Haunted

The Day After

I rap my knuckles softly against the splintering wood, and say the first word that comes to mind. "Alastair?" Don't ask me how I know; I just do.

"Alastair, are you in...?" I trail off, momentarily distracted. I thought I saw someone moving in the room over there. Must've been my imagination...

I slowly push the door open, and hold back a gasp. There is a cloud of dust in the air, and shattered tile pieces litter the ground near the bath tub, which is shielded by the shower curtain.

I carefully tread through the war zone and over to the tub, where I pull back the curtain to reveal... Alastair? I almost don't recognize him. Blood coats his hands and seeps from the back of his head onto the wall. It leaves long trails down his nose to his chin, where it then drips onto his legs. I don't have much of a problem with blood, but that much... from one person... now I'm not a doctor, but that doesn't seem okay. Alastair shrinks further into the curve of the tub, as if to hide himself from view.

"Alastair..." It comes out barely above a whisper. "What happened?"

"Nothing happened." His voice shudders as he says it. "I'm fine, just... leave me alone—"

I hold his coat sleeve firmly between my fingers and pull, urging Alastair to his feet, but he resists, tugging back from me. "Come."

At that one word, he stops fighting back and looks up at me. His eyes shine with tears and recognition flashes through them. "You—" Alastair stumbles as he's getting out of the tub, and I grip his shoulder tightly to keep him from tipping over. "How did you find me here?"

I meet his confused look with my even one. "I just had a feeling."

"You look... familiar." What? Does he not remember our talk? "Yesterday—"

I quickly nod my head while helping him further out of the graveyard of tiles. "Yes, you saw me yesterday. We..." I happen to catch my reflection in the mirror. Only, it isn't my face that stares back at me. It's my mother's. Her milky white face with it's auburn hair in a delicate twist at the back of her neck. Her large doe eyes stare accusingly at me. For what, I know not.

I shake my head lightly to ward off the image, but it remains there, as do my eyes. "We were talking, both of us and Tracy Collins. Do you remember Tracy?"

"Yes." Alastair follows my gaze to the mirror. He walks up to it and taps his index finger against the glass several times. "Are your ghost friends in there? Tell them hi for me." He chuckles for a few moments before it shifts into a coughing fit.

I pay his words no mind. Instead, I stalk forward to grasp his hands in mine. I turn the sink's faucet on and run Alastair's hands under the water for a few seconds, until it eventually goes from a dark red to clear again. Then I turn off the tap.

I turn to look at Alastair again and I frown. There are little tile fragments pricking up in his skin. "You should have the doctor look at you."

Alastair looks at the floor and pushes his fists into his jacket pockets. "It's fine."

I trail my eyes over his body, searching for any more signs of damage. "Are you hurt anywhere else?"

"No I'm—" Alastair suddenly jerks towards the sink, throwing his hands out against the counter to catch himself. His back faces me, and suddenly I see just how bad his head really is. A large patch of his hair is stained blood-red and is still dripping with the stuff. The rest that isn't red is pure white from the tile dust and broken shards that cling fondly to his dark hair.