Phantom [h.s]

Six

"Help you?" I ask, furrowing my brow. "What could I possibly do to help you?"

Harry sits back down on the swing. "More than you know."

I cross my arms over my chest. "Haven't the police been on your murder case? I mean, it only happened three months ago, shouldn't the investigation still be underway?"

His jaw clenches. "They closed the case a month after the murder."

"What? How could they do that?"

"Something's going on within the judicial system in this town, I've suspected it for a while," he says. "They're corrupt, but not all of them."

A short period of silence descends.

"So...can people see you?" I ask him. "Other than me, I mean."

"Yes. I'm tangible, but I can't...feel. Physically, anyway. My body doesn't function, only my mind."

I nod, understanding. That's why jumping from my two story window didn't bother him-he can't feel physical pain.

"It would be bad if someone around here saw me, though," he says seriously. "My family was well known enough that they'd recognize me."

I swallow, trying to comprehend everything he's telling me. A soft breeze blows through the clearing, and I shiver a bit, wrapping my arms around myself.

Harry notices. "You should probably get home before your parents find out you're gone."

"Wait, but I still have so many questions."

He cracks a smile, rising from the swing. "We'll talk soon."

I stand. "Where do you...you know...stay?" It would be odd to ask him where he lives.

"Stay?" He scratches the back of his neck. "I don't exactly stay anywhere. I mean, I don't sleep or eat or anything, so I kind of just...observe."

"Observe?"

"Observe the world. It's different looking at it from death than it is from life."

"I can imagine."

I can feel his eerie coldness from where I stand. It almost feels like the death in him is reaching its icy fingers out toward me, grasping and clawing at my skin, knowing that I wanted so badly to die only a short time ago.

Don't you remember, Jane? You came so close.

I step back. "Maybe I should get home."

He nods.

"If I catch up with you tomorrow...will you tell me more about you?" I ask.

He tilts his head to the side. "More about me?"

"If I'm going to help you find your cold-blooded killer, I want to know more about who you were."

His lips twitch. "Fair enough."

I nod and take a breath. "Well, I'll go, then."

A full smile takes over his face. "Careful on the climb up the vine, by the way."

I raise an eyebrow as I walk out of the clearing, turning back one last time to look at him.

He holds his hands behind his back, pale pink lips still curved into a dimpled smile.

I turn and walk back down the path.

-

"What?"

"Oh, come on. I'm going down that way, anyway!"

I cross my arms over my chest at my father. "I'm fine driving myself to school, Dad."

"It's a waste of gas, Jane."

"So what? You drive a Prius."

"However, you refuse to."

"They look like multicolored beluga whales. No thanks."

My father sighs. "I'll just give you a quick ride. Promise I won't embarrass you too much."

I groan. "Dad."

"Jane," he mimics.

I roll my eyes and grab my bag. "Fine. Fine, you can drop me off at school."

His face lights up. "Great! Let me just finish making my oatmeal and I'll meet you in the beluga whale."

I snort and walk out to the garage, sliding into the front seat of my father's black Prius. He joins me a few moments later, steaming oatmeal with him.

One of the most humorous and possibly life endangering scenarios I've ever been in is being in the car while my father attempts to eat oatmeal out of a bowl and drive at the same time. Half the time he misses his mouth from looking at the road, the oatmeal plopping back into the bowl in his lap.

"Dad," I say, restraining a laugh after he dribbles oatmeal down his chin. "Why don't you just pull over and finish the oatmeal?"

"Nonsense," he says. "I am an expert at multitasking!"

"More like an expert loser." I raise my eyebrows at him and he laughs as he finally gets a spoonful of oatmeal into his mouth successfully.

He stops the car at the curb in front of CHHS and I get out, turning back to talk to him through the window.

"Do you think you can hitch a ride home with someone today?" He asks. "I've got meetings all day until five."

I groan. "This is why I should have taken my own car!"

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry!" He smiles and pulls away from the curb, probably dribbling oatmeal all the way.

I sigh and turn to walk into school, the bell ringing loudly.

Max makes a game out of trying to guess my middle name in first period.

"Jennifer?"

"No."

"Nicole?"

"No."

"Come on, give me the first letter."

I roll my eyes at him, focusing my attention on Mr. Bentley, who is lecturing loquaciously.

The day drags on as slow as molasses, and I can only think of how I'm going to get home. Maybe I could ask Max to give me a ride? I'm sure he would. He's nice and that.

I catch up to him after eighth period ends.

"Max!"

He turns around, a friendly smile lighting his face as I approach him.

"Afternoon, Jane with no middle name."

I force a smile. "Afternoon."

"What's up?"

"I was wondering if maybe I...uh, if I could catch a ride home with you." I shift.

"Don't have your car with you today?"

I shake my head. "My dad dropped me off this morning."

He shrugs. "Sure, you can ride with me. On one condition." He cracks a smile.

I raise an eyebrow.

"What's your middle name?"

I let out a laugh. "It's Alison."

"I was so close! I guessed Amanda!"

I smile and follow him to his car.

"Sorry, it's a bit of a mess," Max laughs as he clears random items from the passenger seat, ranging from fast food wrappers to CDs and books.

"It's alright, I'm the same way," I assure him.

Max makes conversation as we drive, talking animatedly. I admire his ability to befriend seemingly everyone and always having something to talk about.

"So, where's your house from here?" He asks at an intersection.

"Take your next right and then a left," I tell him.

He begins nodding when something on the car beeps and he curses. "Shit, I'm out of gas. Do you mind?"

I shake my head. "It's fine, I'm not pressed for time."

He smiles and turns, pulling into a gas station.

"I'll be right back," he tells me and steps out of the car.

I lean back in my seat, running a hand through my hair. Is Max my friend? He acts like it, but he's friends with everyone. I'm not very good at being friends. I've never had that many.

I hear the back car door open and then shut. I turn around, expecting Max to be looking for his wallet or something.

"What the hell?"

"Greetings to you too," Harry says sarcastically.

"How did you-"

"Look, I haven't got much time until Max gets done," he says. "And I wanted to see you."

"Couldn't you have waited at my house?"

"No, your mom's home early."

"Didn't you say that people around here would recognize you?"

"Yes, but I know how to get around without being seen. I've had lots of practice. You know, being dead for three months with nothing to do and all."

I raise an eyebrow.

"Don't give me that look," he says. "I was bored. Being dead is boring as f-"

He cuts off, ducking down.

Max walks past the car, toward the minimart to pay.

Harry sits back up, leaning toward me.

"I think I'd best be going," he says, a cheeky smile crossing his lips. "This was nice."

I roll my eyes at him and let out a long sigh.

"I miss that," he says, suddenly serious, the smile falling from his face.

"Miss what?" I ask.

"Breathing."

He stares at me for a while, until his eyes snap to look behind me. I turn and see Max making his way back to the car. I look back at Harry, raising my eyebrows at him.

He scoots across the back seat and steps out of the car, moving quickly away unseen before disappearing around the corner of the gas station with one last smirk at me.

And I realize that Harry may not physically be able to feel anymore, but he is as bored and lonely as any living person could be.