Ghost Sensitivity Training

CHAPTER FOUR

ALEXEI

     There's a moment where neither of us are speaking. Sinclair's chest is moving with these quick breaths. And I'm caught in a wave of commiseration, because I can understand wanting to not be here. I can understand feeling stuck.

     But then I'm surprised that a ghost is breathing. It makes me think that maybe I'm actually the one who's dead. My head is throbbing too much for that to be true.

     As it stands, he's clearly not going to go away.

     And if I can't force him away, there's only one viable option. Help him move on to wherever ghosts go. Preferably, as quickly as possible.

     I suck a breath in loudly, breathe it out through my nose. It's meant to be a signal of resignation, but Sinclair's eyes fall to my mouth and I'm thinking that's not what he's getting out of it.

     "Okay," I say simply. "I will help you."

     Sinclair's brows go up, down, up again. They stay there as he swallows and then says, "So...okay. Great. We're in this together."

     "Not together," I respond, quick and cutting. I want to reach out and turn his face away so he can stop looking at me so intensely. His eyes too blue, and too bright for something that is not even alive. "Separately...but adjacent."

     Sinclair tucks his chin as he fights a smile. He doesn't win and the thing breaks out across his face. "My dude, who hurt you?"

     I lean away from him. "Get out of my seat. I need to work."

     "Yeah, no, yeah. All yours. Kept it warm for ya'. Actually." He drops a hand on the seat as he stands. "Cold. Cool. Turns out body heat hasn't kicked back in yet." He laughs at what is obviously not funny.

     "Has anyone ever told you, you talk too much?" I ask dryly as I skirt around him and take my seat, pulling my bag into my lap.

     "Only everyone, actually," Sinclair responds, laughing. "One of my better traits."

     "Concerned about your bad traits in that case."

     "Appreciate your concern," he says cheekily, draping himself across my armchair. It is a drape, of sorts, for sure. His back against the arm and legs over the other side. He stares up at the ceiling like this is a paid session. "Maybe we crossed paths at some point and that's why you can see me? Hm. Where'd you go to school?"

     "MIT," I answer despite myself. I watch my computer boot up slowly. I film through my rolodex, not looking for anything specifically, but not wanting to focus on Sinclair who's doing some sort of head-shoulders-knees-and-toes rendition as he touches himself. "Can you stop that?"

     "Sorry. I just. Have a touchable body again."

     "That's a strange thing to say."

     "It's an afterlife thing. You wouldn't get it." Sinclair whistles and then goes, "So not college."

     "Where did you go?"

     He shakes his head. "I didn't. My dad got sick. I deferred, instead."

     "Sorry to hear that."

     "About my dad? That's alright. Colon resection and a shit bag later, my man's was practically good as new. Except for the shit bag. That thing stunk. Literally. Beats cancer, though. God, I'm punny today."

     I groan, because all of that was just such unnecessary extra information. "No, about the deferment."

     Sinclair grins. I look away. I need to call in for a debrief with Svenson on any overnight alerts. "You're an asshole, you know that?"