MEMENTO

I.

Erica Solomon was by no means an admirable character. In fact, if you took a poll amongst the people she saw on a day to day, you might find out that she was rather difficult to comprehend. Most considered her to be obstinate, domineering, and haughty. Unfortunately for her, however, she was Elena's only hope.

Perhaps this is all because Erica found herself most comfortable in positions such as these, as she squatted beside an antique wooden cabinet, tracing her fingers along its sleek surface in hopes of luring out the spirit haunting the elderly Marsha Jones' home.

"I know you're in there," she muttered under her breath, craning her neck as if to peep inside of the notably solid piece of furniture. She knew if she threw it open and allowed too much light to spill in, the spirit would frustratingly disappear.

"Go away," it snarled in response, voice howling to sound more powerful than it truly was. Erica gave the spirit a moment to sit in its false bravado, waiting for what she knew was certain to come next. Right on cue, the tone switched to that of a child's, mimicking, "I didn't mean to hurt anyone. I'm just so lost."

"I don't care," Erica returned simply, rolling her eyes. They constantly pulled the same tired antics with her. "You're scaring the sweet old lady that lives here. And I won't get paid unless you leave."

"But this is my house!" The ghost threw back, forgoing bravado and sweetness to instead reveal it's true self- which turned out to be a rotten brat who began rattling the cabinet and causing it to thump against the wall with a resounding crash of silverware.

"No, it really isn't," Erica retorted, tilting her head to the side with a wry grin. "You honestly didn't even live here..." She paused to squint at the name on the news article she had printed out in preparation, ever the professional. "Brian Powers," She stifled a chuckle at the name, how painfully stereotypical. "This was your friend's house which you died in after a night of binge drinking."

The rattling stopped and the door slowly creaked open as Brian revealed himself, long and lean and positively translucent.

"We had just won the state championship, okay?" he hissed at her, long, black tendrils of smoke billowing out of the cabinet behind him, filling his ghostly pallor to a gruesome gray. "It was a one-time thing! Christ, I ended up dying. Haven't I suffered enough?" He whined out, betraying just how young he truly had been, always would be. Erica almost feels a pang of something, but she tucks it neatly away and gets back to work.

"Look," Erica began, running a hand through her hair. "I didn't mean to embarrass you. I'm just asking you kindly to haunt another place. Marsha's too old to handle this kind of stuff so, please, just, I don't know, find somewhere else."

"Like where?" he prompted.

"I don't know! There's a sorority house a couple of houses down," Erica informed him, shrugging. "I'm sure you'd be interested in that."

The dark puffs of smoke melted away to reveal a boy around Erica's age, squatting before the cabinet as he seemed to seriously contemplate her offer.

She sighed as she made her way to the kitchen where Marsha and her daughter were huddling in anticipation of Erica's diagnosis of the house.

"The spirit won't be bothering you anymore," Erica announced as she slipped past the doors. "I've sent him to a better place."

*

            Erica poked her pasta salad with a fork, attempting to remove all the olives.

            "It makes me feel like such a scammer," she finally answered Sol and looked up to witness him scarfing down a slice of pizza with oil dripping down his chin. "They think it's some huge, spiritual ceremony but I just tell the ghost to piss off."