Dancing with the Dead ✔

Chapter Two - Nearly Almost Dead, But Not Quite

Save yourself the time and stop lying to yourself now.

Shut up!

I try to brush the thoughts away from my head. I move closer to the bed and grab the medical chart which is tucked inside a plastic-covered placeholder. I write the rest of my observation—John's condition, not the ghost—and leave it there for the nurses.

John is doing really well; there's a huge chance he'll survive this hellhole. I certainly hope so. The same cannot be said about the ghost who hasn't stopped moving in front of me, all the while thinking the life out of him.

"So..." he mutters.

I switch my gaze onto his face. He finally stops moving, turning his gaze upon me.

"Am I..." He pauses for a while, hesitation spreads across his face. Yet, somehow, there is an unexpected amount of calmness in his voice when he continued, "Dead?"

"Of course not! See, your heart rate is fine!" I gesture at the heart monitor which beeping sound echoes throughout the room.

"So this is really me, huh?" he says, stepping closer to the bed.

"Wait, you don't know?"

He shrugs.

"How come you don't know? I mean, where did you wake up? Did you climb out of his body? Or did you come out of a coffin? Or did you just—" I drag both hands to my mouth as I clamp it shut the second I realize he's looking at me with awe.

"Sorry," I say softly.

He smiles softly. "I woke up in the middle of an empty land quite far from here. At first, my head was pounding and my whole body ached, as if every part of my body was burning. I tried to scream for help, but there was nobody out there. So... I walked."

He begins to demonstrate by walking back and forth in front of me. Again.

"I walked, and kept walking, searching for someone. Anyone. Before I knew it, I arrived in the town. I tried to talk to some people, but none of them seemed to notice me. Then the strangest thing happened." He stops moving, throwing his gaze out the window as I wait with full-on anticipation.

"An old lady walked right through me!" he says, his tone slightly raises as disbelief fills his voice. He gulps, catching a breath from his long speech.

"I thought I must've hit my head pretty damn hard and went nuts, but I found that I could also walk through doors. So, I figure I must've been..." he trails away, throwing his gaze onto the floor.

"Dead?"

You just had to rub it in his face, didn't you?

Oops.

Hearing the word I said, he turns around and faces me. But instead of getting angry, he seems rather amused by what I said. "Exactly."

"Nevertheless," he continues, calmness finds its way back to his voice, "I kept walking. It's as if I was pulled by some unknown force to get here. The next thing I knew, here I am. In this room. Then you came."

Well, that only adds gasoline to the fire now, doesn't it? Give up already, Alexis! You know you're not that strong.

No, no, no! I'm strong, alright. After all, I didn't move 600 miles only to be dragged into the same thing all over again, did I?

"I'm so sorry," I say softly.

His lips straightened. "Yeah, me too."

The only thing in my mind right now is to leave this room and never come back.

Okay, I'll have to come back tomorrow since I am his physician. But right now, I need to leave before I say—or do—anything I'll regret.

***

I close the door to my apartment and hang my key on the small key holder next to the light switch. After taking my shoes off, I head straight to my tiny bedroom. I throw my bag to the floor and untuck my hairband, letting my shoulder-length brown hair loose before I ram my body against the bed. I can feel the sharp edges of the bed hits my ribs as I turn my body around, facing up to the ceiling. My bed isn't the most comfortable, but it's all I can afford.

I close my eyes, trying to get some sleep. But the longer I close my eyes, the more my mind pulls me back to Freddy—ahem—John.

How did he end up dead and alive at the same time? Was he involved in some sort of witchcraft? Or was it really The Hill's doing? Or am I just going all Patrick Bateman?

You might think it's weird, but I used to love dealing with ghosts. They were fairly more interesting and somehow much more sincere than living humans. For one, they wouldn't stab you in the back. And no, they didn't have blood covering their faces, nor a bloody knife stuck in their heads, and all of them still had their heads intact to their necks perfectly—even the girl who got hit by a train. The ghosts I had seen always looked like their past, normal self.

So basically, it was the same as socializing. Only with the dead. And I liked them much better than the living.

The ghosts I had met so far have always been nice too. Cranky, mostly. Annoying, sometimes. But never evil. Somehow, they always brought joy and excitement to my dull life.

Meeting a new ghost was like opening up your Christmas present. You didn't know what was inside, you didn't know what you were going to get, but it always managed to put a huge smile on your face.

Helping them finish whatever business they had left in this world so they could cross the rainbow was one of my favorite things.

But make no mistake. I'm not a saint. I didn't do what I did entirely for them. I was doing it for me too. The mission, the secrecy, the adrenaline rushing through my blood. For a moment, the thrill made me feel as if I were a female version of James Bond. Running around, saving the world, helping to find a new owner for an old lady's cat.

But, no one told me that it would cost me everything. I had to learn it the hard way. Even though the ghosts were not a problem, the humans—however—were.

And now that I finally managed to rebuild my life anew, I find myself asking the same question over and over again. Do I really want to throw away this rare chance for someone I don't even know the name of?

Ah. I forgot to ask his name. Well, I guess I have one more reason to talk to him now, don't I? The least I can do is inform his family and friends that their loved one is fighting for his life. He is my patient after all, which makes him part of my responsibility as a doctor.

After all, what's the worst that can happen?

Author's Note:

So that's our John Doe! More mysteries to come. I hope you like this chapter. I'll post the next chapter as soon as I can.

For those of you who don't know, Patrick Bateman is the main character of "American Psycho" who - spoiler alert - imagined himself as a serial killer.

As always, comments and votes are greatly appreciated!

xoxo.