The tire on the car in front of us exploded and it lost control. It drifted into this lane. John didn't have time to stop. I saw him try to press the brake, but by the time the car started to stop, we have slammed into the other car. I went flying through the windshield. I caught myself and turned back. Smoke had started to float up into the air. Broken plastic, metal, and glass were strewn about the highway. I flew back down. “John!? John, are you okay?”

I got to our car and found John. He was leaning against the steering wheel. There was blood. There was a lot of blood. I reached through the window and tried to shake him. He moved but didn't respond. “John! You have to be okay. You have to be. Please, like, don't . . .”

I felt tears stream down my cheeks. I didn't care. I couldn't care about that. I cried out and stomped my foot and the surrounding ground cracked and the cars shifted. I tore the door open and pulled John from the car and laid him down. I tried to wipe away some of the blood from his face. He looked so pale. There were sirens off in the distance. The familiar buzz of his presence was still there. Thank God. He's still alive. Eventually, a set of paramedics arrived and they gathered him up and took him to the hospital. I grabbed our phones and followed them. Holding his hand the entire time. The paramedics did what they could, but he never woke up.

They put him into a bed and kept him breathing. I read the doctor's notes. He was bleeding into his brain and fallen into a coma. I curled up next to him and called Karen.

“Hey, girl. What's u-”

“John's in a coma!” I said, cutting her off, my voice strained with pain. Tears streaming down my face again. “We were in an accident. Kare, I'm so scared. The doctors don't know if he'll wake up! What will I do without him? I . . . I can't handle this.”

“Whoa, slow down, Lone. Which hospital is he at?” I texted her the information. A while later, she stopped in and looked at him. She was wearing the Ouija sunglasses we had made. “Oh, oh god. Lona, I'm so sorry.”

She came over and hugged me. I hugged her back. “I'm so scared.”

“It'll be okay, Lones. John . . . John can't die here. We have too much work to do,” Karen said. I heard the crack in her voice. She was worried, too. Despite everything, she cared about him. She'd never tell him that. Not unless it was absolutely necessary, but she wanted him around. We sat in the chairs at the edge of the bed for a while. We moved them closer and I held his hand and she held my other one. His . . . His buzz, the little sparks of energy he gave off whenever I touched him, was getting weaker. He was getting weaker.

After a while, a nurse came in. “Ma'am, you need to leave.”

“I'm . . .” Karen looked up at her and shook her head. “I'm his sister. I need to be here until mom and dad get here.”

The nurse watched her for a moment, considering, then made her way to do her other rounds.

“We should call his parents,” I said, softly, stroking his hand with my thumb. They had cleaned off the blood from his face, but it was swollen and distorted. It made his already thin frame look . . . Tiny. Fragile.

Karen found his phone. It was damaged, but still usable. Apparently, it had a four-digit code that prevented it from being opened. “Do you know what it is?”

“Uh, no. Since he got me . . . Since I have my own phone, I haven't used his,” I said. She stared at it for a while, working through what she understood about him. Then after a while, she started laughing. Of all times, now? “What's going on? What's funny?”

She handed me the phone. “John's a dork and I know the code.”

“What is it?” I asked, looking at her incredulously.

“5-6-6-2.”

“What? Why? That's not his birthday or anything. Are you sure? Aren't there only so many attempts we get?”

“Yeah, you get a few before it locks up entirely. But I'm willing to bet that that's it.”

“You lived in the nineties. Don't you remember how you used to text?” She asked, incredulously. I looked at the numbers on the screen. Like, what is she talking abo-

“No. John's totally not the sentimental type like that. Like, he wouldn't do that.”

“Broseph fell in love with you within a month and was wrapped around your finger in three,” Karen pointed out. “What do you want to bet me that I'm right?”

I remained silent for a moment. The screen went dead. I turned it back on. I typed out the numbers she had specified, mentally replacing them with the letters. L-O-N-A. The screen changed to his background image. It was a picture of us at the fair with his parents. An ethereal tear blemished the screen. “He's a total dork.”

“Yeah,” Karen agreed. “Yeah, but he's your dork.”

She made the call to his parents. We also reached out to Vic and Sara and informed them what was going on. Those two visited first. They came in first thing in the morning. Karen jumped when the door opened and then blearily looked up. Her make-up had run a little and she wiped her mouth that was plastered in drool. “Oh, you made it. Good to see you, Vic. Sara.”

The two closed the door behind them and stared down at their friend, my boyfriend, whose chest was barely rising. They didn't say much while they were there. They stayed for an hour or so and Vic sat down and patted his hand. The entire time they were there, he only said “Hey, man. I . . . I'm really sorry. I hope . . . I hope you recover. You . . . You've got to recover. There's still so much I need to learn. We . . . I need you.”

Tears were streaming down his face. Karen and Sara both patted his back. Well, Sara tried but went straight through. She stared at her hand and sighed. She looked up to me and met my eye for an instant, then broke it. It must be hard, not being able to touch anything. To touch the person you loved. I reached down and gripped John's hand. He didn't squeeze back. He always squeezed back. I felt this pain build up in my chest and I released it in a cry. The lights dimmed and the machines flicked but then stabilized.

A few hours after Vic and Sara left, John's parents came in. His mother cried out in horror. His father looked stony-faced until he noticed Karen there. Karen hadn't gone home yet. She looked like a mess. But still better than John, right now. “You must be the woman I spoke to on the phone.”

“Y-yeah, Mister Jamison. I'm sorry.”

“You're that woman he works with for that stupid website, right?”

“Steve!” John's mother cried out. “Our son is in a hospital bed and you're picking a fight about . . . About ghosts, now?”

“Gen, this woman's filled his head with crazy ideas and encouraged him to make a damn fool out of himself. It's no wonder he's in this bed! Playing pretend with women who believe in ghosts!”

“I am his partner in EWG.com, yes,” Karen managed to say evenly. The way she squared her shoulders and narrowed her eyes, I could tell she was pissed. So was I. How dare he.

“And how'd this happen?” Steve gestured to his son in the bed. “Did he think he could fly and jump off a building or something?”

“It was a car accident, sir,” she responded, venom in her tone. “No ghosts were involved in the making of this accident.”

“Are you being flippant with me, you littl-”

“Yes, I am, because you're being an ass. John is my friend and your son and you're more concerned with some . . . Stupid part of his life that you disagree with. He hasn't woken up in two days and you're getting on my case for a website that he runs!” To her credit, she did manage to keep her voice down. The man puffed out his chest and squared up. His wife put a hand on his arm and he deflated and looked at her, then at his son. He leaned onto the bed frame and stared down. It must be pretty upsetting. He's just, like, pushing his anger on other people. This isn't fair, but it might be the only way he knows how.

John didn't get any better after they arrived. The doctors came in and explained that his brainwaves were getting weaker. They could try surgery, but at this point, they think he might be too far gone. Karen eventually went home. She told me she'd be back. John's father waved her off, dismissively. His mom didn't even look up from her son.

I gripped his hand. The buzz was the weakest it had ever been. It was barely there at all. I squeezed it. His parents stayed with him. They spoke in quiet tones and cried together. One of the machines that John was hooked up to stopped detecting . . . Whatever it was detecting. His heart was still beating. But whatever that was . . . wasn't there anymore. I gripped his hand and the buzz of energy that had always been there was gone. He felt so . . . Lifeless.

His mom got up and retrieved a nurse and they came in and checked a few things and then turned to his parents, that were holding each other. “Mister and Misses Jamison, I'm . . . I'm sorry. Your son . . . He . . . He is brain dead.”

“No!” His mother cried. I cried with her. I felt this intense pressure well up inside of me and crack. The lights dimmed and the machines beeped violently for a moment, then they stabilized. I collapsed to my knees and pressed my head against John. Against my love. My heart breaking in my chest. I cried. I tore at the flimsy gown he was wearing. No one was paying attention. His mother continued crying and gripped the nurse. “There's a chance. He could come back. God, help us. Bring back my boy!”

“I'm sorry. There's nothing we can do. He's . . . He's gone,” The nurse said. She had compassion in her voice, but she had obviously been through this too many times. “Your son is dead.”

“Are you sure?” Steve asked. “Are you absolutely sure there's no hope for recovery? His heart is still beating.”

“But his brain isn't working. His body will stop functioning. There's . . . There's no hope of recovery.” The nurse patted his mother's shoulder and met his father's gaze steadily. He nodded, his face screwing up.

“Do it. Disconnect life-support,” the man managed, his voice cracking.

Epilogue

A week or so later, Steve and Geniveve were cleaning out John's apartment. I had gotten there first and had taken my body back. I hadn't managed to visit the hospital in the body, so when they found me in the apartment crying my eyes out, tearlessly to them, they screamed and tried to throw me out, but I wouldn't have it. His father tried to call me callous and push me out of the apartment but I refused. I pushed back and held our blanket to him. It smelled like him. Everything smelled like him. I missed him so much.

Eventually, they gave up and we worked together to put his stuff in boxes. I didn't want to get rid of anything. His mother looked at his anime girl t-shirts and figurines and grimaced. She scooped the statues on his desk into the trash and I heard them break. The pain in my chest redoubled. John had collected those carefully. He loved them. And she was just throwing them away. I reached out and to stop her, but she refused to look at me. I stared down in the trash can. Karen eventually came by and helped us. She gathered all of the little statues from the trash and looked at the broken ones, shaking her head. Anything his parents wouldn't keep, she put to the side and took it for herself.

We eventually got to the paintings. John had put them away in the back of the closet. Steve tore one of them up. It was one of the ones of me. His hands were shaking in rage and it started off as an accidental tear. Then he actively ripped it in half and then in quarters, then eighths.

“What the fuck do you think you're doing?” A man's voice called out. Karen and I looked up and around. There didn't seem to be anyone there. We continued to clean up. John's father picked up another painting that his son had painstakingly created of me. He looked me directly in the eyes and threw it at me. I caught it and sat it down as carefully as I could. “I said, what the fuck do you think you're doing?”

There was a flicker in front of me. Steve stared at it. There was another flicker and pants appeared. A white shirt. Dark hair.

“J-John?” I managed to croak. Karen was staring, too. She wasn't wearing the Ouija Glasses, but she saw something. His image became more clear. Steve looked at the figure and then fell flat on his ass. His wife came in and cried out.

“Still don't believe me about ghosts?” John said, with a smirk in his voice. I walked around to see his face. Sure enough, the smirk was right there. His face was exactly as it should be. Too thin and too angular, but mine. My John. I threw my arms around him and he wrapped his around me. He was cold. The buzz was there. Kind of. It felt different. But he was back. Then he disappeared.

“Steve! Did . . . Did you . . .” Geniveve couldn't even finish her question.

“It's just grief . . . Playing tricks on us,” he said, sounding remarkably unconfident in his statement. John appeared on the bed, panting. He laid down. I walked over to him. Karen was looking around for him. I guess he wasn't visible anymore. I could see him. But, like, I can always see ghosts. A benefit of being one, I guess.

He looked up at me and smiled, reaching out and gripping my hand. His fingers went through the doll but met resistance where my fingers actually were. I stepped out of the doll and it collapsed and I threw my arms around him. “You're back. Thank God, you're back! Where have you been?”

“I don't know. It was dark. It took me a while to. . . Remember.”

“Remember? Ah. Remember. Yeah. It took me a while. I think you did it faster.”

“Maybe. I don't know,” he managed, squeezing me tightly. He kissed me softly and continued. “I just knew that if I didn't get back soon, you'd be lost without me. And my parents would throw away all my stuff. Can't have that.”

“No,” Karen said, giggling through her tears. “We couldn't let them do that. It's good to hear your voice, Jizzy.”

John grinned and leaned up to pull her into a hug, but his hands went through her. She shivered and he recoiled, staring down at his hands. He wasn't used to it, yet. I don't know that anyone could ever be fully used to any of this. To being a ghost.

“So, you're not a poltergeist, I guess. Just a Visitant.”

“And a Banshee,” he added, smiling sadly, nodding over to them. “They could hear me, after all. Takes a lot out of me, though.”

“Any other abilities that you want to let us know about?”

“Not yet, but we'll figure it out eventually. Got three whole subjects for EWG, don't we?”

“What the fuck are you doing over there?” His father asked. John stared, bemused at the man. “Who are you talking to. Why is she on the floor?”

“She stepped out of her body to hug your son's spirit,” Karen said, coldly.

“Don't be ridiculous, girl. There ain't no thing as ghosts!” The man said. Karen just snorted and shook her head. “You're delusional. Just like he was.”

“You literally just saw him and you won't believe it. He gave you the final bit of proof that anyone could require, but you don't still don't believe in him,” Karen said, grinning. “Jizzy, I hate to admit it when you're right, but there really is no convincing some people.”

“Oh, I'm right? I am pretty sure hearing that was my unfinished business. I can move on now.” John said with a grin. I could feel a shift in him and he started to disappear. I clung to him.

“You're not going anywhere, Jizzle! I just got you back and you're stuck with me forever,” I said, nuzzling into his shoulder.

“Yeah. Yeah, I am,” John said, wrapping his arms around me, stroking down my back softly. His father tried to argue with Karen some more but, Karen wouldn't have it. We collected as much of his stuff as we could fit into her car and left.

Karen drove us back to her place. As we were driving, Karen said offhandedly, “So, do we have to get you a doll, too?”

End