Roommates -- Part Six

"What do you want?"

"I cannot think these visions are good..."

"I know that! But what do you want me to do about it?"

"I long for release from this."

"You said that already. How? How am I supposed to get rid of you?"

"I--"

"You?"

"There were two of them, a man and a woman."

Cassie resisted a urge to throw something. But then the ghost would disappear, which was the opposite of what she wanted. Instead she gritted her teeth and said nothing.

"I saw them again today. They seem to come only when I am alone, which is a blessing."

"I wish you'd do me that courtesy," Cassie muttered. The ghost looked frustrated, like she somehow wasn't saying what she wanted to say. Cassie sighed. "I don't understand what you're trying to tell me. Are you asking to be left alone? I'm not going to do that. You're the one that's bothering me."

There was a flicker in the image, as if she had disappeared and reappeared too fast to see.

"The confession did not work. They came and spoke to me again last night....I long for release from this." The ghost looked at Cassie, pleading.

"I can't help you unless you tell me what's wrong and how to fix it."

"I see them everywhere now. It's a strange feeling, almost as if I could smell them, but I can't."

Cassie's eyebrows knit closer together. "I know that feeling," she said quietly. And the ghost...nodded.

"Sometimes, they appear solid, other times I can see right through them."

"You're talking about ghosts. You can see ghosts. The same way I see them. Or you could, when you were alive?"

Does that mean I'll do this too? Haunt people after I'm dead?

"I am writing these things down in the hope that they will make sense on paper." There was a note of urgency in the voice. As if the ghost were making a request rather than a statement.

"Do you want me to journal this? You want to pass your experiences on to me? I'll write them down. You'll tell me what to write. Then you'll go away. That's what you want?"

"I long for release from this."

"Right." Cassie dashed into the next room to turn on the computer. She could feel the ghost follow her.

"It--It just takes a while to boot up," she explained. "Don't disappear on me now."

The wait was interminable, but the ghost stayed. Cassie kept glancing over at her, shuddering, then fixing her gaze back on the computer screen. It was like someone had put a video on pause. Her expression didn't change, a faintly puzzled look. She didn't even blink. She just sort of...stood there. It was creepy.

Finally the computer was on. Finally, the word processor was open.

Here goes nothing. The ghost is here with me now. I'm going to write down what she tells me.

"Okay. I'm ready. Go."

She was over Cassie's shoulder now and a few feet off, looking at the screen. Cassie watched and waited.

"Tell me what you know. I'll write it down. I know it looks strange, but this is my journal. My way of writing things down."

"No."

"No?"

The ghost's expression had gone from puzzlement to horror. "No. No. No. No. No. No." She reached out for the screen, and for a wonder didn't disappear when her hand passed through it. She turned to Cassie. "No! No! No!"

Cassie shrank back from the vision, alarmed. She wheeled out of her chair and took a few steps backward. "Whoa. Okay..."

"I long for release from this!" she shouted. She reached out for Cassie, who cringed. The ghost reached out. She grabbed Cassie's arm.

There was an instant, between the touch and the moment it passed through her skin, that Cassie could feel the hand there, solid and real and cold. She screamed. The ghost disappeared.

But Cassie kept screaming.

She had no idea how long it was before she found herself slumped silently on the floor and the doorbell ringing insistently.

Gilhen.

She got up and dashed down the stairs. She could hear him outside. He'd stopped with the doorbell and was knocking insistently.

"Cassie? Cassie? Are you all right?" she heard, as she swung the door open.

"Graham." A second later she wished she'd sounded glad to see him, rather than stunned.

He looked like he was feeling a little foolish as well. "Um. You're okay then?"

"Oh. Yes. I'm fine." She blushed. His eyes were flicking past her up the stairs, as if he expected to see someone behind her. She turned around. There was nothing there. She turned back, a questioning look in her eyes.

"But...was that you I heard? Someone was screaming. I thought--" He smiled self-consciously. "I thought you might be hurt."

"I'm fine. I just--" Excuses, excuses. What will he believe? "I had a nightmare. I woke myself up, actually. Um. Screaming." Is that believable? "I -- was I really that loud?"

"Yeah. You sounded terrified."

"I'm sorry." This is just great.

"Well, I'm sorry if I bothered you. I just wanted to check. You know, in case."

"Thanks. I appreciate it. It's, uh, it's nice to know someone's looking out for me," she said. Graham nodded his acknowledgement, and shuffled his feet a little. She glanced back up the stairs. Her thoughts were whirling; she could use some time to think.

But if he walks away, I'll be alone again.

"Look," she said, "are you busy? I mean, if you are, it's okay. I'm just thinking, it was such a -- a bad dream. I don't want to go back up there just yet. I'll probably go for coffee or something. If you'd like to come? I'd kinda like some company."

"Yeah, sure. I mean, I'd love to."

"Just let me get my wallet. Um...you can come in if you like. I'll just be a second." She dashed up the stairs. Graham followed her up the stairs, closing the door behind him. He leaned in the doorway while she dashed back and forth muttering things to herself. "Wallet. Money? Yes. Keys. Check. Jacket? No, I don't need it. Okay," she said, turning to him. I'm ready to go."

"Great," he said, and turned to head out. "So were you thinking of anywhere in particular?"

"I was headed for the Tim's, but if you've got a better idea, I'm all for it."

"Tim's? Oh, no." Graham shook his head. "I know a much better place."

"Lead the way, then."

"So," he asked her as they walked, "do you have nightmares often?"

"Not really," she answered. Or all the time. "Well, at least not the kind where I wake up screaming, anyway. I'm really sorry if I startled you."

"It's okay. I'm just wondering how often I'll get to come dashing to your rescue."

"Well, I'm could plan for a few harrowing experiences if you promised to rescue me. But I don't have anything planned right at the moment. Can I get back to you?"

"Sure," he said, and laughed. "I'll try to keep my schedule open."

They walked in silence for a while. Cassie was both relieved at the company and glad she didn't have to make conversation. Away from the apartment, the terror receded a little. Graham led her to a coffee shop near the campus. It was a fancy java-joint, with flavoured coffee and lattes and a rack of delicious-looking cakes. They ordered, and when Cassie took out her wallet to pay, Graham waved it away. "I'll get it," he said.

"Oh, no let me. I asked you here after all," Cassie insisted.

"You can get it next time." Graham said, "Here. Do you like chocolate? The dipped Florentines here are deadly."

"Sure," she said, and he ordered two. "But really, let me get it."

"Nope." He shook his head. His tone was light, but his jaw was set. Cassie subsided.

"So," he said, after they'd found themselves a table. "You're here from Newfoundland?"

"Is my accent that bad?" Cassie felt a little self-conscious. She didn't want to sound like a dumb Newf.

"Well, I can hear it a little. But it's mostly because your grandmother told me you'd be moving here. Why'd you come to Halifax?"

"I'm doing my Master's at Dal," she said.

"Oh yeah? What subject?"

"English. How about you?"

"I'm in med school."

"Really?" She was impressed. "What year?"

"I'm going into my third year," he said.

"Are you specializing in anything?"

"Well, I'd like to do emergency medicine, that's what I'm really interested in."

"So working in the emergency room, people straight off of ambulances, things like that?"

"Yeah. Sort of. What about you? What will you do with your degree?"

"I'd like to teach, I think. Get my own little cushy university office and be the terror of all the undergrads. You know, the Professor drill."

"What's your thesis on?"

Cassie appraised him across the table. Normally, people who asked about her thesis fell into two categories. The people who cared, generally because they came from an English background themselves, and the people who didn't, generally who asked to be polite. She wondered which Graham was.

"I'm mostly dealing with modern mystery novels," she said.

"Sounds interesting," he nodded, but didn't ask for any more details.

They chatted for a while longer, about roommates and family, life in Halifax. Cassie felt the knot of fear in her chest diminishing. Then it disappeared altogether and she was a normal person, just out having coffee like every other normal person.

It wasn't until Graham suggested that he should really be going that everything came back into focus again. They chatted idly on the way home, but Cassie's fear was growing. She prayed that Graham didn't notice.

They said goodnight at the walkway, leaving Graham to saunter up to his own door, and Cassie to shuffle to hers. Her leg was starting to bother her after all the walking. She unlocked the front door and swung it open with a sense of dread. Thank goodness she'd thought to leave the hall light on. It was comforting to not have to walk into a darkened apartment.

Cassie turned the light on in every room when she got in.

This is stupid, she thought, but she turned them on anyway.

Half an hour later, she was in her pyjamas and sitting on the sofa with a book. She wasn't really reading. She was trying to distract herself.

It will be fine. Everything will be fine.
Just don't go near the computer.
At least not until you figure out how to get rid of her
What's her problem with the computer, anyway?
Did she not want me writing about her?
Why not?
I could ask her.
But I don't want her back.
Maybe writing about her makes her go away, and she doesn't want that?
Then why did she ask me for release?

She realized that she'd been reading for a while, but hadn't really retained anything. The words were going in, then straight out of her brain again.

She won't touch me again. I won't let her.
What if she touches me again?
How do I fight something I can't touch?
I don't want her touching me.

The thought of the ghost standing over her bed, reaching out to her in her sleep came to mind. Cassie shuddered. It wouldn't happen. It couldn't happen.

Her hands. They felt cold and staticky...itchy...

Cassie put down her book.

The phone rang three times before there was an answer.

"Hello?"

"Gilhen? I need to stay at your place tonight."

***

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