Like autumn leaves

One Of Those Ghosts

Autumn didn't just follow Winter.

He was the only one who could see her, and she didn't understand why. But she didn't understand much about her current situation. She didn't remember how she had gotten here — her most recent memory was of standing over her own body in a hospital bed, and Winter staring at her like he'd seen a ghost.

And in a way he had. But she wasn't attached to him, or stuck with her body. She avoided the hospital as much as she could, actually, because seeing herself like that was terrifying. She'd started out spending most of her time with Winter; she started separating herself from him when she realized there was a chance she was never going to wake up, because he needed to be ready for that reality as well.

Now it had been a month, and Autumn couldn't stop going back to him. It was selfish — so, so selfish — but he was the only one who could see her, even if they couldn't touch. And this weird space between life and death was lonely.

The person she visited most after Winter was Reece. At first she was careful about going into their house, because god forbid she walked in on her brother and Marjorie... exercising together. But it quickly became obvious that bedroom activities were on hold for them.

Today they were curled up on the couch, thumbing through an old photo album. Autumn sat on the arm of the couch so she could see as well.

"Where did you even get all these pictures?" Marjorie asked. "Roger doesn't seem like the picture-taking type of parent."

"God no. Most of them were taken by Mia. One of the last gifts she got from her dad was a camera, and she was obsessed with taking pictures. She gave us photo albums for our birthdays a few years in a row."

The story clearly surprised Marjorie — she still wasn't used to hearing good things about Mia. Autumn doubted she would ever get over the novelty of it. "Oh my goodness, look at Autumn's curly hair."

"We did so much damage to her hair," Reece said, shaking his head. "Obviously Dad didn't care about things like taking care of curly hair, and the Internet wasn't as common as it is now. So me and Mia did a lot of guesswork trying to help Aut with her hair and we definitely did it all wrong looking back. She started straightening it when she was thirteen because it was just easier."

"You were only kids. You can't possibly hold yourself responsible for that." Reece shrugged. "You were basically trying to parent her when you were only a couple years older than her. That's a position you never should have been in."

Another shrug. Marjorie carefully took the photo album away and set it aside so she could crawl into his lap and hug him tight. Autumn moved to get a better look at the album; it was one of the last ones Mia had given her, for her fifteenth birthday. She'd left it, and all the others, behind when she moved out. Had Reece kept them all?

"I just keep thinking..." Reece's voice was muffled by his face being buried in Marjorie's shoulder. "If she doesn't wake up, and I wasted all that time because I just couldn't tell her the truth—"

"She knows you love her," Marjorie assured him, brushing her fingers through his hair. Marjorie never referred to Autumn in the past tense. Even Winter, who still saw Autumn every day, had slipped up once or twice. But Marjorie had been consistent, and Autumn appreciated that.

* * * * *

Sometimes Autumn visited Mia, although not nearly as often as Reece or Winter. She had finally permanently moved back to town not long ago, and spent most of her time at Charlotte's despite having her own place. Autumn understood why — Mia drank far more when she was alone.

"Reece asked about you today," Charlotte said as they sat down to eat dinner. Autumn stood silently at the counter, watching her friend and almost-sister.

"Oh really?" Mia raised an eyebrow. "I think he cares more about me now than he did when we were dating."

Charlotte tilted her head a little, giving Mia a Look. "He was wondering if you'd been back to the hospital at all."

Mia's expression fell; she was suddenly very interested in her food. "It's not like she knows we're there."

Autumn wasn't offended that Mia didn't want to visit her. She certainly didn't enjoy seeing her body in that state. And she knew Mia had a fear of hospitals (not that she would ever admit it). It was okay. Autumn wouldn't hold her to anything.

"No," Charlotte agreed. "But it's more about supporting her family, I think."

Mia had been part of that family once. Autumn never knew how to approach her after the truth about everything came out. And Mia hadn't tried either.

And now it might be too late.

"I can support them without going to the hospital." Charlotte must not have known about the phobia. "Besides, it's probably better for me to just stay out of the way. Imagine if I ran into Marjorie there."

"You could just be nice to her."

"Unfortunately I can't. I'm physically incapable of it."

Charlotte rolled her eyes. "She's my friend. You'll have to learn to get along with her eventually."

Mia pouted. "But I like the back-and-forth with her. It's so much fun."

"Fine," Charlotte said, shaking her head. "Then you can help me cook tomorrow. I don't think Winter has been eating well since the accident."

"Deal."

* * * * *

She always went back to Winter.

How could she not? He was her everything. He'd brought light and color into her dreary world, made her house a home, given her a reason to live. He was her soulmate in every possible way. He had made her whole before she had realized part of her was missing.

She waited until she knew he was asleep to go back to the house, sitting on the edge of the bed and reaching out. Her fingers ghosted just over his cheek — the closest she could come to touching him. He was troubled even in sleep, one arm stretching across the bed to her side, still searching for her.

Autumn knew he would never be able to let her go. To say that it was time to give up and take her off life support. They had talked about what they would want if they were ever in a position like this, but it had always been with the expectations that they would never need to follow through.

And worse, Autumn wasn't sure if she wanted him to let go.

* * * * *

There was one more person Autumn was fairly certain could see her.

The sky was lightening when Autumn appeared in the room, making her way to the crib tucked in the corner. Quinn was already awake but hadn't gotten around to getting herself up yet. She was just lying in bed and babbling to herself when Autumn peeked in.

"Aut Aut!"

Everyone was fairly certain that was Quinn's way of saying Aunt Autumn. Reece had tried to call Autumn that and limped for three days after, but it was endearing when Quinn said it.

The door opened, and Clodaugh made her way in, yawning. "Good morning sweetheart," she cooed as she scooped her daughter up. "Did you sleep well?"

Quinn was giggling as she tried to reach over her mother's shoulder. "Aut Aut!"

Clodaugh smiled sadly. "I miss Aunt Autumn too, sweetheart. Let's wake up Mama, shall we?"

Autumn watched them go, then listened to the faint sound of Sorscha squealing as, presumably, Clodaugh deposited Quinn on top of her.

And then she was gone.