The car pulled up to the complex's nearby sidewalk. The two men got out of the vehicle, chatting quietly.
"I'm a fucking loser," Ray apologized, "and I made you drive me all over and made you late. You can tell Geoff to fire me when you get to his place."
Joel shrugged. "I don't think I'm gonna go," he said passively.
"I'm SHIT, oh my god, I wasted your time, Joel I'm sorry-"
"No no no, it's fine! I wasn't planning on going in the first place," he reassured. "I mean, I was taking you there, because you needed a ride and I have a car, and it's not like I wasn't going to go there even though you were-"
Joel stumbled over his words as the two walked to Ray's apartment building. Ray snickered as the other man groaned in annoyance, confused as to what he was trying to express. "I was going because you were," he blurted out before clapping a hand over his face. "I mean, no, fuck."
"English is hard," Ray laughed, approaching the complex's entrance. "So you're just going to go downtown, I guess?"
"Yeah. Bar. Get some drinks."
Ray opened the door to the facility after swiping his card. "Pick up some hot dudes for me," he grinned. Joel promised he would do his best.
"And, um..."
The older man was turning to leave, but he stopped, attentive.
"I, uh... Sorry for scaring you like that, back there," Ray apologized shyly, looking down, "And for being a fucking high school girl about it. I got stressed."
"Hey," the dark-haired man said, walking backwards, "It's fine, happens to the best of us. I'm here if you need to talk." He smiled, said goodbye, and continued his stroll through the ever-darkening night.
"See ya," Ray murmured. He climbed up the stairs to his floor, unlocking the door to his flat. He lifted his hand to turn on the light.
Contact.
His every muscle tightened when the sensation of recollections not yet lived rushed into his mind.
Buckling, he saw the light turned off by a being made of shadow, a silhouette, an image of himself. His persona grumbled in the darkness, followed by another voice laughing.
Control of his own body clawed at his conscious state, tearing the dream apart. Ray felt himself convulse, limbs curling involuntarily, muscles pulling taught. A phase of wakeful sleep passed over him, his vision graced by angels and cursed by demons.
His ghost stared at him with empty eyes.
"Control," it mouthed.
Ray stared, emotion fleeing his soul, brought forth into the air he breathed. The ghost blinked slowly. "Control," it repeated, fading.
Ray woke.
His breath was heavy, his every fiber sore. He was curled at the foot of his apartment door, his mind reeling. What do I do, what's happening to me?
He struggled to his feet, debating whether to call 911 or the doctor, or to try and figure out the problem himself. He ruled out external contact; this sort of dilemma wasn't something everyone-or anyone-ran into every day. It was linked to his new talents, his powers. The realization made him shudder.
Pulling his phone from his pocket, he sat on the nearby couch and flipped through webpage after webpage of useless information. Broadening his search, he found a page that had already been opened.
"That fucking wiki article," he hissed through his teeth.
For the second time in his life, Ray found himself poring over the psychometry page on Wikipedia, trying to understand the supernatural phenomenon: Triggers, characteristics, how to avoid it. Time passed, the night grew darker. They young man drifted in and out of sleep.
Ray woke to a painfully loud alarm buzzing in his hands. The living room light was still on; Ray's phone read 3:05 AM.
Scrabbling to stand, the Puerto Rican balanced on aching feet. He considered not going out that night; he didn't want to strain himself more than he already had. However, something deep within his soul urged him to go. his mind knew it was the right thing to do and his gut demanded he take up his position, he fulfill his responsibilities.
Ray pulled the hoodie he had modified over his head, put the white mask over his eyes. A fear had settled in his soul, deep-seated and heavy, but the young man simply stood taller. Control.
The light switch remained on, untouched, as Ray left his flat.
He padded uneasily down the street. 3 AM is not a forgiving hour. 3 AM is when the monsters stare from the shadows, crawling along walls and hunting for god knows what pleasures. The only way to hide from the creatures was to become one of them; walk in shadow, look down, look down, stop often, move quickly, look down. Be thankful for the cigarettes and rotting food, the piss and pennies; savor the scent of 3 AM.
Echoes in the distance.
Ray turned towards the sound, making his way through alleys populated primarily by cats and roaches. With every step, he became more focused on his target. 3 AM, where the less-than-humans prowl.
He was not secure outside his field anymore. Waking hours were full of fear, and Ray was very harsh with himself when the eyes of strangers were on him. He stopped leaving the house, called it work, hid amongst his friends that he would invite over. Friends he would invite over.
With every step, he became more focused on his target: another lie to himself.
They had broken up nearly a year ago. Courtney saw it in his eyes when he spoke. She knew the fear all too well, but Ray would not tell her why. He denied its existence, told her he was fine. She said she was fine too.
They treasured one another's company, until they didn't.
Ray tried to pull away from the memories, but his thoughts echoed.
He refused to draw information from her with his skills, he put so much pressure on himself, he hid everything he could, and then their last breath. He slipped.
Thinks it's her fault.
He was sick with himself, he hated his every fiber. He never wanted any of this.
That night, he dreamt of his ghost stealing the souls of those he loved.
Ray tore himself back to the present when glaring lights whizzed by. Two motorcycles sped away as a certain Puerto Rican followed suit.
The yelling was louder, defined and urgent. Approaching the area, Ray realized Gavin and Michael's favorite bar was just a few buildings away. Stepping slowly, pressed against the wall, he peered around the corner. Two men, both of sturdy build, one making all the noise. Drunk, as bar scum tend to be.
Ray crept in the shadows, his veins flowing with adrenaline. The scent of roses stood out against the nighttime stink of city streets. His arms tingled, itching to prepare an attack.
"YOU SWITCHED OUT HER GLASS!"
A mumble from the quiet one. He was backed into the shadows by the louder man, but his shape looked familiar. Ray drew nearer.
"THAT'S THE POINT OF ROOFIES, YOU FUCKING FAG!"
The other trembled.
There were times where a situation could fall either way, which made assumption dangerous. There were also times where it was obvious, and it was dangerous. Ray struck without warning.
A rose to the shoulder blade. The drunk man hollered as the flower embedded itself deep in his skin. He turned around to see a twiggy, hooded boy with glowing palms.
Before the drunkard could blink, Ray shot him with a blast of energy. Though he was still practicing the skill, the beam floored it's target with ease.
Rushing forward, he checked the bleeding man's pulse. Still present. He did not want a dead man.
Simon H. Warren. Thirty-seven. Abusive partner. Intent on rape of specific woman. Anger management issues. Both parents passed away.
The other man was trembling even more violently than before. Ray looked up to address him.
Blood froze, muscles tensed.
Ray's entire body screamed when he stood. He needed to run, to disappear, but he needed to alert the police and calm the man and breathe.
"Call the police," he whispered as loud as he could, hiding his voice, "Tell them T.M. was here."
Home. Home. Home. Home. Home. Home. Home.
"Th-thank you," fear, neurotic stutter. Nervous tic. He put his hand out to shake.
Ray handed a rose to Joel.
Home.