Insomnia

Stage Four


'In the case of a spirit bound completely by its own emotions, thus making it hard to exorcise, using a restraint spell before the actual exorcism might work better. There are several restraint spells, depending on the type of spirit…'

Gregory read on, tested the different types in his mind and found that none of them fit whichever category Trent belonged to. A headache was already on its way, making his head throb uncomfortably. He rubbed his temples to ease the dull pain and closed the book. There was nothing in there that he didn’t already know.

The pile of books on the table had all proved useless, and he did not know where else to look. Frustrated and tired with the whole ordeal he pushed the last one aside and held his head in his hands.

“Mornin’, sunshine.”

Gregory recognized the voice and felt no need to raise his head to give a greeting.

“Hey, what’s up? You okay?”

Nathan took a seat in the chair across the table and leaned over to pry Gregory’s hands from his face. And when their eyes did meet he let out a shocked “holy crap” and stared wide eyed at his friend’s abused neck. Gregory sighed, not feeling up to making a big explanation.

“Before you ask- yes, it was my ghost. Apparently he doesn’t take well to being exorcised,” he remarked dryly and reached out for his scarf to hide the bruises.

This morning when he got up he’d spent at least ten minutes before the bathroom mirror just staring at the ugly, purple finger marks that marred his throat. They were painful to touch, and, he knew they would be mocking him for days before they finally faded, which left him with no choice but to cover it up.

“He’s still around? You mean you failed?” Worried wrinkles appeared on Nathan’s brow when Gregory made a vague gesture with his hand that he took as a yes. “He attacked you.”

“Yes. There is no need to make a big fuss over it,” Gregory said quietly, hoping to avoid an angry outburst from his friend now that they were in the library. He glanced at Nathan and noticed a vein on his temple bulging slightly from the strain it took to keep quiet. The silence dragged on, and Gregory found it uncomfortable when he knew Nathan was concerned on his behalf. He folded his hands on the table and twiddled his thumbs while he waited for the other man to speak. Nathan’s eyes wandered over to the books Gregory had been searching through.

“What kind of spell are you looking for, Greg?”

“A restraint spell. The ghost is remarkably resistant to anything I’ve come up with so far.” He shrugged.

Gregory sat back in his chair. He could tell that the gears in Nathan’s head were turning rapidly from the way the corner of his mouth twitched and his eyes became vacant. Then suddenly, startling Gregory in the process, Nathan snapped his fingers and let his face break into a big, triumphant grin.

“What you need, my friend, is the Ultimatum Persepto. Trust me, it will take care of your ghost in a jiffy,” he said and seemed pleased with himself. The name rung a bell in his head, but he could not quite pin point it.

“It sounds familiar.”

“It’s rarely used because all those other spells normally work like charms. But the Ultimatum is stronger, takes more will power to go through with. I’ve never used it myself, but I’ve heard it might knock you out. Hm, lemme remember how it goes…,” Nathan trailed off and pulled out a napkin from his jacket pocket. It was full of scribbles already, thoughts and phrases that the man had written down in the spur of the moment. Gregory knew it to be one of the man’s more useless habits. It tended to fill up Nathan’s jacket pockets with silly nonsense that he hardly ever remembered the reason for writing down in the first place.

But habits were hard to kill, something Gregory too knew very well.

“Got a pen?”

Gregory searched his pockets and shook his head. “Sorry.”

“Oh, it’s okay. I had one after all.” Nathan held up the ballpoint pen and chuckled at his own silliness, then tapped his chin with it. “How was it again?” he murmured to no one in particular. Then he seemed to remember, because next thing he was jotting down words on the napkin quicker than Gregory ever would be able to write. He watched, wondering if he’d be able to understand the sketchy handwriting once the job was done. Compared to his own it was obvious that Nathan never did manage to change his handwriting since high school. It was crude and hard to read, but also had a certain charm to it.

“Here you go.”

Gregory took the napkin and squinted his eyes to decipher the words. He managed, just barely.

“Thank you.”

“Sure. You want to grab a cup of coffee and some lunch with me and Alexandria?” Nathan offered, and he smiled pleasantly, probably already knowing the answer.

“Thanks, but I need to get back to work,” Gregory declined and stood up. He slipped his arms into the jacket and buttoned it up, wrapped the scarf around his bruised throat and awkwardly smiled at Nathan. The man’s brown eyes were sad, although Gregory had no idea why, the smile was in place still. It reminded Gregory of a song he’d once heard.

‘My make-up may be flaking,
But my smile, still, stays on!’

Or was it something else? He couldn’t remember. It did not matter now.

Nathan rose from his chair to join him, and the two men left the library in silence and stopped briefly to say goodbye at the stair outside. Gregory turned to face him, ready to bid his ‘bye’ and move on, but Nathan suddenly had an arm around his shoulders and pulled him into a loose hug.

“Don’t hesitate to ask for help, Greg. I’d drop everything if you just called. You know that, right?” Nathan said in a low, serious tone that was unusual for him. So unusual, in fact, that Gregory only stared dumbly at him instead of answering.

“Y-yes. I know,” he replied finally and ducked his head.

Nathan’s laughter filled the air, and Gregory felt his hands clench anxiously in his jacket pockets. Displays of affection always made him ill at ease and seemed to make the words shrivel and die in his throat.

“Well, I’m off then. Give me a call.”

Nathan shot him another grin before walking away, and Gregory was left behind with a strange feeling in his chest. He stared after his colleague and friend and tried to attach a name to it. But after standing on the same spot for five minutes he had not yet come up with a proper term, and the cold was eating away at him.

There had never been any doubt in his mind that Nathan cared for him, perhaps even as much as he would care for a younger brother. The older man was always keeping an eye on Gregory to keep him out of trouble and save him from associating with people he didn’t know, something he was very grateful for. He was also aware that Nathan was a physical type of person; he liked to hug and touch the people he cared for, though he spared Gregory from that for the most part because casual touching made him uncomfortable. But that hug…Gregory felt a lump forming in his throat, and it was only growing bigger the more he brooded.

He wished that sometime he’d be able to return a hug like that without squirming and wanting to run away. He wanted to be a good friend to the man who had been the closest friend he ever had, but it was difficult when his emotions, or lack of emotions, seemed to get in the way at every turn.

Brooding so intensely made him crave a smoke, so he took a cigarette from his packet and lit it up. The first intake of nicotine felt like heaven; Gregory felt himself relax considerably as the smoke filled his lungs and worked its magic. However, the tension could not completely be drained from his permanently tense limbs. He began walking, heading back to Trent’s apartment. In his pocket was the napkin with the spell, and he brought it out and read the words in his mind over and over for those fifteen minutes it took him to get there. The spell was no harder than the average spell to memorize, and by the time he opened the door to the apartment turned on the lights he already knew the words by heart. He stuffed the napkin into his pocket again and warily walked into the living room.

It was strangely warm compared to how he’d left it yesterday, and when he checked he found that the oven was turned up as far as it went. If he was to guess he’d estimate the temperature to be twenty-five degrees. It took no time for Gregory to start sweating and remove his jacket and scarf, which he draped over the couch.

“Trent?” he called. His scarred hand spasmed.

This time he was prepared when Trent appeared right before his face- he smacked his palms together and chanted the Ultimatum Persepto so quickly that the words were hard to pick up. Instantly thin, silvery chains manifested, pulsating with a strange, yellow glow, and Trent’s eye widened in shock when they wrapped around his wrists, anckles and waist faster than he could shake them off. His mouth opened, ready to spit out profanities at Gregory for attempting to restrain him again, but curiously, he seemed to have lost his voice.

“Somnus, ultimatum persepto persham!” The words left Gregory’s lip as quietly as a whisper, all breath gone from his lungs from the concentration it took to keep the chains in place around Trent’s long, pale limbs. He staggered backwards, and his hands reached out for something to keep him steady and found the couch.

“Persepto Ultimatum, Camran.”

Gregory felt the colour drain from his face. His breath came in shot, shallow gasps, and breathing only seemed to grow harder.

“Subsisto.”

There, it was done.

Gregory sagged and fell back against the couch with a relieved sigh, and his eyes kept a close look on Trent, who was fighting the chains that held him down. His face was nothing short of livid, and Gregory knew that the ghost wouldn’t hesitate to grab another of those kitchen knives and stab him in the chest with it if he got loose again. White teeth bit an equally white bottom lip, chewing it raw.

“Trent…You are a danger to your surroundings. This has to be done. Please understand, it is nothing personal,” Gregory apologized. He did feel slightly guilty that Trent never got to talk to him about his death and why he became a ghost, but that could not be helped. He sat up and brushed his moist, blonde fringe away from his forehead. It stuck to the skin uncomfortably, as did the ponytail that was threatening to come undone.

Trent’s eye was narrow in its glare, and Gregory shuddered under it, feeling pinned once again. That ghost was far too young to have such a look in his eye, a look that spoke of raw and unpolished rage and contempt.

He took a moment to regain his strength and breathed deeply, preparing himself to exorcise Trent completely. Yesterday’s attempt had been a failure, but now Trent was unable to move or fight him, so it should be fine.

“Expel- thine hands I bind,” he started as he got up from the couch, and his palms were sweaty but cold when he brought them together. “Phasma meum….quiscete, Trent. Sleep. May thy heart rest at last…”

He took a deep breath and looked closely at the angry, but boyish face that had retained so much of its emotion even in death. The final word seemed stuck at the back of his throat.

“Expel.”

His teeth clenched when the air around them began to move. It stole away his breath and left him gasping, all while the same, soft light he’d seen yesterday when Trent took on a solid form created a bubble around the two of them. He raised a hand to his throat, felt as if he couldn’t breathe. Something happened then that Gregory had never experienced before in the 21 years he had lived- the exorcism was blocked. He watched, horrified, as Trent threw his head back and cried out without a sound, his eyes bulging from their sockets and his legs spasming wildly in the air. The light enveloped Trent, wrapped him in a thin layer that seemed to want in through his chest.

A terrible sense of deja vù filled Gregory; it was too similar to what happened when he was twelve.

“Fuck!”

He moaned when a wave of pain hit him hard and made him double over. Shit, what was happening? Exorcisms were not supposed to be painful!

His heart picked up speed, pounded so hard against his rib cage that it felt like it wanted out. Mixed with the ice that was filling his lungs it was a lethal combination- Gregory knew this might kill him unless he broke it off. Trent’s eyes had rolled back into his skull, and only the restraints kept him from clawing at his head.

“Per…actio,” Gregory panted. “PERACTIO! STOP!”

For a moment it seemed like nothing was going to change. But five seconds later everything returned to normal, and Gregory collapsed on the floor, too worn out to even look up at Trent. He saw the chains break from the corner of his eye, and they too vanished in thin air.

Trent was going to murder him for this, he was certain.

No punches came, and no knives were hurled at him, and when Gregory had rested enough that he could push himself back into a sitting position he could only stare at Trent’s shivering, huddled form sitting two feet away from him.

“Trent,” he tried, but the ghost did not seem to hear him. He crept closer, not quite coming into the range of his arms in case Trent lashed out at him with a hidden object in his hand. Trent’s thin shoulders shook, and he wondered whether it was from trauma or because he was crying. The latter seemed ridiculous.

“I won’t apologize,” he said quietly, and his throat felt itchy and sore. The bruises throbbed dully. “This is my job.”

The ghost moved so quickly that Gregory had no time to react and protect himself. He was thrown backwards, his back hitting the floor hard enough to knock the air out of his abused lungs. Coughs rippled through him, and to his horror he found Trent’s ass pressing his hips into the floor while the hands moved for his throat. Gregory flailed, but he was pinned, and instead of choking him Trent grabbed his wrists and pinned them above his head. White hair fell over the right side of his face, covering the eye from view still.

“You filthy, ugly piece of shit!” Trent hissed, and his voice was high pitched and hurt, like the voice of a little boy. His whole form pulsated with a weak, blue light that followed the rhythm of a heart, and Gregory expected the worst.

He was finished. He had failed his mission, and Nathan would find him strangled to death here in this very apartment. Accepting that he closed his eyes, wanting it to be over quickly.

“That hurt. It hurt, you bastard!” Trent yelled, but Gregory did not flinch or even look at him, which was the reason that his eyes shot open in utter shock when the ghost released his wrists and sat back. What was going on? He thought, confused as to why he was still alive. His thoughts died when he saw that Trent’s face was locked in a grimace, as if he was fighting back tears. However, it was seeing both of the ghost’s eyes that left him speechless.

Trent’s right eye was a mess. The skin that surrounded it was ugly and scarred, much worse than Gregory’s own hand. It looked like someone had attacked him with a blunt knife and randomly slashed at his face in a poor attempt to remove the eye. The eye itself was not blue like its companion, but a milky white, obviously blind and unable to see a thing. Both eyes were out of focus, and Trent slowly relaxed on top of him. Then, as if nothing at all had happened, he was on his feet again, his back turned to Gregory.

“Say what,” Trent said,” if you don’t try no more of those icky restraint spells, I won’t hurt you. Got it? Promise me.”

Gregory was too dumbfounded by the whole ordeal to talk coherently.

“Uh, okay, promise.”

Trent vanished without another word, and Gregory couldn’t help but wonder what the hell had just happened.

-

By the time Max Turner finally showed his face at the diner Gregory was already halfway through his plate of eggs and bacon. He’d had his eyes on the entrance for a while now not to be surprised by his colleague, but he made no signals for Max to come over and join him. A shudder ran through him when he eyed Max’s cheerful, friendly face that was searching for him. The man’s eyes were a light grey, almost disturbingly so, and the charm they emitted never really got to Gregory; not now and not in the past.

Max soon enough spotted him and made his way over, and the man slumped into the seat across the table with a sigh and draped one arm over the top of the red couch he sat on. The smile was in place, as always, and Gregory did not doubt the sincerity of it. But Max’s personality rubbed him the wrong way since it was so different from his own, and thus he was left squirming in his seat.

“I’m pretty hungry too. Think I’ll order some lunch,” Max chuckled and placed a hand on his rumbling stomach. Gregory kept silent while the other man ordered a plate of lasagna.

In all of HQ, Gregory didn’t think there was anyone stranger than Max Turner. Although he had the appearance of a man in his early thirties with thick, brown hair that pointed in every direction, stubble on his chin and glasses on his nose, that was a deception that could fool anyone. It was in fact only Max’s body that was grown up. After all, the body itself was inhabited by a sixteen year old boy whom formerly had been a ghost. Technically you might argue that he still was, even though he’d found a host body to sustain him.

Gregory knew that the body’s name had been something entirely different, but the ghost inside was named Max, and thus that was the name he went by. Max was also the only member of HQ that did not work in just a single Department- he worked wherever they needed his abilities. Of course, Gregory had no problem admitting that Max was clever and good at what he did- he just didn’t like spending time with the man.

“So, tell me what happened earlier,” Max suggested.

Gregory chewed, swallowed and put down his fork and knife.

“I restrained him by using the Ultimatum Persepto, which worked just fine. But when I tried to exorcise him it appeared to backfire. This strange light appeared and put both him and me through pain.”

Max clicked his tongue while he thought about it, and the warm smile on his face became thoughtful wondering. “Why was he in pain?”

“I am uncertain. The light appeared to be trying to get into his chest.”

“His chest? That’s…odd.” Max frowned. “Do you know anything about him at all?”

“Nothing apart from the fact that he has extreme mood swings and a bloodstained bathroom.”

Max leaned back in the seat and rubbed his chin. Gregory jumped at the chance to finish his meal and gulp down some water.

“Well, you should try and talk to him. You know, find out how he died, who killed him and all that. The situation sounds familiar, but I don’t remember where I’ve heard about it before.” When the waitress arrived with his lasagna Max beamed at her so brilliantly that she blushed, even though she was no more than seventeen.

“He is hard to talk to,” Gregory said.

“You need to find the right approach, that’s all. Don’t push the wrong buttons, even if he seems to have plenty of those.” Max greedily ate away at his lasagna, and Gregory had to force himself to sit still and not let his anxiety take over. “I’ll look into it and see what I can come up with, okay? I know I’ve heard about it before…Meanwhile, get to know your ghost. I’m sure he’s been lonely.”

Gregory assumed that the only reason Max referred to ghosts as if they were his companions was because he still considered himself to be one. He wasn’t sure what he had expected the other to tell him after he explained the situation, but getting to know Trent felt like an impossible task right now.

“I’ll see you,” he said quietly and left his seat. Max laughed and waved a hand at him, and Gregory immediately lit up a cigarette when he left the diner. His nerves were a little frayed, a combination of what had happened earlier and meeting up with Max, and not even smoking was able to soothe him.

Gregory spent the walk back to Trent’s apartment brooding over everything that had happened since he took this job. The thoughts left him restless and distracted, and it took him some time to realise that his cigarette had long since turned into a little, useless stump. He threw it away and lit up another. If anything, he was probably going to die from lung cancer at thirty. He had no intention of stopping though. If he tried he was sure he’d replace the cigarettes with an unhealthy amount of coffee and die from caffeine poisoning instead, if such a thing was possible.

There was something very wrong about Trent, and he had sensed that when they first met. But he could not pin point what, and the situations that ghost got him into were different from any other he had been put through. Trent broke through his defenses and left him harmless and weak where no other ghost had managed to. Gregory touched his scarf-clad throat and thought of the purple finger marks on his skin; he had come so close to dying himself, without finding the reason behind Trent’s abnormal existence. Today too had been dangerous.

Too dangerous. At least he knew now that he could protect himself with the use of the Ultimatum, if it came down to it. What he didn’t know was how long he could keep up that spell without collapsing. The events earlier had taken their toll on him, and he felt tired and stiff all over.

The apartment was peaceful when he returned, and low, mellow music was playing on the stereo. Gregory glanced at it but decided to leave it alone. Trent was nowhere to be seen, and Gregory checked the kitchen and bedroom without finding him, but knew that the ghost was around because of the cold he radiated.

Gregory pushed open the bathroom door and was not surprised to find Tret sitting perched on the sink with his legs pulled up to his chest. He had to tell himself to calm down when he spotted the blood that was everywhere. Trent wore a look of vacancy that seemed unfitting for someone so temperamental, but his head snapped up when Gregory entered, and right away his face turned sour.

“And what does Mister Ghost Hunter want?”

The voice was dripping with sarcasm, but Gregory ignored it and leaned back against the wall and crossed his arms over his chest. Trent didn’t seem to find his staring unsettling at all.

“That is your blood, isn’t it?”

Trent shrugged and scowled at the wall.

“So what?”

“It seems an awful lot of blood for a single person,” Gregory pointed out, to which Trent snorted and chewed on a thumb. “How did it happen?”

“None of your goddamned business!” Trent hissed, and the anger flared in his blue eye. The blind eye was again hidden by the long fringe. Perhaps he was ashamed by how ugly it looked.

“I don’t see any wounds on you, so my guess is that you are concealing them. Am I right, Trent?”

Trent’s jaw tensed, and the glare he shot in Gregory’s direction could have killed.

“Why the sudden cross-examination?”

“I am a curious man, and your murder interests me. Something terrible must have happened for you to become a ghost,” he said slowly, knowing that he was threading on thin ice. “Do you want revenge?”

He expected Trent to burst into an angry fit and yell at him, but curiously enough the ghost’s shoulders slumped visibly and he seemed unable to phrase his thoughts. When he did speak his voice was timid.

“No. I don’t want revenge.”

“Then what binds you to earth? You would be free if you moved on,” Gregory said softly.

Trent grit his teeth, and Gregory thought his eyes looked blank, but wet, when he moved from the sink and floated through the doorway.

“Trent, answer my question.”

Trent threw his hands into the air exasperatedly and shook his head. Gregory followed after him, pushing him for a reply.

“I can’t, okay? I can’t move on,” Trent finally said, and Gregory did not miss the bitter tone in his voice.

Another mystery had been presented to him. Did Trent mean that he literally could not move on of his own free will, or was it his emotions that kept him chained to earth? He opened his mouth to ask, but Trent was already gone.

-

ps: those two lines Greg remembered are from Queen's "The show must go on", in case you didn't notice.