Ghost in the Mirror [site event]

"That's an interesting proposal," she answered, eyes wandering over the walls. Those kinds of things were tame though. With the kinds of things people could do at this academy, anything was possible. Their options for mayhem were endless. It was a wonder how this school hadn't erupted into anarchy already. Maybe because the Guardians were somehow scarier than the students. Still, getting killed hardly mattered. "And where's all this coming from?"

"Don't you know me well enough?" The trip to France idea was a little eccentric. He thought he'd established himself as that. He stretched in fatigue, muttering through it: "I don't know, I want to do stuff, is all. I think that's enough of an inspiration." Speaking of stuff, the bleachers had started to clear a little. It seemed that everyone had decided to get in line but them. "Are you going to go?" he blinked. "I'll go with you, if you want."

Just a bit of spontaneity. The sudden spur-of-the-moment pull to cause anarchy. That was something she could get behind, but that didn't mean you could be calculating too. They'd need materials, manpower, and a bucket of creativity to cause a bit upheaval... and the more she thought about it, the more it started sounding like a terrorist attack. There was a fine line between the two, so it was easy to get them confused. "Harmless prank" and "destructive joke" were two sides of the same coin.

She'd barely even noticed the others on the bleachers thinning out.

Jane blinked, glancing around them, and for a moment, a troubled look passed over her face.

Well, she hadn't come here for smalltalk with the living. She stood up, stretching out her arms, and sighed. "If you don't mind tagging along. You gonna use a mirror too?"

Was he? Logan looked down at the mirrors, at the people alarmedly peering into them. Was it worth letting his guard down, worth believing that something so preposterous could happen. There were powers and gifts, of course, but this went beyond that. Spirits, dead people; this entered the realm of God.
But he had his mind set on a particular person, a coin to throw in the well, and though he didn't believe it, the look Jane gave him and the look he gave himself made him stifle a nod, and smile with a, "Sure."

Everyone had their own ghosts. In a misfit school like this, she couldn't even begin to guess about half the tragic backstories in this room alone. That still didn't stop her curiosity from getting piqued. Did he have someone he wanted to see on the other side of a mirror, or was it just a whim, like France or the arcade? She'd always been the nosy type, and she'd never been shy about asking what was on her mind, but for whatever reason, the question never passed her lips. Jane extended her hand to help Logan to his feet. "Good. If I end up getting haunted, then I don't want to be alone. You'll have to keep me company."

Once he was up, she led them down the steps and to the sleeping woman in the chair. She looked like a withered old bat stuffed inside a knitted scarf, with windblown leathery skin and a small frame bundled up and buried under loose quilted robes. The dog looked just as worse for wear, but you couldn't mistake it for a cute little puppy. You could glimpse the hint of muscle under its fur, and a row of yellow teeth in its graying muzzle. Jane slipped her hand into her pocket, fingers clasping around a bill.

Now was when she decided if she was going to be a coward.

It'd be so easy to take out a twenty, look at that face, and leave without saying a thing. Then she could move on with her life, right? It'd be over. That'd be it.

But it didn't work like that, right? It could never be that easy.

Jane chewed on her lip and pulled fifty dollars out of her pocket, kneeling down to drop it in the tin can.

That was it, then. It was too late to turn back. She ruffled the rottweiler's ears and stood up, glancing around for a mirror, before turning to Logan. "Do we just walk up now?" The woman didn't seem to notice they were even there, her eyes closed, but she could see the effects of her gift all around them. Well, if she was a fraud, then it wouldn't be like they'd let her set up shop here.

Logan dug into his pocket, retrieving his wallet and flipping through the bills. He had forty six dollars. He flipped through frustratedly, and dug through is pockets, all the while whispering 'Come on,' and Dammit, and it seemed to work, because a five appeared in his last pocket, one of his back ones. He threw all the money in, not even worrying about the change. The woman didn't seem to mind either.

"I guess." Logan answered her absent-mindedly. He was half-there anyway, his hands shaking. He told himself it couldn't be real, that he wasted fifty one dollars, but he knew it was. It just had to be.

Well, here they were.

There were no take-backs. Even if she wanted to, that rottweiler would probably bite her hand off if she tried fishing her money back out of that coffee can. They'd already crossed that bridge and burned it. Now they had to go get their money's worth or spend the rest of their lives forgetting. And fuck, if they were dealing with ghosts, maybe they'd just made some sort of contract without even noticing. After the whole haunted mansion bullshit back in that mission, she'd had enough with that sort of thing. Anyway, at least she wasn't here alone. That was either good or bad depending on how this turned out, but... well, fuck.

Jane reached out and grabbed Logan's hand, leading him off to the first set of mirrors she saw, side-by-side. "So who are you paying for?" she asked. "Grandma? Grandpa? Pet dog?"

"I don't know," he said. He knew; he just didn't want to talk about it, to discuss it or whatever. The idea of mentioning dead people was not pleasant; all the "Oh, I'm so sorry"s, the fake sad eyes and the prerehearsed bullshit. Everyone said the same thing. Everyone had to say the same thing.

How was he to do this? He kept his eyes on Jane to use what she did as reference. Maybe she knew more.

"You don't?" He didn't know. They'd just dropped a hundred dollars on this thing together, and he didn't know. A small laugh, almost incredulous, passed her lips as they walked. "You don't... I'll be honest, I don't really know either." Her face was the same as ever, the same spunky spirit, the same easy teasing smiles, but she squeezed his hand a little tighter as they approached their own reflections. She stopped in front of twin mirrors pinned to the wall, still not letting go of his hand.

"I had a brother." Her smile twitched. "Peter. He got hit by a truck when I was younger." They shouldn't have been playing in the street, but what kind of idiot turned a blind corner going fifty an hour? There was a story behind all of it, but who cared about the details? They'd been playing in the yard, an apple red pick-up  swerved around the corner, cut over the curb, and smashed into him while blaring some shitty pop-country out the window. There was a screech of tires and it was all over. "It all fell apart when he died. Everything just blew up. It caused so much stress and bullshit, and I think it'd mean a lot to my mom if I talked to him."

There was a pause, and then another laugh.

"And I probably sound like the biggest bitch in the world right now, but I don't think I want to." Who wanted to talk to a little kid, right? He'd been four. She'd been nine, maybe ten. Yeah, of course she loved him, but that wasn't why she'd come here. Peter hadn't been the person who'd made her come all this way. "I don't want to waste this chance on a Kindergartner. It hit my mom hardest, and it all just kinda got crazy from there. I don't even know what she'd say." The affairs, the meltdowns, their perfect city life turning into a dysfunctional home. It didn't help that's when they'd all started hitting their teenage years.

"Well..." Jane never looked at him. She just spoke in a voice as sweet as a bell. "It's kind of a long story, but I killed my boyfriend." Jane let go of his hand. She'd already made up her mind. "My brother isn't really worth another fifty bucks. Really, I think it'd be better if no one in my life ever talked about him again. So I'm not going to pick Peter. I'm gonna pick some random guy who hates my guts. Isn't that awful?"

"Whoa." It was a simple thing to say for such a torrent of information, but it was a torrent of information, a dam's leak. Her brother died? She killed her boyfriend? The mention of a long story didn't exactly help, and he was conscious of the hand he was holding. Sure, he wasn't her boyfriend, but it was easier to kill a friend, right? Less attachment?

"I think fifty bucks should be spent on someone you know more." he answered her with a smile, but his face hadn't turned from the mirror. Of course, that was contradictory to his own choice. "I'm going to choose my father. He died when I was young." No long-winded explanations like Jane, no back-and-forths. His eyes stayed glued to his reflection. His stupid fucking reflection. Though he paid to have it disappear for a moment, he hoped it wouldn't. He hoped it would stay there, so that he may never see who he shouldn't be able to see. Why was he doing this?

That was the only response she needed. It wasn't insightful or comforting or apologetic, a tactful metaphor or simile telling her that it'd all be alright and that it was okay. Just his honest surprise all wrapped up in a single word. Maybe she'd been gauging him with that whole confession, or maybe she'd just wanted to vent out all the emotions bottling up in her throat. He'd answered right. She never looked at him, just stared forward into her reflection. "Ah. I'm sorry to hear that." Her parents had always been there. After awhile, maybe they weren't there for her, but they were there in her life, and no matter how bad things got, they were living their family life. Even after the separation, she'd still had a mom and a dad, and that was more than a lot of people had.

There weren't any words left for the two of them. Maybe tonight they could load up a movie and drink and shoot the shit over their personal bullshit later, or maybe they could forget about all of this and go their separate ways and keep living their lives... But life after the five minutes she'd paid for was an eternity away. There was only one thing they could focus on now.

For a second, she was afraid that the old woman had just died in her sleep. That whole dramatic spiel would be comical if this all turned out to be a waste. But then she noticed it change, the Jane in the mirror stretching and warping, the glass rippling and shimmering like water. A well-lined jaw with a hint of stubble, ear gauges, band shirt and plaid flannel and skinny jeans, messy brown hair under a Patriots cap, your average skater bum, with gray eyes that pierced into her like knives. A shock went through her body like she'd been stabbed in the chest, numbness spreading through her fingertips and up her arms, the erratic flutter of her heart just like when they were back on that rooftop together, but she just kept that smile like she'd always had.

Was he confused why he was here? Where he was? Why she was standing in front of him?

It all passed in a moment, the moment his eyes locked with hers, and then he came rushing forward, pushing up against the glass like they were separated by a window. "Jane!" Those languid tones that she thought she'd never hear again. His voice resonated like he was in a dark cellar, strained and thin as a whisper through the mirror. A reminder that this wasn't the real thing standing in front of her. "Jane...!" he called again. He was so close that she could reach out and touch him, but his voice carried a distance, like he was speaking from underwater.

A thousand emotions passed over his face, confusion and hurt and panic, but it was the look in his eyes that hurt her most. Like he still trusted her. "Yeah. I'm here." A long blink, a voice barely audible.

"Where are you...?" he asked, his voice strained with emotion. "You never—..." He choked up. "We said we'd be together, so why aren't you...?"

There was a rush of old memories, but something like amusement sparked across her face, tinged with self-loathing. "I'm not there with you. And I'm not coming for you." A wave of expressions passed over the face in the mirror, betrayal and hurt and tragedy. It had been tragedy. They'd been stupid and thought it was romantic. Every second that ticked by was like another blade in her spine, and finally, she broke the pained quiet between them. "You probably knew that though. You just didn't want to admit it."

What was real death like?

She'd experienced it so many times and she didn't really know. And she'd experienced it first with him.

"But why...?" Why. That was always the cliche. "We were supposed to go out together... After everything you said, everything we did, we were supposed to... Why are you still here?! Why am I the only one who..."

Jane just smiled like she always had. She wanted to die right there. She wanted to jump through that mirror, to redo it all, to fix that mistake, but the ghost in the mirror was just an illusion. His hands were pressed against the glass, but she never reached out. There would always be that separation between them now. She'd never feel that touch again. "I just wanted to see your face again. We fucked up and you ended up paying for it." Why didn't she follow through? It'd all been building up to that moment, the climax of their own knock-off modern Romeo and Juliet, but then she'd opened her eyes and her life after death had taken a sick twist. She was still confused over that too, but after the shock had worn off, after she'd screamed her lungs out and failed and failed and failed over and over and over again to right that wrong, she'd learned an important lesson. No, it hadn't ended up being meaningless for her. For him, it'd been a waste. He was dead and she wasn't. That was the cold fact at the end of the day. "I wanted to see you flip out and scream and cry and say you hate me. That's all. This'll be the last time. We ended on a good note."

"Jane..." He looked like he could barely breathe, and then he stepped back, whirling around, ripping himself away from the mirror, grabbing at his head with his hands. His outline was already starting to fade, blurring and fuzzing like static. Was he just lost for words? Knowing that she'd ended up ruining their perfect romance? That she'd tricked him into ending it all?

He looked out of focus, like an old exposed photograph. "I killed you. It all ended up being a lie. I'm still here, and I've been living the best I ever have." She struggled to keep staring at him as he turned back toward the her, almost staggering. "We were never meant to end up together forever. It was all my fault."

"I loved you."

"I know."

The mirage, the last connection keeping them together, broke. There wasn't any fanfare or fantastical warping like before, it all just exploded like a cloud of mist without warning, and then she was staring into her own reflection.

Now there wasn't any room left for regrets.

Logan fought with what he was going to say. It was such short notice, the prospect of talking to his father legitimately for the first time in his lifetime. This was his father, a man who only knew him as a bumbling toddler, stumbling over words like training wheels. He was a stupid kid, because all kids were stupid kids, and he was a dying kid too, stumbling over coughs as much as he did words. This was a time to tell a man, who had always been a blurry silhouette to him, who he was. What he'd become. And when the image materialized, when Logan stabilized his shaking jaw and stared straight into the form of his father, he said nothing. They stared at each other for a little while.

The man in the mirror was foreign to Logan. He couldn't pick him out of a lineup, despite the pictures his mother gave of him. When his father crashed the car into that limousine, on the last night of his life, when he took that Mexican driver and the little girls' souls with his own in a drunken fury, Logan had just turned four. This man was nothing to him, an absolute stranger, but Logan could not help but feel guilty. Logan's stomach turned with a nervous hatred for himself, and he opened his mouth, but his father's voice came first.

"You."

Logan was taken aback. Such venom on the man's tone, such a slurred growl, he hissed like a serpent. And Logan felt four again.

"You're supposed to be mine!"

A fist lunged at the barrier, the mirror vibrating, skating a millimeter across the floor with the force of a dozen punches. A lonely man's wrath had no bounds. He yelled, he yelled loud.

"You son of a bitch! I've waited years, I've waited forever! You're supposed to be here with me! You're supposed to be here with me! I've been waiting, Logan, I've been waiting!"

The mirror began to crack with the force of the blows. "You asshole, I'll kill you! I'll fucking kill you! Why didn't you come to me!? Why? Where are you!?"

The old lady seemed to take notice, and in no time, the man had vanished. The crack remained, a scar of his father's fury, and it tattooed itself to Logan's eyes. He stood there. After all that, fifty dollars and a collection of thoughts, all the scenarios his brain processed, all the closure he expected to get, and he said nothing. Not a word. He could not have expected that. No one could have expected that.

The dark rage-filled figure on the other side of the mirror, the cracks that formed in the glass, the screams and curses thrown through the small window between the world of the living and the world of the dead. No one could've ignored that. Sounds like he's had a more exciting reunion than me. When they were both done, and they were both standing there, she just grinned, letting her gaze drop to the floor. Well. That had all happened. She couldn't help but feel it'd all been a waste, but she'd gotten what she paid for. That was that. The silence stretched on and then Jane held her head up, stepping away from the mirror and grabbing at Logan's shoulder. "Come on. Let's get out of here." He still had to carry those files to the infirmary. "Any plans?"

There was a few moments of distant staring, but when she touched his shoulder, Logan flinched. He reentered reality, and smiled smally at her. "Unless you call delivering a box plans, then nope." He did seem genuinely warm. A little ominously so. It seemed nothing happened in the last few minutes. Logan bounded over to retrieve the box from the empty bleachers, realizing how empty the room was. They were the only three there; he, Jane, and the old lady.

He returned carrying it. "It's close by, so it'll only be a minute."

Someone else might've asked if he was okay, or at least showed a bit concern, but Jane's expression never changed. Her clenched fist hanging at her side relaxed and uncurled. "I hope you don't mind getting dragged along after that then." By the way she said it, it already sounded decided. They both needed a bit of company now. "I'll escort you, if you don't mind. Gotta keep my eye on you."

With that, Jane walked past him, toward the doors, not waiting for him to catch up. She'd be glad to leave this room.