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Eric sat awake at the edge of his empty bed, unable to sleep through the sound of rain scraping against his balcony.
Chewing the inside of his bottom lip, lost in thought while his fingers danced on the edge of a dull blade his father had given him on his deathbed the year before.
His attention was affixed to the spinning shadow the ceiling fan overhead cast down on the hardwood floor before him, a habit he found himself drawn into lately.
“Fuck!”, the blade dropped from his hand as he pulled a bleeding finger to his mouth. A long slash ran along his forefinger, muffled curses uttered from under his breath as he ran it under a stream of cold water in the bathroom sink.
“Serves me right, I’m too drunk to be playing with knives”, painful thoughts hidden behind sore eyes and a frown that ran from ear to ear. Wrapping the wounded hand in a washcloth, he set about pouring himself a glass of scotch to occupy the other.
An uneasy feeling accompanied his journey to the kitchen, which was followed by a hasty retreat into the lamp lit living room opposite the bedroom he wasn’t quite willing to surrender to yet.
His thoughts wandered, fueled by peat ladened gulps of scotch, and was soon defeated by heavy eyelids and a black leather couch he couldn’t find the will to lift himself from.
Rosy cheeks, innocent bright red lips, a faint thin curve and the bottom of an ass teasing its way out of the bottom of a long tight night shirt that would surely make anyone, who didn’t know her true age, feel guilty.
The heavy stare of a woman buried in pain one could never understand overshadowed the faint smile she feverishly tried to paint across her pale face.
She bit her lip softly, shifted her eyes slowly towards Eric and turned in a guilty pose with an outstretched hand beckoning him to come closer.
Eric was awoken by the smell of perfume. The familiar scent of burberry caused the hairs on his neck to stand.
The light in the bathroom was on, rubbing his eyes to reassure himself he wasn’t still deep in sleep, there standing in the doorway was the girl from his dream.
“How…”, his jaw dropped open.
“Shh…”, a finger to her lips as though she anticipated the questions he was about to ask, “You already know…”
“Dreaming?”, she walked towards him, pushed him back against the couch, sat with her legs around his waist and leaned into his face, “Not quite”
“I need you to do something for me”, their lips connected and as if through a telepathic connection established by the kiss, Eric knew, albeit could not believe, what she was.
“If you’re dead, does that mean…
“You’re not a ghost”, looking into his eyes with a smile, “and I don’t want to be one anymore”
“How am I supposed to be able to help you?”
She turned her wrists over so he could see the long deep scars running down them, “I did this to myself”
“Why…”, an odd question coming from someone on the edge of suicide himself.
“It doesn’t matter now”, she smiled.
“How am I supposed to help you?”
“I want to come back”
“How is that possible?”
“My spirit”, pausing to catch her breath, “Can enter the persons body who I was closest to before I died”
“Doesn’t that mean…”
“Yes, they have to die before I can do that”
“Me?!”, pushing her back.
“No”, her wide mascara lined eyes sinking with sadness, “but someone close to you”
“I was your sisters roommate once upon a time…”
“You want me to kill my sister?!”, anger grinding into his teeth.
“No, that’s what I’m here to tell you”, leaning into him with a long kiss, “She’s been in an accident”
Pushing her back again, “Accident?”
“I’ll see you again soon”
The sound of a phone ringing awoke Eric, his hands fumbling in the dark for his cellphone. “Hello?”