Infinite

Claire de Lune

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Clair de lune in D♭ major
Composed and Arranged by Claude Debussy
Released in 1905
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Lynn wandered into Pasadena, fully aware of the consequences of her actions. Most likely, she'd be taken immediately to the super-maximum security prison, but her hope was that she could convince whoever arrested her to show her to the ghost court. Though she wasn't entirely sure it existed, she was more than willing to take her chances. Plus, Reggie knew and, if she didn't send him a letter by the end of the day, he knew to expect the worst.

"Lynn Ryder, we have a warrant for your arrest. Please come with us." She didn't act surprised when they showed up in front of her because she wasn't. Lynn knew what to expect when she crossed the city line. The men in front of her wore the standard uniform—a blue, collared, button-up shirt and dark pants—with embroidery that told her they were true ghost police.

"I want to go to court. Appeal the decision," Lynn demanded. It surprised the two officers; they never got that kind of request. "It is my right as a resident of Pasadena."

"Okay. We'll bring you there, but I don't think that will change anything." The younger of the two officers brought her to a huge chamber, which held only a sparse few ghosts in it. A judge sat at the front, his demeanor cold and stern.

Maybe this was a bad idea, Lynn thought. She scanned the room and saw devices that cancelled most ghost powers out. The most anyone could do was poof into the room. They couldn't leave without walking out one of the two exits—the main entrance and the prisoner entrance.

"Judge Mitchell, we have Lynn Ryder in custody. She asked to appeal her arrest," The younger officer boomed.

Reggie, who weakly held the bass guitar in his hands, didn't want to practice for their next gig. All he could focus on was Lynn, and there wasn't anyone else to yell at him for not putting in the time to make their next gig perfect. After everything that just happened, Julie and the Phantoms needed to show that they were better than ever. He wasn't, but the band had all their members in the same place again. Their chance to show the previous weekend was a fluke was coming up faster than he could think.

Maybe I'll be the reason the band falls apart, Reggie sighed dejectedly and set his bass down.

"Rose, I miss you." Reggie stood up as Ray walked in. He could hear the pain in Ray's voice, the grief that laced his every word with tears. "We were supposed to be in this together and I feel like I'm failing our children." Reggie didn't know there was anything wrong. He tended to respect Julie's boundary and rarely went into the main house (that boundary was defined roughly six months ago, after an incident involving them and another "ghost sighting" by Tia Victoria), so Reggie didn't know Ray couldn't sleep. None of them knew the man of the house felt like he was falling apart at the seams. Glass balls kept slipping through his fingers.

"Can you come back?" He begged to the seemingly empty room. "I don't know what to do anymore."

Reggie couldn't leave. Truthfully, he could, but he didn't want to.

So, instead of only watching as Julie's father broke down, Reggie found a slip of paper and a pencil. He deserved the truth. He needed something good from someone he didn't even know.

Your worst is better than some people's best.

Reggie let the paper fall just in front of Ray, then walked up to the attic. If it worked the way Reggie hoped, he would have the time to find some more of his old songs.

"Your worst is better than some people's best." He struggled to keep a tear from falling, but it helped him more than Reggie thought it would. Ray walked out of the studio and back into the main house with a soft smile on his face.