[i]Ring, ring.[/i] Tristan groaned beneath the warmth of the Mylar blanket, pulling himself to a dead man's approximation of upright in a series of uncomfortably loud crinkles. The little office was heatless at night, the walls just barely insulated by layers of fake certificates, imitation tapestries, and mass-produced paintings of peaceful landscapes. The window was a problem, and Tristan's inevitable oversize poster of water droplets falling into more water had not proven much of a solution. His desk was a better one, pulled into the corner for overhead cover, and along with the space-age shininess of the Mylar formed the basis for what might well have been a contender for the saddest lean-to on planet Earth. Warm, though. [i]Ring, ring.[/i] [color=7bcdc8][color=82ca9d][i]Should fire my secretary,[/i][/color][/color] he thought, issuing another groan as he began the slow, noisy process of extricating himself from under the desk. He was just drunk enough to hate it, not drunk enough to accept its necessity. [color=82ca9d][i]Should get a secretary so I can fire them. It is at best...[/i][/color] When had he left the circle? Rani's smile, too bright, too easy. A shooting star on a collision course. Tabitha's growing estrangement. Not his business. Maybe his concern. Saying goodnight to Lane... [color=82ca9d][i]It is at best four thirty in the fucking morning. I don't even know if you can use that word. Best. Best be the most critical fucking call of my life, that's - [/i][/color] He was about three-quarters out from under the desk when he remembered the phone was disconnected. He'd been cellphone only for months. [i]Ring, ring.[/i] His head slammed into the bottom of the desk, and what came out of his mouth was half snarl, half scream as he lunged to his feet, immediately crashing to a kneel as the world wobbled out of its familiar alignment. One hand scrabbled blindly for his gun, impossible, it was in the drawer on the other side and the drawer was angled into the wall - His vision blurred, doubled, but there was a little light sliding in under the poster over the window, enough to catch colors in the gloom. Familiar colors, pink and green. [color=708090]"Ring, ring."[/color] Tristan stopped scrabbling. Stopped breathing for a moment. Then he resumed, as slow as he could, faster than he wanted. [color=708090]"Sorry to startle you,"[/color] she said, in a voice that had never been sorry. [color=708090]"But you have to get up. It's time."[/color] [color=82ca9d]"Yeah. Uh. Time,"[/color] he said, incoherent, throat dry. Ridiculously he thought of the sage, which was for customers, which could not possibly have an effect on the thing standing patient in his office outside Cinkaid Park. He thought of the gun again, but somehow that seemed less sane and not more. [color=708090]"Exactly,"[/color] she said. [color=708090]"So you have to get a move on, I'm afraid. I'm afraid. You're afraid. But you don't have to be, Tristan. I'm not here to hurt you. I'm here to help you."[/color] [color=82ca9d]"Jesus Christ."[/color] [color=708090]"No. No, I'm afraid not. But you still are, aren't you? It's easier once you get moving, you know. Your body takes over from the part of you that's calculating - "[/color] [color=82ca9d]"What are you?"[/color] he blurted. [color=708090]"Oh,"[/color] she said. Paused. [color=708090]"Well, I'm the Subway Ghost Girl."[/color] [color=82ca9d]"You aren't."[/color] [color=708090]"No?"[/color] [color=82ca9d]"No."[/color] She looked at him blankly for a moment. Her eyes were iridescent, taking different colors in the light as they moved, but they weren't moving now. She watched him with such perfect stillness that he thought, [color=82ca9d][i]whatever she is, she knows what it means to be dead.[/i][/color] Then she smiled and he felt the shudder start deep, work its way up along his spine. [color=708090]"What am I, then, Tristan Traeger, if not a ghost? In spite of how haunted you are,"[/color] she said, walking towards him on silent feet. Stepping close, leaning against his desk, leaning towards him. Something brushed his arm and he jumped, flight instinct propelling him halfway across the room towards the door before he realized it. She let him go, still smiling, and one hand reached out to stroke the faded wood of the desk and trace lightly over the little makeshift nameplate he'd engraved himself with a knife and too much time. [color=708090]"What do you want me to be?"[/color] Her tone was playful. Flirtatious. [color=708090]"Shall I be your dragon, little knight? Or a princess..."[/color] She stalked forward, and Tristan backed away. A quiet thunk and rattle as he hit the office door. The Ghost Girl kept coming. [color=708090]"Or...a queen. An impatient queen, with things to do, and great big plans for all...of...you. I wouldn't,"[/color] she said casually, stalling the half-formed thought involving the window and the alley below in his mind, [color=708090]"Make me chase you. You're already caught, Tristan. It's time to slump your shoulders and resign yourself to a little destiny before dreamland, or..."[/color] Mouth almost too dry to manage it, Tristan swallowed. He tried to focus on the different in their height. On what he didn't believe in. [color=82ca9d][i]Nothing is more dangerous than misplaced faith. And there is no such thing as destiny.[/i][/color] That thought reclaimed, he found his voice. [color=82ca9d]"Or what, exactly? Maybe I'm too drunk to stay scared of you. Maybe I'm too tired for your fucking plans. So what happens-"[/color] [color=708090]"Heads roll,"[/color] she said. No hesitation. No smile now. And then she took two fast steps and she was in his face, eyes bright mercury, so close his nerves ached with the phantom expectation of body heat and biostatic. There was nothing but her too-wide eyes and the sudden pressure in his ears and the crushing black circle at the edges of his vision, where the world beyond the Ghost Girl used to be. [color=708090]"I'll drown you,"[/color] she whispered, [color=708090]"In blood."[/color] No need to ask whose. Never that need. The terrible pressure swelled and the world grew darker, tighter, there was a [i]sound[/i] - she laughed. He was kneeling again. On his hands, too. She was sitting on the desk. [color=708090]"Just kidding. That's horror story stuff."[/color] Tristan pulled himself to his feet, not trying to control his breathing now, or the shaking, not that he could have. She was pretty - she looked like Tabitha, which bothered him awfully when he let it - but her eyes weren't pretty, he realized. They were his father's eyes. They didn't see him, didn't need to see him because in them he'd already been measured and mapped. They were focused on their future, and the place he'd serve in it. [color=82ca9d]"What kind of story is this?"[/color] he asked. [color=708090]"Whatever kind of story you want it to be, Tristan Traeger."[/color] His shoulders slumped. [color=82ca9d]"What do you need me to do?"[/color] he asked, but somehow he already knew. [color=82ca9d]"Do I need to bring anything?"[/color] [color=708090]"Just this,"[/color] she said, drawing the mask out from behind her back and holding it towards him. He hesitated, then reached out to claim it.The mask was almost wholly black in the semi-darkness, but the little light gleamed off its elegant horns and their draping in gaily colored ribbons. Something else about it struck him, and his fingers just above its surface. [color=82ca9d][i]It's like it's screaming. If I touch it I'll hear,[/i][/color] he suddenly knew, [color=82ca9d][i]I'll hear that scream and I'll go insane.[/i][/color] But when his fingers brushed it, there was nothing but crystal and carbon, silver and silk. It was a little too warm, that was all. [color=708090]"She was much like you,"[/color] said the Subway Ghost Girl of Lightbridge. [color=708090]"But stronger. She didn't scare so easy. And she kept her faith forever, even there at the end, and even though - again, like you - she was so totally fucking wrong about it. Don't put it on yet,"[/color] she added. [color=708090]"You have to wait a while longer. You can wait, can't you, Tristan Traeger, little knight, doomed one, false messiah of a false messiah? For your destiny?"[/color] And then she was gone. Tristan stood in the office for a few minutes, and then left. He took with him the gun, and the mask, and the memory of her voice like a hand around his throat.