Spirit-Sensitive | BxB

7: tension

"Cross? You listenin' to me? We've got plenty'a shots. We can head back."

"Ah. Right."

Michael didn't say anything more and slowly moved to put his camera back into its bag. He didn't move his eyes from where he'd been looking before. Scott Conway, the other reporter with him, laughed.

"The shots are fine, Cross. You're such a friggin' perfectionist! ...It's not as light out as I'd want it to be, but y'know how the boss is. He wants the pictures now."

"...You're probably right," Michael agreed. "Let's... get going, then."

Michael looked over his shoulder a couple of times as they walked away. It wasn't the lighting that he'd been so intrigued by. It was the woman in her thirties and wearing a white dress that had been standing right in the middle of his shot, just staring at him without moving or speaking. Conway couldn't see her, though, seeing as she was dead.

As always, the pictures looked fine. No sign of that woman. Ghosts didn't show up on normal film unless they really, really wanted to. He thought about that woman in white, and wondered what her story was, as he walked home.

He found someone waiting near his apartment.

"Lily. Sweetie. What brings you up here?"

Lily didn't answer right away. She played with the ears of her stuffed rabbit. Something in her expression was sullen.

"Mr. Mike? Can I tell you a story?"

Michael was immediately intrigued. He knelt down in front of her.

"What kind of a story?"

"About... A-About me. And why I'm still here."

That gave Michael a moment of pause. It was sure to be an unpleasant kind of story. Lily was painfully young, and she'd been trapped here for so long.

"You remember all of that?"

"...Mm-hm."

Michael looked her over, concluding that she truly was ready and willing to talk, and smiled, giving her a pat on the head.

"Sure, then. I'd love to hear your story. But..." He looked around and stood up, offering her a hand. "...Not here. We don't want anyone eavesdropping. How about we go to the roof? The sun is out, and the sky is very pretty."

Lily contemplated this, chewing on her lip, and then hesitantly took his hand. Her little fingers were ice-cold, but Michael had gotten used to this. It wasn't unpleasant when it was expected.

Michael led Lily up the stairwell and out onto the roof, where he closed the door. She got distracted looking at the birds for a while before joining him again. He had set up two of the lawn chairs that Mr. Laurence kept in the little storage shack up there.

Michael sat in silence for several minutes, waiting for Lily to begin. She seemed to be fighting some urge to change her mind and flee.

"...I... I died in a fire."

He hadn't quite expected that kind of a delivery. It was more of an admission than a story.

"You did?"

"Yeah. In our apartment. I didn't want to leave until I found Molly."

"Who's Molly?"

Lily squeezed the stuffed rabbit.

"This is Molly. She's my only friend."

"That's not true. Not anymore. You have me, and you have Andy, don't you?"