Phantom

2.

Brett

"Sir, are you alri-aahhhhhhh!"

Brett almost pulled out his gun and shot the person in front of him. He stared at the pale face gazing back at him, confused. Judging from the shocked look in the person's eyes, Brett figured it right away -

"...Newcomer?" Brett asked with hesitation.

Brett Yang was a new hire in the city police station, freshly graduated from the police academy training. As a newbie, his role could be summed up with three words: coffee, patrols, and parking tickets.

"Brett Yang, Hermann Park patrol," his boss has designated him to this role for a month now. Judging from Brett's less than desirable physical status, he was always excluded from important projects and it pissed him off.

What can he do though? He was already known as a geek inside his police force team, because he will gaze into the void every so often, flinching sometimes - not a good thing to do while handling violent criminals.

He has always wanted to be a police even though everyone told him that he wasn't fit for the job - physically AND mentally. He lacked concentration during class, ran away from a particular place without any notice, and was scared of the dark. There was a good reason why Brett wanted to become a police though. He wanted to become a person capable and strong enough to handle what he was experiencing every day...... which he could never get used to.

Brett has always seen them, always.

The wanderer, the lost ones, some people called them.

The ghosts.

And seeing them everyday was enough to drive a person crazy.

"You... can you see me...?" The ghost asked slowly.

"Alright, sir -" Brett rolled his eyes, sighing. These newcomers were often confused if they were really dead or not. This has happened so many times in his life that he already knew what he should say. The Grim Reaper association (if it even exists) was apparently not good at their jobs.

"I'll get straight to the point. You're DEAD. Sorry about that - I guess it sucks. But it does you no good to hang out in the human world. Go back home, find your body, and enter whatever afterlife waiting for you. Got it?"

Brett put his gun back to his belt and sighed. He was just about to go back to work when the ghost's words caught his attention.

"...I don't know where my body is."

Brett turned around, puzzled.

"What do you mean? Go back to wherever you remember the last time living. Your home or anywhere that you were dead. Or your funeral."

"I don't remember coming here. I don't remember...dying, I guess?"

The ghost picked up the newspaper and handed it to Brett. Brett reluctantly took the newspaper.

"I, uh, was killed, I think?"

Brett's heart pounded. He knew his team was investigating on a serial murder happening around the city these days.

He knew the name of the last victim that was missing from last week. He also remembered how his heart fell when he recognized the person from his childhood -

"You're Eddy Chen," Brett whispered.

Brett looked up from the newspaper and met his gaze with Eddy's hollow eyes.

"I know you, Eddy. I remember you."