Lucky for me, when I opened my eyes one a t a time and lowered my hands, I was back in my room, still completely untouched, and me completely unscathed.
Well, aside from any potential mentally trauma I might've just suffered, but that was probably just another drop in bucket.
I exhaled and felt the tension release from my shoulders.
I can't decide if that was a bad idea or not...Because while I had gotten the answers I wanted—Yes, Sam was grieving over me—I certainly hadn't wanted to see him meltdown like that.
While that may have proven me right to break-up with him on some level, if only to avoid a future abusive-husband, I had never wished for something like that.
All I'd ever wished for was for him to be out of my life, and for my mom to quit missing him being my boyfriend, which had always just been way too weird for my comfort. I didn't even want the world to understand why I broke up with him, just maybe stop questioning me about it.
To quote one of my favorite books, "The world is not a wish-granting factory." But my dying had sort of resolved the first two wishes, so...
What did that mean for that last half-wish?
Regardless, I hoped I never had to watch something like that again.
Though it occurred to me I maybe could've avoided that whole fiasco if I'd just shown myself to Sam...And that still seemed like a bad idea.
I sighed and left myself fall back on my bed.
No more. I'm done with Sam. I got the answer I was looking for, and now I never have to go back. It's over and done. Now, as long as I could get past that mental hurdle, I was free to finally wash my hands of Sam.
It wasn't my place to try and solve whatever problems he'd clearly been dealing with long before he even met me. Nor did I want it to be.
Briefly, I couldn't believe I'd ever actually considered going into psychology as a career or job choice.
What was I thinking?
No matter. I was dead; I'd never have to worry about that.
And that knowledge was enough of a relief to finally banish Sam and the chaos I'd just left from my mind. Hopefully, it wouldn't be back anytime soon.
Speaking of coming back, though...
I sat up and leaned back, not really looking at anything. Even though I'd willed myself back to the house, I wasn't ready to see Riley again. No, I'd save that for after I had a plan to actually help her out...somehow. But I had promised Jackson I'd be back as soon as I could...
Standing, I stretched and debated with myself over whether or not I should go ahead and get on with that promise.
The main issue was that so late in the day—3:47 by my watch—I would run the risk of trying to talk to him while his parents and sister were home, (if his sister even lived at home anymore, last I heard she was 22 and fresh out of college, so it was totally possible she, like Riley, was already pretty much out on her own) and there was no telling when they'd pop in and out and catch Jack talking to himself or the cats defying physics.
And seriously, how was Jackson supposed to explain that?
As much as I hated to do it, it was looking like I'd have to wait until nightfall, when his family would be asleep, and wake him up to talk.
If he was asleep, which there was a sixty-forty chance he would be, depending on how late I had to wait.
Which brought up another, less relevant issue—Where was I going to sleep?
Yes, my room was untouched, and I could neither be seen nor heard unless I wanted to, but that did mean in the slightest that I had free reign of the place.
I wasn't afraid of the dark, but I was afraid of tripping over someone on the floor in the dark and hurting myself, and I hated trying to fall asleep in dead-silence. Every little noise spooked me because I became paranoid so easily.
Well, okay, the tripping thing was technically so longer an issue because I could just pass through everything in my—I was assuming—natural state. And even so, if I dared to turn on the TV, that would partially solve that problem anyway.
The only other issues were the mystery anyone that opened the door would see the blankets floating and bunched in a human shape, and there would be no explanation for the TV magically turning itself on.
And depending on how long I was going to still be here, they could label once as a weird happenstance, but anything beyond two they'd probably label as the TV being broken, and then either unplug it or take it out of the room entirely. And then where would I be?
Maybe if I kept the volume low enough, they wouldn't notice? At least, not at first?
Still, I couldn't rely on my living family forever. Eventually, they'd cope with my deathe enough start going through the room, clearing things out.
Well, okay. Knowing my family, even when they did move on enough to go back to living somewhat normal, it would probably be awhile before anyone really started packing any of my things up, but even so, I didn't need to get accustomed to being around them as a ghost. I'd never want to leave, and it would effectively be a trap, like I was alive, albeit in a vastly different way, all over again.
That, and I felt like a ghost hanging around those they left behind for too long was just...Not proper ghost procedure, or something. If that even made any sense...
So many minutes passed, and finally I decided I could figure that out later.
For now, I'd go to Jackson's house, and at least start watching for a good time to reappear to him, if not actually follow through with it.
This time when I willed myself to him, it wasn't even remotely challenging, and I left my eyes open.
Out of curiosity, I wanted to see what the transition looked like.
Much to my surprise, though it couldn't have taken more than a second or two, I could clearly see my room slowly fade, almost in an overlay fashion, to Jackson's. It was as if the two rooms were dimensionally laid overtop of one another, even though they couldn't have possibly been.
I was still marveling over the whole thing when Jackson walked through me to get to his bedroom door.
Cinnamon had waltzed himself in and still hadn't figured out how to use his cat abilities to shut a door. Jackson was in the process of closing it for the feline.
I facepalmed when I remembered that the cats could see me, regardless of how incorporeal I was or wasn't.
As much as I loved the furry critters, they were about to give me away.
So much for staking out a good time to make myself known...
But to my surprise, Cinnamon looked up at me and brushed up against my leg, but otherwise ignored me.
I'll be honest, I couldn't decide if I was grateful or insulted.
"Learn to shut the door," Jackson mumbled as he flopped back on his bed, eyeing Cinnamon more carefully than he usually would, probably in case I was back, since the cats had been the catalyst to him figuring I was here before.
Finding nothing of any interest, as Cinnamon just stared at him with the look most cats are always perpetually giving you, Jack went back to watching TV, giving his laptop an occasional glance.
I felt kind of bad about being there, technically fulfilling my promise, and not revealing myself to him.
But even as I lowered myself to the floor, crossing my legs beneath me, I knew I was taking the best course of action. I had to be sure he was alone—Or as alone as a person with cats can ever be—before we started talking again, for his sake and mine. I wasn't about to put him in a position to have to explain away something that didn't make any sense, and I didn't want to ruin his life by making him look crazy and getting him locked up in the nearest mental health ward.
I was dead, not stupid.
Or heartless, or thoughtless, either.
The minutes ticked by slowly, and after a while, I was starting to think that maybe I should've waited out at my house, in my own room. Even if I couldn't do too much so I wouldn't give myself away, at least I could've done something to occupy myself.
If nothing else, I could've done some poking around online to see what the rest of the world currently knew about my death.
Theoretically, I knew I could still will myself back and get on that, and I was seriously considering it.
I was, that is, until I realized that my new skill set would also allow me to just as easily go wonder around Jackson's house and find out on my own whether or not he was the only one here.
I facepalmed again.
Why did that not occur to me before?
Ultimately, I decided to blame it on me just not being completely used to being a ghost and therefore being out of practice with what I could do.
For what it was worth, I figured I'd probably already done better than a regular newbie ghost, if only because I was familiar with some of my abilities through the fiction I'd enjoyed while I was alive.
Or maybe I was doing extremely poorly, I don't know. It's hard to tell when there's no one else around in the same state of being.
Once I was over being frustrated with myself for having been so dense, I pushed myself up and headed for the door.
For what felt like the millionth time today, I had to stop myself short before I actually opened it like a normal person, my hand inches away from the handle. Which, for the record, would've been much harder to carefully turn back into place unnoticed if I hadn't caught myself first.
I resisted the urge to sigh and let myself step through the wood instead.
Because I felt mildly like I was intruding in a place I wasn't supposed to be, I tried to make my way through the house as quickly as possible and not take much notice of what anything looked like, save for whether or not I saw any of his family hanging around.
Ten minutes and one searched house that wasn't mine later, and I exhaled slowly in relief.
Empty.
Blessedly, thankfully, empty.
I blinked (willed, apparated, whatever) myself back to Jackson and his room, feeling more elated with every second that I hadn't run across anyone in my search. Just the thought of running into people I either didn't know, or didn't know very well and invading on their private home life without them knowing felt eighty different kinds of wrong. Just the thought.
Much like when I knew I was about to see him when I was alive, I felt my pulse double it's speed and a welcome lightness spread over my legs and arms on the way up to my head. And suddenly I couldn't stop smiling like an idiot.
Ha. I tried and failed to swallow my own sarcastic irony. Glad to see literally nothing's changed. Even in death.
"Jack?" I piped when Cinnamon jumped up to circle around my legs, telling me I'd probably successfully joined him and his owner on the physical plane.
I did my best to stifle a laugh when Jackson jumped a little at the sound of my voice before his eyes found me.
Then his startlement faded into a smile, and all bets were off.
He hopped up and half-ran to me, for the few feet there were between us, and the next thing I knew, his arms were around me.
Jackson's grip was almost bruising, and I loved it. Loved him for it.
As long as Jackson's arms were around me, it didn't matter how dead I was. Right there with him, I was solid, I was real, and nothing could change that.
Squirming beneath his strength, I stood on my toes and brushed his hair aside to kiss his forehead. "Told you I'd be back," I whispered as I sank back down onto the balls of my feet and buried myself in the hug.
Somehow being dead had taken away most of my romantic reservations—meaning how bold I was willing to be—and I couldn't decide how I felt about that.
Jack's grip tightened ever so slightly before he pulled back enough to see my face.
This close, I could see the relief in his eyes that I had reappeared to him. He'd been terrified that I wouldn't. Not because he didn't trust me, but because he I both knew about the same on exactly how long my spiritual state would last.
Which is to say, we knew nothing.
"I know. I'm glad. Grateful." He smiled without baring his teeth, which told me it was a more involuntary expression. And that was by no means a bad thing.
Again, I stood on my tip toes and pushed what of his brown locks had fallen back into place out my way and brushed the space above his eyebrows with my mouth.
Back flat on my feet, he Jackson returned the gesture, making my face flame and telling me I was now as pink as Barbie's Dreamhouse.
"I can't stay long this time," I ripped the band-aid off.
Really, as far as I knew, I had all the time in the world to actually hang around. I mean, short of my own agenda, I did not technically have anything I had to do. But I didn't want to risk Jackson still talking to me when his family members made a reappearance, and at this point, I was kind of hoping to make it home in time to see just how much Riley was holding back in front of our parents.
"Riley's really hurting, but she has to be strong for our mom and dad. I have to figure out how to help her," I explained. If nothing else, maybe he could help me think of something to do.
Though I did silently hope my insistence to help my sister because she was hurting didn't hit a nerve...
Considering that Jackson was the one person I'd let see me and the fact that I was now silently promising myself I'd find some way, somehow, no matter what I had to do, I'd tell him goodbye one last time before my ghostly stay was over, I wasn't as worried about him handling my death as I was Riley.
Riley hadn't seen me, wasn't going to see me (if I had any say in the matter, which I did), and yet I still felt like I had to help her understand.
I was worried he might take offense to me seeing her hurt as a cry or need for help as an insult, somehow.
Hey, in this day and age, you never know what might offend someone.
Even so, I needed a plan before I could help Riley, and I was fresh out of ideas myself, so...
Jackson frowned, but didn't object to anything I'd said. "How're you going to do that? Help her, I mean?"
I shook my head. "I haven't the foggiest idea."
"Couldn't you just..." He motioned to me to imply my apparition functionality, "And explain everything?" Like I had him, essentially.
For a second, I debated how much to tell him about why I hadn't already done just that. Would he be upset that I thought it was a bad idea to appear to my own sister, but perfectly fine to let him see me? Would he take it to mean I cared about her lasting sanity more than his?
Resisting the urge to nod and therefore physically confirm my decision, I went with my new excuse everything: I'm already dead, what do I have to lose?
Though I knew perfectly well deep down that, in this case, I was at risk of losing Jackson—Or at least me finally laying to rest with him upset with me, which I also did not want.
"It just feels...I don't now. It feels like a mistake to let her see me," I said honestly. "Watching her today...She's already been through so much, and she kind of has to be the sole voice of reason for our parents, now that I'm gone." Jackson twitched at the reminder. "I'd hate to push her over the edge. And I know she's never really been one for believing in the supernatural." Granted, Riley had been into fantasy video games, but that was about as far as she ever dug into the realm of Magic & Mysticism. "She might now believe I'm real, no matter what proof I show or give her."
Jack seemed to consider my words. "Oh."
Cinnamon burrowing his way so he was standing between my feet and meowed up at me. In need of something to do with my hands, I picked him up and sat with him in my lap on the edge of the bed. "Yeah. So I have think of some way to get my message across, without letting Riley know I'm still here." I scratched Cinnamon behind the ears when he tried to do it himself. "And without scaring her senseless."
Or without drawing any unwanted authority attention to the situation...
Jack nodded along. "You could like....Record something just talk like it's before—" He stopped himself short, but I knew what he'd been about to say. (Though at this point, who am I kidding? The entire universe knew what he was going to say.)
Regardless, I shook my head. "Devices keep an unchangeable record of when something's recorded on them." And I'd had to learn the hard way they did that even if you went through the trouble of manually changing their internal clock's date. There was no getting around it. "And even if she didn't check, sooner or later, someone else would." Not to mention my choice of device might have a few problems of it's own.
Riley's own insistence not to check my gadgets, for instance. And no one would expect any "last messages" from me to be on something that didn't belong to me, so if I tried to make it look like I'd hidden something, they'd probably never find it. Say I did go down that path, though, then I'd have to explain why I chose the device I did and when exactly I recorded it and ugh.
Too much work. Too many problems. Too many lies I'd have to make up.
If at all possible, I wanted to keep a strict cap on the number of lies I had to tell and subsequently leave my family—Riley in particular—with as a parting-ways.
"Okay..." Jackson ran a hand through his hair, clearly trying to think of something else. "Subtly rearrange the fridge magnets? Make a mini-magnet thing note and put it somewhere she'll find it? I don't know." He shrugged, and I could tell he was both half-joking, and very much running out of ideas.
That made two of us.
He was on the right track, though. The only problem with the mini-magnets would be the thing about moving them, but it wasn't an all bad suggestion...
"Wait!" I jumped up, scooping Cinnamon into my arms so he wouldn't topple into the floor. "Letters! I can write letters and hide them in plain sight for Riley!" Which would also provide a fail-safe if I forgot I'd decided not to tell her I was still around as a ghost. Riley wouldn't be able to argue with letters written in my own hand. She'd have no choice but to go along with it. If it even became a problem.
With any luck, it wouldn't, but I knew how things tended to blow up in my face at the worst possible moment.
Jackson's eyes lit up on my behalf and he nodded. "Yeah, that could work. Why didn't I think of that?"
I shrugged. "Probably for the same reason I didn't think of it sooner." It was too obvious, and I knew very well that overthinking can render blindness of the blatant. "But what should I even say? Where should I put them once I have them written?"
Placement couldn't be too obvious, or Riley would wonder why she hadn't noticed the letters before, and that could mess up the whole plan. But if I hid them too well, she'd never find them, and then I'd be back to square one.
I sat back down.
"I'm guessing you wouldn't say, 'Hey I'm dead but I'm still kind-of here, so please don't freak out when I magically appear. And also please don't take it so hard,'" Jackson joked, and I decided to not point out he'd actually managed to say the D-word for fear his good humor would get scared away.
After a day like today, that was just the brevity I needed, and I wasn't eager to lose it right now.
Still, I offered lowered eyebrows over a sardonic grin. "No, I don't think that would go over very well," I played along. "Seriously though, I don't even know where to start." And should I have? This wasn't exactly a common problem I'd had to face before...Or ever, for that matter.
I just had to hope I wasn't failing at death the same way I'd failed at life.
Jackson curled an arm around my shoulders. "You'll figure something out."
I hope you're right...