Laurens sat up quickly, rubbing his head. He looked around with a frown. This isn't where he was before. He had been in South Carolina with his troops, not in a house. He had been laying on a bed instead of in a tent. He tried to recall what had happened before it came flooding back.
He had been in a battle with the British. He knew the war was over, but they did not. He had felt a sharp pain in his side before everything just went black. He must have been shot. They must have taken me to a doctor to get patched up, he thought. That was the only reason he could think he would be sitting up and in a house.
Laurens paused a minute when he heard crying from the other room. He stood up and tried to open the door, yet no matter what he couldn't turn the knob. He frowned a bit, pushing on it with his shoulder before he went straight through it with a scream of worry. He looked up, his eyes wide with fear. He held up his hand, being able to see right through it.
"No," he whispered, looking up to see who had been crying. It was Hamilton. Yet Hamilton lived in New York, no where near where he had been. "Alexander! Why are you crying?"
"Oh John," Hamilton sniffed, looking at a picture. It was almost as if he couldn't hear his friend at all. "If you were here right now you would be calling me a big cry baby. I shouldn't be this upset over your death. Yet I can't help it. You were the only person I could stand. I would give anything just too see you smile and hear your voice one last time. I didn't even properly get to say goodbye... I didn't... I... I'm sorry John!"
Hamilton broke down sobbing, hugging the picture tightly. Laurens walked over to him, trying everything to get Hamilton to notice him.
"Come on Alexander!" Laurens screamed, tears running down his eyes. "I'm right here! I'm right here! Stop crying and just look at me!"
"Alexander," Eliza said from the doorway, looking pretty upset. Hamilton looked up at her, looking straight through Laurens. "It's late. You should try and get some sleep. I know you don't like to, but-"
"No, you're right," Hamilton interrupted. He sat the picture down, giving it one last look. "John would want me to sleep. I'll try."
Hamilton walked right past his friend, closing the door to the room as he left for bed with his wife. Laurens sank to his knees, tears running down his face. He was dead. That bullet killed him. He was dead yet he wasn't gone. He was now a ghost.
"What's the point if my Alexander can't hear me?" he mumbled miserably. "What's the point of staying if he can't see me? What's the point...?"
