Notes: Sorry for the delay, people. There is a ton of things I want to write at the moment, but can’t. Hope you still remember the story. And HOLY CRAP the thunder outside is loud. Um, I changed the story’s name because Insomnia was really just a working title, and there are a million stories on FP sharing it. The new title is hardly better, but I kind of like it.

Dedications: To Faith Adeline, Dramatizer, Dorchise, Demena, Feel The Waltz and Ascended-Demon. Thank you so VERY much.

Stage Eleven

He wasn’t sure what he had expected Alexandria to find when he gave her that call yesterday, but for her to wind up with no information at all definitely hadn’t been on that list. Her voice was apologetic and quiet over the phone, and though he was disappointed he didn’t let her hear that.

“I’m really sorry. It bugs me too, but I can’t find any records of a Smith connected to that apartment. The last owner was a guy named Jonah Bale, but that was a while back., and he’s clean. What’s worse, the apartment doesn’t have a registered owner right now, and there are no records of any paid bills since your ghost’s death.”

The person in question had covered his tracks well for Alexandria not to find them, and that in itself was more worth a session of brooding than the missing name.

“Someone has been paying them alright. It is just a matter of finding out who.”

“I’ll look harder, okay? This whole thing has been giving me a headache for hours, and I won’t be able to get proper sleep until I find some dirt.” She released a heavy sigh. “No one is good enough to avoid leaving any traces. Have you talked to the other residents there? They might have seen something.”

“I’m not so sure they would remember. Trent was killed six months ago.”

“I was talking about the dead residents, Greg,” she corrected mildly, and he thought she might be smiling.

“I’ll see what I can do. Thank you for your time.”

“No problem. I didn’t find any useful, in any case. I’ll call you back asap if I do.”

“I appreciate it,” he said. “But don’t push aside your real work for my sake.”

She laughed softly. “Don’t worry, silly. Unlike you guys over at Exorcism, our chief doesn’t make us work 24/7.”

Of course, he could argue that the same was right for his branch of the Organization, but there was no need to start a long winded discussion about little details. True, the exorcists did work at odder hours than the rest of the staff, but the work was reflected in the monthly paycheck.

“Nathan and I are making lasagna on Saturday. Do you want to have dinner with us?” The offer was friendly, not too pushy, and it left him open to decline should he see it fit. They may not be close like Nathan and him, but she knew him well enough to not force him into anything. Gregory responded poorly when people tried to force their way into his life.

“Perhaps another night, Alexandria.”

“Don’t be a stranger, okay? Nathan is worried about you. He hasn’t been sleeping well lately, and he won’t tell me why, but I know he thinks about you a lot.”

In other words, this was a subtle way of asking for a favor. Not that he could blame her- she was only looking out for her lover’s well being, and sleep was pretty essential when you worked the kind of hours they did. What Alexandria and Nathan had was to him something alien and strange, but beautiful, and he never expected himself to find something similar. He was well aware of his short comings, among them his inability to function socially or bond with living humans. Seeing the dead could hardly be called a turn on to any potential…girlfriend?

Boyfriend?

He was unsure which it was.

Did his strange attraction to Trent make him gay when it was the first time he was experiencing anything of the like? How could you be certain that you were gay and not bi-sexual? He frowned deeply. This was deep water for him, something more of Trent’s forte, but the ghost was not someone he’d ask for advice on his questionable sexuality.

“Tell Nathan I’ll give him a call later.”

“I will, if he comes home.” Her words were laced with concern for her lover. “He came home at four this morning, then spent the rest of the night tossing and turning and keeping me up. Tell me Greg, why are men so damned proud and stubborn? Is the case so confidential that he can’t talk about it?”

It wasn’t as far as he knew.

“Yes,” he replied. There was no point in creating bad blood between Nathan and her. “If you’ll excuse me, I need to see what Trent is up to.”

“Oh, sure. I heard he’s a real troublemaker.”

If only you knew…

“That’s right.”

“Well, by-bye. Talk to you soon, Greg.”

He hung up and stuffed the mobile back in his pocket.

The apartment was eerily silent now that Trent was out exploring the building, and strangely enough the silent made him jittery rather than make him relax. He chalked it up to being used to Trent’s constant chattering, mood swings and demand for attention, though that explanation was not entirely satisfactory. The two not so flattering hickeys on his throat told him that the case was something very different. He let his fingertips brush over the sore, bruised spots left behind by Trent’s teeth, and his cheeks flushed at the memory of the previous night. It had been humiliating, not because of the situation itself, but because of his reaction to it. Ashamed as he was to admit it, Trent had made him feel good.

Ghost skin manifested was cold and dry to the touch, but their temperature was not the only reason for his shivering when they caressed and groped him. Trent had pushed him down onto the couch, topped him and proceeded to pay full attention to his exposed throat while his hands slipped under Gregory’s sweater. He bit into his bottom lip, brooding and embarrassed, and began to pace back and forth along his desk while he thought about it. Not even ten hours had passed since then, but the memory was somewhat blurry already.

He clearly remembered how Trent’s mouth had teased his lips apart and how dry and odd that tongue had felt inside his mouth. More so, he had no problem recalling how kissing him back and hearing Trent’s pleased moan had given him a hard on.

Perhaps the reaction was subconscious, but Trent’s touch had made him flinch at first and pull away. The sudden fear had made his stomach clench until he convinced himself that it was alright. He hadn’t been given time to think about it last night, but the long hours that followed had led him to think that his reaction might have been a result from the time Trent assaulted him and robbed him of his freedom.

Is sexuality defined solely on the basis of arousal? The things he did to me…they excited me, loathe as I am to admit it. Being kissed by Nathan hardly made me feel the same, but I can’t be sure yet that Trent is the only man that arouses me.

It was a difficult position to be in. No man liked to discover that girls did nothing for him, and even if Gregory wasn’t a homophobe or raised to feel hatred towards homosexuality it did bother him that Trent could turn him on. It was wrong on so many levels, but most significantly because Trent was dead. Granted, he was very different from the other ghosts Gregory had encountered in his time, but he had no heart beat, and thus that made him just as dead as anyone else. He grimaced. There was no future in an attraction like his, because sooner or later he would find the key to exorcising Trent. To think that he might be too attached by then was unthinkable.

He picked up the case files he’d printed from the laptop and put them in an envelope that he stuffed into his coat. If Nathan had divided the files fairly, that meant there was a lot of them, because Gregory had gotten stuck with seventeen. But studying files and making notes was a familiar job to him, one he didn’t mind, and it caused him no confusion or headaches. He flicked off the lights, locked the apartment and got on his way downstairs. The corridors were empty and silent, save the cries of a baby every now and then.

“Trent?” If the ghost was anywhere nearby he should be able to hear him. After all, the hearing of the dead was far keener than that of the living, for unknown reasons. Personally he had a theory that it was because they existed on the border of two worlds and heard the noise from them both, thus they developed a far superior hearing to separate the noise from the two worlds. He suspected that Trent might be found in the company of . And if Trent didn’t hear him? Well, he’d figure out pretty soon that Gregory had left, then he’d probably show up really pissed in the apartment later on. There were more pressing matters at hand than worrying about a ghost’s temper and tantrums.

For instance, the possibility of a link between Trent and the missing ghosts.

There was only one way to confirm whether it was true or not, and since he hadn’t gotten any sleep last night there had been plenty of time to brood about how to get it done. He needed to find the signature left behind by the spellcaster that had silenced Trent to see if it matched the signature of the other ghosts. Hours had been spent brooding over how to find the perpetrator’s signature when he had no ghost to observe. Lack of sleep, embarrassment over what Trent had made him feel and a profound restlessness had clouded his thought process, and only in the wee hours of morning had he arrived at the answer.

Sam was the one he needed to talk to. In her possession she had a ghost that had witnessed the abduction of its friend, and that ghost now suffered from the same spell that Trent did. If the signatures of the spells matched it meant that Trent’s killer was their man.

Though, finding a signature was tricky business, and Gregory might be trained to do it, but that did not make it easy. Each time was a struggle to keep forces in check, and depending on how strong the spellcaster had been it could be lethal to dive nose first into the weavings of another person’s magic. If silver’s inability to overrule Trent’s spell was anything to go by the perpetrator was definitely a full fledged magic user, and those were rare to come by these days. The Organization worked hard to find people with potential to become either exorcists or seekers, but it was seldom that they found someone with more than mediocre abilities. Gregory hardly considered himself good enough for rank B compared to the likes of Nathan and Sam, whom both had unique abilities. He was good at his job, but that did not make him special.

He called for Trent a second time, but there was no reply.

Sam picked up the phone on the second ring when he dialed her number, and her voice was grumpy and cracked, so he supposed he must have woken her up.

“Yes? This damned well better be important.”

“It’s Gregory, and yes, this is important.”

There was a pause, then a sigh.

“Fine. Go ahead. Never mind that I fell asleep two hours ago.” His guilty conscience stirred at those words, for he knew exactly what it felt like to be unable to get much sleep. For him it was abnormal to get more than five hours per night, and in periods of time he got even less. His limbs ached from the night before.

“I need to talk to one of your ghosts, the one under a silence-spell.”

“You know where I live, don’t you? I’m too tired to meet you anywhere else.”

“I do. I’ll see you in twenty minutes.”

Neither of them said goodbye.

Gregory sucked down a deep breath of air the moment he left the warmth and safety of the building. Thankfully the biting wind had quieted during the night, but it was still freezing cold out in the open. Daylight had not yet broken, and the city looked dead and unnatural in the dim light of the coming dawn. The snow by the roadsides was dirty from pollution and the countless number of shoes that had stepped in it, and Gregory paused on the stairs for a moment to watch this city that had become his home. He hadn’t given it much thought before, but somewhere along the way he’d grown fond of this place; its buildings of brick and its green summers, the quiet of the evenings and the salty breeze down by the bay. It was his home, in every notion of the word. Puffs of smoke rose from his lips and vanished into the air, and he wondered when was the last time he had a cigarette. There had been too much commotion yesterday, and now he could feel his lungs craving the poisonous smoke.

He lit up a cigarette and walked on. The relief was immediate and reminded him why he never had tried to quit smoking in the first place. By the fifth inhalation he felt his nerves be fully at ease, and it was a kind of peace he did not have time for most days between reports and field work. He sighed, content for now.

The streets were empty this time of morning, save a couple of early birds who were out walking their dogs before going to work. None of them crossed his path, and Gregory walked in peaceful silence down the pavement, and would have until he reached his destination, hadn’t it been for the sudden nausea that washed over him. In an instant he was leaning on the wall, doubled over and gasping for breath while trying to hold down the night snack he’d had two hours before.

“Damned!” he moaned pitifully. Murmured words flew from his lips, a spell that initiated a shield that he sorely needed at the moment, and while it created a protective barrier to separate him from the spiritual energy that had stopped him he watched the weavings of it form before his eyes. To him the shield consisted of thin, silvery threads that touched one another and made up a network similar to ivy. The nausea drained from his body, slowly but surely, and Gregory grit his teeth hard once he could straighten his back and take a few steps away from the wall. “What is a nova doing here?” His eyes scanned the wall, looking for signs of the spiritual turbulence within, but there were no cracks beyond the ordinary. Any normal human being would also have felt that something was wrong, but they were unlikely to pin point exactly what. But he could.

“This nova is going to blow up soon…I can’t take care of it myself.”

He took out his phone, flipped it open and dialed HQ’s direct line. The woman who answered sounded no older than a girl, her voice light and summery, and her greeting was cheerful despite the fact that this number was mostly used for emergencies. “This is Gregory Jade, exorcist. I need you to send three exorcists to-“ He searched for a street name, “Graypond Nr.18. It’s just across the public library.”

“Got it. And what’s the situation?”

Is she chewing gum?

“A nova that might go off any minute.”

“Okay, thanks. I’ll delay the message to them. Have a nice day.”

Specifically, a nova was a location where spirits had gathered, just like the one he helped Max secure the other day. Ghosts often gathered because they were drawn to each other, but with too many in the same place it tended to get rowdy. The difference was that the nova had taken a step further and become a place of negatively charged energy that could cause severe damage. The energy affected technology, pipes, electricity, you name it, and before you knew it the whole thing blew up in your face and killed innocent bystanders or people that lived there. One exorcist was far too little to take care of such a thing, and Gregory had an important appointment with Sam.

He remembered what the old man’s ghost had told him- something was disturbing the dead residents of the city, and it was not the pleasant kind of disturbance. This nova must be related to that, but it was the first he had come across in twelve months. His steps from there on were hasty and light, and he reached Sam’s home without further interruption.

The neighborhood she lived in was old, but very child-friendly; Gregory spotted several swings and sandboxes in the gardens. There was none of that on his colleague’s lawn. The grass was long due for a cut, with weeds and hardy plants growing all over, so he doubted any attention had been paid to this garden for a long time. Truthfully, this was the first time he was here, but he hadn’t expected it to look so shabby when the owner was a bit of a neat freak. He rang the doorbell and waited patiently on the porch while wishing that winter wasn’t so damned long and exhausting, and the woman who answered the door looked absolutely worn out. Sam’s hair was a mess, strands sticking out here and there and falling in her face, and the rings beneath her eyes were an unhealthy shade of blue that Gregory did not envy her.

“What took you so bloody long?” she muttered and rubbed her tired eyes. He noticed she was dressed in her PJs, which made her look a tad less intimidating than usual.

“I ran into a nova.”

She cracked open one eye and looked at him without removing the hand from her face. “You too, huh? Nathan and I took care of one last night, so I pretty much feel like crap.”

“Have there been more?” He wiped his shoes and crossed the doorstep.

The interior of her home was…surprisingly warm and cozy. The walls were painted a soft peach, and pictures of people he didn’t know adorned the walls in the hallway and kitchen. Sam looked younger in all of them, and Gregory found himself staring at the smile she flashed at the camera.

She looks…happy. I’ve never seen her smile, unless it was out of irony.

One person in particular, a boy of perhaps four years, was in nearly all the photographs. Gregory was about to take a closer look when Sam’s hand touched his arm and motioned for him to come along.

“Yeah. The one you found is the seventh one, I think. Come on, I need my coffee.”

Seven novas. Christ, it must be worse than he imagined. The disappearances must be causing the ghosts to band together for protection, resulting in too much energy located in the same place. It was reasonable that they were afraid- they might be dead, but most of them wished to move on and find peace, not a second death at the hands of a stranger.

Sam moved around the kitchen with a sense of familiarity, pouring a cup of fresh coffee for each of them while trying to rub the sleep from her eyes, and Gregory took a seat on one of the kitchen chairs. “Why do you want to talk to my ghost? Is it related to that other case of yours?” Instead of sitting down she leans on the kitchen counter and watches him curiously.

“Yes. Maybe to our case as well. I won’t know until I’ve tried to find the signature behind the silence-spell.”

The sound she made was non-committing. “Think the cases are linked? Granted, I know crap about your case.”

“They might be. Trent suffers from an identical spell. It’s a long shot, but if the signatures match it means his killer is the same as the one making mischief around town now.”

Her eyebrows rose. “I see. Why haven’t you mentioned this before?”

“I didn’t want to give you two false hopes. You have been working very hard lately.” Gregory stared into his coffee with a sense of discomfort. “Don’t worry. If they match I will share all my information with you and Nathan.”

“You damned well better,” Sam mumbled and put down her coffee. “Have a nice chat with the ghost.” Her fingers toyed with the chain of silver and white gold around her left wrist, stroking the metal with tender gestures while her expression became distant. It was just like watching what Nathan had done to Trent; the same lack of self filled her eyes while she concentrated on bringing out one ghost in particular. Almost instantly the temperature dropped five degrees, leaving it chilly but not cold, though Gregory had to hold his breath for a moment not to feel like he was breathing liquid ice down his throat. The one within him slept on peacefully without stirring, but the thin layer of shimmer that covered the inside of his lungs stretched and moved in response as though it was alive, and this was what caused him to feel so cold. He clutched the cup of hot coffee hard in his hand, waited for the initial discomfort to pass and focused his attention on the outline of the ghost that was slowly appearing in the kitchen.

Its eyes were glassy and hollow, courtesy of the control Sam was exercising over it, but it turned its head to look at him. The gaze sent a shiver down his spine. It was a horrible thing to do- to enslave ghosts and take away their thoughts and free will just so you could use them as you saw fit.

“Hello. I’m Gregory Jade.” He rose from the chair to approach the ghost. “I need to find out who put the spell on you.”

Something flickered in the dead eyes, and the mouth formed raspy words. “Can’t tell.”

“I know. You don’t have to. The magic that restrains you has a signature, you see, and that is what I need to find. It won’t hurt, but you might feel uncomfortable.” Through the ghost’s weak, shimmering form he could see Sam’s hard expression and the nod she gave him.

Words were unnecessary from there on.

Gregory drew the deepesth breath he could muster, eyes open and focused on the ghost’s face, hands relaxed at his sides while he drew energy from his core and gathered it in his palms. It had no colour, no scent, nothing to distinguish it from the air they breathed, but any person able to see ghosts could feel how the goose flesh began to cover their arms, how everything grew static and seemed to crackle without sound while the energy moved and sought out the only dead person in the room. He raised his hands and imitated the motion of touching a flat surface, which in his mind was the ghost’s chest, let the fingers spread across it and map it out. The opening he searched for was not well hidden. Its edges stuck out like pieces of glass embedded in skin, in this case very deeply. There was a groan of discomfort as he mimicked ripping apart stitches to enter the chest within, but his concentration did not waver, his eyes did not stray while his hands worked.

Now the hard part began. He dipped his hand into the opening he’d created in the ‘chest’, unsurprised at the current of magic that flowed freely inside the intangible body. A sense of awe rose in him. The magic that danced along his fingertips was calm and accepting, ready to invite him in as though he was an old friend, not an intruder hunting for clues to its signature. He shuddered and grit his teeth to remind himself that this was no time to admire the handiwork of the culprit.

But it’s beautiful. Whoever did this has proper finesse and skills enough to create strong, yet subtle spells.

He had too much respect for magic to simply barge in and trash the weavings of the spell, so he dug carefully, gently not to upset the magic, always searching for the core of it. Sweat beaded on his forehead, a result of concentrating so hard and using delicate magic at the same time, something he wasn’t so used to. The breaths that left his mouth were so slow and steady that he sounded like he was asleep.

Something shivered under his fingertips, and he let his fingers wrap around it without the intent of harming it. The tiny tremors it sent through him were pleasant, warm and pleasurable the same way curling up in bed was when you were cold.

This was it, he realized, this was the core, the signature.

He certainly hadn’t expected it to be so…gentle.

It had a touch of confidence to it, a sharp edge that could cut you and leave your soul injured if you were forceful in handling it. The prospect of being its victim was horrifying.

Gregory closed his eyes, slowly withdrew his hands and let them fall to rest at his sides. Now that he was wholly himself again he felt how his legs shook from the encounter and threatened to give in under him. Sam was there in a moment, supporting his weight while she guided him to sit on a chair she pulled out for him.

“That didn’t seem too difficult.”

“It wasn’t. It was unexpectedly…easy.” He wiped the sweat from his brow and frowned up at her. “The one who did this is a proper magician, Sam. His skills outdo mine by far.”

“That’s the last thing we need right now- a magic user gone wacko,” she grumbled and ran a hand through her hair in a display of frustration. “I’ll tell Nathan. You better go find that ghost of yours and check right away. We can’t afford to lose more time with the way he has been abducting half of the dead residents in the city.” The mobile was in her hand before she’d finished her sentence, tapping away at the little buttons to message Nathan. “I won’t be able to go back to sleep now, so I might as well head to HQ.”

“I will call you as soon as I know.” Gregory still felt shaky when he got up, but he was in control of his body.

“Right. I’ll come too. Just let me get my car keys.”

-

“So, what is it you need to ask me?” Erika smiled sweetly and let her feet touch the ground, eyes twinkling with curiosity that could hardly be contained. Her hands were linked behind her back, her upper body bent slightly forward.

Gregory had taken Alexandria up on her advice of talking to the dead that lived here, and Erika was the most convenient choice for many reasons. For starters, he knew her name, which was more than he could say for any of the others. Secondly, she had taken a liking to him and was unlikely to hide important information. The two of them were right outside Trent’s apartment, though Trent had yet to show (and this was probably the only reason why Erika had agreed to come over here).

“Did you ever notice if Trent had any visitors?”

She shrugged. “Sure he did, but I don’t remember their faces so well.”

“Was there a grown man, maybe in his early thirties?” His hopes of getting worthwhile information were meager, but it was worth a try. “He might have felt strange to you, because the odds are he is a magic user.”

“Tall guy?”

“I’m afraid I don’t know what he looks like,” he apologized.

“Well, there was this one guy.” She touched a long lock of hair and twirled it around her fingers while she tried to remember. “He was really weird, always wore the kind of coat that movie detectives wear, except it was grey, not brown. And whenever he smiled it just gave me the creeps.”

“Anything else? Did you get his name?”

“No. Sorry about that.” She grimaced. “But he wasn’t just a guest, he lived here with that scary ghost. He went out a lot, but the boy almost never showed his face.”

That should not be surprising, but…Trent lived here, with his killer? Then why haven’t I found any traces of magic or his presence in the apartment?

“When was the last time you saw him?”

“Um…Two months ago, maybe? It was pretty scary, because all the lights in the building went out, and it got really cold. I guess the boy got mad.” Gregory forced himself not to breathe when Erika touched his arm. “Greg, did that guy kill the boy?”

“Yes. He might be up to no good, so I need to find him.”

“Oh, okay. I’ll be on the lookout then.”

“Thank you, Erika.”

Her face lit up when he called her by her name, and the response made his lips curl into a small smile. She opened her mouth to speak, then suddenly went stiff as a log. Her eyes darted down the corridor, past him, wild with horror at something. “I n-need to go.” The words had barely left her lips before she was gone without a trace.

The answer to her abrupt disappearance called for his attention soon enough.

“You left me! You bloody just left me there, you ass!” Trent growled indignantly and stomped his way over (well, it looked rather ridiculous since his form had no weight, and thus it could not give off a believable impression of stomping) with his shoulders hunched high and tense. “You could’ve at least left me a note or something, couldn’t you?”

Gregory’s feathers were not ruffled by the angry outburst, and his calm attitude seemed to only piss Trent off further. “I don’t have any obligations to let you know my every movement, Trent. And I did call for you, twice. I can’t help it if you were too busy playing around to hear me.”

“Screw you!” Trent was in his face, chest puffed out with anger and mouth a thin, almost quivering line, ready to give him a piece of his mind any time. “Don’t rip the piss, Greg. You should know better.” He growled deep in his throat, and the sound came across as animalistic rather than human.

“Or what?” Gregory challenged and kept his chin raised. “Will you assault me again? Perhaps take the abuse one step further and violate me?”

“Fuck yes, if that’s what it takes to make you treat me like a person,” he hissed through clenched teeth.

“You are dead.” Why was he feeling so spiteful? It was unlike him to mock the dead. Even so, the next words slipped before he could stop them. “It’s about time you realized that and stopped pestering the living.”

The look on Trent’s face was priceless (though he was unsure if he thought that was a good thing or a bad one). Gregory half expected the ghost to stomp his foot again or throw a punch at his face, but strangely enough Trent’s anger seemed to deflate and vanish, and his voice sounded thick.

“I was killed, remember? Not like a had a choice, you bastard.”

Gregory gasped when Trent simply floated through him and the door behind his back. The cold rippled through him like lightning, glacial and acute, and it was a sensation he knew wwell enough to be concerned. Moments later the thin, invisible mass that covered his insides began to stretch and shift and left him feeling like he was breathing down icy water. His hand clutched the door’s handle and pulled it down. His steps were unbalanced when he crossed the doorstep, and he caught himself just in time not to stumble in the pair of shoes that were left on the floor the previous morning. Throughout all this Trent watched him with unnerving, mismatched eyes and never said a word until he was sitting safe and sound on the couch, notebook in hand.

“Why’d you become a ghost hunter?” Whether it was just another rapid mood swing or sympathy for his condition, Gregory would never know, but Trent took a seat on the table in front of him with his legs crossed Indian style and tilted his head curiously. “You’re about to crash to the floor just because I passed through you. That’s a huge weakness in a business like yours.”

“I can help the dead move on. It’s as simple as that.”

Trent cocked an eyebrow. “Yeah right, you are doing this shit out of the goodness of your heart and your shining chivalry. No, really, why?”

Was it too hard to believe that he was doing good things for someone else’s sake than his own? But then again, Trent had been a juvenile delinquent and a broken child, so it was not unanticipated that their morals and opinions differed. “Believe what you will. Not everyone are as cynical as you, Trent.”

“I’m not being cynical,” he snorted. “No one puts themselves through shit and expects nothing in return. People don’t work that way. Humans don’t operate like that.”

“And why do you think I don’t get anything in return from helping the dead?” He flipped open the notebook and pulled a pen out of his jacket pocket. There was hardly any point in taking off his shoes and jacket since he’d be off to meet Nathan and Sam soon.

“And what do you get?”

“Peace of mind. Scoff at me all you like.”

“I bet that’s just an excuse for getting away from dealing with the actual living. You know, the ones you have to talk to and be around?” His voice was dripping sarcasm, but Gregory pretended not to notice, skimming through his notes instead. “I seriously don’t get you sometimes.”

“You don’t need to. By the way, I need to ask you a favour.”

By all means, I should be demanding, not making nice requests. This is…wrong. He is only a case, so why do I care about hurting his feelings?

Apparently the manner of asking was as unexpected to Trent as it was to him. The ghost gave him a blank stare that he returned. “Oh yeah? Tough luck, ‘cause I’m mad at you, Greggy.”

“I need to find the signature on the magic that keeps you from spilling information. You only need to stay still and let me have a look. It won’t hurt.” He rose from the couch and stretched his limbs. The elbows clicked loudly.

“Whatever. I’m not stopping you now, am I?” He shook his head. “Do your thing.”

He won’t be happy about this, but here goes.

His gaze was steady, his jaw set with determination that made Trent eye him suspiciously. “I need to you stop concealing your injuries. My magic is not strong enough to see through the veil you have created and find the signature at the same time.”

The reaction was as predicted. Trent was suddenly on his feet, ready to have another angry outburst, through Gregory could spot fear mingling with the anger. “No. I refuse.”

“Why? Do you fear I’ll laugh or mock them? I have seen ghosts that were severed in two, or missing parts of their bodies. What makes you think your wounds are any different?” He asked this calmly, but Trent was upset and unwilling to listen. The ghost threw up his hands and began to pace restlessly back and forth through the table.

“I won’t do it! I don’t care that you have seen worse. I fucking won’t show you, okay?” He shot Gregory a dirty glare.

He was going to regret what he was about to offer, but so be it.

“Not in return for a kiss either?”

This caught Trent’s attention, and the ghost’s pacing came to a slow halt, then a complete stop. He looked like he was weighing the pros and cons of the offer. Maybe it was Trent’s need for physical contact that made him give in, or maybe it was more complex, like loneliness. Either way the ghost swallowed and met his stare head on. “I get to kiss you?”

“No,” he said. “You get a kiss from me.”

It took a moment for the difference to register in Trent’s mind.

“Is it that important?” Trent approached him carefully, as though he might do something outrageous or dangerous any second to throw him off. “Is it so important that you are willing to kiss me?”

“Yes.”

His feelings and thoughts on the matter had no place in this. Duty came before it, and finding out was more significant than his dislike for intimacy right now.

Trent’s face softened. “Okay. I’ll take your kiss.” There was a subtle shift in the atmosphere around them that only Gregory could feel as he materialized and took a step forward. Trent remained motionless and apprehensive even as Gregory’s hands touched his cheeks. There were no caresses, no display of affection from either of them, only closed eyes and lips brushing one another. Gregory moistened his lips and breathed entirely through his nose out of fear that his insides might freeze up again, and the kiss was soft and drawn out, something more suiting for two shy lovers than what they were. Their mouths fit so well together, he thought vaguely, uneasy because of all the butterflies that fluttered in his stomach and tickled him. Trent moaned quietly, a weak, needy sound, and his hands came up to capture Gregory’s head and keep it there. Cold fingers curled into his ponytail and pulled the scunchie out from his hair to release the hair. His scalp tingled pleasantly when the fingers pulled playfully at the locks.

Silence filled his mind for once, and by the time the two of them broke apart with half closed eyes and parted lips they were entangled with one another. Gregory’s arms had wound themselves tightly around the ghost’s neck while they kissed, and in turn Trent had a hand at the back of his head, the other around his torso to keep him from losing his balance.

Trent was quick to move away and avert his eyes to the floor. “Don’t…don’t laugh at me. I’ll punch you if you do.” There was uncertainty in his posture and voice.

“I won’t.”

The veil that Trent made to keep others from seeing the injuries that had killed him was lifted. Gregory was momentarily stunned, and not in a good way.

There was so much blood on Trent’s sweater that there was no question about whether it was the blood loss or something else had killed him. Its colour was still fresh and red compared to the nasty colour it got when it dried, and looking at the ghost now you could almost believe he had been killed minutes ago, not months. Bruises shaped like fingerprints covered the ghost’s throat and cheeks. The killer had tried to choke him, either before or after his death. The sweater hid the worst wounds from view, but the long tears in it had been left behind by something blunt that must have been extremely painful to be cut up with. Trent had died a slow, excruciating death at the hands of a madman.

But Gregory was too used to these things to let the horrible sight deter him for long.

He nodded his sympathy and thanks, then proceeded to repeat the method he’d used this morning on Sam’s ghost. Focusing his attention was easier than it had been earlier, possibly because Trent was cooperating out of his free will, and Gregory was soon enough dipping his fingers into Trent’s ‘chest’ in search. Instantly the similarities had him breathing faster, heart picking up speed in his ribcage, because it felt just the same.

No, not just the same.

This spell had a touch of cruelty and malice layered into it, something heated that scorched his fingers the further he dug into the magic. Trent groaned from pain he wasn’t supposed to feel, but Gregory had no time to stop and apologize. His canines nicked the soft skin of his tongue in surprise when the magic touched him in return and began to entwine with his hands. It was not a hostile touch, but the essence of it made him feel sick to his stomach. He never heard his own whimper or noticed how his whole face scrunched up.

“Make it stop!” Trent pleaded wide eyed. His teeth were chewing the bottom lip raw in order not to cry out at the rising pain level.

He was so close to the core of the spell- just a little bit further and he’d know.

His whole body shook and trembled with the effort it took to keep the focus and not make a wrong or hasty movement, and the moment his hands cupped the spell’s very core he groaned and felt his knees buckle. The connection between them vanished in the blink of an eye and released Trent from the torment, for the ten minutes that followed neither of them moved and muscle or spoke.

Gregory raised his head. His mouth was dry and a thin layer of sweat covered his neck and face. The exhaustion he felt was genuine and screamed for attention that he didn’t want to give it.

“It’s the same.” His voice rasped.”It’s the same guy.”

-

Notes: The suspension is rising. Will Gregory ever encounter the mysterious culprit before the whole city goes straight to hell? Stay tuned for the answer to this and everything else.