Ghost ⇔ Cake ✓

Eighteen: Memories

The piece of fabric Calum took from the morgue sat like weight in his pocket.

They were all joined back in Calum's apartment, since Luke's was off-limits until his brothers decided what to do with it. The apartment was small, and the three of them were squished on the small couch in the living room, Calum practically sitting in Luke's lap. Luke was squirming.

Luke had turned on the television, and he was watching some cooking show lazily, blonde eyelashes long and curled, his blue eyes shining underneath. Calum lowered his gaze until it fell on his pink lips, the black ring caught in it glinting against the bright fluorescent lights. Unlike most people, Luke seemed to look good in even the most harsh of lightings.

Calum forced himself to look away before either of them noticed.

"So," said Michael. "I'm assuming we'll never be able to go back there again."

Luke chuckled. "That guy's face was pretty priceless."

"There's no need to go back," Calum said. He cautiously slipped his fingers into his pocket, centimeters away from brushing the fabric. "I got what I needed."

"Why did you need a piece of his shirt?" Michael asked. His eyelids were drooping. The three of them were exhausted. Luke rested his head on Calum's shoulder, soft blonde hair brushing Calum's jaw.

Calum tried to focus. "That shirt was what I was wearing when I died. I thought maybe, if I touched it, a memory would come from that day." He scratched the back of his head. "It's probably dumb, it probably won't even work––"

"It's worth a try," mumbled Luke, his finger tracing small patterns on Calum's knee. Ever since they kissed again a couple days ago, Luke seemed to finally have let down his guard. Before he seemed to be made of stone, all hard edges and rough surfaces. Now it's all melted away into affection.

"It's just so weird that there are two bodies," Michael mused. "I don't really know what I was expecting. Maybe for your body to be gone? I don't know."

"Yeah," Calum said quietly. "I'm not sure what they really makes me. I thought–– ghosts, or whatever–– were supposed to be, like, translucent or something. Isn't that what it's like in the movies?"

Luke nose pressed against Calum's shoulder. "I'm glad you're not."

Calum smiled a little.

Then he took a deep breath. "I guess I should probably touch it now." He paused. "I'm not sure I'm ready."

Luke lifted his head, his hair crumpled on the side that rested on Calum's shoulder. "I can't imagine it will be pretty."

Calum shifted slightly, hesitating for a moment. Finally, he breathed deep and stretched his fingers deeper in his pocket, reaching until his fingers brushed the shirt.

Almost immediately, he was thrown violently into a memory, vision blackening, head spiraling. He felt like he had vertigo, the room spinning chaotically to the point where he reached out to grasp something, anything, to maintain his balance.

As the world balanced, the woods stretched out before him, the sun glinting off the leaves and shining warm light on his dark skin. He had a black backpack on his shoulders, a half-empty water bottle in his hands. He was moving, walking expertly along the roots as he navigated his away along a path. Calum realized he felt stressed.

Calum was looking around him, glancing at the shadows and the hiding places among the trees. He moved quickly, never stopping for long. His head whipped around at every snapped twig.

Why was I so panicked? Calum wondered. His backpack weighed down his shoulders, underbrush scratching his exposed legs as he walked.

Then, Calum stopped in his tracks. He paused, and Calum felt his heart race. He was patting his pockets, slipping off his backpack and digging through its contents. He was looking for something. What had he forgotten?