Making You See

Chapter Three - Fragile

He's dead. He's meant to be dead.

Not an hour ago Lucy's best friend was crying about his death. Not messing with her, genuinely crying. Her red dyed hair was drooped down beside her face whilst she sobbed into her hands. Lucy kept picturing Victoria like this in her living room, while she tried making sense of who was in front of her. Victoria wouldn't have lied to her. There's no way she would have.

"You're..." She started, struggling comprehend that this guy who was meant to be dead was stood in her apartment. Her heart was frantically hammering against her rib cage, beating faster than it should have.

"Dead, I know-"

She stepped backwards, holding her hands up in defence, "That's not possible, you was murdered. My friend, she, you, what?" She blurted out in confusion, nothing she could say explained the situation. She was talking to a dead guy. You can't talk to dead people. They're dead.

He started to walk forward towards her and she let out a little scream, jumping backwards onto the sofa. Her legs were slightly bent, ready to dash out of the door, escaping the trespasser. She was armed with the most dangerous thing in her reach, a soft cushion, not realising that it wouldn't do any damage, especially since if he was a ghost it wouldn't even touch him, let alone injure him.

"Lucy, I need your help," he tried explaining in desperation. He did his signature hair flick to get it out of his eyes.

She panicked, how was this even happening? "Are you crazy?" She half laughed, half shouted in fright, "I don't even know you, I've never met you in my life. Get someone else to help you."

Her heart was pounding, threatening to explode there and then. She was terrified. She didn't believe in ghosts. If ghosts were real, her dad would have been visiting her. Her dad would have protected her when she needed it. Her dad would have been there when no one else was. But he wasn't. Ghosts don't exist, Lucy knew that and thought that anyone who pretended otherwise was mental.

Escape was the only action Lucy could thing of to take. Panic had frozen her. Her feet wouldn't move. They wouldn't run away. Like when you're stuck in a dream and you're trying to run but instead you're walking in slow motion, except Lucy felt superglued to the spot.

"I must be imagining things," Lucy muttered to herself unconvincingly in self deception.

"Lucy, please. You're the only one who can help me," he begged her.

She stared at him, taking in the features of his face. His long, brown hair flicked into his face in a cute kind of way. The way he flicked his hair out of his eyes every few minutes was a movement very familiar to her. She recognised him, but couldn't remember where he fitted into her life. The only thing she could think of was that one lunchtime. He looked roughly the same as in the picture she saw of him. But there was something more significant than that. Something she was missing.

He looked pale, scarily pale, as pale as a ghost. His eyes were filled with desperation and fear, they were hollow. Hollow and dark, the way some would describe 'death' itself. It almost made Lucy give in and help him. It wasn't enough. None of it made sense. Maybe if she agreed to helping him he would leave, even if she didn't actually help him.

She shook her head. A wave of unexpected dizziness swept through her, pulling her off her feet. She flung her arms out, looking for something to support her and prevent her from falling. Jon instinctively leaped forward and held his pale arms out for her.

Lucy began to fall, closer and closer to the floor. Her head breaking her fall by crashing against the splintered, wooden arm of the sofa. Someone should have fixed or replaced the chair months ago, it was an accident waiting to happen. It just so happened to injure a teenage girl, living alone.