Researching Reforming Reinventing (Ghost)

Breath after breath. Slowly. He was taking his time as he examined every bit he could see from his present position. He waited until it all looked like a well known place, a living room, a place of your childhood. He did not even try to compare it to the little things that he still knew of the alleyways, those fragments of similar places he had gone through before the encounter. A futile attempt it would be, as this was a new place, an unwritten story. He simply waited for things to start looking out of place, for the story to tell itself.

All the little secrets that were hidden in the details of this place in between the words. This scene. Who had been its narrator?

First came the obvious things. Those that were most likely the ones the police had already found. Yet there was always the chance that they had not seen them, had not judged them for what he thought them to be. He was interested in first, second and third. Everything was part of this story. There were spots in the grimy covering of the bricks that made up the sidelines of this little world. Places where the smear had been rubbed off, rubbed on to something else not long ago that had soaked up part of it, as the white marks were still fresh and uncovered the red heart of the stones as well as the little pieces of cloth that were still sticking in them. So it was probably a fighting scene. All on them pointed in the same direction, too. Coincidence? Probably not. But the materials on the ground, those bags and plastic pieces, those containers and little boxes. They did not match a fighting scene. Too little had been upturned, far too little for a violent fight, displaced from where it had hit the ground.

He lifted himself up and changed position. Then the process of breathing and viewing started all over again. It continued that way for some time. Even the little beams that illumined the narrative were getting fainter by the minute, when he finally found part of the puzzle. Just a little drop of blood that had been left behind by whom he supposed to be the attacker. A quick grin flashed over his face as he carefully gathered up part of the blood on a piece of glass that was vaguely reminiscent of a slide, but a little broader, before storing it in a little black box stuffed with wool that was in turn carefully placed within his pocket.

It was the beginning of the first chapter. Feeling. Smelling. Walking. He was not done for the day, but was tired from searching with his eyes, so he went out for a little walk. A way the police had marked with the tires of cars, with heavy boots that had left deep impressions in the then malleable ground. They had ruined every chance of finding a visual clue here. He just went a little farther. Out the way the killer had gone maybe, but unsurprisingly also a way that lead him near to the place where he and Vega had first met.

Still standing in the deep umbra smiling because of his first sucess of the day-night-whatever- in the alley he looked down the very street where it had happened. His meeting with the unfortunate woman to be mistaken for a killer. The man who was blinded by anger and hate. Anger and hate fueled by the death of someone very dear to him. He almost felt sorry for the human. For the man to be exact, yet his feelings were shallow at best. Not only had he attacked without reason or reasoning – he disliked the loss of control that man had allowed to happen to him. It was a disgrace to any sane individual- but also for no other reason then death. Death. Another word they feared mindlessly. Another thing that set him apart. He sometimes brought it, but it was not the thing itself that he dreaded, but the way he brought it. The fear of death did not hold supremacy over him. The flickering light seemed to mock his opinion as it was slipping from him with every passing second, shrouding the street in the very treacherous thing he had found himself blanketed in. Darkness.

The fluttering of a piece of cloth in the corner of his eye stole his attention away from the street and put a smile on the face of a seeming teenager. Long legs connected to a body that was somehow familiar.... Rose into action on its own, before he even had had a chance to think through the implications. It would be just any girl. Could it be? Maybe! The coincidence would be too great. No its not. See! Feel! Stupid me. Illogical. While silently following her, approaching her more and more, taking little steps, through the shadows, his had lifted up and finally came to rest in a tight grip on the womans shoulders.

“Good evening.” He finally rasped out breathlessly as he wrested control from his instincts. An unpleasant experience on is part it was.

One second his hand was tightly gripping onto a shoulder, such a slender shoulder he wanted to loosen his grip, when suddenly there was no shoulder any more. A peculiar sensation he had not felt before. His fingers dug through the air aimlessly, as if still unsure about what had happened, and finally condensed into small balls in realization. She had just faded away. But the mist in front of his eyes was real. Very real. So his instincts had been right after all? Or maybe this was just another mutant, another face he did not know. Improbable. So the one thing, the one result of the math that he did had to be drawn. But before the wide grin of recognition could even fully open up in his face it was... compressed. The very ether around his brains protective shell were squeezed by a giant hand intent on cracking open his little refuge. The time manipulator raised his hands to cover his ears in which the continually raising pressure provoked clicking sounds.

And within the space of a heartbeat that feeling too was simply gone, only to be replaced by a faint wind blowing in bis face. Wind that spoke a title he enjoyed hearing. Somehow his hearts pace quickened a little at hearing it. Blink. She gathered herself together very quickly. Her method of recompilation erased all remaining doubt. It was her.

“I did.” His tone was apologetic. Of course he was wearing gloves. Always and ever. Well not ever seeing that he had not when they met, but normally he did. “I'm sorry, but I had to make sure.” Sure that you were who I thought you were. Sure that you were solid and not some by product of an unchanging mind. Some glimpse of the past in the present. His eyes were downcast, until she had completely regained her... solidity, as he was feeling like peeping in on some intimate process. Illogical. You had no trouble when you were in jail with her. Maybe its just to make both of us more comfortable? Yes. That must be it.

“But first: Good evening to you Vega. It is nice surprise to meet you here.” Politeness was a necessity not convenience. A little courtesy could go a long way when it came to preventing unhappy events. Courtesy like not simply touching someone else unless you knew him well enough to do so. And he was most assuredly not nearly close enough to Vega to be allowed to do so. But it was also no surprise. It was only natural that she would come back to this place. Just as it was natural that he would. He could even smell some light perfume coming from her. Interesting choice. He stepped back a few steps. Just to make sure.

“As a matter of fact I am.” His tone was neutral and friendly. Accommodating and inviting one could call it. “We cannot allow that, can we?” If he could only have such simple reasons as feeling good. Sometimes it was just refreshing to meet people like her. People with little problems. “I already searched the crime site, but I am unsure as where to go to next.” He pointed up or down the street. “Where do you think the culprit might have gone?” He would leave the choice to her.

When Ghost stepped back, he took some steps in the opposite direction. He even went so far as to get on her height, though facing in the opposite direction. His walk provoked only a minor echoing throughout the street, which did not at all create a scary or oppressive atmosphere. Or rather: If it did, he was inclined not to notice. He looked at her profile from the side, taking in her almost regal composure as she asked him in a manner that was suited for teatime discussion. Whether she had understood or it just was her polite nature he did not know, but he would assume the first for the better. Oh tonight would become a lot of fun. He shot her a mere whiplash of a smile that somehow had the feeling of snake skin to it – not dry, but certainly very sleek- before the timemancer opened his mouth fully and replied in an equally courteous, though somewhat deceptional manner. “Am I really the type to go for glaringly obvious things?” Fake sadness was dripping from the words like thick honey from a wild bees nests. The question was whether he would catch a fly with it tonight or the honey was just some sweet poison for the ear.

Stop that. You're not twenty any more and surely not the type to go fishing in the dark like that. Maybe fishing for a compliment even? He mentally scolded himself for his boyish behavior and quickly silenced all other thoughts regarding the matter of compliments or complimenting. I said NO!

Stepped behind her even, while his eyes were fixed on some point across the street, some unseen point. His hand lunged into his pocket, rummaging through its contents until he finally felt the cold touch of leather on leather. Behind him Ghosts breathing went almost unnoticed, up to the point, where it became part of the background noise, which made Martin look up from the pages he had just begun turning and stare straight at her back with some unquestionable intensity. He wandered around her a little to be able to see her face better, but relaxed visibly when he saw, that she was indeed in good health and not turning blue from hyperventilation. Comforting. He quickly gazed back at the pages, studying something that might just have been hidden between the lines.

The room had been dark and the chair uncomfortable until the fluorescent lamps mounted under the ceiling bathed everything in a pale white shower of photons. Desk. Three chairs. Two empty chairs. One with a non-child on it. Ordinary was the best word to describe the things uncovered by the white. It strongly accented the shadows around his eyes, making his reflection in the two way mirror on the wall look ever more unlike himself. For some reason he had recently started to dislike the darkness, yet the small time they had let him sit to ponder in darkness had really been nothing that came close to being intimidatory. It had made his back hurt though, which in turn made him somewhat grumpy. My was the chair uncomfortable. On the other hand he now saw what had already been suspected. It was a simple plastic chair that looked like it had been discarded somewhere from a school for all the markings that it bore might as well have been those of small children. Sometimes he disliked being right.

The door had opened just to reveal two hard faced men with official looking suits. They were just little details, but he noticed them. Their hands were scarred by long years of work, that had nothing to do with filing. Their backs were a little wider then the usual officers. Bohoooo. The first thing they had done was to throw a pair of gloves on the desk in between them and him and motion him to put them on. The kid had just smiled at them and complied without resistance. Their faces just got a little harder. He had smiled. It had promised to be an interesting experience back then, too.

Her voice carried his conscience back out of the pages into the real world to answer her next question. “Camilla.” Like some royal child from England they had told him with sincere looks. As if that would make matters worse. He could already feel some Camilla and the royal palace tremble in fear and her name patron, who was probably dead two hundred years now, spin in her grave violently. There was probably a mount of dirt being piled up in some old and long forgotten British cementry. Boring. They would have to do a lot better. “And those officers they gave me were not skilled enough to make a nun feel guilty for swearing.” His voice sounded... Unconcerned. Distant. They really had been boring most of the time. “And yes, most certainly a public school.” As was to be expected. Sons like him seldom were admitted into Catholic Private Ed. He started wandering around down the street for a few minutes, strolling aimlessly, eyes darting herer and there, never stopping destroying the illusion if only for those who knew. He stopped only to chat with a girl approximately his age, who was swaying her hips in such an intrusive way, it almost made him forget the near absence of clothing on her. Children. He then turned to Ghost, who had followed him with a little distance. “We're in luck. It's just around the corner.” He pointed at the corresponding street.

The bright red color of bricks was a reminder of older days, when he had lived in a city built from them. Glass and steel were such new parts of Architects repositories, but here in New York they used them in excess. Buildings from glass usually lacked something essential. Their see through environment provided perfect view on what was going on inside, and as this was undesired often, structures were turned into giant mirrors by means of some coating. You could see yourself walk by, your own image being reflected back, inflated, shrunk depending on the curvature. Smiles turned into abnormally large holes ready to eat up a mountain. Maybe just a cloud. Would you please stop smiling? I fear that I'm going to be eaten soon. Personality was what those buildings lacked. Solidity. The county had been wise in choosing a building with a strong foundation for their school. Or it was just for lack of funds to modernize, restructure it into another model building for this street. He followed her words with some sounds of approval. Somehow they made themselves into a little tune, a hum. Maybe there was a reason that he was happy to be here.

“I guess we'll just have to find the papers.” Here the tendency of keeping records of everything was not adhered to as rigidly and with much less traditional incentive than back where he had come from. But even here there were lists and records. Not keeping them was foolish, and stupid administrators rarely survived their first weeks in the job, much less so over the years. He gave her a sign to enter the grounds first, before falling in behind her. “I suggest you simply look for them in your incorporeal form. I will take care of any personnel present myself. Lets meet back here in an Hour.” It would give her ample time to sight all the data there was and do some recon if it was necessary. He just had to figure out a way to give her the time she needed. His mind was already racing back and forth, rummaging through all the possibilites. With that he held open the door for her to enter through into the bowels of what would be his first mission in enemy territory.


Just that the enemy here turned out to be a stone faced clerk with horn rimmed glasses looking at him like an unwanted insect that had just found its way unto his very desk by some whim of fortune. From a desk on which papers were arranged in such orderly stacks that they promised cuts to anyone bold enough to touch this mans sanctuary. “Hello.” The word was barely audible. Barely legible, carrying some accent sounds with it. The man raised his head. Staring. Staring back. More staring. His back started to tingle. There. Legs started to itch for movement, just some form of relief. Came. Hands started rubbing, kneading. No. He had done this all before. Answer. It was not that he was uncomfortable, but rather, that he acted the way he was supposed to. It was what was to be expected of a student, to feel unsettled by this herald of efficiency, who spoke with every shred of his state payed being: You will be properly dealt with. Filed. Stocked. Resistance would be futile. Finally there was a simple motion of a hand to a wooden chair -of course without any kind of cushion on it- that allowed the teenaged culprit to take a seat. “Why did you come?” He was not cold, just efficient. He was as predictable as the officers, as he was fundamentally the same. The same as those glass towers. Characterless.

== Im sorry it took me so long==

As in most instances of stress, that being when his blood filled with the rich flavor of noradrenaline rather then the thick musk of fear, his time slowed down conveniently. Or rather inconveniently if the other person talked, for the words became drawn out snakes that slowly wound their way in his mind. Speed was of the essence here maybe, as the clerks brows already burrowed their way up his skull, disappearing behind a curtain of thinning non-color that could not keep the black of the brows to reappear through little moths holes. It was only a matter of time before this one would loose his patience. Or rather deem him unworthy of his attention dismissing the reason of his visit. After all it was a clerk he was facing. And clerks never ran out of patience. Waiting for form 24B-3447 to be delivered to you shortly would else wise be a difficult ordeal.

Let the games begin. “I'm a foreign student and was asking myself, whether I could tour this school.” His accent was thick, but the language legible. The clerks yes widened slightly at the opening. Not something he had expected, was it? Something that got his attention? Posing as a foreign student would lead to several beneficial effects he hoped, yet the main reason behind this choice was the simplicity of getting accepted as well as avoidance of certain precautionary measures that people usually took when facing grown ups. For example the simple reason behind a foreign student coming to this school of all available. After all it was clearly visible when walking the thin carpets in the hallways that this was a state financed building and not the pinnacle of local educational facilities. Yet a foreign student offered certain benefits, he hoped at least.

The clerk laid down his pen on the desk among the meticulously placed other ones and examined him from head to toe. Summing him up in his single parts and his whole appearance. It equaled in what some people, people like him, who wore the exact same thing sometimes, would consider a smile. A twitching of the cheeks and thin, white lipped line appearing in the middle of the face. A smile. Somewhat. “Well welcome then. I will consult the principal first concerning your query.” He spoke cordially and slowly, yet did not manage to banish the dryness from his voice a single bit. Noted. Filed away. Due process finished. For some reason the boy was unmoved by the expression, did not flinch, nor did he back away as so many others did when they faced people as a clerk. It was a slip. Major? Minor? Who could tell? The thin line became even thinner and finally the student started showing signs of sweat on his forehead. Inside Martin his pulse was raging. Someone depended on him here. The pulse of the clock. Pulse of time. Afraid of faliure, dear Martin? Self doubts? Never? How is that?

In some office, maybe just a few doors farther down the hallway, maybe half the school away, a telephone started ringing, while the gray eyes of a near-teenager's scanned the room of the clerk for anything. Anything that might help him keep the ruse up a little longer, for he feared that he was under suspicion already. When the ringing of a reciever being put in its proper place finally reached his ears, there was nothing left for him to do, but clench his fists tightly on the clerks table. For once he did not have to fake.

While somewhere a girl was clicking her way through a host of different organization programs, he was familiarized with a host of different people that all unanimously, and with the same generic smile of pleasantry assured him that his stay here would be a wonderful one -it raised the question in him if there had been a secret announcement to the teachers and secretaries that he was coming and how he was to be treated. With silken gloves obviously, as far as the person on his side was concerned, for neither his slips in disguise, not that those were many, nor his obvious disinterest in seeing a classroom was able to stop the inadvertent smiles greeting him wherever the tight hand clasped around his shoulder led him. In fact it was so tightly clasped, as if the principal feared that he might leave any minute. Is he really this desperate or only inexperienced on how to handle guests? If its the first thing then I that would be a very good indicator to leave soon, if the second then this schools run by even worse personnel then I originally thought. Come to think of it, he had stormed into the clerks room and rescued him out of his hands with a smile that was supposed to be reassuring. If that one would stumble over his own feet, then he would not wonder, as the principal carried an air of practiced klutziness about him and indeed, just as he was about to show the visitor the glorious (slightly muggy) gathering hall -students had apparently tried their best at covering up the late 60s designs with their very own creations yielding indeed a colorful, nonetheless dated, environment- he tripped on the stairs and a gloved hand had to grasp his shoulders tightly to prevent his attempt at traveling to new academic heights. Despite this Martin found him to be quite likable. It might just have been memories of his own old school days. Somehow being in a school environment again was refreshing. It had -after all- been a time when his worries and stresses had been shallow at best.

Finally the two of them arrived at a door, that a middle aged man failed to open, going by his frustrated look and flashing eyes the reason for it was not to be sought in too few attempts. “This is our Vice Principal Gordon.” The principal commented, before walking straight past him into his own office, leaving Mr Gordon and the closed door to their own devices respectively. The office itself was divided in two parts. One for a secretary and the other for the principal, divided by a solid wall. He was now led into the inner sanctum of this school. A questionable honor for all students this was, and for him another test to pass, before being finally able to vanish from these peoples lives, never to return again. The walls were littered with posters like a teenagers room, yet these read something about taking charge or academic achievement. Rather flashy all of it. But that leather chair was comfortable.

“I hope you enjoyed the tour. Is there anything else you want to know?” The voice was cordial, the smile bright. Somehow Martin knew that he was in bigger trouble then before.