Day 2, (2/3)

Sebastian leads me to an empty, unlocked classroom. He follows closely behind me, then he closes the classroom door and leans on it—quiet— as he observes me, waiting for me to speak.

"Do you," I don't know what I should ask, so I go for what I want to ask, "do you remember what happened last night?"

Sebastian stares at me, like he's absentmindedly thinking up a rebuttal—something at all to respond with—but he quickly looks away, settling for a less abstract answer. "I left after your practice and was on my way home and-and I don't remember what else…I think I saw your car headed near the train tracks on my way home and-."

"You saw me," I come closer, looking up at him, "you saw what happened, didn't you?"

"I mean," Sebastian fidgets, like he's nervous, "I only saw you going down there since I have to pass the tracks to go home and-I-I can't remember anything else besides that. I just remember waking up the next morning-."

"Are you telling me the truth?" I asked, cutting him off entirely.

Sebastian looks at me, puzzled, his forehead suddenly producing sweat. He frowns, eyeing the classroom floor harder than before, like he's focused on a spot he can't seem to move his eyes from.

"W-what reason do I have to lie?" He asked, lines creasing his forehead; his eyebrows raise high, roughing the tips of his bangs.

And then I ask, without thinking.

"Let me talk to him." I request.

"Him?" Sebastian asked, appearing puzzled.

"Not you," I clear my throat, "the other uh-you."

I've never seen Sebastian look at me the way he does now, antipathy and aversion, fearful and apprehension, like I know something that I shouldn't. It then suddenly felt like a line—one that should have stayed untouched—has been crossed, and it's too late to walk on the path of return.

It further surprises me when Sebastian doesn't ask me how I know. He doesn't ask me what I mean. He just nods, like some ephemeral epiphany rises from his blood stream and touches his mind, forcing him to acknowledge the trusts that face us both.

Sebastian takes a minute to contest himself, and closes his eyes, opening them to a sapphire blue. His hair, from the roots to their thick tips, slowly dye themselves a pure white, transforming him into an angel, his imaginary wings fluttering behind him, feathers blinding my eyes to see them.

"Uh-here I am." Not-so-Sebastian said.

"Yeah, um…hey," I begin, but don't know what to say next, so I don't say anything.

"Hi." Not-so-Sebastian responds.

We stand there, two pairs of blue eyes staring into each other's hollowness, filling the open void of the other individual effortlessly. I flinch when he puts his hand on my shoulder, his palms warm, the heat cooling my cold skin. He lifts his hand an inch above, silent.

"Sorry-." He mutters.

"No," I said. "It's okay." I said "You can-you can touch me. It's alright. I'm-I'm not scared or anything."

Not-so-Sebastian gives me a very telling look.

"Promise." I said, before finally, he heeds and he puts his hand back on my shoulder, his fingers slowly spreading out, like his fingertips have wings, ready to fly.

"Are you feeling alright?" Not-so-Sebastian asked.

I nod, looking at his wrist, quietly yearning to touch the wandering hand.

"Yeah, I'm better," I snort, "but my parents were upset with each other. Haven't seen them at it like that in a while…"

"I'm…I'm sorry."Not-so-Sebastian said, his soft voice sounding even more meek.

I look at him, confused. "Why would you-?"

Not-so-Sebastian shrugs. "I don't know, just am."

"You've only ever saved me-." Isaid.

"Tried-." He rebuttals.

"-and that's more than anyone else has done," I heavily breath out, losing my breath to the atmosphere, to him, looking down at me with something no one else has. "So, don't apologize. Please."

I turn and walk towards the large window, the sunlight bouncing of the porcelain glass. I lean against the cold window, watching Sebastian chase me, closing some of the distance, standing a foot away from me, his long legs touching one of the desks. He looks at me silently, reading my eyes like they tell my life in pages.

"Who are you?" I asked him.

"Sebastian," he said and he shoves his hands in his pockets, finding interest in his boots, "I'm Sebastian."

"Yes, you look exactly like Sebastian—except for the white hair and blue eyes, so I guess I did have the right person." I said. "But you said something about the 'alive' you."

Not-so-Sebastian tries hard not to lift his eyes, his eyebrows scrunched, his lips down casted.

"What does that mean?" I asked.

Not-so-Sebastian takes his time to breath, fiddling with something in one of his pockets.

"The Sebastian you see now," for the first time, he looks at me, shy and sacred, like he's ashamed of himself. "Is-well-it's hard to explain but, this form of me—the one you can see—I-this form is dead."

"What-?" I asked.

"This is going to sound really bizarre," Not-so-Sebastian said, and his voice sounds strained and tense, like he's afraid of how I'll accept the news, "but I guess you can say I'm half alive," he swallows, "and I'm half not."

"What does that mean-."

"That I'm not normal," Not-so-Sebastian cuts me off; he fiddles with his pockets more violently, looking everywhere but me, "I'm weird. They're right when they said I'm weird-."

"Sebastian," I shake my head, "that's not-."

"It is." Not-so-Sebastian whispers, and it's the first time he has emotions on his face, emotions I can't pick or sort, "I'm strange and I can do what normal people can't, and that's weird."

"What's normal then?" I asked. Not-so-Sebastian shrugs. I don't know how to soothe him, so I grab his big hands, holding them in comfort. He flinches, eyeing our connected hands like he placed his palms on a hot stove, yet he doesn't move from the heatc but he absorbs it, his cheeks blossom a soft pink when I grip his hands tighter in my own. "Because if that's the case, then I don't think neither of us are. I mean, I keep like dying dude and right now, that's all I know about it. At least you know what's up, right-?"

"I'm half dead, Andrew." Not-so-Sebastian said. "I-I don't really know how's it's even possible, but I was born like this—with this weird hair and these crazy eyes and— I don't even bleed red blood. Andrew I'm-I'm a half spirit-a half ghost, born like a half freak for being a child of a necromancer."

I blink, unsure with how to respond. "Oh." I said.

"Oh." He repeats.

"Yea, oh…uh…oh, what does that mean?" I asked.

"It means that I have weird powers and abilities because of it." I look at him, lost. "So because of who my parents or parent is, in this case I-I guess I inherited some of their powers, you know?"

"Oh." I said.

"You don't look convinced." Not-so-Sebastian deflates.

"Oh?"

"Andrew."

"Hi." I said.

"Stop saying that."He said.

"What-oh."

Not-so-Sebastian sighs, scratching his head. "So—I mean— like, based on how I've been putting my powers to practice, I can switch from being alive and dead, like an off switch. I guess you can think of it like I can switch from two states of 'being,' if that um-makes sense."

"Oh-I mean wow." I said, speechless.

Not-so-Sebastian just nods, cowering away.

"That's…kind of cool…like really cool, man." I said, nodding my head, offering a smalll smile. Not-so-Sebastian smiles back, and it takes me aback because it's the first I've seen from him.

"Thanks." He said. I nod, staring at his curved lips.

We stand in silence until I become curious again, until Not-so-Sebastian is ready to answer again.

"So, does the…dead right-?" I asked.

"Yes, at the moment." He answers.

"Okay, so does the 'dead you' have something to do with." I clear my throat, "alive Sebastian's memory? Because it seemed like when I tried talking to you about what happened before, you didn't remember anything."

"Maybe." Not-so-Sebastian looks away and shrugs. "It appears like everyone doesn't remember anything but-uh-us."

"Why, though?" I laugh, becoming scared myself, "since the-uh-alive -yeah 'alive' you doesn't remember, but you do…and I do, what does that mean? Am I like dead or something too?"

Not-so-Sebastian doesn't answer, his face scrunches up and his lips quiver, like he knows something.

"I…don't know." He said, looking mentally drained.

I should have said he did, because he clearly does remembers something, but I don't comment, taking his answer anyway.

"Well, it's been a long few days huh?" I said, and I laugh, trying to lift the mood, "dying twice in the span of a few days is kind of like a talent, am I right?"

"Few days?" Not-so-Sebastian said, appearing confused when shakes his head, "I don't think-um…"

"I guess time goes by fast-."

And I see them.

I see them, with their mask and black leather. I see them, quietly open the classroom doors and reach for their whip. I see them, raise their whip high above their heads, aiming the sharp needles at Not-so-Sebastian, in front of me, unaware of the cause of the pause in my step. I don't know why I felt like I needed to protect him when I'm the one who's already died twice, but I did, my hands pushing a giant Not-so-Sebastian away from the harsh blow and ducking, the spikes of the whip breaking the glass behind me.

I take an unconscious step back, my neck hitting cold air. I didn't realize I was falling from a six-story building and plummeting to my death until I saw how far the window was to me, and until I saw Not-so-Sebastian reaching his hand to mine, his face scrunched in exasperation as he misses my finger tips by a centimeter.

I realized, while falling dramatically slow to my death, that this really sucks. It sucks how shit my lucky is; it sucks how I tried to play hero when I can't even save myself-.

But then, it comes to me; then I think about the bugs, the clapping and slamming. I think about the time the bugs came crawling at practice, and now that I think about, didn't something similar happen with Masked Face before I died? Didn't I-didn't I-clap? Didn't I clap the first time and slam my hand on a wall the second-? Didn't something supernatural and abnormal happen, and I-wasn't I the common factor between both possibilities.

Maybe it's out of desperation and a fuel for retribution, or maybe it's because I'm so scared to face death again, especially without putting up some ounce of a fight, that leads me to close my eyes and take a deep breath.

And I clap; I'm holding my hands together like I'm praying. I think I was praying, in fact, wishing that I can summon something so much more useful than stupid, tiny, bitty ants.

The first thing I feel is my foot burning, like some hot ointment touched cold water on my foot and had a pyro party. Then I felt a touch, one, two, three, four, it was a system of touches on my back and shoulders and thighs and legs. This touch holds me—stern yet gently—not too high but leads my feet further off the ground, cradling me. It holds me up with my body tingling, burning, like flames. My eyes rail down to my feet, catching a glimpse of fingers tightening their grip on me.

Hands.

They were weird, blue hands on me, caressing my pale skin in contrast, making me realized that they're blue ghastly hands, hollow and grim, yet hold me with gentle numbness.

Note to self: ghost hands are holding me a foot up from my death.

I yelp in surprise, and the feelings and touches and hands disappear. In the corner of my eye, I see Not-so-Sebastian jump out the building and swoop a hand under my back, holding me just like the hands were. He rolls over me and falls, bringing me to lay on top of him. I gasp, blinking furiously, feeling my eyes watering and my foot resists the burning, but now it tingles.

I instantly reach; my hands come to cradle an arm around Sebastian's neck, swinging my view from the building to the pit of dirt behind us. Not-so-Sebastian holds me tighter, breathing heavily, the muscles in his arms and chest spasming in and out.

"Are they-?" I asked, breathless.

"Yeah, they're gone," Not-so-Sebastian said, and the bell rings.

"They're gone." I repeat after him, like a hymn.

I push myself off Sebastian, finally opening my eyes.

"They left before the bell…what do you think that means?" I asked.

Not-so-Sebastian glares at the open window, contemplating.

"Either they know our schools schedule really well and are trying to avoid the crowd…" He looks to me, I look to the ground, exhausted. "Or they're a student."

"Oh." I nod, my head tilting back, and my eyes rolled behind my head without my consent. "Shit…"

I pass out.