Making You See - Chapter Three

He's dead. He's meant to be dead.

Not an hour ago Lucy's best friend was crying about his death. Not messing with her, genuinely crying. Her red dyed hair was drooped down beside her face whilst she sobbed into her hands. Lucy kept picturing Victoria like this in her living room, while she tried making sense of who was in front of her. Victoria wouldn't have lied to her. There's no way she would have.

"You're..." She started, struggling comprehend that this guy who was meant to be dead was stood in her apartment. Her heart was frantically hammering against her rib cage, beating faster than it should have.

"Dead, I know-"

She stepped backwards, holding her hands up in defence, "That's not possible, you was murdered. My friend, she, you, what?" She blurted out in confusion, nothing she could say explained the situation. She was talking to a dead guy. You can't talk to dead people. They're dead.

He started to walk forward towards her and she let out a little scream, jumping backwards onto the sofa. Her legs were slightly bent, ready to dash out of the door, escaping the trespasser. She was armed with the most dangerous thing in her reach, a soft cushion, not realising that it wouldn't do any damage, especially since if he was a ghost it wouldn't even touch him, let alone injure him.

"Lucy, I need your help," he tried explaining in desperation. He did his signature hair flick to get it out of his eyes.

She panicked, how was this even happening? "Are you crazy?" She half laughed, half shouted in fright, "I don't even know you, I've never met you in my life. Get someone else to help you."

Her heart was pounding, threatening to explode there and then. She was terrified. She didn't believe in ghosts. If ghosts were real, her dad would have been visiting her. Her dad would have protected her when she needed it. Her dad would have been there when no one else was. But he wasn't. Ghosts don't exist, Lucy knew that and thought that anyone who pretended otherwise was mental.

Escape was the only action Lucy could thing of to take. Panic had frozen her. Her feet wouldn't move. They wouldn't run away. Like when you're stuck in a dream and you're trying to run but instead you're walking in slow motion, except Lucy felt superglued to the spot.

"I must be imagining things," Lucy muttered to herself unconvincingly in self deception.

"Lucy, please. You're the only one who can help me," he begged her.

She stared at him, taking in the features of his face. His long, brown hair flicked into his face in a cute kind of way. The way he flicked his hair out of his eyes every few minutes was a movement very familiar to her. She recognised him, but couldn't remember where he fitted into her life. The only thing she could think of was that one lunchtime. He looked roughly the same as in the picture she saw of him. But there was something more significant than that. Something she was missing.

He looked pale, scarily pale, as pale as a ghost. His eyes were filled with desperation and fear, they were hollow. Hollow and dark, the way some would describe 'death' itself. It almost made Lucy give in and help him. It wasn't enough. None of it made sense. Maybe if she agreed to helping him he would leave, even if she didn't actually help him.

She shook her head. A wave of unexpected dizziness swept through her, pulling her off her feet. She flung her arms out, looking for something to support her and prevent her from falling. Jon instinctively leaped forward and held his pale arms out for her.

Lucy began to fall, closer and closer to the floor. Her head breaking her fall by crashing against the splintered, wooden arm of the sofa. Someone should have fixed or replaced the chair months ago, it was an accident waiting to happen. It just so happened to injure a teenage girl, living alone.

The collision with the fierce arm of the chair drained Lucy of all consciousness. It left her lying helplessly on the floor in a muddled heap. No one was there to help. No one was there to pick her up off of the floor. She was alone. Completely alone.

Jon stared at her fragile body. He couldn't help her. He couldn't go and get help. No one could see him, not because there was a risk if anyone could see him, something made him invisible to everyone else. Maybe you had to lose someone to be able to see him, but that left how his own mother could not see him unexplained.

Pain was in his eyes. The pain of seeing a loved one hurting, without being able to do anything about it. Although, before when he could not help Lucy, it was because he lacked confidence and strength, not because he could not physically help her. There was nothing he could do. He hated seeing her like this. The confidence in her he adored so much was drained along with her consciousness. Her eyes we glazed over, she looked scared.

The situations were different, but he still felt as guilty as he had the first time, if not more. He'd only come for her help, it freaked her out. He would have been better off leaving her alone, but he couldn't. He had to get her help. It was almost as if his failure to help Lucy the first time encouraged him even more.

He probably looked creepy just staring at her, but he didn't want to just disappear and there was nothing else for him to do, he couldn't touch anything . Maybe he should have. Then she could have believed that she was imagining seeing him. Thing would have been easier. She wouldn't be scared anymore. She'd be fine, just have a headache.

"Oh Luce, why don't you remember me?" He mumbled in despair, moving so he was sat crossed legged next to her, waiting for her to awaken.

It felt like a Sleeping Beauty moment. The beautiful young lady, laying unconscious, waiting for her prince. However, Jon could never be her prince, he was never deemed good enough, always caring what his friends thought over what he really felt. Even when his friends were being encouraging; he knew they were secretly making fun on him.

Jon watched her as she began to stir, waking up from unconsciousness. He smiled, glad that she hadn't been out cold for too long, five minutes at the most. Her eyes slowly flickered open, letting the light that was glaring into the room into her eyes. They glowed a beautiful deep blue, even while she was just waking up after smacking her head against a chair.

Her eyes focused in reality and she tried to prop herself up on her arm. Lucy groaned at the throbbing pain in her head. It reminded her of the pain her abusive step father had caused her.

She recalled having a dream where Jon was asking for her help. He seemed desperate, but her stubborn side took over, refusing to give him a chance. It all seemed too real to Lucy, she could vividly remember the way he looked, pale and lost. His eyes were empty like all life had left them.

Her eyes were still blurry. They wouldn't quite focus. She felt like something was stopping her from seeing. What could possibly be in the room with her that was so bad she was being stopped from seeing it? What would be stopping her? She settled on the idea that when she hit her head it somehow caused her eyesight to go and it would be back soon.

Jon sat, dead still, next to her. She didn't seem to be able to see him, or anything. However, Lucy could sense that someone or something was in the room with her, it was a weird feeling. Like she was being watched, but she couldn't work out who. If it was one of her friends who were sitting in the room with her, they would have moved her or said something by now, they wouldn't have just sat, creepily watching her.

Slowly, her eyes began to regain focus, taking in the familiar surroundings. She turned her head to check the room was empty, wincing at the sharp, shooting pain shot through her head. It hurt her more and more with every small movement. She sighed in defeat and rested her head back on the floor, holding back the tears that wanted to leave her eyes.

"Lucy, are you okay?" A soft voice whispered, trying not to alarm her.

She gasped and jumped up into a sitting position, forgetting about her head. A cry of pain escaped her mouth and she burried her head in her heads, trying to support it and stop the pain. She didn't know who was in her apartment, but she also didn't care. Stopping the pain was more important to her than discovering who the intruder was.

"Lucy, it's me, Jon. Lucy, you need to get up. You hit your head on the sofa, you need to call someone, someone who can help you, a friend or something," Jon panicked. It was obvious from his reaction to her fall how much he cared about Lucy. He hated being helpless.

She lifted her head for a few seconds, the pain made her feel like she was getting hit in the head with a huge hammer, "You're not Jon, Jon's dead," she mumbled dumbly.

"Luce, I know. I know I'm dead. I was murdered. The police don't know who did it. I need your help Lucy," he tried explaining as quickly as possible knowing that she was reluctant to listen and believe a word that came out of his mouth, "Lucy, can you move yourself onto the sofa? I know it's going to hurt, but being on the floor, it's not good. It will make things worse."

She leaned back on her arms, trying to build up the strength to push herself up. The pain in her head was overpowering and made her want to curl up in a ball and cry. Lucy knew she had to be strong, crying was not being strong.

She groaned, "My head hurts." Her eyes flickered shut, trying to block out some of the pain.

"Lucy, please. I need your help, you're the only one who can help me."

She took a deep breath, bracing herself for the pain ready to hit her. Her eyes glanced over to Jon who had a genuinely worried look plastered onto his pale, lost face. It gave her the last bit of encouragement she needed. He needed her help, that much was completely obvious just by looking at him. Slowly, he was gaining her trust and convincing her to believe him.

She hoisted herself up onto the sofa and curled up in a ball; cradling her throbbing head. It felt like her brain was about to explode with the pressure. It probably would have been more pleasent if someone had beaten her up for hours.

Jon waiting patiently for her to uncurl herself. He had started to get her to believe him and that was just enough for the time being. The next thing he needed to do was convince her to help him. However, the priority was Lucy and making sure she was alright, although there was nothing he, personally himself, could do to ease the pain. She needed a friend or someone to get some painkillers.

Tardily, she uncurled herself; sitting up to face and talk to Jon.

She took a deep breath, "How do you need my help?"

Jon stayed on the floor, but shuffled so his legs were out in front of him, bent and his arms were drooped over them.

"My murder. They can't solve it. They're going to give up," he explained.

"And where do I fit into this?"

He thought carefully about his answer, he had to choose his words carefully, if he gave away too much, she'd never agree to helping him, "You're the only one who can see me; that I know of. I don't know why, I thought it was because you've lost someone, you know, your dad, but my family and friends can't even see me..."

An image of Lucy's dad flashed into her mind. She remembered what he looked like perfectly, despite his death being years ago. The image in her head shattered and was replaced by a sneery, evil man. A man seen as her step father, someone she would never see him as or call him. She couldn't work out why, of all people, her mum chose him.

To Lucy; he was a way of her mum replacing her dad. His abusive traits and his drinking problem drove her out of the house. Her own mum chose someone she'd known for a few years over her own daughter. Something that Lucy was beginning to get use to, but hated her mother for. She couldn't work out how someone could choose a guy over family, but it's what her mum did and there was no taking that back.

"You want me to solve your murder? What do I look like? An investigator? The police?"

"I-" Jon began to say before a worried voice cut him off.

"Lucy?" A curious voice called from the front door.

Lucy recognised the voice immediately, it was Victoria, "I'm in here," she called out to her best friend. She had come at just the right time, to save Lucy from all the murder mystery nonsense.

"Oh my god, Luce, what happened? You're hurt!" She faffed about trying to make her friend comfortable.

Lucy winced in pain, "I'm fine, I just fell, how did you get in here?"

Victoria pretended to swat her friend around the head, "I've been your best friend for how long? I know where you keep your spare key. Was someone else here?" She looked around curiously, "I thought I heard you talking to someone."

Her conversation with Jon was brought to the surface of her memories when she was asked if anyone was here. Did he really expect her to be able to solve something the police couldn't? She was eighteen and only just finished her A Levels, not a train police investigator.

Jon had disappeared at the sound of Victoria's voice. He didn't even need to, she couldn't see him. Maybe if she could, Lucy wouldn't be alone in all this. It would be impossible to get her best friend to believe she was talking to a dead guy who wanted her help. It sounded completely crazy. It was completely crazy

Lucy shook her head, blatantly lying to her best friend. She had forgotten about the horrendous pain when moving her head. She screamed, flinging her head forward and covering her face in her hands.

When she looked back up, Victoria had rushed out the room and was rummaging through the cupboards, looking for any kind of painkiller.

Jon had returned as Victoria left. He was trying to put his arm around her to comfort her. He whispered three simple words that they'd both heard time and time again when people thought they really liked someone and mistook it for love.

As quick as he appeared, he was gone. Where he had his arm around Lucy, it left a weird tingly feeling. It felt like pins and needles, only not as harsh as painful, almost warming.

"Here take these," Victoria walked in holding tablets and a glass of cold water.

The same three words kept playing through Lucy's mind. She was oblivious to Victoria entering the room again. She was busy trying to work out whether she had imagined the whole conversation with Jon or not. It was unreal, impossible, but real and amazing all at the same time.