"You killed me," I said, staring down at my own upturned face.

A streak of sadness shot through me at the sight. I looked so young.

My face was pale and lightly freckled, my features ordinary but pleasantly balanced, my eyes an unremarkable grayish blue, and my hair a plain, sandy brown. My frame was thin and long, never good at gaining muscle, but trim and well-proportioned at least.

In death, I looked almost beautiful.

"You killed me," I said again, starting to cry ghostly tears. "And there was so much more I wanted to do..."

You have to say that, right?

"Do not weep," Pete said, laying a cold hand on my insubstantial shoulder. "You are dead, yes, but today is not your day to die. It is not your time."

"Really?" I sniffed. "Then why...?"

"Because, friend Matt, I wanted to speak to you, and this—" he raised a wispy brow at my lifeless form, "—this was the only way I could think to do so."

"What about writing in the steam on the bathroom mirror?" I asked. "Or in blood on the wall, or something?"

Pete smiled, and I couldn't help staring at his teeth. He must have had awful breath when he was alive, and I wondered if maybe that explained the weird smell I sometimes detected near the bottom of the stairs. It would probably be rude to ask, though.

"Perhaps for a simple message, such a method might work" he said. "But I have more to say, and to show, and I need you to see."

He stood tall and still, his hands clasped before him like a creepy, cliche undertaker.

O-Okay," I stammered. "I mean, I'm happy to talk to you, but..." I glanced again at my abandoned body.

Pete waved his hand. "Do not fret. In a moment, your Benjamin will find you, and revive your physical form. We have little time. I brought you over to this side because you have a gift, friend Matt, and I wish to help you discover it."

"A gift?" I asked, forgetting my tears in favor of curiosity. My sister claimed she could see people's auras, but I'd never experienced anything unusual myself until I moved here to be with Ben and met his friends. I was nothing special, but being surrounded by magic and wonder was gift enough for me.

"Indeed," Pete answered, nodding slowly. "I can see it within you, an inner star that shines with hidden light. With such a gift, I thought you would be able to see and speak with me from the very first; that you could not was a mystery I did not understand."

He paused and moved closer, so that we stood side by side, staring down at my body. I noticed that his suit was at least a half-century out of date, ratty and worn, though it looked like it had been quite nice at some point. Incongruously, a pair of old-fashioned bowling shoes showed beneath the hems of his trousers.

"I developed a theory," he went on, his Russian accent growing a little thicker as he mused. "Your gift is dormant—sleeping, locked within. It simply needs to be woken up, and a little trip through the Veil should be just the thing, I believe."

"The Veil?"

"What separates the world of the living from the unseen realms," he said. "There are many ways to cross it, but death is perhaps the most common."

He nodded at my (hopefully temporary) corpse.

"I tried many times to bring you here," he said. "But interacting with your side is difficult, and my efforts were...half-hearted. Only recently have I decided that there is no more time to waste. I have watched over this house and those who reside within it for many years, and I sense that a time is coming when you, and those who call you friend, will need such light as that which lies within your heart."

I looked up at him. His gaunt face and hollow eyes were nightmare fuel, and yet he didn't scare me. In fact, despite his appearance, he had an almost comforting vibe.

"Who were you?" I asked. "When you were alive, I mean."

Above us, I hear the bang of a door and muffled swearing. The circuits had blown, and Ben was finally coming to see what I'd done now.

"It seems we are out of time," Pete said. "But never mind. Later, we will have time to speak."

Footsteps approached along the hallway, and I heard Ben calling my name.

"Ah, the hero arrives," Pete said, perhaps sardonically. "Give my greetings to Master Ari, when you see him next," he said.

"I will," I promised. "I—"

At that moment, Ben, still muttering and swearing under his breath, pushed open the door and saw me lying dead on the floor.

"Oh shit. Matt? Matt!?"

He froze for a moment, then rushed to my body, panic making his voice high and his words incoherent as he swore and screamed and cried. He beat his fist on my chest (that would hurt later, I thought), yelled in my face, and slapped me, but his efforts were without effect.

"I don't think he'd doing it right," I commented, leaning over to watch. "Ben! You're doing it wrong!" I yelled close to his ear. "You have to do CPR! C—P—R!"

He couldn't hear me at all, and I laughed, turning to look up at Pete, who looked on with impassive interest. "Wow, this really is annoying," I said. "No wonder you throw things."

Turning back to watch Ben, my amusement faded and I began to grow concerned. He really wasn't making any progress with my revival, and I'd already gone without a heartbeat for several minutes. I remembered reading somewhere about how long a brain could go without oxygen before irreparable damage set in, but I couldn't recall the fact at the moment.

"Pete, what if he can't do it?" I asked nervously. "I thought you said it wasn't my time to—"

I feel a hard shove on my spectral back, and fall forward, directly onto my own body, and then—

I gasp. 

I'm alive, and conscious, and my entire body hurts, and Ben is crying and hugging me, and swearing and cursing Pete, and still really not doing much to help.

"Ben," I croak, pushing him off me. "You should call an ambulance. And that's not how you do CPR."

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

A few hours later, I'm released from the hospital, told I've had a very close call but suffered no lasting damage, and educated as to why poking metal objects into electrical sockets is a bad idea.

Ben has barely spoken the whole time, and drives me home in tense, pale-faced silence. I know there's an 'I told you so,' coming, and that he's only holding off because the doctor said he should make sure I take it easy for a few days, and he doesn't want to upset me.

But he won't forget. Sure as death and taxes, there's an 'I told you so,' in my future.

I tried to explain, but he didn't want to hear about Pete and gifts and inner stars and the 'veil.' He believed me when I told him I was certain Pete wouldn't do it again (I was pretty certain, anyway), and had agreed not to immediately bother Ari about it (he had bigger worries, as usual), but it was clear he wasn't happy.

"Matt," he said as he pulled into the reserved parking space in front of the old house. "Promise me you will never, ever, do that to me again."

I looked over at him. He faced straight ahead, still gripping the wheel with white knuckles even though the car was off.

"I don't know if that's a promise I can keep, Ben," I said, and smiled. "I could get hit by a bus tomorrow."

He squeezed his eyes shut, shoulders tense, and I took a moment to look at him.

He had short dark hair, pale skin, brown eyes, and a height and build similar to mine. Unlike me, though, he'd been able to pack on some muscle over the last year, and it looked good on him. Three years older than me, at thirty-five he still has the aspect of someone in their late twenties—even with the permanent five-o-clock shadow he thought made him look more mature, but which really just made him look slightly unkempt.

He was driven, dedicated, passionate, impatient, and often short-sighted. He wanted what he wanted, and it was hard to convince him otherwise. He was also sweet, and loving, adventurous in his own way, and prone to grand gestures.

It was the little things he sometimes forgot.

I waited, not speaking for so long he finally turned to look at me.

"Okay," I said. "I promise."

His face relaxed and he smiled. "Thanks. I just needed to hear you say that."

He got out and walked up the path to the house, mounting the steps of the porch in two hops, and unlocked the front door.

I climbed from the car more slowly, still feeling a little unsteady on my feet. I swing the door shut, made sure it locked, and started to follow Ben into the house.

Then I looked up, and I gasped.

There were faces in the windows, looking out.

Not intruders, but ghosts.

I was certain, because one of them—standing on the lower level beside the door—belonged to Pete.

He smiled his ghastly smile at me, and waved.