tell me what happened? Who did this?" she heard him say as he started letting go to find the culprit with his jaw tense and his eyes black with rage.
"No! Don't leave me please!" she pleaded.
"It's okay, sweetheart. I won't leave you," he said, holding her again and choosing to reassure her before revenge. "What happened?"
It was hard for Mitchell to keep calm when he wanted to murder whoever had hurt her.
"They tried to take me," she said then in full hysterics.
"Who's they?" he asked begging for a name. That's all he needed. Just someone had he could make pay.
"Some men in a car," she sobbed. "They crashed and when I went to help them they tried to pull me to their doors."
"Annie, listen, love, did they hurt you?" he said, reminding himself mentally to focus on Annie and not on her attackers.
"I'm alright, they pulled me and scratch me a little, but I'm okay. I'm not hurt. But they said..."
Annie had to pause, as every time she remembered what the men said she felt herself back there.
"What did they say?" Mitchell asked gently.
"I'm fading Mitchell! I'm going to disappear!" she sobbed, holding on to his shirt.
"No, no. They were lying, you're not going anywhere."
Mitchell's hands were brushing the curls off her face, and taking the time to caress her cheek as he did.
"They did, and they were right," she continued, still panicking. "I couldn't grab the handle and you didn't see me. You can't see me! George won't be able to see me."
Mitchell only half understood what she was saying, but it was enough to understand her fear.
"I can see you, and I can hear you. Calm down, Annie, please!"
Mitchell held her tight and reached for the mobile in his back pocket to call George.
"George, mate. I need a favour," he said as soon as the call connected. "Yes, yes it's Annie. She's fine now… I got her… Tell them I'm sick… She can't be alone right now. It's okay. Yes…Yes… No, I don't think you need to… Listen, I think she's going to need someone here all the time. We can't leave her alone… Better you stay at work now and then I'll switch my shift tomorrow… Okay mate, yes… I'll ring you. Bye."
Annie heard Mitchell talking with George. It was easy to fill in the gaps, and while the one-sided conversation made her feel helpless, she didn't feel the energy to intervene and say that she was okay and didn't need their worry. She could be strong later, right then she needed to feel solid, to know she was truly there and wouldn't be going away without anyone noticing.
"Okay Annie. I'm here and I'm not going to leave. Calm down darling."
"I'm fading, I can feel myself going away and they are going to get me Mitchell, they're mad at me for not going through my door."
Her tone was no longer desperate, but there was something sadder in her resigned tone, the softer wailing of a wounded animal, that made Mitchell's chest ache.
That was something else that was his fault, he thought.
The tears were running down her cheek and it was only his fault, because she had given up on her door for him.
"You're not disappearing, I can see you, love. I can see you."
"But you couldn't before, I was screaming and you looked right through me and you didn't hear me, I couldn't hear me either."
"I can feel you now," he said with both hands on the sides of her face, to make her see into his eyes as he spoke. "Focus on this Annie, look at me. I can see you. Can you feel my hands on your face? They can touch you and feel you. I can feel how soft your skin is."
He kissed her forehead then.
"Can you feel that?" He continued. "I kissed your forehead and I felt it. Can you feel me? Can you really feel me?" he asked looking for her eyes.
"I can," she replied with a bit more conviction.
Annie found her hope in him and she desperately needed as much as she could get. She lunged forward into him almost knocking him down.
She kissed him hard and poured all her desperation into the contact of their lips, as if performing an experiment, trying to gauge just how much she could feel and not worrying at all of the implications.
"Annie," he sighed, understanding her need.
"I want to feel, Mitchell. I need to feel something."
Mitchell couldn't deny her anything.