I think this type of story suits me better. I don't think I'll undergo another complicated fanfic again. This one is straight to the point. It kept buzzing in my head until I finally wrote it all out. Thanks to everyone that has followed and favorited my story!

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Lizzy's POV

I'm not sure what I was thinking when I allowed myself to talk to Paul instead of run away. But I figured why not? I'm dead. Not much can hurt me.

After that initial moment of feeling regretful to Paul, I began to see the humor in the situation. Especially since Paul was in denial of me being a ghost and all of his friends were there to watch him throughout his entire mental breakdown process. This is the most interesting thing that has ever happened to me in my whole un-dead life! As much as this may make me out to seem like a jerk, Paul's meltdown is one of the most amusing things I've ever seen. Think the equivalent of a giant cave man screaming and stomping around the forest, screeching about how I really am real and he's not crazy. It didn't help that throughout the whole episode I sat there and laughed. If I was alive I would have probably heaved my stomach onto the ground.

Maybe he was meant to make my existence less lonely, because this is the first time I've truly felt at peace since dying. I'm no longer bored out of my mind every waking hour. I watch him a lot, so much that he's beginning to ignore me. In fact, he won't so much as look my way in public. When he's with his friends he doesn't care, because they all think he's lost his mind now anyways.

I thought after dying nothing could shock me, but when I found out my human is, let's say, not so human, I sat in shock for days. Once I wrapped my head around it, awe filled me. The wolves are so beautiful, all of them different from the other. I even got to watch someone's first phase, although the ending made the novelty of the event bitter. Two siblings joined the pack, but they phased in front of their father and he had a heart attack. He didn't make it.

Although Paul's pack thinks he's a few crayons short of a crayon box now, they actually seem to like him more. Don't get me wrong, some of them are nervous around him. But most seem to like his disposition a lot better. He usually tries to ignore my incessant yapping when around his pack, but I'm very good at annoying people. My skills are a bit rusty, but they're still there. Who knew being the middle child would be so handy? Eventually he breaks, he always does. Then it's him shouting at seemingly empty air and pacing while he rants to me about how annoying I am. I don't always do that to him, but it seems we're at an impasse so I'm pulling out everything I've got. You see, he won't research my charm pieces until I prove to his pack that I'm real. I tried explaining to him that it's impossible to do that but he won't listen. He thinks I'm holding out on him.

At least I know what my wolf charm means. It has to symbolize him. He's a wolf. It can't get more obvious than that. But the flower and final symbol are still a mystery.

"Please look it up?" I beg. We're walking to Sam's house, Paul clumping through the forest in annoyance at my incessant and nonstop talking.

"No, not until you prove you're real." He doesn't even bother to turn around.

"But I'm not real."

His clomping pauses and he rest his hand on a nearby tree, turning his head slightly to be able to look at me before continuing as if he never stopped in the first place. "You know what I mean."

"I told you, I can't."

"Yes you can."

"No, I can't! I'm not some magical being Paul!"

"You're a ghost. How much more magical do you want?"

I let out a noise of frustration, wishing for the satisfaction of being able to kick something. You never know what you'll miss until it's gone.

"Listen, be quiet around the pack. If I were human they would have sent me to a psych ward already."

"Why should I?" I say in my most snotty voice. He glares back, the fierceness of the look momentarily forcing my eyes to widen in fear before I get ahold of myself and wipe the expression away. I snort at him as I pass by.

He can't hurt me, nothing can.

Paul barges into Sam's house, going straight for the kitchen where Emily is baking. Emily raises her brows in surprise before greeting him.

"Hey Paul, how have you been?"

I like Emily. The only time I ever see her angry is when the boys break something in her house. Most the time she's really sweet, always worrying about the people around her; but it's like a switch goes off and she becomes a different person once she hears that crack. I've only seen it happen once. Even Paul won't mouth off on her when Emily is on a rant. He usually disappears until word gets around that she's back to normal. That or either begs me to check to see if it's safe.

"Eh, I've been good. Are those cookies done yet?" He practically mauls her in an attempt to get the cookies from behind her. She grabs a nearby wooden spoon and holds it up as a weapon, forcing Paul to take a few steps back. Wooden spoons seem to be her weapon of choice when fending off hungry wolves.

"Not today, Claire is coming over and wanted some cookies. If I give one cookie to you, all of you will come buzzing around for some. I know how you guys work." Her eyes narrow suspiciously, before pointing towards the kitchen door. Paul slumps forwards, but obeys taking slow, morose steps out the kitchen.

"You should get me one," he whispers once outside of the kitchen. He plops onto the couch and stretches, a satisfied expression etched on every crevice of his body.

"I already told you I can't do that," I grumble, pouting as I sit down on the arm of the chair and fold my hands across my chest. His face scrunches up before his eyes open wide and I freeze, an unfamiliar feeling rolling though me as we lock eyes. He gives a jolt of surprise, before physically shaking himself and bringing his attention back to me.

"You're serious?"

"Of course I am! Do you think I've been joking this whole time!" Annoyance bubbles inside me, but I attempt to keep it at bay.

"So… you really can't prove you're real?"

"Paul, you're the first adult I've talked to since 1977," I respond in an even voice. His reaction is instant. He shoots straight up in shock, staring at me with his jaw gaping and eyes un-comprehensive.

If I weren't dead I would be blushing.

"Holy shit so you're-" he stops in mid-sentence, staring up at the ceiling and mouthing numbers as he counts. "You would be fifty-three if you had never died."

I remember when I was alive I was terrified of dying, the irreversibleness of it frightened me more than I have words for. But now, after all these years I think death could only bring me peace. I envy the living, simply because they're not stuck on this Earth for god knows how long. Living forever sounds great, but as you watch the people you love trade the smoothness of youth for bent backs, brittle bones, and wispy breaths you begin to change your mind.

It's not fun watching the people you love slowly die, especially when you're staying the same.

When you're alive it's less obvious, but when you're stuck in the same body for as long as I've been everything is so very clear. I would give anything just to live, or at least die. I'm tired of being stuck in this half-life. I clear my throat, trying to think of a change in subject but then Quil comes barging in with a little girl, a girl with ringlets that looks mighty familiar to me. My first response is to duck, peaking over the couch as she gets situated. She skips over to Paul, giggling as she stares at him.

"What is it?" he grumbles. Her airy laugh follows, echoing throughout the house.

"Qwil said to be nice to you because you're loony in-"

"Hey Claire!" Quil interrupts, skidding into the living room and grabbing her. Quil backs up nervously, clenching his fist against Claire's stomach. "Let's go eat those cookies Aunt Emily was talking about."

Paul glares at Quil the whole time, eyes narrowed and a displeased expression on his face. He sighs once they disappear from view, and whispers tells me that Quil is attempting to get Claire not to say anything like that again.

"Didn't you say you share a pack mind?" I ask suddenly. "Wouldn't they be able to see me through you."

His lip twitches before answering. "Yeah, they've seen you through me; but they still think I'm nuts since the pack have memories of the same exact instance and when they all compare every else sees nothing, and I see you. They think something is wrong with me."

"Maybe there is. Maybe this whole thing is in your head," I tease. It has the opposite response to what I was aiming for, his face turning a sickly pale color. I straighten up, feeling very worried for the boy in front of me.

"Am I really crazy?" His voice comes out quiet and childlike, and the noise in the kitchen goes deathly quiet.

"No, Paul! This is real. I'm real. I can show you my gravestone to prove it, although it's really far from here. Maybe you're a medium of some sort," I suggest in a soft tone.

"A medium." The word is pronounced awkwardly, his mouth making weird shapes while saying it. "But the only ghost I've seen is you."

Claire interrupts, skipping into the living room with a handful of cookies. She offers one to Paul and he accepts it happily before she notices me sitting on the back of the couch. She practically vibrates in excitement, rushing back into the kitchen and dragging Quil with her.

"Look Qwil! It's Tinkerbell! I told you she was real!" Quil confusion shows as she points to where I sit, but Paul shoots straight up.

"Tinkerbell?" He glances to me with one eyebrow cocked.

"Yes! She said her name is Tinkerbell! I didn't know that the first time I met her! Qwil, look it's Tinkerbell! Go catch her! I'm never fast enough."

Strangely enough, the first thought Claire had done when I told her I'm Tinkerbell was try to stick me in a jar. I don't know how she expected me to fit in one, considering how big I am. Maybe she thought it would be magic and I would shrink. Quil tries to go along with Claire, scooping up some air in the general direction she pointed and handing it to her.

"What is that?"

"It's Tinkerbell, you told me to catch her." Quil throws in a winning smile.

Claire burst into giggles, falling to the ground and rolling back in forth in glee. "No, silly! That's air."

"You can see Lizzy? Er, I mean Tinkerbell?" Hope shines in Paul's eyes.

"Of course! She's right-" she gets up off the ground, jumping over to where I am and pointing exactly to me. "Here!"

A thousand emotions flare through his face, but the most prominent one is relief. It might be a little kid with an overactive imagination seeing me, but at least it's someone.

"She said her name is Tinkerbell? Why did you say that?" he ask questions to both of us, glancing back and forth. I grin, sending him a teasing smile.

"Tinkerbell is my part-time job." I give Claire a wink and she laughs, the noise so contagious that I join in with her.

"Uh, what the heck is going on?" Quil looks confused, it's an expression he wears a lot around Paul.

"Don't you see! I'm not crazy! Claire can see Lizzy!" he burst out. Quil goes still, unsureness resonating from him as his eyes dart from Claire to Paul.

"You can see her Claire?" Quil's voice is hesitant.

"Of course silly. She's right here." She sits down next to me, patting close to where I'm at.

Quil frowns, his eyebrows sloping almost into a "V." "Paul, I swear to god if you've been messing with Claire-"

"I didn't! When the hell did I have time alone with her to tell her that anyways," Paul practically growls it out, his back slouching in what could only be defeat. He's given up trying to convince everyone that I'm not in his head. I wish I could comfort him, but words are all I can offer.

"If it would be easier for you, I could leave." The words have a bitter taste in my mouth, but I don't want to make his life more miserable by being here. He still has a life to live.

"Why would you leave?" Claire stares round eyed at me, her eyes watering.

"I could still stick around for you Claire, but eventually you won't be able to see me," I murmur.

"Why wouldn't I be able to see you?" Confusion scrunches up on her face leaving it to make a very unsatisfied expression.

I hesitate only for a moment. "That's just the way it is. Only a few kids can see me, and Paul is the first adult. As the years pass by I become less visible, and soon enough I'm thought of as an invisible friend that they had in their youth or forgotten entirely." I'm not sure why it's this way, I think it has to do with how open kids are. Logic doesn't dictate them like it does older people, so they're open to just about anything.

"I won't forget you,' she promises. "I'll always be able to see you."

I smile tiredly, nodding my head even though I know it's not true. She's not the first to promise this. She means it now, but somehow I'm always forgotten. It wouldn't help anything to tell her this though.

"I don't want you to leave," Paul finally answers. His face has aged since I last looked at it, tiredness and weariness running rampant. He attempts a smile, staring into my eyes. "Let's go look up that symbol thing and the flower. We'll see if your theory is right."

"Will you come back?" Claire stares hopefully at me and I smile softly.

"Of course, I'll come back for as long as you want me to," I promise, making her grin. Her tongue sticks out of the gap where her front tooth fell out before she races to Quil who no longer knows what to make of this. While we're walking I show him the last charm on the bracelet. He cocks his head as if attempting to work out a complicated puzzle. "I think I've seen that symbol before."

Hope soars in me, but I squash it before it has too much flight. Hope really hurts when what you hope for isn't possible. "Oh, where?" I make my voice slightly curious, as if speaking of the weather. Paul's lip twitches, before staring straight ahead.

"I'm not sure, it just looks familiar." He shrugs. "Maybe it's in my head. Like everything else." He rolls his eyes, his expression displeased.

The library tells us nothing about the symbol on my charm. I'm not surprised since googling things like 'diamonds with circles in the center" isn't very specific. We do, however, learn about my red poppy.

"It says right here that a red poppy can mean one of two things: remembrance or death." He continues to explain more about each answer, but I've already blocked him out. If I had any breath in my lungs all of it would have rushed out, because all I can think of is the three words repeating over and over in my head.

She killed me.

How could she kill me? Why would she kill me? She let me take that charm knowing that I would die. Her deliberate and calculated smile echoes in my head, on a loop I can't seem to stop.

Suddenly it doesn't feel like I'm untouchable, because now I hurt.

"Thank you for doing this for me Paul." My voice is brittle and bare, the vulnerability in it startling him enough to pull his gaze from the screen.

"Lizzy, are you-"

"I'm fine. I'm just going to go now. Thank you again." I rush out of the library sprinting to the forest to hide and think of what I just learned.

I've had an inkling that is what at least one of the symbols meant, but to know it for sure is something else entirely. What did I ever do to deserve this? Why would she put me in this never ending purgatory? What did I ever do to her? All these questions reverberate through my mind, and I know I'll never have an answer. I tried finding her after I died, but there was no shop when I went back. There was only a brick wall. I thought maybe I didn't correctly remember where it was, but now I know the truth. And it burns.

She killed my older sister.

I remember her boyfriend's face as the tears rolled out of his eyes. I remember how he chucked the diamond ring across the room and ran out the door. He was never the same after that. He married, but he didn't love that new woman like he loved my sister. He loved my sister with everything, and he loves his wife with careful precaution. He became a drunk after she died, and it took him a while to put himself together.

She ruined my family.

Eating dinner at the table used to be a lively occurrence. It was filled with laughter and sarcastic marks; love and affection. When we died, that ended. My mother, father, and little brother barely spoke. They didn't ask how their day went, and didn't ask about school or homework or whether my little brother liked the girl down the road he sometimes made eyes at. They said nothing, only "Pass the food please." I watched them every night, as their eyes shifted to the two empty chairs that seemed to burn an obtrusive hole into their lives. The chairs seemed louder than they were, if that is at all possible. They didn't want to look there, didn't want to be reminded. But at the same time they couldn't help themselves. Every night my mother cried herself to sleep that first month, and there were no words my father could say to make her feel better. Every day my brother became more withdrawn. He turned from rambunctious and loud to quiet and contrite.

She condemned me.

I remember a theory about purgatory being Earth, with heaven above and hell below. When living like this I couldn't agree more. I have to watch as people get hurt, unable to do anything. I've seen people get hit by cars, shot in the street, and mugged in the dark. The worst thing I've ever done in my life is lie to my parents about going to a high school party in eighth grade, but that couldn't possible make me deserve this. Is there an end to eternity? I remember learning in school that one day the Earth and sun will die, exploding and killing us all. Will I float aimlessly in space? Never able to end my time. My chest heaves with loud cries I'm only noticing now. The tears run down, each one a token of my sadness. I wish I never learned this, because now I know the truth.

I am powerless. I am alone. And now, I am broken.