Ghost Sensitivity Training

CHAPTER TWO

SINCLAIR

     "Whoa, mate, I might be dead, but you're very much alive. You might want to, you know, drive with a little more caution," I say as he shifts the car back into the proper lane of traffic and then promptly blows through a light that is very narrowly still yellow.

     "You're not real," I hear him whisper. I can tell he's not doing great with this whole I'm a ghost, and you can somehow see me thing. He's white-knuckling the steering wheel, which I guess is just knuckling, considering how pale he is.

     "I guess that depends on our definition of real here," I say with a laugh, hoping to ease the tension. I can't really imagine what's going on in his head, but this is pretty much the best thing to happen to me since I died (granted, this had very little to compete with.) The unfortunate fact of the matter is afterlife is terribly lonely.

     "You're not real," he repeats like a mantra. "You're not here. You're in my head."

     Grinning, I say as I reach for him, "No, if I was in your head it'd be more like this."

     I expect my hand to go right through his skull, so when it doesn't, I'm actually just as shocked as he is. I end up with a fistful of blonde hair instead.

     The guy jerks away from me, swerving into the opposite lane again. I grab the wheel, yanking it so we're back on the right side before he can kill himself.

     "Sorry," I say quickly, letting go of the wheel when I think he won't crash the car. "I didn't mean to startle you. That never happens."

     "This is it," he croaks. "I'm losing my god damn mind."

     "Going out on a limb here, but I'm guessing I'm the first ghost you've ever seen? Not to say that there are more ghosts. At least, I haven't met any. You haven't met any either, right?"

     He doesn't respond, staring ahead. His expression tells me he's the kind of guy that people describe as 'brooding.' Maybe even moody. The all black attire is very moody.

     "You're the first person I've run into who can see me," I tell him, unable to mask the joy in my tone. Not that I would want to. This is pretty fucking fantastic for me. Afterlife is certainly looking up.

     "You're the first person I've been able to touch, too." I reach out without thinking and graze the back of his hand with my fingers. I feel a spark that maybe he feels too because he flinches, and I immediately pull back.

     "Sorry. I just – this is new. I haven't touched a person since before I died." I quickly add, "Consensually, of course. I don't just go around touching people." I squeak nervously. It's kinda balls that you can be dead and still feel things like nerves. "Let's just strike all of what I just said from the record."

     The car slows down, and pulls up to the curb. "I think we should start over," I say turning to look at him. "I'm Sinclair, your friendly neighborhood ghost. A pleasure." I hold up my hand for a handshake. He lifts his in return, and points across me.

     "Get out," he says simply, looking at me but avoiding my gaze, somehow, too. I hesitate, not sure what to say, not even sure what I can say in this situation.

     "Okay, I know this a lot to take in, but I mean, we'd be crazy not to figure out why you can see me, right?"

     He's glaring at me, but he has the kind of stare that I imagine is always kind of stiff and cold. I decide it's his dark eyes, which are big and protrude a little more than I think is normal. He's got heavy bags under them that only makes them more striking.