Chapter 45: We're Gonna Be Best Friends Forever
Morning light spilled into the hospital room, stretching across Elias's face until his eyelids twitched in irritation. He cracked them open, the dark circles under his eyes betraying a restless night.
He glanced at the clock on the wall. 4:30 p.m. Already? He'd slept that long?
A sharp poke jabbed his stitched cheek. He hissed, jerking his head aside to find Bellamy leaning over him with a grin.
"Oh, finally awake, sleepyhead. I was getting bored," Bellamy chirped, chin propped in his palms.
Elias groaned. He couldn't touch Bellamy, but Bellamy could touch him. Was this what scientists called phantom touch or phantom pain? The evidence was piling up. Bellamy wasn't a ghost; he was a hallucination. Elias almost wished Bellamy were a ghost. At least then an exorcism might've worked.
"Cute idea, but nope," Bellamy said, wiggling his fingers as though savoring Elias's discomfort.
Elias glared. Ghosts weren't instant. His father's journal explained that spirits needed months, even years, to form.
"Mmh, true," Bellamy hummed. "So I'm ahead of schedule."
They were supposed to feel cold to the touch. But with Bellamy, Elias felt warmth, pressure, pain, even weight.
"Hey, you're not calling me fat, are you?" Bellamy teased, jabbing a finger into his stitched cheek and making him wince again.
And ghosts always appeared as they had at the moment of death. Bellamy, however, bore no wounds from his death and even stranger, he looked like a teenager, even though Elias had watched him die as an adult.
Bellamy spread his arms, perfectly healthy and boyish. "Hmm. I wonder if this is what I actually looked like as a teen. You've got quite the imagination."
Elias pinched the bridge of his nose. 'So if anyone finds out I've been seeing him, they'll just throw me in a psych ward.'
"Probably," Bellamy answered with a crescent-eyed smile.
"Stop reading my thoughts," Elias grumbled, swinging a fist in annoyance, though he knew it would pass right through.
Bellamy leaned in, unfazed, his voice dripping with amusement. "But I am part of your thoughts. How could I not know what's rattling around in that head of yours?"
Elias glared at him, fingers knotting in the blanket. "How do I get rid of you?"
"If you don't know, how would I?" Bellamy chuckled, leaning back with his hands folded behind his head.
"So I'm just stuck with you?" Elias groaned.
"You know, this might be less annoying if you just accepted me as a friend. Don't you think?" Bellamy quipped. He appeared on the other side of the bed and stretched himself across Elias's legs, utterly indifferent to whether he cut off the boy's circulation.
"I already gave you my answer. No." Elias rolled his eyes and shifted his legs, trying to shake off the phantom weight he knew wasn't real. Bellamy's clinginess, his constant touch, and the way he prodded at his wounds gnawed at him.
"You act annoyed, but isn't this the version of me you wanted?" Bellamy's fox-like eyes narrowed, his voice a venomous whisper. "How could you be so fickle? This was your wish—so tell me, how is any of this my fault?"
He rolled onto Elias's stomach in one fluid motion, their faces hanging a breath apart. Crimson bangs slid forward, veiling his hollow eyes in shadow. His arms caged Elias against the bed, the air between them heavy, suffocating.
"Maybe those feelings you had were nothing but pity," he spat. "Who are you to look down on me like that? Didn't I get enough of those eyes when I was alive? I thought you'd treat me as an equal. Or were your words that day nothing but lip service?" His mouth twisted, fury blazing. "I was a human being. I deserved respect. Not contempt or pity. I am not trash you can throw away when you're done with me!"
His voice rose with every word, heat scorching each syllable until it rang in Elias's ears. Then his hand clamped down on Elias's wounded arm, fingers like iron. Pain ripped through him in relentless waves.
Elias's face drained of color. His breath quickened, heart hammering in his chest. With a sharp twist, he buried himself beneath the pillow. The weight on his legs vanished, and so did Bellamy's voice.
Over the night, Elias had pieced together a few things: Bellamy disappeared whenever his vision was blocked and grew silent if anyone else talked to him. A small relief, but not enough. He couldn't live under a pillow forever, and he couldn't stay surrounded by people all the time.
Should he try counseling? Therapy? As far as he knew, it only worked if you were honest with the person listening. And there were secrets he could never share with another soul.
The truth about the system, about awakeners—just speaking it aloud would get him locked in a looney bin. A therapist was out of the question.
He curled into the fetal position on his bed. Was he stuck with this hallucination named Bellamy forever?
Was there a way to will him away? Elias didn't know much about the mind, but he knew his own felt fractured. Was this the backlash his system had warned about when he used his title? Or was it because he'd done it while already emotionally compromised? Maybe it was because he'd used it for something he despised. He couldn't be sure.
He felt helpless. He didn't want to break apart every time the hallucination appeared. Maybe if he ignored Bellamy long enough, he would fade. But would that even work? And how long would it take?
Elias dragged in a shaky breath. Calm. He had to look calm, even with tension thrumming under his skin. Yes… maybe that was the answer. Pretend long enough, and Bellamy would stop showing up. Pretend hard enough, and maybe he'd even believe it himself.
A soft knock at the door broke his thoughts, followed by the faint click of it opening. Elias lifted the pillow and peeked out, almost relieved. Anything was better than being trapped alone with his thoughts or Bellamy, right now. A familiar woman with black frames and curly brown hair stepped inside, smiling.
"Elias, I came to visit. I'm so glad you're okay," she said, moving toward the bed. She reached for his hands, then froze when she noticed one was bound in a sling and the other swaddled in bandages.
"Oh no, you poor thing… you must have been through so much." Her face scrunched as she took in his injuries.
"Mrs. Alden? You're here?" Elias croaked, his voice thin and small. He sat up in the bed.
She settled into the chair beside his bed and lifted the basket from the crook of her arm. Inside were neatly arranged fruits and baked goods. "I put this together as a little recovery gift. There's also a card signed by some of your classmates and teachers."
She pulled out the card, flipped it open, and held it close enough for Elias to read. Most of the messages from his classmates were polite but shallow, the kind of concern written out of obligation rather than sincerity. But what stopped him cold was a surprisingly heartfelt note—from a few of his teachers, and most shockingly, from Coach Carver.
"Hey kiddo, I heard what happened. I realize I've been a terrible teacher, blinded by my own biases. I should have treated you with the basic decency every student deserves, and it shouldn't have taken a tragedy to open my eyes. I'm sorry, and I hope you can forgive me one day.
I wish you a swift recovery. What you went through is something no child should ever face. I wasn't reliable before, but if you ever need anything, you can come to me.
Sincerely, Mr. Carver"
Elias's shoulders trembled as he read. The truth was, no matter how much he tried to brush off the way people treated him, it always hurt.
He didn't know why he had been born with such absurd luck—luck that was more a curse than a blessing. He couldn't control it. No matter how much it isolated him, there was nothing to do but endure the fearful stares and whispered cruelties.
It was bad enough when most students treated him like a walking disaster. At least he could blame that on teenage ignorance and cruelty.
But when even teachers and adults joined in, people who should have shut down the rumors and protected him, it cut several times deeper.
Mrs. Alden patted his shoulder. "I was pretty surprised to see the Mr. Carver's note. It's so interesting. I guess he's finally grown up a little. See, I told you, you weren't cursed and that others would eventually see how special you really are," she said, a glimmer in her eyes.
"Mrs. Alden. I don't want to be special. I just want to be normal, like everyone else," Elias choked, his body trembling trying to keep himself together.
Mrs. Alden flustered, nearly knocking her glasses askew. She stroked his head in an attempt to comfort him.
"I—I didn't mean anything bad, Elias. What I meant is… you're special to the people close to you—your parents, your siblings, your friends. And me, too. It's okay if you're not special to the whole world. You don't have to be. When others start to see what we see, your circle will grow on its own."
She adjusted her glasses back into place.
"I know I'm not your mother, but if your parents were here, I'm certain they'd feel the same. Even if you think badly about your luck, I'm just grateful it brought you back to us. There's nothing about yourself that you need to change."
Elias's eyes blurred with tears, threatening to spill as her warm fingers brushed through his hair. A memory surfaced of his mother, Sylvia, stroking his head in the same tender way. He didn't mean to be ungrateful to Mrs. Alden, but right now, it wasn't her hand he longed for.
Their moment was interrupted by another knock. This time it was Detective Clifford. "Hey, son. I know you're not in the best shape, but I need to ask you a few questions, if that's alright." He shifted his gaze to Mrs. Alden.
"Ma'am, would you mind stepping out and giving us some privacy, please?" Clifford asked, stepping aside from the door.
Mrs. Alden jumped to her feet, flustered. "Y-yeah, of course! I was just about to leave. I mainly came to say hello and drop this off." She pointed quickly at the basket of goodies before darting out the door.
Elias lifted his hand as if to stop her, but she was gone before he could call out. He wished she had stayed. Even though he liked Detective Clifford, the truth was he had lied to the police more than once because of his secrets. If it weren't for the acting skill he'd gained from the system, he was sure they would have seen through him by now. He kept his face calm, but inside he felt the weight of guilt and the nervous edge of being caught.
"How are you feeling, kiddo?" Clifford asked, sitting down in the chair, pulling out a pad for notes.
—-
Outside the room, Mrs. Alden stepped into the cool evening air, her heels clicking softly against the pavement. Her usual scatterbrained energy was nowhere to be seen. Each step was steady and confident.
"Well… at least he made it back in one piece," she murmured under her breath. Her lips curved faintly, but her eyes were sharp. "I really don't know what I'd do if he hadn't. His luck really is… something else."
Sliding into her car, she shut the door with a muted thud. For a moment she just sat there, arms folded, her teeth worrying at a thumbnail. The dashboard lights flickered to life as she turned the key.
"I thought I tied up every loose end. So, there shouldn't be any more incidents happening to him. So who…" Her grip tightened on the steering wheel, knuckles paling. "…who's trying to take my new baby away? Looks like I'll need someone to do an investigation for me."
The words dripped with quiet venom.
She paused, eyes narrowing. A ripple of familiarity brushed her senses. She scanned the crowd spilling along the sidewalks, faces blurred in the neon wash of traffic lights, strangers hurrying home.
But the presence was gone just as quick. It was too far.
Her lips pressed thin. "Did I imagine it? No… there's no way that he's here."
Her hand slid the gearshift into drive. The car merged into the stream of headlights, swallowed by the city night.