Phantom [h.s]

Twelve

I fall asleep in the car on the drive home. Something about the long drive and my parents waking me up earlier than my body is used to just made me crash.

"Jane, we have arrived at our destination, which is home, as the nice lady on your mother's cellular phone just told us."

I groan at my father's odd wake up call. "Couldn't you have just told me we were home, like a mildly normal father would have?"

"Negative. I am not a mildly normal father." He grins at me.

I drag myself out of the car, rubbing my eyes and scowling at my odd father.

Harry told me to meet him in the clearing, so I duck around the house and head down the path. About halfway there I break into a jog, my feet hitting the forest floor. Birds chirp and the sun beams down from above. I feel my hair fly back with the wind, and it's an exhilarating sensation.

I slow my pace when I reach the clearing.

However, when I look around, the meadow is empty. Not even the family of rabbits from the other day are in sight.

"Harry?" I call, but no one answers.

Where is he? He told me he'd meet me here.

I trudge back up the path, disappointed.

I go to my room once I get back into the house.

I open the door, and sure enough, Harry is still sitting in my room, in the same place I left him. He looks so calm and content reclining on my pillows, his face relaxed and his eyes closed lightly.

His eyes fly open when the door clicks shut behind me.

"Sorry," I say.

"It's alright."

I shift my weight. "Were you...sleeping?"

He lets out a dry laugh. "No, I was just seeing if maybe I could...you know, sleep this time."

"No luck?"

He shakes his head. "Haven't slept since I was alive. Which is ironic, since most people think of death as a deep, everlasting sleep."

"But you don't feel physically tired, do you?"

"No. I do miss dreaming, though."

He smiles wanly.

"I ran into Jenna at the farmers' market," I say, changing the subject.

Harry leans forward and puts his hands on his knees, looking up at me with curious eyes.

"She recognized the necklace, and almost even said your name."

Harry's eyebrows shoot up. "She did?"

I nod. "She said it looks like the one Ava got from someone, and she almost slipped and said your name."

Harry shakes his head. "Impossible. I didn't give the necklace to anyone. Not until you, anyway."

A small feeling of belonging settles inside of me.

"Why would both Jenna and Ava recognize it, then?" I ask.

Harry stands, walking over to the window, hands held behind his back. "All the memories leading up to my final time alive are all so blurry," he says, brow furrowed. "I can't remember anything from my last days, barely."

I cross my arms over my chest and sit on the bed.

"God, it's frustrating, you know?" His normally calm voice rises as he turns around, his eyes flashing. "Everything would be so easy if I could just remember what the hell happened to me in June. Why can't I just...why can't I just leave this world behind, already? It's not fair!"

"Lower your voice," I hiss. "My parents could hear you, and shouting won't get us anywhere."

He runs a hand through his hair. "You're right."

I stand up and walk over so that I'm standing a few feet away from him. "Look, I know it must be upsetting inside your head about all of this but I want to help you, and I will. Okay?"

His eyes soften and he nods. "Thank you, Jane."

I give him a small smile.

"So what do we do now?" I ask.

He crosses his arms over his chest. "We need to find out what Jenna knows. Obviously it's something, if she was acting so weird."

"Do you think she could be the killer?"

"It's a possibility. I never loved her back, so..."

I furrow my brow. "Is that enough of a motive?"

"I don't know. Jenna is so loud and giggly all the time, and she's not very bright. I don't think she's a murderer."

"She knows something, though."

"Definitely."

Silence falls between us.

Harry looks out the window, his expression thoughtful. He really is so fascinating. He can think, but he cannot feel. He can touch, but he cannot breathe. He can smile, but he cannot sleep. How do you get used to something like that?

"What's it like?"

He looks over to me.

"You know, being dead. What does it feel like?" I ask the selfish question I've been wondering since I attempted suicide months ago.

Harry runs his tongue over his lips slowly before taking his lip between his teeth.

"Sit down, Jane."

Confused, I do so.

Harry stands before me, hands still clasped behind his back.

"Nobody's asked me that before," he says. "In fact, you're the first human contact I've had since I was alive."

"You haven't spoken to anyone else? Not even your family?"

He shakes his head. "I wasn't sure if my voice worked, honestly." He lets out a little laugh. "The past three months I've just spent observing, as I said before. I watched my funeral, I watched them close my murder case, and I watched my parents pack up everything and move away." He clenches his jaw. "They never even found my body. I don't have a grave, I have a God damn shrine. My body isn't buried underneath that stone, it's just dirt. It makes my angry that my...my father and mother didn't protest when the police just disposed of my case like I never mattered."

"At least they paid their respects to you," I say quietly.

"You don't get it," he says. "I don't want their respects. I want my life back."

I am silent.

"I want my life, or I want the afterlife. But I'm stuck here."

"That's the hell," I speak up.

Harry looks at me.

"The in between, and the afterlife. The afterlife is where there is peace-heaven. The in between is where you have to be stuck here, on the earth, when you spent a lifetime wondering why it could be such a cruel place at times. That is hell, when you're stuck watching others live when you yourself are unable to breathe."

The words fall out of me like I have a degree in psychology. I don't know where they come from, but I like them.

Harry stares at me.

It's a few moments before he breaks into a smile.

"You see, Jane," he says. "This is a reason why I chose you to help."

"What do you mean?"

"Your mind is just like mine."

I look up at him, our gazes locked.

It's amazing how we are able to converse this way, when we exist in opposite realms of the Earth. I feel like such a fine line separates us, but it is impossible to cross. The human life is so fragile, but the human mind is strong, and I know that is why Harry is standing in front of me now. His life may have been taken, but his mind remains.

Harry clears his throat. "Would you like to see my grave, Jane?"

My heart rate quickens. "Yes."

He nods curtly, walking over to the window and opening it wide.

I lock my bedroom door and follow him out the window, sliding down the vine until my feet hit the ground.

Harry gets into the front seat of my car and utters directions to me. I feel like my heart is in my throat. This is so nerve wracking for me, and I have no idea why.

I park my car in the cemetery parking lot.

Harry gets out without a word and gestures for me to follow him.

The Castle Hill cemetery is surrounded by a tall stone wall, and there's only one entrance to it-a black metal gate. Tall trees scatter throughout the complex, providing privacy and a certain respect to those who lie here.

Harry walks through it like he's been here a thousand times.

Which, he probably has.

And that kind of breaks my heart.

His shoulders are tense and I feel the strong cold feeling intensify as we walk through. I wonder if there are other people stuck in the in between here, tortured and unfulfilled.

He leads me down a slightly secluded row, behind a tall oak tree. He suddenly stops, reaching out and putting an arm in front of me.

"Oh my God," he says, his voice a mere whisper in the wind.

He pulls me behind the tree and I look up at him, thoroughly confused.

"What the hell?" I whisper.

"Carefully look around," he responds, his voice so silent I have to strain to hear it.

Slowly, I peek around the tree.

A figure stands in front of a small stone, a bouquet of orchids in hand. I can't tell who it is because of the shadow casted on them by the tree, but I can tell that it's a male.

"That's my grave," Harry says into my ear lowly. "No one's come here since after my funeral."

We watch as the figure sets the flowers down on the grave lightly, their shoulders hunched and their head down.

Could it be an old friend in grief?

A family member?

A thought strikes me, almost knocking the breath out of me.

Could it be a killer with a guilty conscience?

I know Harry is thinking the same, because his eyes widen when the figure turns and we can finally see their face.

Dirty blonde hair, grey eyes and a dark blue CHHS hoodie on.

"Max," Harry whispers.