AN(Please read, guys!): First off, sorry this is a little later than I'd said. It's been a crazy weekend. And then, thank you for all the beautiful reviews, please keep them coming guys! If you read this, and you liked it, please take the time to tell me what you thought. Constructive criticism is also welcome. And, thank you to everyone who told me to have fun on my camping trip. :D It was a great time. :) And then, if you're new, please check out the companion to this story, I'll Make a Believer out of You. Not just because I want people to read it, but because there's stuff, explanations, I leave out of this, as to not be redundant, but that really flesh out the story more. And, because the fun part, for me at least, is seeing what both of them are thinking. And now, read on!


I don't know what I had been expecting her to do when she arrived back home, but it wasn't what she did.

While other people had been curious about me, before, no one had taken it to the level that Bella had, doing all this research, finding out what she could. And then she just stopped. After I saw her realize what had happened to me, and then, on top of that, the flowers, I'd been sure something big was going to happen. I'd been almost forming a plan, all the time I'd been watching her, and after she put those flowers on my grave, I sure that now I could put it into effect, sure she would want to go along.

But then, when she got home, I don't know what I thought she would do, but it wasn't what she did. When she went up to her bedroom, she never looked at my door once, and then she went back down to help her mother in the garden - voluntarily, without being called.

She stayed there the whole day, and I didn't know what to think. Was she truly finished with me? Now that she knew what had happened, would she leave this all behind, forget about me? Had the flowers simply been a nice gesture, a memorial for all the victims of the Influenza? Had it just been a random chance that it was me?

She didn't look at my door, or my box, or the newspapers, or anything, all day, and it was only when I was watching her sleep - fitfully, turning over, mumbling things - that I could maybe hope she was still thinking of me.


She seemed eager and anxious when she woke up, taking the stairs two at a time and gulping down her breakfast. Were all humans this impossibly confusing without the mental context as a guide?

When she got back to her bedroom, Bella immediately went over to her window seat, lifting the cushion to reveal my metal box, in the place that she had last left it. So she hadn't forgotten and given up. The thought made me much happier than it should have.

She had moved my newspapers to her desk drawer earlier in the week, so the only thing the box contined now was the journals. I was probably as excited as she was as she lifted the lid and carefully removed all three small books. And then she froze.

I moved closer, to see what had paralyzed her, and remembered when I saw it.

The small brass key that I had kept there. She must have realized what it would open.

She stood there, presumably in shock for a moment, before hurriedly gathering up the journals and key and swiftly making her way to my room.


Her hand shook as she tried to fit the key into the lock, and when she did, there was again that freeze, that moment of shock, and taking it all in.

She walked around, absorbing it all for a few moments - the piano, the decorations that hadn't been touched since nineteen-eighteen, and I watched her, wondering, as always, what she would do next.

She surprised me, as always, by boldly going and sitting in the little seat under my window, and opening the first of the journals.

After watching her for a few moments, I made my decision.

If anyone could help me, it would be her, I could feel it. If it had just been for me, I wouldn't have wanted to involve this girl in it, because it was sure to be complicated and difficult, for her. Even so, I didn't want to, but I knew I should. Because if it worked, it wouldn't just be me she set free. My mother deserved it.

So, right there, standing in the doorway, I made myself visible, positioning my translucent imitation of a body so that it looked as if I was standing, and waited.

And waited.

She never looked up, completely absorbed in what I was sure were very boring journals.

I couldn't see precisely what she was reading, so I had to make do with watching her face, which mostly held a look of intense concentration, but as she moved on, her brow furrowed, as if she was noticing something not-quite-right.

Like so many things, it seemed, I'd forgotten about the photograph until she found it, delicately picking it up by one corner and holding it to the light. From where I was, I could see my mother's faint handwriting on the back

Edward William Masen, Edward Anthony Masen, Elizabeth Masen, August 23, 1918.

I had just finished reading the words when she let out a shocked gasp. Seeing me in the photo. Remembering that first night.

I couldn't see her face really, she'd always kept it turned down, but then she looked up, and her face was frozen in a mask of shock and horror, her mouth shut. It looked like she was holding back a scream.

Even though I'd mostly left behind my childish let's-scare-the-new-tenants games once I'd started following Bella, I still couldn't help but grin at her expression, classic human reaction to my appearance.

It was clear she was not going to speak first, so I did, falling into my natural joking nature. I'd never really been one for serious moods. "So you've finally decided to notice me, have you? I was worrying I'd become permanently invisible!"

It took her a second to answer, her eyes still bugged out in shock. When she did reply, it was almost a shout. "Who are you?"

I couldn't help myself, I laughed aloud at the shock and panic on her face. "Take a wild guess," I suggested, pointing to the photo she still held. How easy it was to fall into teasing her, taunting her.

"But you can't be Edward Masen?" she told me, although it sounded like a question rather than a definitive statement.

"Then who, or what, do you propose I am?"I asked her, smiling somewhat tauntingly, daring her to say it.

"A figment of my imagination."

I raised an eyebrow. So stubborn. "That's the only possibility?"

"Yes."

"Why is that?"

Because you're dead!!"

"Yes," I allowed "But that doesn't mean I'm a figment of your imagination."

"Then what are you?" she demanded.

"Well," I replied, pretending to be thinking, "I've been throwing around terms for the past few decades. Wandering spirit, Imprint of a departed soul, but I find plain old "ghost" works as well as anything." I grinned at her.

"You can't be a ghost," she persisted, but I could see the indecision warring in her eyes.

I pretended to be offended. "And why is that?"

"Because ghosts don't exist!" she nearly shouted again, as if by saying it loud enough, it would be true.

I shook my head, half-smiling at her sadly. "Oh, that's where you're wrong. But don't worry, Miss Swan, I'll make a believer out of you yet."

She seemed momentarily distracted, even though that hadn't been my intention. "How do you know my name?" she narrowed her eyes at me.

"I'm around. I hear things," I shrugged, hoping to leave it at that.

"You're spying on me?!" she accused, outraged now.

My voice hardened automatically, matching her tone. "What, so you're the only one who is permitted to snoop?" I shot a pointed glance at the diaries in her lap. Not that I minded, but it proved my point. Then my voice softened. I didn't even know her, and already I couldn't be mad at her. " By the way, thank you for the flowers. It was touching. The fact that there was no-one to remember us has always made my mother sad, but it's never bother me. But I found I liked it. Thank you."

"N-no problem."

That seemed to be all she was going to say, so I elaborated. "That's what convinced me to trust you, you know. So many people have come through this house, and most of them have seen me. I always show myself from time to time. Just for a bit of fun," I grinned at her wickedly, and she shuddered, remembering the first night, I presumed. "Eternity can get tedious. But none of them ever cared to investigate further. And then you came. You seemed to really care. But I still didn't know if I could trust you. The flowers made me sure, and I was hoping that you'd be able to help me."

Now she looked confused. "Help you?"

"Yes," I nodded eagerly, and then added, "If you're willing, of course. That's why I decided to come here today. In all the times I've appeared to people here, you're the first person I've let see me in the day. And who I've talked to."

"I'm honored." she replied dryly, but was unable to maintain the sarcasm for long, her curiosity must have gotten the better of her. "But wait. Help you how? What do you need help with?"

"Well. . ." I started, unsure. This was the tricky part. "As you can see, I'm a ghost. What do you know about ghosts?"

"That they don't exist," she replied immediately, confidently. Stubbornly.

"Right. Well, I'll tell you then, if you won't cooperate. What I've found out, from talking to others, is that we're here for a reason. Something didn't go right in our human lives. There was something we were supposed to achieve, maybe. Usually though, it's because we were unhappy in some way, or we are unhappy with something that happened, or didn't happen, when we are alive. Some ghosts just need to work things out, come to terms, be at peace, to cross over. But I've heard of others that had to change things. In their past. But we can't influence our own past." I told her, earnestly, looking into her eyes, making sure she understood. "We need help. The difficult part is that most spirits know what it is they need to change. I don't. I was happy. I am happy, well, as happy as a ghost can be," I smiled at her sadly. This was the hard part. I needed her help, but, for some reason, I didn't want to make her do this. "I don't see why I can't leave. I need help to figure that out. And help to get it done."

"And you think I can help you?" She didn't sound skeptical now, just curious, maybe a little disbelieving.

"Maybe," I was pretty sure, but I didn't want to sound too eager, come on too strong. "I've heard that other spirits got a feeling about their humans, and, well, you just seemed to care so much. . .I know it's asking a lot," I assured her. I wanted to make it clear that I wouldn't force her to do anything. "You don't have to if you don't want to."

"I don't know how. I don't know what you need," She didn't sound like she was making excuses, though. More like she was considering the possibility, but looking at the flaws in the plan.

"I can help you figure it out," I promised her.

"How?"

During our conversation, I had drifted closer to her, and she was now near enough that I could touch her. "Let me introduce you to myself," I suggested. I knew the theory of this, from others, and prayed it would work as I reached out to take hold of her hand.


So there you have it! I think I like this chapter, but I'm not sure. Probably because I'm a little tired, but I wanted to get this up tonight. I hope you enjoyed that, and that Edward's thoughts aren't too incoherent. He's really confused, so let's say that's why things may be a little bit choppy. . .:P So, I guess that's about it, now please rrrrrrreview! :D

-SkySong