MARIEL

2~ Alive ~

Esther did not know what to do. For a moment, she stood there, gun raised, its sights aligned in the center of Mariel's forehead. Perhaps, his face, or his throat. She didn't know, because she was looking at him. Frozen. What was one supposed to do in this situation? How often were people in this situation? Biblically, there were many stories of the dead rising. Societally, folks who rose from the dead were usually considered zombies.

But, Mariel was not Jesus or Lazarus, nor was he a flesh-eating zombie. There were three other possible options. One, Esther had lost her mind. Two, she was dreaming. Or three, he was a ghost. Looking back at her family history, number one seemed feasible. Considering number two, she always had strange and vivid dreams. As for number three, she believed in ghosts. All very explainable reasons. So, when she spoke, her voice was calm.

"You have thirty seconds to explain this phenomenon, or I'm shooting." Esther stared at him with dark, serious eyes.

The ghost of a smile played about Mariel's lips. He gestured towards the gun. "Ironic, isn't it? That's the same gun I tried to use the first time, isn't it?"

Esther's knees felt weak. Her finger dropped to the trigger. "You're wasting time. And personally, I don't even know who or what I am threatening right now, but I hope it's working."

"Esther. Look at me." Mariel stepped closer. "I'm real."

Keeping her finger on the trigger, Esther stepped backwards and turned on the light to the hallway. "You can't be real. It's not possible, and you know that."

Mariel stuffed his hands into the pockets of his sweatshirt and stared into the muzzle of the gun. "What can I do to prove myself to you?"

Esther's gaze did not falter. As she looked at him, her eyes searched his entire face, trying to find some facet of difference in his features to determine that he, indeed, was not Mariel. If he was, and she was not dreaming, she felt that something inside of her might break, and it would be ugly. Very, very ugly.

"What was the last thing you told me before I never saw you again?" Esther whispered. Her sight blurred. More tears. She was tired of crying. She was tired.

Mariel's countenance fell. He lowered his eyes, and then raised them to hers again. "Don't make me repeat that. Please."

"Tell me." Esther's brown eyes narrowed, and her breaths came quickly. The gun shook in her hand. "Tell me what you said."

Hands still in his pockets, he kept his eyes locked to hers. "I said... that Victoria Jameson was my type... but that I wanted to test you out." His voice trembled. So did his hands. Despite this, Mariel stepped closer.

Her breath wavered. "Don't come closer." The tears were trickling from her eyes again. As her lips quivered, she struggled to keep the gun upright towards him. "Fuck you," she whispered. "If you were really here, I would not forgive you."

Mariel did not listen to her, but stepped even closer. "I am real, I am really here, and I wouldn't blame you if you didn't forgive me." His voice was soft. The look in his eyes forced Esther's legs to go numb. Slowly, he reached his palm towards her.

It reminded her of the time he had been outside her window when they were neighbors, when she was little, when he had placed his palm on the glass. Now, Esther felt a choke in her throat. Even if he were not real, looking at him now gave her chills, and warm reminders of how she felt about him before he had committed suicide.

"Touch my hand," he whispered, his blue eyes falling to the free hand at her side. "And then I am yours to direct your anger towards when you realize I'm here, and I'm real."