It was hot, the kind of hot that could only be satisfied with blasting the AC and holding one’s hands at ten and two to feel the cold air hit them from the vents. Not paying mind to the fact that ten and two had gone ‘out of style’ and was downright dangerous in some cars, depending on the installation of the air bag. Many drivers on the large highway drove with the windows up to take advantage of their comfortable igloos. Reginald Briggs De’Angelo didn’t mind the heat, which was good considering that he certainly had no AC. His custom-made MV-Augusta F4CC wove between the lanes, disregarding the mini-vans and camrys as he sped past them. Reggie had just gotten the sports bike a few weeks before, and he wasted no time in taking it for a spin, leaving his ‘old’ bike to gather dust until he gave it to someone, or donated it to some auction event for charity.

The sun was beginning to set, and though it might have seemed a bit early for bar-hopping, Reggie was on his way to Cecil’s, a bar he had been to only once before. There was something…inherently wrong about going to the same bar all the time in his mind. Yes, the staff knew how to treat the right people with the right respect, opening the curtains, doors, and velvet rope where required. However, it was only when Reggie went to the same bar with regularity that people began to notice him. In this case, ‘people’ was another word to mean women and the kind of men who swung the wrong way a bit. It wasn’t just the fact that women noticed him. Reggie wouldn’t have had a problem with that. He was the kind of person who would be quite content being the last man on Earth, assuming of course that the last women on Earth were all playboy bunnies. The problem with repetition was that women began to stalk people like Reggie. The last club he had enjoyed, called Lion’s Den, was where he was assaulted with quite a common exchange.

”Reg? Reginald? The red-head asked, practically climbing over the bouncers protecting people like him from the grub—common folk. “No, really. I know him.” She told the bouncer, trying to reassure him.

Having already had a decent amount to drink, Reggie wasted no time in approaching the bouncer and the girl, though he made no attempts to tell the bouncer that she did, indeed, belong on his side of the velvet rope. “Do I know you?” He asked, holding some house special whose name he couldn’t remember in his right hand, while his left was dangling lightly by his side.

“Yes, of course… Remember? We met here two weeks ago… We went back to your hotel room…” It was the same story Reg had heard time and time again. Of course they met at a club. Of course he brought them back to some hotel room. He practically had a standing reservation at any of the biggest hotels in the state. He never brought a girl home, because girls met in clubs weren’t for bringing home, and Reggie had no interest in finding a girl in any other place. Other girls required courting. There were dates, and restrictions on activities, and flowers, and dinners, and questions, and pretending that he actually cared about her boring life when he knew that all she wanted was his money. No, Reginald was not interested in a relationship; he was only interested in having a good time. After all, he had money, he had a great body, and he had absolutely no reason to change his lifestyle.

Shaking his head, Reggie shrugged and took a sip of his drink. Wasn’t her name Meredith? That name annoyed him, and as he looked at her once again, he remembered that it was Meredith. He didn’t even want to say that name, and so had decided to call her Sweetie. That had also been the name of one of his cleaning ladies’ parrots. Listening to Meredith speak two weeks ago reminded him of how much that damn bird squawked, which was how he got the name that sounded slightly less sour on his tongue than Meredith. “Nope, don’t remember you.” He said, and turned away from the woman, walking towards the back of the club and ducking down a hallway. He could almost hear the silence of her shock, and smirked as he finished his drink in one large gulp.

Eventually, going to the same club just led to too many awkward encounters, alcohol being poured on his designer suits, women huffing and puffing and throwing tantrums in their discount heels. Reggie didn’t go out on weekend nights to be assaulted by women… Well, sometimes he did, but that was always on his own terms. This new club, Cecil’s, had been recommended by a friend of his, a guy named Andrew. Since Andrew only came to the area like three times a year, the places that he recommended were hit or miss. This one, though, was definitely a hit.

There was traffic on the freeway, not that Reg particularly cared. Two lanes were wide enough for two cars and him, provided they weren’t complete idiots. While Reginald didn’t have a lot of faith in mankind, he did think that survival instinct was pretty high, and that usually kept him safe. Some Camry that had to be from the 90s honked as he sped past, and Reg looked in the rearview mirror as the small car disappeared from sight, no doubt the man was raising Reg’s favorite finger in front of him. In fact, the man honked because he was finishing a text, and Reginald coming up in his peripheral vision scared him and made him think he was in the shoulder, causing him to swerve unnecessarily. Reginald shook his head slightly and turned back towards the road in front just in time to see the large semi hurtling towards him. “Shit!” Reginald cursed and turned the bike sharply, pushing forward on the left handle to counter-steer his motorcycle and move quickly to the left, where there was no one in his lane. Reg had to pull harder than he expected though, as the back of the semi curved out, and blocked the path ahead. Going far to the left, Reginald hit the semi and flew over the median. He didn’t even hear the crunch of the metal when his bike smashed into a car in the other lane, and he fell unconscious before he hit the ground.

Though Reginald had a history of making poor decisions before getting on a motorcycle of vehicle, this time the culprit had been the driver of the semi. The driver, a man named Billy Thompson, had been driving for 13 hours straight, and hadn’t taken the mandatory breaks that he was supposed to, trying to make a deadline. He had, of course, been in the far left lane of the highway, driving south, when he fell asleep at the wheel. The semi managed to make it over the median before he woke, and by then, all he could do was try to slam the brakes before he had a head-on collision with the other cars coming towards him. The momentum carried the back out and to the side, blocking all of the lands, and smashing against a few cars. There was no shoulder for them to go into, the semi blocked all of the lanes, its front slamming into the median once more, and it’s back stretching into the shoulder. The pile-up on the North-bound side of the highway would be 15 cars and the semi, and the South-bound, due to rubber-neckers and Reginald’s bike, would have 5 as well, though only two lanes of traffic on that side would be blocked completely.

-.-

Five months after the accident - St. Martin’s Extended Care Hospital:

“I don’t care who is asleep, who is in a meeting, and who is at fucking dinner. I expect to speak with the project manager immediately!” Reminor De’Angelo barked into the phone before hanging up. When the accident first occurred, he had come right away. The boy’s mother had taken a few weeks, having needed to finish presenting some new design line for some very important people. Reminor had been angry at first that his son had gotten himself in another mess. He would have tested positive for some alcohol, and likely some sort of drugs as well, but since the driver of the semi had been found to be the cause of the accident, no one pursued the habits of all of the crash’s victims. The company that had allowed the driver to pull such a long trip had to pay damages to a majority of the victims, not that the De’Angelo’s needed the money, or the publicity. No, Reminor didn’t want his son’s name brought up in any of that, and so he opted out of the lawsuit that would have given a decent payout towards his son’s care.

Reginald had always been a troublemaker, and people would perceive it as his fault if Reminor had allowed his name to reach any of the papers. No, as far as Reginald’s friends were concerned, he simply dropped off the map entirely, with rumors flying around of him backpacking through Paris, or modeling for his mother.

Reminor’s phone rang less than a minute later, with the project manager he had demanded on the other line. Another argument ensued, in which Reminor insisted that Reginald would be made a subject of their research study that very evening. The project lead tried to insist that it was impossible, that Reginald wasn’t even a candidate for the drugs given the nature of his accident, and there were days-worth of testing that had to happen before they could ensure that he had the potential to respond to the treatment they had. Reminor, however, wouldn’t take no for an answer. He threatened to cut all funding to their organization, and since the De’Angelo’s had a lot of money to contribute to the group, the man relented finally, and agreed to send two tech that very night to give the boy his first treatment.

The drugs were a cocktail that were just beginning the trial phase. They were meant to help prevent brain deterioration in people with Alzheimer’s, and other neurological diseases. Thus far, they were having more beneficial results with helping to prevent the deterioration of motor function in people whose neurons were not firing properly. They did have a few other patients who had been in comas, trying to test if the brain damage could be reduced, and clearly De’Angelo wanted his son to reap all of these benefits, though he wouldn’t likely benefit from any of it, given his condition. The techs soon arrived, and were able to give Reginald the first treatment, though they would move him to their facilities the next day for follow-up care and treatment, as long as he didn't die from the first concoction of drugs that night. They could not promise any results, of course, but Reminor didn’t care. He wanted the best possible treatment for his son, no matter how much money he had to throw at it.

It was hot, the kind of hot that could have easily been satisfied with blasting the AC, but Erin Dearden's car was a piece of junk and there hadn't been cold air blowing through those vents in at least three years. It wasn't that she minded all that much, as the bright, young girl had always been the type to roll the windows down and appreciate the feeling of the wind in her hair. Passengers, however, mainly her mother, weren't so easily appeased. It was a shame, too, because the trip could have been made much more pleasent if the older woman would have just been a little more simple.

"Erin," said Heather, getting the attention of her daughter with a tone that implied she was nearly drowning in the passenger seat, "when are you going to get this thing fixed?"

Glancing away from the sprawling, white line-streaked highway, the twenty-one year offered little more than a flighty shrug of her thin shoulders. "Dunno," she added, eyes flickering back to the road, "maybe never. Who knows?"

Next to her, the older woman sighed and began to root around in the glove compartment for something to fan herself with. She would get lucky and find herself a course listing that Erin had forgotten about since freshman year at college. If she were being honest, she thought her mother was a bit dramatic, because she herself didn't even think the weather was that bad, and as summer wore on, it had the potential to get much, much warmer.

"This car was ancient when we bought it for you," Heather remarked, patting her hand against the faded armrest as if to prove a point. "I wish you'd just get something new. Something safe."

It wasn't as though Erin hadn't thought about a better, newer and more efficient car, but she really just liked the Camry, even if it was '95. She still remembered the day her dad had brought it home for her, how her mom had woken her up the Saturday after getting her license and lead her downstairs to find the black car parked in the driveway. It was a magical gift for any sixteen year old, and she had treated it well ever since. Maybe Erin was overly sentimental, but she just wasn't ready to give it up yet. Plus, it still got her from point A to point B without incident, and that was the important part.

Shaking her head at her mother, Erin's long, brown tresses came loose from behind her ear, "it's fine," she insisted, tucking away the stray strands once more. "You don't have to worry."

The pair continued on down the highway, making good time on their way to the good mall in the city. They had been long overdue for a shopping trip and a day together. Erin had been so busy with school at the end of the semester, and now finals were over and classes were done for the summer, she was eager to play catch up with her family and friends. She was looking forward to those familiar faces and longed to have the perfect summer, something to hold her over once fall came around.

Erin continued to drive and talk to her mother, laughing and joking, and catching up on gossip in the meantime. Before she knew it, traffic seemed to catch up to her, and she was forced into the left lane with cars to her other side and the guardrail to the other. From the back of her throat came a displeased noise as she shifted in her seat, her brown eyes shifting from mirror to mirror as she looked for a way out.

It was only a few seconds, just a quick glance around, but Erin hadn't even had time to see the semi crash ahead of her, and she heard the screeching of tires and the crunching sound of metal on metal before she actually saw the wreck. Everything was in slow motion after that as her car crashed into the pick up in front of her. Even the pain was slow, albeit, intrusive and sudden and the way that her chest hit the steering wheel was something the young girl didn't think she would ever forget. There was the sickening sound of glass breaking all around her, people screaming and the sudden jolt of being hit from behind. The metal body of the Camry was crushed up so small that the backseat was nearly in front.

There was blood coming from somewhere, and Erin's lungs felt like they were being cut apart with every breath she took, but at least she was alive. Slumped over the steering wheel, and barely conscious, Erin turned her head to the passenger seat, ready to ask her mother if she was okay.

"Mom?" she asked, her voice a hoarse whisper as she looked at the empty seat. A look of horror flashed through her eyes as they moved over to the person-sized hole in the windshield and Erin thought she was going to be sick as she realized what had happened. "Mom!" she screamed, only this time in anguish and regret. The car wasn't safe, her mother obviously had every reason to worry.

The rest of that day was blackness littered with flashes of information, clues that helped Erin to know that she was being rescued, taken to the hospital. Her father had come as soon as he heard; he was a mess, but happy that she was alive. The guilt that sat like a stone in Erin's stomach couldn't say the same.

After that, it was a long four months in the hospital filled with tasteless food, that sterile smell, different surgeries and physical therapy to restore some sort of quality to her life. On the day of her release, Erin left the hospital with pins holding part of her femur together, and scars on her body that would always remind her of that day--she was a survivor, but she still didn't know why.

Coming home was strange for Erin. The house looked the same on the outside and the inside, but it was obvious that something was missing. The walls used to echo with the sound of her mother's laughter and voice, and now, they were just cold and silent. It wasn't just Erin who felt this way, either and her father, John, felt that it was best to move. It was a bittersweet decision, and the brown-eyed girl felt as though he was just running from the grief he'd yet to face. Although, Erin was unable to fault the man, as she hadn't truly accepted her mother's death either. They were two sides of the same, sad, coin.

---

After a more than generous settlement with the trucking company whose driver had caused the accident in the first place, Erin and John moved a few towns away and settled into a luxury apartment. It was new and different for Erin, especially when she was used to an average life at best. Now, the two of them wanted for nothing, but the money did nothing to heal father or daughter, and these walls were just as empty and cold as her childhood home had become.

The weather was starting to get cold enough for a real jacket, and Erin tossed hers on the couch in the living room after coming home with groceries one afternoon. "I got that pasta you like," she mentioned cheerily, giving her father's head a kiss as she passed him with the bags and entered the kitchen. "You know, the fresh stuff," she called as she began to put jars and packages into their respective places on shelves.

"And the sauce?" the older man asked, a weathered smile on his still handsome face as he too entered the kitchen to help his daughter.

"It's..." she paused, sifting through the paper bags until she found a glass jar full of red sauce, organic and everything, "right here." Erin handed it over with a smile and talked quietly with her dad while they put away the rest of the groceries.

The two tried to make the best of their situation, and still reminded each other that they were loved and they could get through this together. It was different, and it was hard, but Erin believed that one day she would feel normal again, and that one day, her dad might meet someone new. Through all that happened, she still wasn't one to give up hope.

It was times like this, when there was so much going on in her mind, that a walk alone really helped. "Hey, I'll be back in a bit," she announced, donning her black jacket once more before leaving the apartment. There was a nice pond in the center of the property, and Erin hoped a few times around it would cure what was ailing her for the moment.

Three Weeks Ago- Snyder Research Labs: Irvine, CA
Patient Six-Fifteen is displaying positive signs from the treatment. His brain is retaining the electric impulses for about 3 point 54 seconds after sent through the brain stem and through the temporal lobe. There is very little activity in the frontal lobe. The doctor stopped the recording, and left the room to check on the next patient. Keeping a schedule was important, that way he was able to make his records at the one hour mark for each patient, and comment upon the same criteria every day. Reginald Briggs De’Angelo was left alone once more, apart from the flowers on the table beside his bed, beginning to wilt.

New flowers would be brought every other week, after Reginald’s father had his secretary put it on the calendar for the third Monday of the month. Reginald’s mother’s PA was sent a similar message, courtesy of Reminor’s secretary, asking if she would like to take the first Monday of the month. The personal assistant, a busy woman named Cecily, confirmed such with Reginald’s mother, and the orders were placed automatically with nearby floral centers, paid through the next six months. Apart from the flowers, no one came to visit. A few of the doctors had been surprised at first. They knew that this patient’s family had pushed hard to get him in the program--that he didn’t entirely qualify. They had expected to see more involvement from them coming to visit, bringing the patient tokens from home or something, but the room was barren, apart from a body in a bed.

-.-

Home. Standing in one of the nicer apartment buildings in LA, the place was jam-packed with amenities. The building had a 24 hour gym, indoor and outdoor pool, in-unit laundry facilities, two parking spots, its own balcony, and stunning views. He found himself in the hallway of the building he knew so well, and he looked behind him to see the elevator. Whatever he had just been doing, clearly he was going back to his apartment. A quick glance to the right and he saw he was on the correct floor, and so he turned to the right, walking down the hall and turning to the left at his door. He paused there for a moment, and then pat his pocket for the keys. He was really out of it. Clearly, he just needed to go lay down for a bit, probably sleep off whatever had ended up in his drink.

He looked down, assessing his clothing. Dark jeans, vest, button-down shirt, but no jacket. He might have gone out to dinner, had something slipped in his drink? Hell, maybe he simply had too much to drink. In any case, he needed to get inside and rest. Though he knew it would be fruitless, he reached his hand out for the knob, willing it to be unlocked. He could look for his keys later, he just needed to get some proper rest. What the…? A confused look spread across his face as his fingers seemed to go through the knob. That wasn’t right. Clearly, whatever drugs he had taken were still messing with his system.

“Calm down. Take a deep breath.” He closed his eyes and stepped away from the door. The door was locked, he was hallucinating. He needed to find his keys. Turning back towards the elevator, he looked on the floor. Perhaps he had been holding them, and he dropped them during his episode. Unfortunately, they were not on the floor by the elevator. He thought about going to sleep right there, but he wasn’t particularly tired. He felt like sleep was what he needed, but it wasn’t what he wanted in that moment. What he wanted, was to not feel like half of his brain was out at lunch, or dinner.

A noise down the hall got his attention, and he looked up quickly to see someone leaving one of the apartments. No. Not just one of the apartments…his apartment. “Hey… Hey you!” He had no idea who she was, but she certainly wasn’t the cleaning woman, he knew that much. “What the hell are you doing in my apartment?” He asked, closing the distance between them hastily, his arms folding across his chest.

Life after the accident was frustrating, but that was mostly because Erin couldn't stop thinking about it. Not a day went by where she hadn't blamed herself for everything, and often wondered if she had just given into her mother's nagging, and bought a new car, that day's incidents could have been avoided. Still, the young brunette was haunted by her last conversation with the older woman, where she did nothing but assure her mother that the car was safe, that nothing was going to happen to her. It was sick the way the world worked sometimes, and Erin was quick to become overwhelmed by the desire to turn back the clock or wish for another chance.

No matter the temperature, Erin's head always drove her outdoors. It was the only place that she could really relax whether it be a simple walk around the property, or a hard run through the nature trail. Secretly, she felt like if she always moved, her own thoughts wouldn't catch up to her, and if she could outrun them for the next fifty years, maybe she could make something of herself. In the back of her mind, the girl was aware of how ridiculous that was, but acknowledging discomfort hadn't been her thing for the last six months.

The hallway was quiet, and Erin pulled the sleeves of her jacket over her hands, sticking them into her pockets as she walked toward the elevator. For a few fleeting moments, all Erin could hear was the sound of her own footfalls muffled against the expensive carpet, but that was soon interrupted by a barrage of unexpected shouting. Turning, Erin looked over her shoulder to see a tall man striding toward her and looking very cross. It was as though he had come out of nowhere because she hadn't even noticed him in the hallway and normally, she did her best to be polite to the neighbors.

"Your apartment?" she asked slowly, her confusion clear in her tone and expression. "I live here." Looking the man up and down, Erin could tell that he wasn't some homeless person who had slipped past the doorman, and her next guess was that he was some posh, club kid who had family in the building, and was possibly confused about where his home actually was.

Tugging at her sleeves again, Erin balled her hands around the fabric and stuck them back into her pockets. "So, uh," she stalled, feeling awkward as ever, "hope you find where you need to be?" She scooted her way toward the elevator, intending on getting away from this stranger with the charmingly disheveled hair and smart vest.

“No you don’t. You don’t live at apartment 1206 on Cannon Street, because I do. I’ve lived here for three years. I wouldn’t just forget, or mix-up, something like that.” He looked at the door to the room as he spoke, and then back to the girl, who seemed to be trying to get around him to go to the elevator. “No. wait!” He walked around her and blocked her for a moment. “Look. I know that’s my apartment. You walk in, and the kitchen is on your left. There is a bathroom on the right, and a chip on the right side of the sink from…well, one day I was redecorating when I was a bit tispy. Anyway, there is a closet after that, and then the door to the first bedroom, with an en suite bathroom. On the other side is the living room, and dining area.” He paused, giving up on the explanation. Most of the apartments looked the same, and she had just been inside, likely robbing the place. Of course she knew what the apartment looked like.

“And fuck. I don’t even care if you were trying to steal anything. I just… I’ve had a rough night, and I can’t find my keys.” He couldn’t remember his night, which was probably enough of an indicator that it was rough. In any case, she didn’t have a huge bag on her, so he didn’t think that she had gotten away with much, if that had been her purpose.

“Is it open?” He questioned, looking at the door. He didn’t remember seeing her lock it, not that he had been paying the most attention to her at the time. He stepped around her again, and walked over towards the door. “I’ll just go back to my apartment, and give you a head start before I call the cops. Deal?” He went all the way over to the door placing his hand around the knob once more. He was feeling much more aware of what was going on, and had dismissed his earlier snafu as whatever was left in his system. Now, he would certainly be able to do something as simple as open the door and get into his home.

His fingers closed into a fist, rather than wrapping around the knob. “What…the fuck!?!” He yelled, pulling his hand in frustration. “What the fuck did you do to my knob?” He paused, and then began to blush, looking down and then looking back at the girl. That knob wasn’t the one he had meant at all “My door…what did you do to my door?” He questioned, his voice full of frustration.

Usually, Erin was a friendly person and even after the accident, she did her best to be polite to strangers. This one, however, was going to be the exception, because she didn't think that anyone had ever been so rude to her before. At that moment, it was hard for Erin to even find an ounce of sympathy for this guy and she just wanted him to leave her the hell alone so she could go on her walk. As if the thoughts in her head weren't enough, she was now being accused of stealing an apartment. It was baffling, and terribly frustrating, because it was clear that she couldn't argue with this man and get anywhere--his mind was already made up.

"Wow, you know the layout of this place. Good for you," she said coldly, her eyes rolling as she crossed her arms over her chest. The stranger continued to ramble on and accuse her of this and that, and Erin wasn't terribly moved until he began to stride toward her door like he really did live there. Thankfully, it was locked.

Following behind him, Erin glared and tried to cover her sudden panic for this increasingly strange situation. "Hey!" she shouted, "get the hell away from there! You don't live here, alright? This is my apartment!" Rifling through her pockets, Erin fished out the key and let it dangle from her finger as proof of ownership. "See? It's mine. Not yours." She stuck the key back into her pocket and looked back at the man with a huff. "Now get away from my door before I have to call security on you."

The woman was…incredibly rude to him, but such was his luck today. When she began to shout, and pulled her key out, he looked at her with a puzzled expression. Surely that could have been a key for anywhere, he reasoned. “That key…could be for anywhere.” He said, but he stumbled a bit over his words. The thing with the knob, he couldn’t just brush that aside again. It was nagging at him. Something was seriously wrong.

He almost missed her next words, but he began to tune in when she mentioned security. “Then call them.” He replied, just as steadfast as she was in proclaiming ownership of the apartment. “They will back me up. I have lived here for… years. Maybe they can figure out what the-“ His words were interrupted by the lock in the door turning, and the door itself opening. As the man was still closer to the door, he turned towards it, surprised to see that there was someone else inside his apartment.

“Erin, is there something wrong?” The older man asked, half-stepping out of the apartment. “I heard shouting.” He added.

When the older man stepped forward, he was forced to take a small step back. Clearly this older man had no concept of personal bubble, and he was completely ignoring the most important in the hallway. Making an effort to rectify that, he spoke again. “There is something wrong, as a matter of a fact. You and…this chick are squatting in my apartment.”

However, the older man didn’t even glance at him, and was still looking at his daughter, completely unaffected by the well-dressed but rather rude individual in their hallway. “HELLO?” The young man said again, waving his arm in front of John’s face. Before he could pull his hand away, John took another step towards his daughter, and moved right through his arm. He felt a sort of…thickness, like someone was squeezing his arm, but in a moment, John had passed through him, and the feeling passed. “Wha-?” He stared at his arm in shock, shaking his head in disbelief before looked back up at the girl who had argued with him. The older man couldn’t see him, but this one could. He couldn’t open the door on his own, and then the older man walked through him—literally through. There was only one explanation.

The threat to call security on this strange and unpleasent man had mostly been empty, and Erin had thought that the promise of intervention alone would have been enough to scare him off, but he was oddly bold. Frowning at him, Erin breathed an irritated huff and plucked her cell phone from her pocket. "Fine!" she snapped, "you asked for it, so I will!" Scrolling through her list of contacts which included the landlord and the elderly woman next door, she was nearly at Security Guard Hank's number when the door open and out came her dad wanting to know what was wrong. She was glad to see him, feeling more secure in the fact that she wouldn't have to deal with some loon from the street on her own.

Although, something strange happened as the older man approached her. Perhaps it was a trick of her own vision, or a play of the light, but he seemed to pass through the ranting stranger, unable to see that his own daughter wasn't alone in the hallway. She stammered for a moment, her head cocked to the side as she tried to wrap her head around what she had just witnessed.

Before Erin was able to answer her father, the other man was already griping again. She sighed loudly, as if to shut him up, but John hadn't even heard him speak, and now that he was between them, waving around like the petulant child he truly was inside, things only got more weird. It was then that Erin realized that she had been incredibly silent, and her father was already worried that she was losing it since the accident--she didn't need to give him more reason to worry.

"Uh," she shook her head, and ran her fingers back through her hair, "I...No, there was no shouting, dad." She glanced over to the other man, feeling barely sympathetic at how confused he looked. "That woman from down the hall was just on her phone again, you know, she's a loud talker." She managed to produce a flippant laugh, which eased the concern on John's weathered face.

John nodded, "she could keep it down," he said lightly, smiling at his daughter as he reached for the doorknob behind him. "Have a nice walk, Erin."

It was just the two of them in the hall once more; Erin and this...person and she stared at him awkwardly, unsure of what to do now. "...You're here, right?" she asked, the tone of her voice softening. "Like, I'm not going crazy, right? My dad is just..." she paused, still looking at him, thoughts more disorganized than before, "and the doorknob. I must have saw that wrong."

Erin gave some excuse about the neighbor talking loudly on her phone, and the man simply stood there in shock. Erin’s father disappeared, and the man turned his attention to Erin once more. “I’m here. I’m definitely here…” He said “You could be crazy, because this is my apartment.” He added. When Erin brought up the doorknob, the man looked at his hand once more. “I know… there is only one answer.” He paused for a few moments, and then looked up at her once more. “It’s a government conspiracy. They must have drugged me with something experimental. That’s why I my hand can move through the knob.” He paused, knowing that it wasn’t a complete explanation, but unsure of how to handle the rest of what was going on.

“And maybe the drug also make light bend around me to older people, like… those phone ringtones years ago. They had the high frequency buzzing so adults couldn’t hear it. Maybe they found a way to bend light and manipulate sound… it’s the only thing that makes sense.” He turned away from her for a moment and went back to the door, reaching his hand out not towards the knob, but towards the door itself. His hand was palm out, and he pressed gently against the door, feeling minimal resistance as his hand disappeared. Perhaps it was an invasion of privacy, but he still felt like this was his apartment, and so he was justified. The man took a deep breath, and then took a step forward disappearing into the apartment for a few moments.

Upon entering, he saw Erin’s father sitting inside on the couch. He was watching television, but to the man, it wasn’t the most noticeable thing. No, far more noticeable was the fact that things had changed. This wasn’t right. The dishes on the counter were wrong. The couch, the coffee table, all of his decorations, even the art on the walls was wrong. He only stayed for a few moments before he went back to the door, pausing to look at the bathroom sink. As he had said to Erin, it was chipped. This was his apartment, but so many things had changed… how long had he been gone?

He reappeared in the hallway less than a minute after he left. “I…my stuff is gone.” He said. “I don’t understand. That is my apartment… the chip on the sink, I lived here for years… I don’t…” He was visibly deflated, and pale. He couldn’t understand why so much was different than what he knew. “I am important… I am… holy fuck. I don’t know my name. Erin, what’s going on?” He questioned, beginning to panic a little.

Shortly after the accident, Erin's dreams had taken a vivid turn where night after night, she was seeing and talking to deceased members of her family. These dreams always seemed incredibly real and she often awoke with a hollow sense of longing to return to her dream world and talk for just a little while longer with the ones she'd lost. Knowing that about herself, the situation she was currently in could have very easily been a dream because there was no way in hell that she was talking to a very belligerent and unpleasant invisible man who had the strange ability to pass through solid objects, people and be looked past as if he wasn't really there at all. However, logic quickly set in on Erin's wish because there was no way that she was dreaming--she'd already been to the grocery store that day, and the bank, and she'd taken a shower earlier that day; the scent of her body wash and shampoo was still fresh enough to linger on her senses, so this just had to be real. The only question now was how.

"Okay, shut up," Erin snapped, waving her hands to get him to stop talking about government conspiracies and buzzing sounds that only people of a certain age could hear. "Whatever you are, you need to--Hey!" She frowned as the man slipped through the door of her locked apartment, invading her privacy like he still owned the place. Quickly, she produced her key from her pocket and was ready to unlock the door to go after him, but he was soon back out in the hallway and looking confused once more. It was hard to really stay mad at him, or dismiss him entirely when it was clear that he really didn't know what was happening. It wasn't as though she knew much more than he did, but she couldn't very well ignore a troubled soul, no matter how rude he happened to be.

Shuffling slightly closer to him, Erin put on the best sympathetic face that she could. "You don't live here anymore," she said softly, reaching out with much hesitation to place her hand on his shoulder. He felt solid to her, whole, as if he didn't just pass right through her door. It was all very confusing to Erin, but she pressed on, thinking back to something she had once saw on Ghost Hunters. "You need to cross over and move on into the next life. This isn't the place for you." She was going to be very proud of herself if that worked, because then she could finally leave the hallway and get some much needed fresh air. "So, go on...you. You get out of here." Awkwardly, Erin realized that she didn't actually know this poor guy's name.

He had ignored the girl protesting. Of course she didn’t want him to return home. However, when he exited the apartment a minute later, he was much less cocky. Her sympathy was well received, even though she probably wasn’t the most sincere. She said that he didn’t live here anymore, and for once he believed her. She placed her hand on his shoulder, and he didn’t think anything of it. Her hand seemed natural to him, and he didn’t realize how strange it was that he was solid to her but he had been passed through by her father.

However, when she began to explain that he needed to move on to the next life, he backed away quickly from her. “No… I’m not dead.” He said, shaking his head quickly. “I’m not going anywhere.” Unfortunately, her plan of simply telling him to leave didn’t work, and he was still here. He was, however, knocked off his pedestal a little, and began to roll the sleeves up on his button-down, one arm at a time, until the sleeves sat just below his elbows.

“I don’t…believe that I am dead. I don’t feel dead. And even if I was, go on to where?” Though he should have known that this woman wouldn’t have had any answers for him. Still, he wasn’t just going to let go of everything and leave. He took a few deep breaths, having a bit of trouble coping with what was going on. He had already told her that he didn’t know his name, and naturally, she didn’t have any idea either. “I think…I need some fresh air.” He said after a few moments of silence. For once, what he wanted to do and what Erin wanted to do seemed to line up. “Can we…go outside?” He would follow her downstairs via the elevator, finally quiet. Someone else got in the elevator on the way down, and he had to step out of their way because they were literally standing on his toes. He didn’t speak again until they had gotten outside. “I don’t understand what is going on. I can’t be dead. I don’t…remember even getting hurt. I don’t feel hurt.” He said, looking down at his arms. “How long have you lived in my apartment?” He asked, changing the subject suddenly. He didn’t remember dying, but he also didn’t remember someone else moving into his apartment.

If the situation were the other way around, Erin supposed that she would have been just as disgruntled and angry as this man, and currently, she was doing her best to empathize with him. Clearly he was a lost and confused soul and maybe ghosts didn't work the way they did on TV and in the movies, but she really did want to help him. It was strange the way she just accepted his presence there, thinking that even though it wasn't normal, it was happening and life had to go on. Sure, he was rude and probably deserved to be left alone to fend for himself, but Erin's heart was too big for something like that, so she stuck around.

She found herself nodding her head as he spoke and then asked to go outside. For the last ten minutes she had been trying to go on a walk anyway, and she supposed she didn't mind his company for the moment. Letting go of his shoulder and ceding to the fact that he wasn't just going to cross over because she politely suggested it, Erin lead the way back down the hallway toward the elevator. "I've lived here for a few months," she responded as she pressed the button to call the elevator. "The apartment was listed as vacant when I found it online and I was told no one had lived here for six months." She looked toward him, trying to gauge his reaction as the stainless steel elevator door parted.

Stepping inside, she waited for him, although she wasn't sure why since he could go where he pleased. Erin pressed the button for the ground floor and leaned against the railing inside of the elevator, side-eyeing the man beside her. "I don't mean to sound rude, but I still don't know your name," she prompted softly, biting on her lip. "If you're going to stick around, I need to know what to call you." She at least wanted to let him know that he was welcome until he came to terms with what had happened to him.

“A few months?” He questioned. He wanted to tell her that he doubted her greatly, that there was no way she had been in his home this whole time. Where had he been in that time. They began to walk out to the courtyard, and she asked him for his name. “I…don’t know.” He said. He began to mess with his sleeves, but stopped midway through. “It’s like… I can tell you that my pants are from seven for all mankind, the Paxtyn line, which retail for a little more than $200. The belt is Gucci, which goes for over $350…But I can’t tell you how I got them, or if I actually paid that much for them. I know that I live…lived there.” He said, gesturing to the building once more. “I know one of the concierge’s has bleach blonde hair, but the carpet doesn’t match the curtain, and she has a tramp stamp of some punk band.” He chuckled a little, and then looked back at the woman.

“Is this something you are used to? Like… you see people like me?” He still refused to acknowledge that he was dead, but he was willing to consider that something else weird was going on. “You moved in a few months ago, and it was empty before then… So… where the hell have I been for the past eight months or so?” He asked. Somehow, he figured that she would have answers for him. If she couldn’t figure it out, then he would never go anywhere.

A soft frown creased Erin's forehead and he broke the news that he didn't remember his own name. She assumed that he would be staying around, probably to insist that the apartment was still his, and if he was going to become a regular pain, she did want something to call him. Perhaps if Erin was feeling generous and curious later, she could try and look up who had lived in the apartment before her and help him out with his identity. Until then, she was in somewhat of a bind with him, and of course, how to go about this very odd situation. "Ew," she frowned, tuning back into the conversation now that he was done talking about how expensive his clothes were. "I didn't need to know that." Erin was never going to look at that woman the same way again.

Folding her arms over herself, Erin continued on her walk, suddenly stricken by the man's question. It wasn't that it was invasive or completely far-fetched, but she didn't think that she was ready to discuss her accident with a ghost that she hardly knew. "No, you're the first," she shook her head. "So...be proud of yourself, I guess." He didn't need to know about her dreams, or that she had been more sensitive since nearly dying on the highway.

"You really don't remember anything else besides how much your ugly belt costs?" she asked, cocking a brow in his direction.

The man laughed when Erin was grossed out by his exposition. He hadn’t even been sure that the woman was still there, but the way Erin responded, he was sure that she was. It was probably rude of him to talk about another woman’s tattoos, but he was trying to make a point. “Hey, if she didn’t want the world to know, then she wouldn’t have gotten it where the bikinis she is so fond of wearing shows them.” He added, giving a slight shrug before turning to meet her gaze. “What, you didn’t think that I had been up to anything…indecent, do you?” He asked, grinning a bit and raising his eyebrow. Of course, he probably could have slept with the woman. He didn’t have a clue. Like he had explained to her, he knew facts, not history.

“Hey, don’t dis the belt!” He complained, hooking his fingers through his belt loops as he walked. He took a breath, looking around the lake, and sighed. “No. Like I told you before, I know lots of things. I know about the concierge, my apartment. I know this courtyard and lake…I just don’t recall my name… Or how I got to be…in whatever position this is.” The woman was frustrating. Actually, she was downright infuriating. He had literally said twice now that he didn’t know his name. Perhaps she didn’t find that his words were worth remembering. Or the fact that he only had a memory that went back the last twenty minutes or so made it easier for him to recall the things that he had said.

“Look, I get that this is your first…whatever this is, but I told you I don’t know these things, and I am beginning to feel like a broken record. If anyone else could see me, trust me, I would be talking to them right now, because even that squirrel over there seems to be paying closer attention to me, and he literally ran through my foot a few moments ago.” He sighed, and crossed his arms. They had left the hotel through the lobby, passing by quite a few people, and the man had tried to be seen by all of them, to no avail. It looked like she was his only option, and he wasn’t very fond of his odds.

The sound of the man's laugh almost made Erin forgot how awful he was, but not quite. While she still didn't understand why he had appeared to her, she knew that she didn't have to stay with him, or even help him. Any thoughts of even being nice and finding out who he had been before he died was completely off the table as he went on to complain about her questions, and openly valued a squirrel over her. Erin had only been trying to help him remember, and even if she wasn't very good at it, she was at least trying. "You know what," she began, crossing her arms in return, " you can find out who you are on your own. You better chase after that helpful squirrel, he's getting away."

She turned away from him, determined to still enjoy her walk and that meant traveling the opposite way around the man-made lake. It was nice enough outside, but Erin was more than irritated by him even with a little distance behind her. She didn't understand where he got off talking to her like that, or why he assumed that she was his personal medium just because he happened to appear to her first. The worst part was that Erin still felt bad for him, because it must have been hard to be stuck between two worlds.