He stood next to the balding, middle-aged Cop. The two stared at a gory mess that had once been a person. The Cop smoked a cigarette; he'd not offered Y/N one, and Y/N never expected him to. A third person joined the two—a young woman who didn't notice Y/N's presence.
"What do you think, Sir?" The young woman asked. He took a long drag from his cigarette and said, "I bet it's one of those Nevermore freaks." He said, earning a venomous glance from Y/N that he did not see but felt somewhere in his soul. Y/N's attention was drawn away from the two officers when he noticed a young woman trying and failing to get the attention of the other police officers. Y/N realized who she was and stepped away from the two officers, walking over to the older one's shadow.
"Someone just walked over my grave." He said with a shiver, making Y/N smile wryly. He coughed, getting the confused woman's attention.
"Oh! You startled me. Are you one of the officers?" She asked. He smiled at her gently.
"No, miss. They won't be any help to you now, I'm afraid. To be blunt with you, miss, you're dead." He explained. This was not the first time he delivered this message, and it wouldn't be the last. She looked as if she had already known this and needed confirmation.
"I see. Do you know what killed me?"
"I do not, but I'm currently working with a friend of mine, one of the living, to find out what killed not just you but many others. If you have any memories of the last few moments, no matter how small, it would be a great help," He told her. She thought for a second and seemed to struggle. Then, she said.
"Brown hair. I remember brown hair." She said, he nodded.
"Anything else?" He asked. She shook her head and apologized.
"Thank you. Now, as you have guessed, you're a Ghost. There are only three things you need to remember. One: You can't enter an occupied space without being invited in. Two: You can touch the living, but the living cannot touch you; if they do, your form will be damaged. And three: Animals like dogs and cats can still see, hear, and interact with you. The rest you'll figure out."
She nodded, turned in a direction, and started walking. He watched until she disappeared. He turned and began the walk to Nevermore.
"Time to report," he said as he walked away from the crime scene. When he arrived at the school gates, Wednesday was not there. He groaned. Wednesday knew that he couldn't go in without her inviting him. He stood before the open gate, thinking of a way to get invited in. A football suddenly flew through the gate, and he managed to catch it. He moved into the surrounding forest's shadow to ensure no one saw the floating ball. The owner of the ball, a tall, Jock-looking student, came looking for the ball.
Y/N waited in the shadows for the Jock to get within reach, and before he crossed from the gate, Y/N hurled the ball full force into his face. He waited for the Jock's reaction. If Y/N could breathe, he'd be holding his breath right now. That ball was his only chance of getting in unless Wednesday decided to turn up.
"Hey! Who the fuck threw that?!" The Jock yelled.
"Yes! C'mon. You're outraged and want to fight whoever threw that ball at you." Y/N said under his lack of breath. Ghosts had no control over the living, but if his plan worked, he'd be in before he knew it.
"Come on, fucker! Come over here and fight me!" He screamed, and Y/N smiled. That was good enough.
He vanished from the shadows and manifested himself behind the Jock. He'd successfully made it in.
"Thank you for letting me in." He said, unheard by the Jock, who continued to scream into the forest. He made his way carefully through the students, ensuring none touched him. After making it to Ophelia Hall, he looked towards the large window attached to Wednesday's dorm. He manifested himself onto her balcony and gave the coded knock he and Wednesday had established—three quick knocks, a pause, then two regular knocks. After waiting thirty seconds, he knocked again. A very annoyed-looking Wednesday opened the window.
"What? It's my writing time!" She said. Making Y/N's eye twitch.
"What do you mean "what?" You send me out there to get information from the dead and don't even have the common courtesy to wait by the gate to let me in?" He said, stepping past her (opening the window to his knock was enough to be invited in.)
Wednesday stomped her way back to her typewriter.
"Well, what information do you have?" She said as he sat down on her bed. He looked at the book on her bed—The god of The Labyrinth.
"Brown hair. She said she remembered brown hair. Other than that, I don't have much else." He said. Wednesday turned to look at him.
"Is that all?" She asked, annoyed. Y/N shrugged,
"Ghosts tend to remember very little of their last moments. I'm impressed she remembered a detail as small as brown hair, he said. Wednesday huffed and turned back to her typewriter, stopped, and then turned back to Y/N.
"Do....Do you remember how you died?" She asked. He looked up from the book and shook his head.
"I only remember being dead. Anything before that doesn't exist to me," He said. Then he added, "I think I liked books. I always like looking at yours when I come here. Though that could be because of the time I spend around you." He said, smiling.
Wednesday turned around to hide the blush on her face and started typing. Y/N got up from her bed and moved to stand behind her. If she felt his presence, then she didn't seem to mind. He hesitated but reached out, placing his hands on her slender shoulders. She stiffened slightly but relaxed and allowed him to leave his hands where they were. She lifted a hand from her typewriter and went to place it on top of one of his but stopped when she remembered that if she made contact with him, it would hurt him. He noticed the gesture and smiled sadly.
His investigation today had led to very little, but it was nice to stand behind Wednesday and enjoy the presence of the only person who could see him.
