Julian and Daisy: The Ghost and the Girl

Chapter 7: MacBook

He's so ignorant. I know he's probably just scared, too. Especially with the fact that he spent his life in here, not being able to go anywhere and interact.

I don't know how to help him, yet. I sit on my bed, hoping my mom would see the text I sent her and she'd come here and help me. She has to. I begin to cry as I start to realize that I'm not dreaming, for the thousandth time in the past hour.

Help him, how . . .

A message notification appears from my mom, "Don't play around with me Daisy." It reads.

I feel a sense of relief as I see her text, but I also groan at her response. She calls me multiple times as I try to find Julian's existence in the house, where the hell is he? I need him to answer the phone. After five missed calls from her, she finally texts back with "On my way."

After three hours of looking at the ceiling in my room, waiting impatiently to get out of here, my mom's car pulls up in front of the house. I run downstairs to see my mom puts both of her palms over her mouth as she screams when she sees my body on the stairs, lying there soulless like a dead body. She runs straight to my body and examines it. Checking the pulse, heartbeat.

"Mom?" I call her out, but her eyes wouldn't leave my body as she drapes my soulless body hopelessly, her eyes are gleaming with worry and fresh tears.

"Oh my God, Daisy! I'm sorry," She sobs as she quickly calls 911, without her leaving my body on the stairs and soon after, an ambulance pulls up. Luckily the hospital is not far enough from here. I refuse to cry as I sit there, next to my mom, trying to make her acknowledge my presence by calling her multiple times like an idiot.

As the medics take my body, I follow them to the car.

"You can't leave." Julian suddenly blocks me from getting out of the house, and it almost gives me a heart attack. The ambulance has closed the door and has already left with the sound of sirens.

"I will help you as soon as I awake—"

"It's not that—"

"Please, I've got to go." I jerk him away from my sight as I enter my mom's car. She's trying to turn the ignition and call my dad at the same time. Her hands are trembling.

"Mom, I'm fine, I'm right here." I try to comfort her, which resulted nothing from her. Seeing my mom couldn't acknowledge my presence is hurtful.

"Bill? It's Daisy, she's in the hospital. She had a concussion—" Her eyes start to water again as she turns the ignition and drives away from the house down the driveway. "Yes, yes, I'll see you there." My mom turns off the phone. And as soon as the car's about to leave the gate, my body shifts back and fall down to the ground before the gate.

"What?" I look at the ground, my hands and look up to see Julian's tall figure in front of me.

"I told you." He walks away, shaking his head.

I stand on my feet as I try to keep up with Julian's pace. "If I recover, will I ever get back to my body again?"

"You have to help me now." He stops at his pace and looks down at me with his bold green eyes. As much as I'm appalled by his attractive physique, especially when the sun hits his handsome features, I still feel a little startled by the thought of seeing him as a ghost.

I look up at him and then nod. "You can use my laptop, I'll show you," I walk past him to the house and to my room. I put on my metal golden glasses—grandpa glasses—and point to my laptop on my desk. I instruct Julian to find cases on Google since I don't know any other sources to find such things. We end up finding random cases and then as we keep on trying to browse the Internet, we start to think that it's helpless. I mean, he's not helping either. All he does is whine and complain. He doesn't even give me his backstory—not that I'm expecting it either. But at least, talk. Nonetheless, he smells good.

"What do you remember?" I ask him, leaning against the bed as we both sit on the floor—Julian is getting better at browsing.

"What do you care?"

I groan internally—nearly externally but decide against it. This guy is asking for a scene, but I'm not going to buy it. "So we can find it as a keyword."

He stops scrolling down as he sighs. "Poisoned tea."

I nod. Then what Michelle wrote was true. "Then it's true what Michelle said. I read her journal." I inform. "Try typing poisoned 1957."

He does as I say, but then again, nothing comes up. We start getting frustrated by the second. After another thirty minutes of finding cases, he finally stands up and puts the laptop gently on the bed. "Excuse me." He says politely, before walking out of the room.

I just sigh in annoyance, climbing onto my bed, staring at the ceiling. I was scared of Julian. But getting to spend almost three hours with him just sitting and browsing makes me less scared than I was before. Even though we barely even talk to each other—barely even look at each other.

The last time he really looked at me, was when I was on my knees on top of the stairs, crying. He was looking at me intently with his green eyes.

"Julian?" I stroll down the hall to find him after an hour of staring blankly at the ceiling. I walk over to the room down the hall in the corner—that's slightly opened. When I walk into the room, the strong scent of him fills up my nostrils. The only indisputable thing that's been giving me a hard time around Julian is the fact that he smells so good. A mixture of lollipop, cigarette, and soap. This must be his lair.

I find him sitting on the floor by the bed, facing the window. I walk over to him as I look at him browsing the photo album his family left. "I'm sorry."

He looks up to me and puts down the photos inside the box, and closes the lid. "What the hell are you doing in here?"

"I wanted to say I'm sorry,"

"For what?" He asks.

"You must've missed them a lot, haven't you?" I ask, still standing awkwardly as he shuts his eyes in exasperation.

"Get out of here."

"God, Julian, I just wanted to talk."

"Get out of here." He repeats.

I chew the insides of my cheeks as I nod. "Julian, I promise I will help you, but now, it's rather hard—"

"It's—it's Jules. And it's not about helping me anymore, I'm sure I'm destined to be like this." He says in his low voice, looking down at the floor.

As much as I'm trying to convince him otherwise, I figure that it's no use. "Fine, I'm just trying to help." I nod again as I walk out the room and back to my bedroom. I really want to help him, but he's being resistant. A hot-headed ass.