[ sure, i live in the body of a human. yet, i don't think that there's anything inside. behold, this sad and sorry used up state of mine. a broken, sobbing, poor idealist. ]
***
She stared at me, a curious expression on her face. My breathing quickened as a few unintelligible sounds spilled from my lips. I stammered, stuttering out crumbling sentences before letting out a strange noise that was half-gasp, half-scream.
"Woah, calm down, I know it's confusing, but…" she tried to talk, but it fell flat on my ears.
"C-Cyria?! But, you're dead!"
"I know, just—"
"Dead people don't come back to life!" I scrambled to my feet, backing away, yet stepping forward at the same time.
"Just—"
"W-What the hell are you, a ghost?! Are you a doppelganger?!"
"Michael."
"You're not some stunt double, right?! Did that old freak put you up to this?!"
"…Michael."
"Impersonating a dead person's not cool, asshole! Who the—"
"MICHAEL!" her voice cut through. "Your seventeenth birthday. By the riverbank. You told me about your dreams to get out of this place. Said that you'd take me with you. Would a stunt double know that?!"
I went silent. No matter how much I tried to rationalize it, nothing made sense. She couldn't be a stunt double, there's no way. I know Cyria better than most, and those mannerisms? That tone? It only made sense that she was here, in front of me, right now.
"Ugh," she stepped away from the gravestone, sighing as she walked up to me. She framed my cheeks in her palms. "…See? Warm. Real. So just shut up and calm down, alright?"
Sure enough, her palms felt warm. Alive. For a moment, my hands raised up to feel her hand against my cheeks, before they fell back to my sides. My breath quivered as I took in a shaky breath. I gulped, taking a moment to collect my thoughts.
"How? How is…"
"I don't know, either," she responded, hands dropping back down. The warmth lingered on my skin, flickering out under the cold wind. "It was like being resuscitated. Everything felt so muddy. Blurry. And then, it wasn't. And I was here."
What the hell was she even talking about?! My head twitched and shifted, like some gear would fall into place if I thought hard enough.
"Don't look at me like that! I was surprised too, I mean— everything looked so different. I considered exploring, but then this weird guy came up to me and told me that you'd be coming back," she explained.
"Wait, wait, wait," I stopped her. "Weird guy? As in the old guy with the scar on his face? Khakis and a button up— that weird guy?"
"…Yeah. You know him?" she raised an eyebrow.
I stepped back for a moment, before turning and sprinting down the hill.
"W-Wait, where are you going?!"
"To get answers!"
"Stop! Wait— argh! Damnit, Michael!" she grumbled running down the hill behind me. "Making me run this damn late?!"
I sprinted toward the diner. I was panting, my heart beating out of my chest. Nothing— literally nothing made sense right now. Dead people coming to life, some random old man sending me mysterious letters, talk about shadow governments and magic?! I needed to know. If he had the answers then I needed to know. Retracing that old route we laid out, I eventually found myself back at the building. I swung the door open, ignoring Gloria's concerned questions. Turning the corner, I saw that there was nobody there.
"…No, no, no," I muttered, running up to the table he sat at. Then, I ran into the bathroom. I swung every stall open… unlocked and empty.
Gritting my teeth, I clawed at my face, tugging at my hair before my body jolted violently, "FUCK!"
My stuttered breaths came to a halt when I heard glass breaking in the background. Sprinting out, I saw Gloria covering her mouth, her eyes widened as she stood in a puddle of coffee. Tears formed at the corners of her eyes as she slowly stepped away from the counter. I narrowed my eyes, walking forward enough to see Cyria's sundress peek out from the wall.
"Cyria?" Gloria gulped, "B-Baby… is that really you?"
Cyria was silent, looking away. Her lips tightened before she finally managed to look her in the eyes. "…Hey, Gloria."
"Oh my God—" Gloria stumbled as she ran up to Cyria, wrapping her arms around her. "I— I thought you…!"
"…Yeah."
Cyria was oddly silent. No… more like, she was letting the silence speak. Her arms wrapped around her body, holding her close as she let out a deep exhale. Her eyes gave off this gaze stuck between homecoming and something I couldn't quite name. Something more jagged. Weary.
This wasn't my moment to interrupt. Looking at the table, I sighed before taking a seat.
"But how? I could've sworn you were…" Gloria pulled away, finally. There was a moment of silence. "You're not a—"
"Michael already asked that," she chuckled. "No, I'm not a stunt double, I'm not a doppelganger, and I'm not a ghost."
Gloria was quiet for a long while, before shaking her head. If there was one thing she'd learned from this town, it'd be that when life gives you an opportunity, you don't question it. That's how they slip from your hands. She rubbed Cyria's shoulder, before gulping and patting it.
"Take a seat, hun," she smiled. "Let me fix you a drink."
Cyria returned her smile. As she walked down the aisle, she spotted me in the corner and took a seat across from me. I watched as Gloria went behind the counter. I could faintly hear the sounds of machinery working, the same as they were almost a decade ago. Putting aside the reasons, it felt nostalgic and heart-wrenching all at once.
"She doesn't change, huh?"
"She has. For better and for worse. Ever since…"
I didn't dare to say it. Not when the atmosphere felt like this. Not when she already knew what I was going to say, and I didn't need to make it any worse than it was.
"She's gotten quieter. Kinder, softer, gentler… but before I left, sometimes it felt like you could see this sense of regret on her face. She doesn't really laugh nearly as much as she used to."
I don't know why I'm saying this— or why my ears felt so damn hot. It wasn't her fault. Whether or not she chose to die or not, it wasn't her fault. So why?
"Is it true?" I finally asked.
"Is… what true?"
"Did you kill yourself?" I turned to face her.
She narrowed her eyes. She gulped, before looking down. "I… don't know. All I remember is going up on that roof. I remember thinking about it, but—"
"But what?"
"…Something inside of me just," she paused. "It doesn't feel as simple as that. That's how it feels."
I exhaled, turning my head outside the window. My posture loosened as I bounced my leg under the table. "That's fine. All that matters is that you're here now."
"That's true," she smiled. "All that lost time, I bet there's been a lot of changes, huh? Say, did you ever become a musician like you dreamed?"
My eyes widened. The mention of it brought back warm memories of me making music in my bedroom. It was my escape, the gateway to run from all my stress. A small grin formed on my face as I let out a chuckle.
"I actually ended up becoming a detective," I laughed. "Pretty surprising, huh? I mean, back then, I'd always fail those crime puzzle games we'd play on my birthday while you did all the reasoning."
"Hmm, a detective, huh? How mysterious. Wonder how your co-workers would feel knowing you used to cry when you got too confused during those puzzle games?" she giggled.
"Haha. Real funny, asshole," I rolled my eyes playfully. "Just to remind you, I was only six. You were like, what, eight?"
"Doesn't change the facts, pal," she smirked. After a second, she asked. "Hey, I've always wondered, but do you ever get cases where you think it was framed as like a…"
She stopped. Before she finished her sentence, it was like something clicked.
"…oh."
She looked away, biting her inner bottom lip. I knew what she was thinking… and she was right. Yeah, her case was the reason I started doing detective work. I started as a private investigator, trying to sharpen my skills while I looked into her case in the background. I spent countless nights trying to find any clues that led to her "killer", if they even existed. But honestly? As time went on, I came to love the job. She always was a deductive person, so doing this work made it feel like a piece of her was always with me, in a sense.
"You're way too easy to read," I say, tilting my head. "Sure, I started detective work because of your case, but I love what I do now."
"Really?"
"Yeah, really. And if it makes you feel better, I still do music on my downtime."
"That's good, then," she said after a beat of silence.
She still wasn't looking me in the eyes. Before I could say anything, Gloria placed down a vanilla milkshake for Cyria, and then gave me another strawberry milkshake. Well, how could I decline? I started drinking, letting the silence fill the room. I watched as Gloria pulled a stool to the table, sitting down. She had her own drink. A black coffee, simple and strong.
"So," she started. "Are you alright? I figure coming back after all this time must be difficult."
"It's, uhm… I haven't really had a chance to process it," Cyria responded, turning away from the window to drink her milkshake. "Still, thinking about it now, how long has it been?"
"Eight years," I responded. She choked on her shake.
"E-Eight?! Years?! W— I thought it'd be like four, maybe five, max! Or like— I don't know, but eight?!"
"Yeah," I chuckled. "Really has been a while."
She was quiet for a moment. "Huh. That's… wow."
"Yeah, a lot's changed, yet not much at the same time. Technology's kinda still the same as it was then," I sighed. "So no, there are no holograms on the street."
"Aww," she huffed. "What about robots?"
"If you consider horny AI chatbots in that category, then sure."
"Ew, what?" she laughed. Gloria narrowed her eyes, turning to me. "Okay, what about flying cars?"
"Hold on, horny AI chatbots?" she spoke before I could respond. "I ain't never heard of a horny AI chatbot, so how the hell d'you know about it?"
"Wait, she's right," Cyria raised an eyebrow, planting her shake on the table and sliding it to the side. "Well? The jury awaits your answer."
"Now, hold on," I stammered, a knowing grin forming on my face. "I swear I only heard about it, I've never used it before."
"That smile says otherwise, mister," Cyria stares me in the eyes. "Them's the eyes of a guilty man."
They laughed as I desperately tried to explain myself. My ears ran red and hot, so I ended up looking away. As they continued pressuring me, my leg bounced quicker and quicker. The laughter quieted down at the sound of something hitting the floor. I turned and found that my pack of cigarettes had fallen. Gloria stared at the pack of Camels on the ground.
"You smoke?" she asked. I saw that expression on her face. The one she'd give me back then when I'd hide here away from my parents. I tried to ignore it as I bent down to pick it up.
"That's what I'm saying!" Cyria chimed in. "He was always so stuck up, I never would've expected him to start smoking of all people!"
"Haha, very funny," I sigh. My eyes trail towards the dirt that stained her the bottom of her sundress. I felt a pang of guilt, considering she probably dirtied it when she chased after me in the graveyard.
And then it caught my eye. It was a little glint reflecting light, but it was enough to catch my attention. My eyes widened as I stuffed the cigarettes back into my pocket. I grabbed the small letter taped to the underside of the table.
"The hell's that?" Gloria asked. I ignored her as I took the tape off. Fumbling it open, I read the contents.
'I told you I wasn't messing around. Left you a secret in your old room. Come find it.'
My expression dropped as my eyes tunneled in on the words. The paper crumpled under my hands before I stood up quietly. I shoved the paper into my pocket, stepping out from the table.
"…I have to go."
"Again?" Cyria groaned. "C'mon, we were just getting a mood going!"
"Cyria, this is important."
Her expression shifted. She looked into my eyes, almost like she was reading me, before sighing me and standing up.
"Okay, fine. But I'm gonna go with you."
"W-What?"
"This is related to me, isn't it? I have every right to."
"I guess, but—"
"Don't bother, hun," Gloria said, standing up. "You know how she is. She made up her mind, so there ain't much you can do now."
"Damnit. Okay, fine, just— if something happens, you run. Okay?"
"Like hell I will," she crossed her arms. "What, and let you do something stupid?"
"Cyria." I spoke firm. I saw her expression stiffen before I bit my lower lip. "Please."
She looked at me with a compromising expression. One that said she would try, but that there wouldn't be any promises. I gripped the seat.
"We'll see you, Gloria."
"Take care, sweetie," she rubbed my shoulder, squeezing it. I held her hand, patting it, before turning and leaving.
The walk there was quiet, the kind of uneasy quiet that came whenever you knew something bad was about to happen, yet there was nothing you could do except brave the storm. I felt chills in my body cause my hair to stand as I walked by the overly-familiar scenery that trailed back to my 'home'. Walking past the other run down houses, I couldn't help but wonder who made it out and who didn't. A few houses I recognized came into view, and I considered knocking and seeing if I'd find a friendly face, or a stranger. Maybe it'd be someone who was both?
Either way, every thought was just a poor attempt at distracting myself from the gnawing feeling in my stomach. The feeling that only grew until we finally arrived in front of my old home. The floorboards bolted to the windows were rotting, and the front door wasn't even closed. I licked my suddenly dry lips, before opening the door slowly. My face twisted as the smell of mold and cheap perfume hit my nose. Walking inside, I was met with a pathetic view. There were clothes littered all over the floor, plates and cups that weren't washed or put away, and trash that piled up in a corner like a small hill. Amongst all the mess were two figures sprawled out on the couch, needle-stuck and passed-out. Her wife-beater was half-off and stained, her shorts unbuttoned and hanging from her ankle. I felt a sick feeling in my stomach. There was another man there, but honestly, I didn't really care about him.
I shoved the ill twisting in my gut down, before heading upstairs. I watched as Cyria stood there, staring at the scene.
I took a breath, "It's nothing new. You know that."
"I know, it's just," she pursed her lips. She shook her head. "Alright, let's go."
After slowly creeping up the stairs, we made our way up to my room. It was suspiciously untouched. A rocket ship sign with the name 'Mikey' hung from the door that made my chest tighten. I hesitated, before opening the door and walking in.
It was clean. Untouched since I left, practically. Everything was exactly as I had left it. My bed was made, the windows were open, and my table had everything I left on it there. Beside it was the corkboard filled with all the evidence for Cyria's case. As she walked into the room, I noticed how her gaze locked onto the board instantly. Her hands tightened around the hem of her skirt, and I looked away.
I could hear her walk up to the board while I dug through my closet looking for whatever secret that old man left. After a long while, I turned around and saw her still standing.
"Don't worry about it. You're here now, right?" I said. Silence.
"Cyria?"
She wasn't responding. I ignored it, thinking she was still shell-shocked from the sight. I mean, if the roles were reversed and I saw that my death caused her to go haywire-crazy-conspiracist-mode then I would've been pretty shocked too.
After another moment, I finally stood up from my closet and turned around.
"…Cyria—?!"
She suddenly keeled over, grabbing the board for support as she covered her mouth and vomit spilled onto her palms, flowing down to the ground.
"What the hell?!" I ran up to her. I helped her up, grabbing and old shirt and wiping her mouth. "What happened—"
"I was pushed."
My heart sunk into my stomach. "What are you saying?!"
"I remember, Michael! Or, I did— fuck, I remembered for a moment, but it slipped away!" she gripped her hair, scratching at her scalp as she let out a sharp wince. She grabbed her head, retching again as I caught her from falling. "I saw… a face. I saw a face. A face, Michael! A face, and then, and then a push, and I was falling!"
"Shit, okay, just," I helped her to my bed, sitting her down. "Breathe. Breathe and explain."
Her breath was ragged, sharp, and uneven. Her pupils were dilated and her hands quivered slightly. I grabbed her hand, squeezing it tight as I knelt in front of her. I stared in her eyes.
"Hey, hey. Look. Five things we can see, remember?" I looked around. "Look. Look. See that?"
She followed my gaze. She took a shaky breath. "A picture."
"That's right. A picture. And a clock."
Another deep breath before she spoke. "I see you… the ground. The— the table."
"Yeah. Now four things you can feel. Like my hands squeezing yours. You feel that, right?"
"Y-Yeah. And the bed. My clothes. The wind."
"You're not falling, okay?" I said, before repeating. "You are not falling. You are here. You can hear it, right?"
She paused. "The ticking clock. Your voice. A-And the breathing— your breathing."
"You're here right now. I'm here with you."
She took a deep breath, stilling her body before chuckling. "I can smell vomit. And cigarettes. Is that you?"
I laughed, not breaking eye contact. "Yeah, that might be."
"…I can taste blood in my mouth. I think I bit my lip too hard."
I could see it, feel it in the beating in her wrist. Something must've hit her hard, because I haven't seen her this panicked in a long time, even when she was alive. A silence filled the room before she finally opened her mouth to speak.
"I saw it, Michael. Before I fell," she gulped. "I saw someone push me."
My lips furled as I felt my body tighten. It was an awful feeling. I know I'd always believed that this had been the case, but hearing it confirmed here left a bitter taste in me. I was stunned. Couldn't breathe, couldn't even turn my gaze up from the ground. After a long pause, I looked back up at her.
"Take your time. Don't force yourself if you can't," I squeezed her hand, standing up and going into my closet. I pulled out a change of clothes, one that would probably fit her. I placed it beside her on the bed. "Your clothes have vomit all over them… you should change."
I opened my mouth, before closing it and nodding softly. Walking toward the door, I turned back. "I'll give you some space. Let me know when I can come back in."
The door shut quietly behind me, and I slumped against the wall. As I hit the floor, I ran my hand through my hair. This changed everything. If someone really did kill her, and she was here now… that means I really would be able to find this person. I'd be able to pay them back for these past eight years of shit and guilt. In other words, I'd be able to exact my revenge. Admittedly, a grin formed on my face at the thought. I had to actively fight off a chuckle from leaking from my mouth, before my hand dragged down my face to cover my mouth.
At the end of the day, though, it was ultimately her choice. If she was here now, that means I would be able to spend time with her without worry. She might be missing eight years, but I'd be able to catch her up to speed. I could take her out of this place and she could live the life we always dreamed of living back then. I mean, there was no need to pursue the case if she was alive, right?
My hand gripped the note in my pocket. I took out a cigarette from my other one, before striking a match and lighting it in my mouth. A puff of smoke raised itself into the air. My shoulders relaxed as I took another puff. She was here now. That's all I've ever wanted for so long.
So whatever happens now? So be it.