Ghost Whisperer//MARCEL FANFIC **ON HOLD**

Part 61

Song: Lucky
Artist: Aurora

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"Sometimes," he said while gripping tight the fabric of his own pant leg, "you run out of tears long before you run out of hurt." -Tyler Knott Gregson
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James was the kind of spirit who wouldn't give me any trouble. It was rare to encounter any kinds of spirits just like him. They give off different varieties with such different stories on why they're earth bound spirits in the first place. Some are confused, knaves, disturbed ones, or maybe even a little bit of all. But it's rare to even approach a good one.

He smirked at me and all I could do is smile back showing him I mean no harm. And I think he gets that.

"Wow, is it weird that I see you as a superhero? After I've seen you on the news about how you talk down that shooter?" He exaggerates.

"Definitely weird. I really don't have superpowers you know" I chuckled.

"Not all heroes wear capes, Marilyn" James says still admiring me like I'm some present he just unwrapped.

I roll my eyes from his cheesy line but half smiled at his response. He's probably the first person I didn't mind calling me a hero and we were just strangers.

"How long have you been...dead?" I got the courage to ask him leaning over the sink.

He frowns at my question but quickly recovers it with a wide grin, "three years."

"And you've never seen the light?" I question him just like I question other spirits that I encounter with.

"I choose to ignore it" he shrugs like the light meant nothing to him.

"You can't stay here forever-"

"My parents need me. I can't just leave them" he says changing his mood into discomfort.

"Melinda is your mother?" He nods.

"Adoptive mother" he answers.

"How did you exactly die?" I already knew where he died but I didn't know how it happen. It must've been so heartbreaking the moment his parents found out about him. He mentioned blood and I can only imagine how much there was inside the old ring mat. I shook my thoughts.

"How did you talk down the shooter?" He smirks.

"If I tell you would you tell me what happened to you?"

"It's a deal" he says and gets off the restroom's sinks. He was much rather taller than me and I knew I had to ask.

"How old are you?"

"Well, I died at fifteen so that makes me..." he starts thinking, "seventeen now."

He was a year younger than me.

I then continue on telling how I had held off Alfie from killing Isaac with each detail I can provide. Glimpses of everything that night starts coming back to me slowly but I can mostly picture Harry and I experiencing the whole thing as if it were a movie. An awful and horrific movie.
Seeing Harry again made me feel at ease that he was the one who had helped me with going through the night. The trauma still remain even just talking about it but who was James going to tell? He's an entity.

And when it was over I've realized what dawned to me: it was much easier talking to a stranger about your problems then it is with someone you knew. It sure wasn't ideal but I've always imagine getting judge by a close friend or a family member of mine. There sure were no tears that spilled from my eyes. No emotion over it at all and a part of me felt good as the same time I wish I didn't feel this numb. It wasn't like whatever happen that night didn't affect me but I sure as hell didn't want to cry about it anymore.