Chapter 27 (A ghost, she is)

Mitchel

He felt dizzy. The world spun around in circles and his heavy eyes hurt. His chest heaved and the man that sat next to him looked at him like he was crazy. He probably was.

She was driving him mad.

He was driving himself mad.

The feeling tore at him and pulled him apart. It ate at his mind and his heart and he couldn't stop shaking.

Molly was staring at him. Her eyes glowed bright yellow in the dim evening light. She stared at him with a neutral expression until her figure appeared to draw closer as if she were floating. Mitchel wanted to lean back but he couldn't move. He was paralyzed. And he couldn't look away or close his eyes. It was as if he were hypnotized.

Her cracked and peeling lips slowly slid into a wide and haunted smile. She didn't speak but she didn't need to. Her eerie aura was enough for Mitchel to almost piss his pants. He wanted to call out to her and demand for her to leave. He wanted to ask why she haunted him, why she was always in his line of view.

Why couldn't he forget her face?

Why was the image of her blood slowly seeping out of her body and flowing onto her kitchen tiles still etched into his brain?

Why was she in his dreams?

Why was she the only thing he could think about?

When would he finally be free?

Christian had said his name but he didn't hear. He focused on Molly's image. She leaned forward as their Ferris wheel box ascended once more. Mitchel tried to breathe. They were lifting from the ground. Surely she wouldn't be attached to the box.

But she stayed at his eye level. Her image didn't go down. Fuck, why was she still there? Mitchel squeezed his fingers into weak fists. Her hands flew up to the glass and pressed onto the box. Mitchel let out a little whine and shrunk back against the chair. Christian placed a hand on his knee but he flinched away with a yelp.

He didn't touch Mitchel again. Molly's fingertips left a milky liquid on the glass that slowly oozed down and smudged when she ran her fingers over it. Her breath fogged the window. Her teeth gleamed in the light of her eyes and the image was enough for him to think that he was imagining it all. But it felt too real. The pit of his stomach churned as she closed her eyes and her head pushed through the class as if it weren't there. Her body went through and she effortlessly slid into the car. She landed softly on the floor and dragged herself forward without a sound.

How had she done that? How did she simply get inside?

At that point, Mitchel had lost the ability to breathe and the only thing that was keeping him alive was his thrumming heart. It beat wildly and it didn't help that a wave of nausea washed over him like a tidal wave as he inhaled her foul stench.

Molly slinked forward, her smile never faltering. Finally, she spoke. She purred his name. The two syllables came out airy and mystical, but there was nothing lighthearted about the tone. Mitchel started crying. The tears streamed down his face as he quietly sobbed and gripped at his seat in terror. As Molly's face drew close to his, barely inches from him, he tilted his face away.

She whispered his name again and it came out raspy. The name scraped her throat but was barely audible over the sound of Mitchel's labored and desperate breathing. He'd completely forgotten that Christian was there. When he remembered, he tried to reach out for him but his arms weighed a ton. He couldn't even turn his head.

"Christian..." He whined but his voice was shrill in his ears. "H-help... me..." He choked on his sobs and coughed.

Before he could see it coming, Molly's hand snapped upwards and smashed Mitchel's head against the wall behind him. His neck cracked and a surge of pain shot up and down his spine, he cried out in agony as her nails dug into his skin and the palm of her hand pressed on his nose and sealed his mouth shut.

He wailed and struggled against the small woman but it was no use- he was weak and her ghost was much too strong. Christian bolted up and pulled at his arm, but his presence was entirely useless.

His hand felt just as damp and swampy as Molly's and Mitchel pulled away with a shriek, falling to the floor with a thud. The Ferris car shook and rocked back and forth from the sudden movement. Up until then, Molly's ghost hand only stalked him. He'd seen her everywhere since her death but she never laid hands on him- she'd never been violent. He didn't know what he'd done to set her ghost off, but he knew that she'd never leave him alone again.

A throbbing sensation had bloomed in his knee where he hit it as he fell. Molly crept up to him on all fours. Her damp hair dripped onto the car's floor. When the liquid fell to his skin, it itched but he didn't dare scratch it. With one glance at his best friend, Mitchel knew that Christian had no idea what was going on. Christian couldn't see her and he wasn't sure if that was what scared him more.

He didn't resist when Molly grabbed his wrists. He helplessly let her slam him onto the ground again, welcoming the swing and shutter of the car. His head smacked against the floor again and he saw stars. When his vision returned with the dull throb, he saw that Molly was directly on top of him. She opened her mouth and screamed, the shrill sound echoing through the car at a painfully high and piercing pitch. Dark liquid poured from her mouth and onto his face. He gagged when it flowed into his mouth and he scrambled to his side as he felt his stomach squeeze. As the Ferris wheel brought them back to the ground, he threw up as the world went black.

Christian

When he'd started crying, Christian felt an uneasy panic settle into his bones. It chilled him so much that he shivered. He knew Mitchel saw things. Sometimes he'd reach out as if to touch something. Sometimes he'd flinch when he'd seen something scary. That was usually when he was high, and as far as he knew, Mitchel had been clean for weeks.

Whatever it was that scared Mitchel scared Christian almost just as much. It wasn't that he could see what he saw, it was his reactions that were frightening.

Mitchel screamed and cried, and he couldn't help but be grateful that he didn't see what he saw. The older man mumbled the same word under his breath for the rest of the ride with his eyes open as he struggled and clenched his hands. He didn't move except for when Christian briefly touched his knee or arm- that was when he jumped away and started to cry.

Christian thought about taking him to a doctor. Maybe he needed some medication- maybe his dark thoughts were finally getting to him. Or maybe, just maybe, Mitchel was just batshit crazy.

Whatever it was, all that Christian wanted to do was to help him. He called to him and tried to catch his attention, but it was as if Mitchel was sleeping. Before he could help him, he slumped back against the wall with blank eyes and his head lolled back. He was unconscious but he still threw up.

+++

"I don't want to talk about it," Mitchel said as he kicked their front door shut. The four men had driven home, laughing in the car as if nothing had happened. Neither Christian nor Mitchel had told Jesse and Clinton about what had happened. They didn't know about his hallucination or how he'd gotten sick on the ride.

It was obvious that Mitchel was embarrassed and felt like shit- Christian didn't want to poke at his wounds- at least until they'd gotten home. Clinton dropped the two of them off and went to drive Jesse to his hotel room, leaving them alone.

The blond man followed Mitchel to the kitchen. "I'm not trying to embarrass you or anything, Mitchel, I just wanna know what happened," He said. Mitchel's head was buried in their refrigerator. He was slipping their watered-down iced drinks onto a shelf.

"Nothing happened. I just felt... sick," He replied and closed the door. He avoided Christian's eyes and slid past him.

"That's bull and we both know it," Christian huffed. He followed him upstairs. "Don't tell me you threw up because of the cotton candy."

"It tasted like shit."

"Come on, Mitchel."

The boys reached Mitchel's room. He stepped inside and flicked the door closed but Christian caught it with his hand.

"Why did you say Molly's name?" He asked after a long time.

"I don't know what you're talking about," Mitchel replied.

Christian opened the door.

"You said her name. Over and over again."

Mitchel whipped around and he was surprised to see fat tears roll down his flushed face.

"I don't know!" He yelled, throwing his hands up. One of the tears flicked and landed on the floor in front of Christian. He flinched but he could tell that Mitchel regretted raising his voice at him as soon as he did. He wasn't one to lash out. 

Mitchel sunk onto his bed and at that moment, he looked about five years older than he was. He sniffed and ran his hands under his eyes with a curse.

"I fucking hate crying," He mumbled.

"Why are you crying?" Christian asked softly. He sat next to Mitchel at a comfortable distance.

He sniffed again. "I don't know," He said and his voice broke. A part of him wanted to pull Mitchel in close and hug him. He wanted him to know that he'd protect him with whatever it took, whether or not he could see the threat. He didn't.

"I see her everywhere," Mitchel said finally. He was looking at his fingers as he picked at the skin that surrounded his nails. He looked just as helpless as Christian felt.

"Molly's always there. I see her in my dreams, on T.V, on the streets..." He took a breath and looked at Christian. "I see her in you."

Christian braced his knees and pursed his lips.

"She was on the Ferris wheel, Kras," Mitchel told him. "And only I could see her. She tried to hurt me but she wouldn't say why." Mitchel shuddered as he recalled the events. "She wanted to hurt me," he repeated as if he didn't quite believe it and had to convince himself. But Christian did. He didn't blame her either. After all, it was Mitchel who killed her in the first place. He seemed to constantly forget it.

Mitchel laid back on his bed and stared up at the ceiling, playing with the hem of his shirt. His fingers trembled with his voice as he spoke. Christian didn't know what to do except listen to his best friend. It wasn't like he could just make Molly go away. It was obviously something psychological that was going on inside Mitchel's brain. And the thing was, no one knew what went on in his head- not even Mitchel. Christian could tell that was what scared Mitchel the most.

Mitchel sat up and grabbed Christian by his shirt. He hadn't heard him cry but tears were running down his face as well as a thin clear stream of snot from his nose.

"She won't go away, Christian," He told him, his eyes flicking to search his. "I have to go, Kras. I have to leave. She haunts me, Kras, I have to leave."

Christian furrowed his brows and shook his head.

"No, you can't leave. We have the tour soon. You can't leave now..." What Christian refused to say was that he didn't want him to go. He wanted to be with Mitchel forever. He didn't want him to go, not when they were finally becoming more than just friends.

"I have to! She's gonna kill me, Kras, I'll fucking die," He pleaded. Christian grabbed his hands.

"No!" He said, his voice rising. "She'll follow you wherever you go. You said it yourself, Mitty, you see her everywhere. What's gonna stop her from following you?" He asked. "What's gonna stop her from attacking you?" They both knew that Christian was right but Mitchel didn't budge.

He looked around as if someone was listening to their conversation. He leaned in closer to him and let his voice drop slightly.

"And the police? They're not stupid. They'll find out who really killed her eventually. Do you really want me to be there when they do?"

"So you're gonna run away? Running away won't solve anything."

Mitchel shook his head. "You don't understand. I can't say," He said. Christian drew in a deep breath.

"Fine," He gave in. "Leave. Do it if you want, but I'm coming."

"You're not serious..."

"I am." Christian gave Mitchel's palms a little squeeze. "I'm not going to let you go alone."

"And Clinton?"

"He'll come too. It'll be like a trip for us all."

Mitchel sprang to his feet and shook his head as if to wipe away whatever fantasy had started to take root in his head.

"No, we can't."

"What?"

"He hates me, Kras! Clinton hates me!"

"No he doesn't," Christian replied, disbelief evident in his tone. "How could you say that? He's your brother and he'd do anything for you," he continued.

Mitchel's eyes cast down to his feet.

"Family is only blood," He said softly. "You know that better than anyone else."