Chapter 53: I could not drink

"One week and I'm out of here."

Vlad almost choked on his pudding and couldn't answer right away – not that he even knew what to say – as he started coughing and tears gathered in the corners of his eyes.

Char patted him on the back, just strongly enough to help without hurting him.

The agent seemed to think Vlad was easily breakable, and maybe she wasn't wrong, considering how thin he'd become after his time in the hospital. He'd never been well built, but now...

Maybe he should try to do something about it. Work out a bit, start rehabilitation. Get some muscles on his bones, for a change. He'd never be Jack his fault, but no one needed to be a seven-feet-tall four-feet-wide barrel of irresponsibility strength.

Still. Vlad was six feet five and only weighed about one hundred and fifty pounds – he'd lost close to fifteen pounds since green "clear!" a long shrill note can't feel his own body "clear!" shock a raging fever the accident – more than that, actually, but he'd regained some since.

If he ever never walked out of the clinic, he'd need to do better than that. Being underweight was one thing, but Vlad also knew what he looked like pathetic with his grayed hair and sickly frame.

Char waved a hand before his eyes:

"Still with me?"

not for long apparently

Vlad gave her a pained smile and shook his head.

"...Sorry. I was thinking... I..."

He couldn't quite look her in the eyes – so he stared ahead and swallowed his unease.

she'd leave him alone

she wouldn't be the first

"You're getting out, then?"

"Hmm. Everything is mostly healed, and my ecto-allergy isn't going to cure itself, so. Back to work next Thursday. I'll probably have to stop by monthly anyway, check-ups and stuff, but there's no reason for me to linger, you know."

Vlad's answering smile might have been strained, but Char said nothing.

Maybe she didn't notice.

"That's... great. I hope you... Try not to get injured so often we cross paths again, alright?"

he'd still be there even if she left even if she came back no matter how long it took because

where else could he be?

Char frowned at him and his bandages.

"I will stop by, Vlad. And you're going to get better. You said the nurses didn't have to change your bandages quite as often anymore, right? One day you'll be fine enough to walk out and go on with your life."

Vlad didn't believe her, but said nothing. The agent knew he'd been there for years, now, but she hadn't seen most of it. She hadn't been there and him him he hadn't set a foot outside of his room back then June was still there when it happened no one but him and the staff knew when he'd been brought to the clinic, she hadn't seen him get worse and better and worse again.

He doubted she even realized what it felt like to die again and again and again and yet remain spend so long in a hospital room with no clear future or hopes. Sure, she had enough problems of her own – the allergy kept bringing her back – but it wasn't the same.

Char sighed and her mouth twisted slightly:

"Not like me. I think I'll always be here, chasing ghosts for the organization. Can't move on from that, not as long as ghosts keep wreaking havoc, endangering people for no good reason."

Vlad stuffed the urge to laugh – something ugly and unfriendly, something desperate – at the implication that he, unlike the agent, could move on some way – as if he hadn't made his own grave, as shallow as it had turned out to be, the moment he'd "banzai!"...

Instead, he focused on Char's statement.

"...If you don't mind, why did you become an agent for Bianco's organization? It's not really..."

He wasn't quite certain what the job wasn't, but Vlad still went on, mumbling:

"...career counseling stuff."

At first, Char didn't answer, her gaze lost over Vlad's shoulder.

Vlad... Vlad had started studying death and the supernatural while doing his chemistry bachelor's because he was curious, of course – but also because he wanted to understand the possibilities. For him, for everyone. What made a ghost and what made a permanent death.

If there was anything more to learn from those who'd already passed.

now he'd become one and still had no answers

"My mother."

Vlad did not jump in his skin at Char's words, but it was a close thing.

The woman was eyeing him guardedly, a forced shrug shaking her shoulders.

As if this confession was supposed to be nothing, but really wasn't – Vlad found he'd become better at evaluating when people lied to him, one way or another. No matter if it was with words or attitudes, with looks or gestures.

Probably because he kept so much to himself, these days.

the people in whom he should be able to confide either weren't there or might turn out to be a danger to what he'd become

or both

"She... I was eleven when she was overshadowed. Didn't hurt me or anything, but she just... walked out the door without a word. I assume the ghost took Mom for a ride, and just kept her because she was convenient. Dad was a trucker, back then, and when Mom left, he was across the country. Took me two days to get him on the phone, and three more before he was home. After that we still had to find Mom, and no matter what we tried she wasn't anywhere. Only reappeared seventeen months later in Paraguay, and for her it was as if no time had passed at all."

Char twisted in her seat, ill at ease.

"Except, you know. Ghosts don't need to eat, she was extremely malnourished. And she'd lost her job, of course. She also had nothing to say to the cops, because she didn't remember anything from the overshadowing. Dad had to take several loans and he worked so much to pay for those that he didn't have the time to take care of me, most of the time, too."

The agent went back to her own pudding with a scowl.

"So, you know. Ghosts. I know such long overshadowings don't happen often, but even so. I don't care why they do what they do, they still hurt people the moment they set foot in our world. There aren't a lot of people volunteering to take care of the aftermath, and if I could just get rid of the problem altogether..."

Vlad had to stop himself from staring at the woman one more person one more victim always never one story where ghosts didn't hurt someone let alone help them it wasn't even a surprise he'd read the stories he'd gathered witness accounts before the accident before but the only other option was what was left of his own dessert.

His stomach felt empty, but he wasn't hungry anymore – and even the desire to taste something good had vanished.

Not that the pudding was particularly tasty, this was hospital food after all – but still.

It wasn't bad.

ghosts didn't need to eat even if they could

Vlad still had to.

maybe

"Will you finish that?"

His stomach twisted on itself – Vlad handed the plate over.

"You can have it."