My cell rang, with an obnoxious ringtone consisting of various chainsaw tones overridden with splurts and screaming. It reminded me of my own mortality, which either calmed me down or freaked the shit out of me, depending on my mood.

"What the fuck do you want?"

"Demo, it's me."

Demo was a nickname I'd earned in a Jewish death metal band a friend of mine had started. Don't ask.

"Of course it's you, Beezo, nobody else has this number."

"Oh…right…"

There was a silence. I hate those awkward silences, you know? They're everywhere, you can't escape them, like your inner demons come to life. While you're floundering on the outside, they're laughing at your apathy on the inside. Pricks.

"What do you want? I got places to be."

This seemed to worry Beezo.

"…You're not at the metro already, are you?"

"…How the fuck did you know about that?! I didn't tell anybody I was runnin'!"

It suddenly occurred to me that I shouldn't have admitted that: the phone might be tapped or some shit like that.

"I'm really sorry, man, some crazy shit been going on."

The way he said 'shit' was emphasized in that special way that meant it had something to do with my sight. He was the only person in the world who knew. God damn it, why me?! All I wanted was to get the hell out, and now hell was following me around, in my pocket.

"What happened?"

"You ain't gonna believe me over the phone, man, we gotta meet in person."

What was this? Some kinda trap? I silently calculated some odds, then went ahead.

"A'ight, fine, where, when?"

"Now. Stand up, turn right, walk forward, right outside this sector is a janitor's closet. Go inside."

"If you're fucking around with me, man, I'm gonna kill you. And how the crap do you know all this?
"Trust me man, I'll explain it all. But it's some weird shit, you know? You ain't gonna believe unless you know this is really me, and no offense, but your phone has real crappy reception. This was a useful side effect of my ghost vision: I could tell when someone was lying, unfailingly, by seeing their face. I don't know why.
"Fine. Whatever."

I hung up, jamming the phone back into my pocket. No use waiting here, I guess. Where was the damn train? Anyway, I could always catch another one. I had plenty of time. My parents certainly wouldn't be chasing me.

Where's the fucking janitor's closet? Ah, here it is.

"What do you want, Beezo?"

He was standing in the middle of the cramped space, and as I opened the door he shied away from the light. There was something on his face. Like a mask, almost. What the hell?

"Shut the door, man! Now!"

Fine. I'll play along. I searched for the lightswitch in complete darkness with my left hand, grasping the switchblade in my pocket with the right.

"Don't go for the light, man! Please!"

"What the fuck, man? What do you think you're doing? I gotta see your face to tell, you know."

"Just don't turn on the light! You'll wish you hadn't!"

"You are pretty ass-ugly…"

"Not that!"

"Anyway, what the hell's going on? What happened? How'd you know I'd be here? Or where this closet was? Or anything. And don't go bullshittin' me."

Beezo took a deep breath. I could tell it was him. The breathing patterns, the voice, but what was wrong with him?

"A'ight man, I'm only gonna say this once. Listen up…"