Rumors, Pink Hair, and a Fall

Obsession. The word tasted bitter. I tried to remember—was it love, regret, anger? Or just the need to know why? I’d always been stubborn. Maybe that’s what kept me tethered here, halfway between worlds.

I tore the house apart but couldn’t find my phone. Seriously? Not even in the cookie jar? Maybe it was at Carter’s place?

I checked every drawer, every coat pocket, even the cookie jar Mom used to hide spare cash. No luck. My phone was gone, and with it, maybe the last clues to my life. Carter’s place was my next stop. The thought made me nervous, but I had no choice.

Floating along, even at my slowest, I finally arrived at the apartment Carter and I had shared.

The building still smelled like fresh paint and old pizza. Our place was on the third floor, the one with the crooked welcome mat and the wreath I’d made out of fake sunflowers. I hovered outside, heart pounding, afraid of what I might find inside.

Standing at the door, I thought of those movies where a girl opens the door and catches her boyfriend with another woman.

I almost laughed. Life imitates art, or maybe death does. I pictured myself as the ghostly ex, floating in while Carter cozied up to someone new. I wasn’t sure if I wanted to scream or just vanish.

I used to hope he’d move on after I died. But now, when it came to actually seeing it, I was scared to find another woman by his side.

It’s easy to be noble when you’re not confronted with reality. I’d told myself I wanted him to be happy, to find love again. But standing there, invisible and powerless, I realized how much it hurt to be replaced.

In the end, I was still selfish.

I pressed my hand to the door, wishing I could turn the knob, wishing I could go back to when things were simple. Turns out, ghosts are just as human as anyone else—messy, jealous, afraid.

While I hesitated, the elevator behind me dinged. Carter was back.

He stepped out, keys jingling, face drawn and tired. He didn’t see me, of course, but for a second, I felt like he sensed something—like the air got a little colder as he passed. I followed him inside, heart in my throat.

The apartment hadn’t changed at all; it was just like when I was alive. There was still a sticky note I’d left on the fridge: "Food’s in the Crock-Pot, remember to heat it up before eating when you wake up!"

The place was frozen in time. My handwriting on the fridge, my favorite mug in the sink, even the stack of unopened mail by the door. Carter dropped his keys in the bowl, sighed, and glanced at the sticky note. He smiled, just a little, as if remembering the sound of my voice.

He took out a can of cold beer and gulped it down. I tried to stop him, but my hand went right through his arm. Oh, right, I’m just a soul now. Ha. Figures.

I reached out, instinctively, wanting to grab the can, to scold him for drinking on an empty stomach. My hand passed right through, cold and useless. It hurt more than I expected.

"Drinking again! No one to nag you when I’m not around, huh!"

I could only punch the air.

He took out a phone from his pocket. Inside the case was a photo booth picture of us. So this wasn’t my phone?

He thumbed the photo absently, the edges worn soft from years of handling. I remembered that day—too many takes, too much laughter, faces pressed together in the little booth. I wondered if he ever looked at it and smiled, or if it just made him sad now.

He scrolled through the album—mostly silly selfies of me. He laughed at them, but tears started falling as he laughed.

He tried to stifle it, wiping his eyes on his sleeve, but the pain slipped through anyway. The sound of his laughter, tinged with grief, made my chest ache. I wanted to reach out, to comfort him, but all I could do was watch.

"Lila, you really don’t love me. It’s been almost three years, and you haven’t come back to see me, not even in a dream. All those flowers I left at your grave were for nothing."

His voice cracked, raw and wounded. I wanted to shout, to tell him he was wrong, that I’d tried so hard to come back. The rules of the afterlife are strict, and love doesn’t always bend them.

"That’s not true! I couldn’t come back without an official position in the Underworld! And who knew it’d be so competitive, even after death? The first year, I studied for two months and didn’t even get an interview. The second year, I got food poisoning during the test."

I flopped onto the couch, arms crossed, pouting like a child. "You think it’s easy being a ghost? Try passing the Underworld’s entrance exam while everyone else is cheating with centuries of experience!"

"This year, I’m not leaving you any more flowers. Let’s see if you remember me when you’re broke."

"No way!" I yelled, waving my little hand, and the whole room went dark.

The lights flickered, then snapped off, plunging the apartment into shadow. I grinned, feeling a little vindictive. If I couldn’t have flowers, at least I could mess with the electricity.

"Lila?"

I heard him snort.