𝐬𝐮𝐧𝐬𝐞𝐭 𝐛𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐞𝐯𝐚𝐫𝐝 ✰ 𝐫𝐞𝐠𝐠𝐢𝐞 𝐩𝐞𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐬

𝐭𝐰𝐨

july 22nd, 2020. hollywood.

then, charlotte was falling. she was falling through a whole lot of nothing.

finally, after screaming as she tumbled through empty space for ten minutes or so, she landed with a loud pop.

sunset boulevard.
the same place she died.

woah.

it looked somehow different. maybe it was brighter, maybe there were more people. she really couldn't place it. charlotte turned to take it all in, and saw a car coming straight at her.
she screamed and ducked, but it passed right through her.

charlotte peeked out from behind her arm, breathing heavily. she rushed over to a man on the sidewalk and tried to get his attention.
"hey! hello? can you hear me?" she waved her hands in front of his face. "can you even see me?"

she tried to grab the little thing he was tapping away at, but her hands went right through them.

charlotte stared down at her hands. she thought she looked real. she thought she looked solid.

she rushed to a store window.
she was still in the baggy jean shorts and t-shirt she wore last night, minus the blood.
charlotte reached for the glass, but her hand passed through it.
suddenly, it dawned on her.

charlotte adams was a ghost.

a couple holding hands passed right through her as she stood frozen on the sidewalk.
she ran up the street to the orpheum. surely they wouldn't have changed the marquee yet. it would still say...

arctic monkeys? they had to be a new band.
then, she thought of her best friend. she had to go see blake.

as she thought about her, charlotte heard a faint pop, and she appeared on blake's street.

okay, that was cool.

she looked up, expecting to see her friend's house, but there was nothing there.
the lot was empty.

charlotte definitely wasn't in 1995 anymore.

she closed her eyes and imagined herself back at her own house.
with another soft pop, she was on her own doorstep. charlotte went to knock, then stopped and passed through the door instead.

"mom." she whispered.

her mother looked much older than she remembered. she was sitting on the couch, watching the news on the television.
charlotte started forward to give her a hug, but stopped herself. she couldn't. her mom didn't even see her.

"...with the 2020 election coming up."

charlotte blinked and turned to the news anchor on screen.
2020.
that couldn't be right.

"no, that's-this is impossible." she said to herself. "it's been...twenty five years?"

the mantle was covered in pictures of charlotte. her and blake as little kids, her first day of kindergarten, her freshman homecoming dance. at the very center was the senior picture she took three days before she died. a picture for a senior year she never got to have. next to that was a picture of her and blake on the way to their first sunset curve concert. and then, next to that one was charlotte, arms high in the air, laughing in front of her brand new car.
it was almost like a shrine to her.

"i can't watch this anymore." her dad came in and turned off the television.

her mom didn't react at all. she was just staring blankly at the black screen where the news anchor had just been.

"honey." he said, and knelt down in front of her. "i know it's a hard day, but-"

"twenty five years, frank." she said. "my daughter has been dead for twenty five years today."

charlotte shuddered.

"honey, i think it's long overdue that we go through her room."

she gasped, then popped away to her bedroom.

it was exactly as she'd left it that night. the sunset curve cd in the player, her socks just beside the laundry hamper, and her bed unmade.

to her surprise, charlotte could actually touch her old clothes. she mustered up a bit of energy to grab a bag and threw a few changes of clothes, her leather jacket, an extra pair of shoes, and a pair of sunglasses into it.
there was a picture on her nightstand of she and blake outside the club where they'd first seen sunset curve, laughing while blake pointed to the marquee. charlotte focused all her energy into her fingers and tucked the photo into her bag.

footsteps echoed up the stairs along with her dad's soothing voice. she already felt tears threatening to fall from her eyes, so she imagined sunset boulevard and popped away.

night was beginning to fall, and it was getting colder. charlotte didn't realize how late in the day it was when she'd arrived. of course, the street was still bustling with people. los angeles never really slept, and neither did hollywood.

charlotte walked along the sidewalk, searching for a place to sleep.

did she even need to sleep? did ghosts sleep?
a yawn that escaped her throat answered her question. this ghost definitely needed to sleep.
she racked her brain for anywhere she could crash, then remembered the huge lifeguard towers down at the beach.

she cracked her first smile of the day remembering how she and blake snuck into one of them to spend the night when they were fourteen. blake's mom was furious when they got home the next day, but it had been worth it.
charlotte imagined that little tower and popped herself inside.

there was a little armchair covered in sand in the corner. she sighed and tried to dust some of the sand off before dragging the chair over to the window where she could prop her feet up.

charlotte stared out the window at the crashing waves for a few minutes.

she wanted to wonder why she was here, or wonder what she was supposed to now, but she was too tired.

she pulled her leather jacket on and curled up on the sandy chair, then drifted off to sleep.