Ghost Of You (Formally Titled Sebastian The Traveler)

Chapter Three (REWRITTEN)

"No, mom. I'm good," Avery promised, half-heartedly as she looked into her bathroom mirror. She expected to look as old as she felt but yesterday's image was the same as today's. Almost, at least. The bags under her eyes were a new development. Still no wrinkles or gray hairs so she would take that as a win.

"It's really not a problem, we can Cash App you."

As much as she could always use more money, she refused to allow her parents' help. The real world was not even close to the elite status her family thrived on. She wanted to do this on her own. She had to. A change of topic was quickly needed, "How's Dad?"

"Busy with the court proceedings." Her mother's voice cracked, laced with emotions held far too deep for far too long, "His lawyers think we'll be fine, but I don't know. His bond was pretty high." Avery knew her father's alleged devious dealings was a sensitive subject but he was her dad and she still loved him, regardless of what the government claimed. She had always believed her dad made his money honestly and she would continue to believe that until proof was presented otherwise.

Eager to paint but more so to get off the phone before her mother spiraled, she hurriedly replied, "High bond doesn't always mean anything. I'm sure it's fine. Look, I have to go. Love you." With a click faster than the matriarch could form words, she ended the call. It was only obligatory now, as the canyon between her and her mom had grown wider thanks to her father and his business affairs. Avery didn't like to dwell on the radical acceptance of such a strained relationship.

She flipped on the bluetooth speaker that rested by her bathtub, looking for inspiration through the melancholy music that now filled the apartment. Painting with music was the best trick she had. Turning to head to her easel, she stopped abruptly, her eyes zeroing in on the dresser to the far side of her studio. It was possible she had forgotten to close the drawers. Sometimes things happen on autopilot, it is possible to forget doing an action so menial. However, Avery knew she didn't open all of her dresser drawers.

She was an organized and tidy person, almost to the point of obsessive. Her painting shirts were in a separate drawer from her regular shirts and those were separate from her shorts.

Two drawers.

She had only opened two drawers. Which meant she also only needed to shut two drawers. All six drawers were out.

She did not do that.

Pure confusion washed away any other emotion. She spun around, instantly catching a breath that stuck sourly within her throat. Every single cabinet door and drawer in her kitchen was also opened. The one in the end table was opened. The oven, the refrigerator, the closet door, the trundle bed beneath her couch–all opened. Her heart thumped rapidly within her chest, causing a painful restriction. She remembered locking the door behind her but even with that thought came a different emotion: fear. Had an intruder finally paid her a visit?

Her first instinct was to run, and she did, but the only door that would grant her exit did not budge. It was at that moment, the pause it took to realize the door she had thought she locked was, indeed, locked, she was able to regain some sense of the pending outcome of fleeing and calling the cops.

While New York hadn't ever been the kindest to her, she would not be swayed to return to her privileged life, something her parents would demand if they knew how unsafe this city truthfully was. She was an adult now, and being an adult meant dealing with her own issues to the best of her ability. Steeling herself with a deep, but shaky, inhale, she turned to face the chaos that had not been her doing. Logic would need to trump emotion.

Avery didn't trust her feet to move, so instead she settled upon scrutinizing the scene from what little vantage point she had. Either this intruder didn't feel she had anything worth taking or they were the most considerate of burglars. Even with open doors and drawers, nothing was out of place. Her clothes didn't appear rummaged through, and the jewelry box on her wall of shelves was opened, but not a single piece was falling out. Trying hard to reimagine her end table, she thought that it was probably safe as well. Her television also remained. She should be relieved, instead of unnerved but at the moment, she was neither.

Was someone playing a joke on her?

The possibility would have been good if she was still home in Indiana, however, in New York with absolutely no close friends, it was totally and utterly asinine.

Quietly placing her hand on the knob of her closet door, her eyes narrowed and her shoulders tensed. In one quick and fluid motion, she whipped the door open farther and glanced into the jam-packed space.

She came up empty, like she knew she would, the closet holding only hung clothes and too many shoes. She pushed some clothes aside merely to quell her growing anxiety.

Seeing no other viable options for a twisted game of hide and seek but the bathroom she had just been in, she was at a loss. Other than considering a possible psychotic break, she had no reason to believe anyone was in her apartment. And though losing her mind wasn't a pleasant notion, she calmly decided that she would leave all doors, drawers, and cabinets the way they were for tonight. If she was hallucinating then hopefully by tomorrow morning everything would be back to normal. If not... well, she would just cross that bridge when, or if, she got there.

With the idea of creating a new piece of artwork now out the window, she crawled into an already made bed and turned on the TV, the fresh sheets lulling her slowly into a deep sleep.