One More Look at the Ghost [MorningStar!] [M]

[Rhindeer]

"No, no, I'm fairly certain you're just tall," Fang said with a shake of her head, but there was amusement in her voice. What a strange but interesting person! Were all Serenians like this? The only interactions Fang had ever had with any outsiders was...well...here in Thanatos, and only then very infrequently. She had never left the island; it was all she knew. She had been Temple educated and knew Common and a little of the other cultures, but seeing it in practice versus learning about it were very different things.

As she kept pace with him, she wrestled with her belt, reattaching her scabbard--which was made of metal and looked shiny and new. It practically was; she had only ever drawn her sword to polish it.

"Anyway, you're fine, really! Didn't I also get a little carried away earlier? Besides, I imagine it's hard being in a place like this, far away from home. I understand your customs must be very different from ours, no?"

She realized she was sure yapping a lot--but she couldn't help it. She was raised amongst scholars who nurtured a natural thirst for knowledge and curiosity, and here he was: a curiosity.

[MorningStar]

He set off with the assumption that she would keep pace, his long, brisk strides posing a challenge to match. "I don't have a home," he replied, the gravity of his words contrasting with the casual tone he adopted. "And, in my view, there isn't much difference between people deep down, beyond appearances. You're attractive, I'm the opposite. You're short, I'm the opposite."

Spike's explanation lacked any real emphasis as they navigated through the crowds – a matter-of-fact perspective that defined his worldview. It became evident that tact was a trait not particularly present in his conversational approach.

——

Through blustering streets filled with the rhythmic hustle of the city, Spike guided Fang to the outskirts of town. The ambient noise of urban life slowly faded as they navigated the winding paths leading to a spot entrenched in Spike's history – the place where he had concluded a significant chapter years before.

As they walked, the city's chaotic energy gave way to a more subdued atmosphere. The distant hum of traffic was replaced by the rustle of leaves and the occasional chirp of crickets. Spike's gaze held a hint of nostalgia, memories echoing through the quietude of the outskirts.

Finally, they arrived at the designated spot, a place where shadows whispered of past actions. "Here," he said definitively

[Rhindeer]

Wait. He thought she was attractive?

Fang blinked at that, taken fully off guard, but kept her face firmly turned toward the road ahead. Ahaha, silly biglanders and their blunt, direct talk! Her face warmed with a tinge of embarrassment, but his tone said he didn't mean anything by it. It sounded only as if he were making casual observations about the world around him, especially when followed up by their height comparison. Why, he may as well have been commenting on a pretty rug, right? But Fang had never paid much mind to her looks and had been bullied enough as a child for being strange that her confidence had long ago taken a hit.

It seemed so had his.

She felt the impulse to reassure him, feeling a strong pulse of empathy and a little anger for whoever had made him feel that way--but bit her tongue. There was no way 'oh no don't worry, you're perfectly aesthetically pleasing!' wouldn't sound weird.

And so she fell silent, deciding that maybe the most sociably acceptable way to navigate this was to shut up. She'd already made a fool of herself; she should look somewhat competent while helping him with such a serious undertaking!



Soon enough, they reached their destination. Perhaps a more savvy person would feel uneasy being lead out into the middle of nowhere, beyond the city, where no people were, while alone with a stranger...but Fang trusted him. And when Lawrence announced that they'd arrived, she had no reason not to believe him, especially not when she could feel it herself. She could feel the tingle of energy as the hair along her neck and arms rose, the air cool despite the jungle's warmth.

It was not a pleasant sensation. This was not a peaceful death. Her belly twisted but she steeled herself; this might not be pretty, or easy.

"Yes...I can feel it," she murmured as she turned in a slow circle, examining the space. "Oh, Oliver. Something horrible happened to you here, didn't it?"

Looking up at Lawrence, expression solemn, she sucked in a breath and hugged herself, rubbing at the goosebumps on her arms. "Call him. We need to talk to him. He's chosen you, so see if he'll come to you."

[MorningStar]

In the days leading up to the inevitable confrontation, Spike meticulously observed Oliver, gathering every detail needed to orchestrate the perfect strike on behalf of his employer. The city's outskirts, shrouded in a somber gray, set the stage for their eventual meeting.

On that fateful day, isolated from the urban bustle, Spike finally confronted Oliver. The air hung heavy with tension as the two figures faced each other, the weight of impending decisions palpable. Spike's eyes, sharp and calculating, betrayed neither sympathy nor remorse. It was a moment frozen in time, a precursor to the unfolding events that would alter the course of their lives.

Oliver's desperate pleas echoed through the stillness, fear and tears intertwining in a haunting symphony. His voice trembled with the raw intensity of desperation, each word a plea for mercy that hung heavily in the air. Spike, unmoved and silent, observed the unfolding scene with a stoic expression, his features betraying nothing.

The weight of Oliver's terror permeated the atmosphere, the silence accentuating the gravity of the moment. Spike's cold, unyielding demeanor offered no solace, no hint of reprieve. It was a stark tableau, where the only audible sounds were Oliver's anguished cries, punctuating the quietude like a heart-wrenching lament.

And then: the job was complete. Spike struck him down without a second thought, leaving Oliver morning more than a corpse in the dirt.

——

"I'm here, Oliver."

In the eerie stillness of the scene, Spike's voice cut through the air as he attempted to beckon Oliver, the haunting spirit that lingered in the shadows of his consciousness. The atmosphere shifted, becoming charged with an unsettling energy as Spike called upon the ghost that had been a spectral specter haunting his existence.

A palpable tension filled the air, creating an otherworldly ambiance that hung like a heavy fog. As Spike's invocation lingered, an ominous shadow gradually manifested, casting a foreboding presence upon the surroundings. The figure materialized, bathed in an ethereal glow that outlined the haunting silhouette of Oliver.

There he stood, frozen in the state Spike had left him in – the echo of a past act etched in the spectral realm. Blood stained his neck, a macabre reminder of the fatal wound inflicted upon him. The air grew thick with the weight of unresolved anguish as Oliver's ghostly figure manifested, a haunting testament to the consequences that lingered in the wake of Spike's actions.

[Rhindeer]

This never really got easier.

She just grew more prepared.

When Oliver began to manifest, Fang waited patiently as he took form and filled in. And then...

Her breath caught as her eyes flicked to the gaping wound on his throat, spectral gore shining on his skin. These cases were never easy, the ones where someone was taken before their time in violence and fear. Such an act left a wound on the land as deep as the killing blow, the energy, the memory of the act staining the space like blood. These were the spirits she had the hardest time with. They were the ones that had the hardest time letting go—because they weren't ready, because it wasn't fair, because they were frozen in their pain and trauma.

It was as she suspected.

"Hi, Oliver," she said at last, taking a step toward him and meeting his eyes with a sad smile. "It's a pleasure to meet you. I'm Fang, and this is Lawrence. We're here for you, to listen if you're ready to talk. I know you're hurting and afraid—but you don't have to be anymore."

She looked to Lawrence briefly, then back to the spirit. "What's keeping you here, Oliver?"

[MorningStar]

The air seemed to thicken with an eerie anticipation, and an otherworldly chill enveloped the surroundings. As Fang began to address the spirit, an invisible force stirred, and the wind whispered ominous secrets through the trees.

Oliver's features emerged more clearly from the ethereal glow, his wounds manifesting with stark realism. His spectral form contorted with a mixture of anger and despair, caught in an unending loop of pleading for his life. "He killed me," echoed through the spectral plane, a haunting mantra that seemed eternally bound to Oliver's tortured existence.

"He killed me," Oliver repeated, his voice a tortured wail that cut through the night. His translucent eyes bore into Fang, accusing and desperate. "Why do you call him Lawrence?"

"It's okay, Oliver," Spike blurted out, a hint of panic tainting his voice as he scrambled to conceal his secret. "It's Lawrence. We're here."

A shiver ran through Oliver's incorporeal form, a subtle admission that the name held a deeper significance. "He killed me," he whispered again, his words carrying a weight of anguish that echoed through the ghostly realm. "I begged him. He killed me. I cried. He killed me."

The wind intensified, swirling around Fang and Oliver, their confrontation reaching a crescendo. Oliver's spectral form contorted further, caught between the torment of his past and the enigmatic puzzle presented by Fang's words.

Dread settled within Spike's gut. He sensed that the inevitable moment of revealing the truth, and confronting the ensuing consequences, loomed on the horizon. The weight of anticipation pressed down on him, a certainty that the reckoning he sought to avoid would soon become unavoidable.

Amidst the unfolding chaos, the real Lawrence perched on a tree limb, assuming the role of a bemused spectator. A devilish grin adorned his face as he observed the events with a wicked satisfaction.

[Rhindeer]

He killed me, the specter said, frozen in time. That was common. That was expected. Many spirits got stuck like that, trapped in the moment of their death, doomed to experience that horrific moment again and again in a twisted, never-ending loop. One had to shock them out of it and bring them back to the present and—

Why do you call him Lawrence?

Fang felt her back go rigid in surprise, a sharp chill going down her spine. No, she realized as she looked slowly from Oliver to Lawrence and back again. No, this wasn't a loop—he was reacting to them, responding to them...

He killed me.

No...no, surely not...

The wind whirled around her, whipping about her hair and loose leaves, and slowly, slowly Fang turned to look at Lawrence. Or..."Lawrence". He killed me. No, Oliver had to be confused, maybe trapped halfway between reality and the nightmare of his death. He was looking at Lawrence, but perhaps he was seeing someone else.

Because there was no way. It didn't make sense. Why would Lawrence bring her here, why would he agree to this at all, if he had murdered this man? Why would he confess his crime in such a blatant way?

I begged him. He killed me. I cried.

It didn't make sense. 

Unless he means to kill you, too, a voice whispered unbidden.

Fang felt her blood run cold but she curled her hands into fists, swallowed, and lifted her chin to peer up at Lawrence, hoping to put a little of her mother's regality into her posture. It was a feat she had never successfully accomplished.

"What happened, Lawrence?" she said quietly, and watched his face for his reaction, her eyes on his, looking for signs of guilt and hoping she found none. It didn't make sense at all; she couldn't for the life of her match him to this act, the bloodied throat and pitiless violence. Of course she had barely known him for what...a couple hours, maybe? But he didn't look capable. 

She could not picture him slashing a begging man's throat.

[MorningStar]

As horror and remorse gripped Spike, he couldn't tear his eyes away from the unfolding scene of Oliver's spirit behind his gaze. Yet, amid the haunting images, a nagging realization clawed at the edges of his consciousness—this wasn't how it happened.

In the recesses of his mind, a truth emerged. Spike had never engaged in conversations with his victims before the fatal act. There was no room for pleading, no opportunity for his victims to understand their fate. Something was distorting his memories, twisting the reality of those final moments.

Despite the revelation, the damage had been done. Oliver's spirit had spoken enough to spark a cascade of understanding in Fang. The woman, Spike's unlikely confidante, started to piece together the fragments of truth - he could tell by quickly glancing over to her. Spike knew that the look on his face would reveal more than he could conceal—it told her everything she needed to know.

As reality started to untangle, Spike felt an oppressive sensation, as if the very walls around him were narrowing, accompanied by an ominous buzzing that reverberated in the air. Then, an abrupt silence descended, leaving only the sound of the wind rustling through the trees in that profound moment of quiet.

"He's right," Spike admitted, his voice measured and composed. "I killed him."

[Rhindeer]

Fang had been praying for a different outcome. 

It wasn't the one she would receive.

Lawrence confirmed the awful truth and Fang felt her breath catch, her eyes locked on his face. He was so composed and calm in the face of such a hideous truth. Cold. And suddenly she realized...no, he was fully capable.

His words left her rooted to the spot, her own words stuck in her throat, and she reached up slowly to grasp the small white stone hanging from a chain around her neck—a talisman, a symbol of Inima. Beneath it, she could feel her heart beating wildly, betraying her fear.

Deep breaths. Slow and steady, in and out through her nose. Calm down. Think this through. But it was beyond anything she had ever dealt with. She was used to dealing with the dead; it was always the living that perplexed her. 

Nothing in her life had ever prepared her to stare a murderer directly in the eye.

No. Not necessarily murder, she thought desperately, not wanting to believe it. There had to be a logical reason—

I begged. He killed me.

Goddess give her strength. 

"Why?" she asked at last, just loud enough to carry over the wind, but it wasn't directed only at Lawrence. She looked to Oliver, too, addressing them both.

[MorningStar]

After Spike revealed the unsettling truth to Fang about being the one who killed Oliver, Lawrence materialized with a malevolent glow accentuating his twisted features. A wicked smile adorned his face as he positioned himself beside Fang, a sinister presence in the air.

His voice, tainted with a poisonous resonance, cut through the silence as he addressed Spike with a taunting tone. "Yes, Lawrence, tell her who you really are. Tell her your real name. Let her know the monster she's helping," Lawrence sneered, his words dripping with malice.

The atmosphere thickened as Lawrence continued to goad Spike, pushing him toward the revelation Fang awaited. "Tell her," he insisted, the repetition of the phrase growing deeper and more unnerving with each utterance. "Tell her!" it continued to say, its voice beginning to sound less like a man or more like something not of this world.

Amidst the addition of Lawrence, Oliver's sobs reverberated through the eerie surroundings still. "I begged. He killed me."

"No," Spike muttered in a hushed tone, his gaze trained on the spectral figure. "You never knew. You're ly-"

"I BEGGED!" Oliver's tormented voice echoed through the desolate trees, resonating like a chilling requiem. Suddenly, the ghostly apparition glided through Spike in a swift and violent motion.

A surge of sudden pain pierced Spike's head, accompanied by an unsettling blur in his vision. With one final glance at Fang, he crumpled to the cold, unforgiving dirt, unconscious.

[Rhindeer]

That other spirit was beside her then, the one Fang had seen in the tea house. The one with the ugly look on his face. He joined in the shaming, calling Lawrence monster, validating Oliver's claim that it wasn't even his real name, and Fang felt lost for the first time in years. Suddenly she was a stupid child all over again who didn't know her gift or how to use it--

Oh Goddess, she had been warned about this, warned to slow down and come home before she bit off more than she could chew, but she had felt stubborn, felt ready, maybe even let her success get to her head.

This had never happened before. Not just confronting a killer, not just the chaos, but the type of chaos, dripping with wrongness that she couldn't place.

Something wasn't right.

The pieces didn't match, like two puzzles tossed together and her not knowing where anything belonged. He'd confessed, but why? If he was a cold-blooded killer, wouldn't he try to cover his confession and silence her, too? Oliver never knew what? Her head ached, Oliver's cries and the specter's unearthly voice blending together in discordant harmony until--

Oliver moved--and Lawrence crumpled.

"Lawrence!" It was the jolt she needed to snap out of her freeze, and it suddenly didn't matter what he'd done or hadn't done. At the end of the day, it was never her job to judge--and whatever he had done, he was human before all else. She crossed the space between them in seconds and slid onto the ground beside him, muddying her knees, and gave him a firm shake. "Lawrence! Lawrence! What did you do to him?"

She snapped a look to the taunting specter, the one that didn't belong; why was he here with Oliver? And...wait...was Oliver even...?

Spirits didn't hurt people.

"What did you do?" she repeated, a sickening realization squirming in her gut. Lawrence had been about to call the spirit a liar when he had been silenced; that couldn't be an accident. She cradled the man's head in her lap, keeping his face out of the dirt. "Who are you? Where is the real Oliver? Show me who you are!"

[MorningStar]

In the realm of unconsciousness, Spike found himself immersed in a vivid memory, a stark contrast to the distorted versions he had been shown. Contrary to the lies portrayed, he never confronted Oliver; Spike's method was always discreet, sparing them from pain. As these dreams unfolded, the real Oliver emerged in a ghostly apparition, showing the true state he was in before his demise.

Oliver sat in silence, unsuspecting and unafraid, unaware of what lay ahead. He had no tears, he did not beg, he was not afraid, and he knew not of what was to come.

As Spike awoke, his head resting in Fang's lap, a surge of instinct propelled him to draw his dagger, pressing it against her throat. His eyes, once calculating and reminiscent of a seasoned assassin, conveyed a cold determination. In a moment of realization, he dropped the blade to his side, his gaze softening with remorse. A single tear slid down his cheek, mirroring the weight of the memories and the burden he carried.

As the realization gripped Spike, Lawrence's face contorted with anger, his eyes morphing into a bottomless black hue, only to dissipate into the frigid air.

[Rhindeer]

There! There he was.

Oliver manifested then, and it was a different Oliver now. This one was calm, not the anguished, angry one of before. It was like he had no awareness of what had happened—and that was likely why he was stuck, because he had never even had a chance to process his death. Fang watched him, heart still racing as the gravity of what she was dealing with sank in; it was not the first time she had encountered a lying demon, but they usually pretended to be a lost spirit in need of help. She had never encountered one that actually manipulated reality in this way.

No matter. One step after the next. First releasing Oliver, and then...then the demon.

She started to to move, ready to slide Lawrence off her so she could rise, but everything came to a screeching halt when she felt the cold press of steel against her throat.

Her breath caught and she froze, not daring even to swallow, not daring to breathe. The gaping wound, Lawrence's confession, oh goddess, she really was a fool. That voice in the back of her head telling her he'd kill her for knowing...she should have listened, she should have done a thousand things differently that were fantastic now in hindsight, and really, Fang, traipsing off into the jungle alone with a strange foreigner?? Really? No, no, calm, this had to be a mistake—the demon! If it could change what they saw of Oliver, surely it could change what Lawrence saw of her, too?

Maybe it changed what she saw of him, as well—had it really been his confession or just the demon's illusion?

She clung to that possibility like a lifeline.

"Lawrence!" she gasped, unable to keep the high note of fear from her voice. But just as quickly as it had happened, the knife fell away,

It was an effort not to sag in relief.

Instead, she stared down at him, her hand flying to her throat as though to check for damage as she met his tortured eyes with her own. Was...was he crying? Was that what was shining on his cheek? "I-I knew that wasn't you," she said at last, her voice a little shaky, her palms slick with sweat. "It's...it's the demon. It was making us, ah, see things." Another deep breath. "It's okay. We're okay. I'm sorry I scared you."

What had he seen when he awoke to her looming over him?

"Here. I'm going to take care of Oliver, okay? The demon's gone for now; I can't feel it anymore. Just stay here. I think this Oliver will be more receptive."

She flashed him a reassuring smile, concern in her eyes. But even as she said it, there was an unspoken we'll talk later in her tone.

[MorningStar]

Spike, overwhelmed by remorse and unease, gently disentangled himself from Fang, moving away with a newfound weight in the air. The oppressive illusions of Lawrence and the nonexistent Oliver ceased, and a sense of clarity beginning to creep in.

He looked back to Fang as he moved to his knees. Despite confessing to being a killer, Fang still extended a helping hand. Perplexed by her unwavering support, he chose not to question her motives at the moment, grateful for the aid she offered in dealing with the haunting presence.

Slowly regaining his footing, he discerned the actual Oliver's presence, pointing towards him as the truth unveiled itself.

"Yes," he said quietly but full of determination. "That's him."

[Rhindeer]

Yes, it was all just a misunderstanding. An illusion, Fang thought as Lawrence moved off of her and slowly climbed to his feet. There was no way this calm, quiet man could be a killer.

It all made sense. It was just the demon, but for a moment she had doubted and it had nearly won. Sure he had drawn a knife on her, but who could blame him for being startled? And what traveler didn't carry a weapon?

With Lawrence off of her, Fang rose to her feet and adjusted her sarong, brushing mud off her knees which only smeared it more, but she didn't seem to notice. She gave Lawrence one last look, concerned over his condition after the demon's attack, but he seemed well enough for now. Time to end this, then.

With a nod of understanding, she turned from him. Clearing her mind, Fang crossed over to Oliver quietly. This would be easy; no need for anything elaborate. From a pouch at her hip, she withdrew a handful of fragrant dried flower petals of a brilliant violet hue, and from another pouch she withdrew a handful of ash, the remains of parchment upon which she had written sacred burial rites.

She crushed them together in her hand as she paused before the spirit, watching him a moment, before she murmured a Thanati prayer into the breeze, no longer a violent wind. There was no need to get his attention, no need to potentially upset him when he had no awareness.

"Go with Inima, Oliver; you're free," she told him at last as she lifted the ash and flowers over his head and let them shower upon him. He had never had his burial rites, and so she gave them to him then. It wasn't a proper funeral, but there was no body to burn; this was the next best thing to send him on his way.

[MorningStar]

In the midst of the ritual, a profound silence settled over the area, broken only by the faint hum of the magical energies intertwining. Fang's focused demeanor hinted at the complexity of the undertaking, and Spike couldn't help but feel a sense of awe for the ancient knowledge she wielded.

As the ritual reached its crescendo, Oliver's form began to dissipate into scattering balls of light - almost like flies flying off into the night sky. The room area to hold its breath, and Spike watched in awe as the essence of his spectral companion ascended, carried away by the luminous orbs. A profound stillness lingered in the aftermath, leaving Spike in contemplation of the power that Fang possessed. The experience had opened a door to a world beyond his understanding, and he couldn't shake the sense of wonder that clung to the air.

In that extraordinary moment, an ordinary man might have expressed gratitude, marveling at the spectacular display before him. Words like "Thank you" and "That was amazing" would naturally find their way into the conversation, accompanied by an earnest inquiry about how to reciprocate the awe-inspiring feat. However, Spike, being far from ordinary, stood in silence, his face wearing an inscrutable expression.

Caught in the aftermath of the mystical ritual, he grappled with the unfamiliar terrain of gratitude and appreciation. The usual script of polite acknowledgment eluded him, leaving him in an awkward stillness. Eventually, as if compelled to break the quietude, he posed a question that reflected the lingering wonderment in his eyes: "Did you see that?"

[Rhindeer]

It was always so beautiful, watching them move on. But just as few could peek beyond the mortal veil, few ever got to witness the dissipation of energy and spirit and magic as she did. No matter how many times she had ushered someone to the other side, she never got used to it; like a sunset, it was different every time with every soul and no less breathtaking.

Fang was still standing there quietly even after the lights faded, grounding herself, when a familiar voice broke the silence and startled her back to this world.

She jumped a little, mostly just a twitch of her shoulders, and whirled around toward Lawrence—then let out a breath as her eyes refocused and the events of the day came rushing back to her. The knife, the confession, the demon, the—

Slow down.

Cocking her head curiously, she mustered up a tired smile at his awe. "I did. I can see a lot of things most cannot. I'm surprise that you can. It's one thing to see spirits, but another to witness—oh!"

Her eyes widened and without explanation, she went to him then and reached up, taking his face in her hands and pressing fingers to his temples as though searching for something. "I'm so sorry! That demon hurt you, didn't it? How do you feel? Do you feel strange at all? Any pain? Hear voices? Let me see your eyes."

[MorningStar]

Okay. That was different. She wasn't retreating or distant after witnessing and hearing his earlier confession.

As her hands touched his face, an unexpected connection intensified his guilt. She radiated sweetness and kindness, traits he couldn't match. She deserved the truth. Using her for her abilities, knowing fully well what he was, felt wrong.

"I'm okay," he replied softly, locking eyes with her, a mix of remorse and determination in his gaze. "Listen," he continued abruptly, hands resting on her shoulders. Unsure of how else to anchor her attention, he added, "We need to talk. Will you listen?"

[Rhindeer]

His hands on her shoulders got her attention and cut off any other questions she might have fired his way. But Fang was pleased nonetheless when he locked eyes with her, and she peered intently into them as he spoke, her own eyes squinting. Yes, she was absolutely using that as an opportunity to study him for any signs of demonic possession, just in case. 

"Hmm...? Talk? Oh, yes. Right." He looked clean. Satisfied, she released him, and then realizing he was holding onto her, too, she cleared her throat awkwardly and took a step back. Oops. 

"Sorry. I didn't mean to invade your space, it's just—ah, never mind. Of course I'll listen. I, um, I have a few questions myself. It's nothing, probably! It's just, you know, everything that happened..."

She trailed off, glancing off toward an old, rotting tree trunk that was laying on its side. She nodded toward it as she turned to go sit, patting the space beside her. "Do you want to go first?"

[MorningStar]

Spike regarded Fang with wariness, a conflicted expression playing on his face. Attempting a smile felt out of place, and he accepted her offer to sit beside her with a cautious distance, mindful of Fang's comfort.

As he unraveled the truth, Spike spoke with a weighty admission, "You see, I *did* kill Oliver," his voice hushed, eyes fixed on the expansive sky above. "Everyone that haunts me—I killed them. I was an assassin, Fang. It's what I was born into and what I was set free to do. I've never known anything else. I guess I..." He trailed off, the heaviness in his chest evident as he navigated the delicate explanation. "I was afraid to tell you," he confessed, "I wanted them gone, but I feared you might not help me if you knew the truth."

A pregnant silence lingered before he spoke again, "You and I should probably go our separate ways."