Ghost ⇔ Cake ✓

Twenty Seven: Gone

Luke spun around, his heart beginning to race, throbbing painfully in his chest. Everything around him moved in blurs–– detectives holding up their hands, town citizens shaking their fists, Ashton's tears staining his cheeks. It moved in slow motion as Luke searched, desperately, for the shock of curly black hair, the dark, sun-kissed skin, the melting eyes that personified Calum. But they were nowhere to be seen.

Luke remembered Calum disappearing slightly at times, especially recently. But that was mostly just turning a bit translucent, fuzzy on the edges. But he hadn't expected for Calum to disappear for so long, and so completely.

"He's run out of energy," Michael said, voice rough. "That's what... ghosts... need, right? Energy?"

Luke could hardly even think. There was so much noise that it almost cancelled each other out, leaving a slight buzzing in his ears. He shouldn't get this attached to people. It was like being at Calum's funeral all over again.

Something brushed his shoulder. Luke startled, nearly jumping out of his skin. He twisted, looking, but nothing was there.

A few seconds past, and then Ashton jumped. "Something just touched my hair."

"We're being fucking haunted," said Michael.

Luke's eyes strained with the effort of trying to see him. He must be around. He must. He just wasn't strong enough to stay visible. Luke prayed that that was it. That, at least, was somewhat understandable. He could try and fix that. The difficult thing was accepting that maybe there was no turning back, and he could be gone forever.

"Calum?" Luke said aloud, raising his voice. A few people around them glanced furtively at him. "Take what you need from me. What can I give you?"

Michael stared at him.

"Take my energy. Take anything, please, Cal," Luke said, and he felt that familiar stick in his throat. He hurriedly spoke to get rid of it. His voice wavered at first, but grew stronger fast. "Take my hand. It's yours. Take what you need from me. Please."

For a moment, nothing happened, and Luke stood there, arms outstretched, head tilted back, eyes fluttered shut. His chest rose and fell with labored breaths. A few people whispered around them, shuffling a bit away from the boys. Ashton looked at his feet, embarrassed at the attention. Michael snarled at them.

Then Luke's hair whipped, curling in a sudden gust of wind in the middle of the police station lobby. Even his eyelashes fluttered in the gust. Then Luke felt something grab his hand, fingers sliding into his, and Luke went ice-cold all over.

Chills shivered down his back, goosebumps jumping over his skin. Luke gasped, quickly, harshly, unable to stop himself. He felt like he had just gotten drenched in arctic water, and his body involuntarily shook. Beside him, Calum just barely became visible.

He stood clutching onto Luke's hand, his dark skin only the tiniest bit translucent. His eyes were wide, as round as a scared puppy. He let out a breath, eyes closing. "Thank you," he whispered. His voice was weak, and Michael had to strain to hear it.

"What happened to you?" Michael asked. Calum glanced at Luke, who was shivering violently, but refused to let Calum release his hand.

"It just got too hard all of a sudden. To stay. It's like..." Calum paused, considering. His breathing was deep. "It's like you're on ice and no matter how hard you try, you can't stop slipping. I just couldn't get any traction."

Ashton blinked a few times, then said, quietly, "How long do you have?"

Calum didn't say anything for a moment, and the fear returned to his eyes. "I'm too scared to let go of Luke's hand."