Perception (Apparition Investigations #1)

Case #1: Villanova Apartments: Part 1

"You do realize we haven't moved off this couch in the last four hours?"

"Not true," Bronte said, clicking through the end credits of Grey's Anatomy and onto the next episode. She tossed the PlayStation controller onto the ottoman/coffee table in front of us, narrowly missing her fairy-tale books and flower vase vignette. "Two episodes ago, you grabbed us cokes from the fridge. Thirty minutes into the previous episode, I stood up, stretched out my left leg because it went to sleep, and then sat back down."

"Ah. I stand corrected."

She nodded.  "As you were."

The recap from the previous few episodes flashed across the 32-inch flat screen across the far wall. As if we hadn't just seen all those moments hours earlier. 

My eyes roamed above the screen to the world map tapestry hanging above it. As it always did, my eyes focused on the splotches marring the map. Bronte thought they were part of the tapestry's charm. I thought they looked exactly like the state of New Jersey, just flipped around, and that the artist had been from New Jersey and this was all a clever ploy by the New Jersian to bolster the reputation of New Jersey. Bronte didn't believe me.

The familiar jingle signaling another episode chimed from the screen. Then Meredith Grey's voice floated over a fly-over of Seattle, drawing another parallel between surgical skills and life at large.

As it did.

In.

Every.

Episode.

"Shoot me now," I grumbled.

Bronte grabbed one of the couch pillows and flung it at me. With eight pillows on the couch, we usually had some to spare besides the ones we cocooned ourselves with whenever we binged like this.

It smacked me on the top of the head before plopping off onto the ground beside me.

"We're in season nine," she said. "More than halfway through."

"This was fun at the beginning."

"It's fun now."

"Liar."

"Maybe."

"I've forgotten what other TV shows even talk about."

"There are no other TV shows outside of Grey's."

"That can't be right." I looked over at her, a mock serious expression on my face. "Is that right? I can't remember a time before. Was there a time before?"

"There has always been Grey's."

A chill went through me, rocking my core so violently I sat up with the shivers.

Bronte glanced at me, then frowned. "You want me to turn the heat up? Get a blanket?"

I fell back into my spot. "No need. It's gone."

She sat still for a moment. Then she reached forward, grabbed the controller, and paused the show. "It happens a lot, doesn't it? The chills?"

"I'm always cold. You know that."

She shook her head. "No, not getting cold, or running colder than normal, but the chills. My dad used to say it's whenever someone walks over your grave--that's when you get chills like that."

"That doesn't even make sense."

"It happens a lot though. Me included."

She was right, of course. I'd noticed them too. The sudden shuddering seizing, then gone. A second, maybe two, then it passes like it'd never happened to begin with.