Lake Larson

Maybe I'm being too mean to him. Ian just found out he died, and I'm already trying to get rid of him. I don't know the guy, so I shouldn't have a reason to hate him. But, a ghost living in my dorm room was not in my plans.

I must be losing my mind. Everything was putting a disgusting taste in my mouth.

"Heeyy," Ian said slowly, standing before me and waving his hand inches from my face. "You there?" He scrunched his brows together, confused. "Did I break you?"

I slapped at his palm, hitting nothing but a chilly sensation. "Stop it. I need time to think. This ghost thing isn't easy to wrap my mind around."

"Do you think it's easy for me?" He rolled his eyes. "Try waking up and finding out you are a ghost."

"You are looking at the queen of being invisible. I know what it's like being a ghost." I brushed my fingers through my hair.

Walking to the microwave, I opened the door with a pop. My noodles were soggy by now, but I needed to fuel myself before bedtime. Ian eyed my food with a disgusted expression. I pulled a fork from my cabinet, scooping the noodles into my mouth. The steam floated into my open lips, burning my tongue.

"As far as I can see, I need you, Lake," Ian said, causing me to cough my food back into the cup. "Not like that. Don't get high hopes."

I rolled my eyes, swallowing. "Yeah, I may be the only person to help you move on." Playing with my food, I tossed it in the garbage before walking to the table.

With Ian in my shadow, I grabbed my computer before strolling to my bed. I sat on the edge with Ian next to me. His weight caused me to lean into him while the mattress had zero support.

"That is a slick computer. What did that set you back?" Ian asked, pointing at the keypad.

I glanced at him, confused, trying not to laugh before opening the internet browser to Google. I typed his name into the search engine, with many articles popping up. Scrolling down, I couldn't help but be skeptical if I searched for the correct name. There must be someone famous with the same name. No death newsletters scattered within the others.

"Maybe put in dead two thousand and two," Ian said, leaning closer to me.

"Good idea," I replied, copying down what he said.

Nothing new popped on the screen, causing me to huff out. I squinted at the screen, reading about a high schooler named Ian Cros who got caught by the police at his private school for misbehaving with his classmates. Alcohol must be involved as the billionaire slurred every word.

The following article read about how he caused a scene in New York City when Robert Cros had to fetch him from a party at the Empire Hotel. The picture showed the famous Robert guy holding his hand up at the camera, trying to block the picture.

"Is this you?" I finally asked him.

His expression told me everything as he placed his palm on his forehead. "Sadly, yes."

"Wow, you seemed kinda famous," I replied, clicking on the following article of him standing next to a tall woman. His height stopped at her hips, showing me how young he was.

"I'm not," he replied, shaking his head. "My parents are," he said with confidence, like I would know who they were.

I glanced at him with confusion, grinning without my teeth showing. He paused, trying to read my mind.

"Robert and Rebecca Cros," he said with an expression like I was the idiot. "Famous billionaires."

I shook my head. "Nope, that doesn't ring a bell." Looking back at the screen, I noticed all the articles about him slowed down around nineteen ninety nine. "You sure you died in two thousand and two?" I asked him. "These articles seemed to have stopped."

Ian pointed at the screen of the New York incident. "December two thousand and two," he said. "I just started school here and hid from the paparazzi in nineteen ninety nine."

"Oh," I replied, leaning closer to the screen to get a better look at the picture from New York.

He had a red beanie on his head, like the photo that summoned him to my room. His hair poked out from the hat as he smirked at the camera with a cute expression. My cheeks instantly burned as I glanced at him, seeing his hazel eyes watching me. In a panic, I closed the article, acting like I was searching for his death.

"Plus, I remember getting off the plane in New York," he said with a chuckle, pointing at the screen. "But I don't remember that party."

"Okay, sorry," I replied, typing on the keyboard.

A picture of Ian in an entire denim outfit scrolled onto my screen. I slightly giggled as he rushed, trying to grab the laptop. His palm glided through the computer and my lap, and I leaned away from him. He panicked as I laughed loudly.

"Change the screen!" he yelled. "I did not want to do that photoshoot!"

I eyed him, leaning away. "Oh," I said, clicking on the picture and seeing more odd images of him. "Ohhhhh," I exaggerated. "These sure are something."

"Okay, smartass, back to seeing why I'm sitting next to you as a ghost." He glared.

"Okay, what's your parent's name again?" I asked, remembering them, but wanting to see how he would react.

Ian's eyes widened with shock. "The very rich, very popular Robert and Rebecca Cros," he said in annoyance. "You must be sleeping under a rock."

I glanced at my screen. "Your parents must be sleeping under a rock," I said while typing in their names.

The first image on Google with Fox News caused me to smile awkwardly. "Oh, I see now," I said, causing Ian to lean into me with his arm in my torso.

A chilly frost struck my body as I shivered. Ian noticed, pulling his arm out of my body with his eyes on me. "Sorry."

His hazel eyes stayed on mine while his expressionless face slowly turned into a smirk. He raised a brow as my cheeks heated. The embarrassed burn traced down my neck as I put my palm to my throat and turned away from him.

I coughed, clicking the Fox News article of Robert Cros in handcuffs. "On May tenth, two thousand and six, they pulled Robert Cros out of his penthouse in New York City for several counts against him." I scanned the filler words. "Head boss of a notorious mafia gang, smuggling and dealing drugs across the United States."

I clicked on the video with the article, showing an officer escorting Robert toward a police car in cuffs.

"Mr. Cros, what would you like to tell the world?" a news lady rushed to him around police officers. "Will you be pleading guilty?"

Robert Cros glanced at the camera before the lady. "No comment," he said as a cop placed their hand on his head, helping him into the police car.

The news lady turned to the camera. "This is Fox News with an early report of the New York Police Department arresting the Cros family for several counts of drug smuggling. Not only was Mr. Cros part of the largest gang in the United States, but my sources have said he is the leader."

I closed the article while Ian pointed at the next one. "Does this one say my dad ran?" he asked while I double-clicked the new link.

"Oh, that's Paul," Ian said.

A thumbnail of a tall Italian man with a nice suit standing in front of a private limo had Ian on the edge of the bed. I pushed the play button as the same news lady rushed the man.

"Sir, sir, we are Fox News, looking for more information on Robert Cros," she yelled while rushing up to him.

The man shook his head, fixing his hat. "No comment," his thick accent said.

"But, sir, is it true? Robert Cros had run to Canada?" she asked, looking at the camera. "Making himself a fugitive fleeing the country."

I paused the video, glancing at Ian. He placed his hand on his forehead while I looked into more.

"The most recent article about your dad shows he is still hiding," I said. "Authorities believe he is in Canada, but have yet to be caught to this day."

I glanced at Ian as he stayed quiet. I wasn't sure if he knew about the illegal stuff his dad was into. But judging by his expression, he didn't look too surprised. His face looked concerned as he watched the screen. I looked back at my computer to see Rebecca Cros smiling at the camera but trying to get out of the shot.

"The news said nothing about your mom. Let me research her name." I typed on my keyboard.

A picture of her in handcuffs popped on my computer. Her hair fell over her face as she tried to hide from the camera. I looked over at Ian, seeing his upset expression. I could tell his mind raced as he looked at the photo of his mom.

"I'm sorry." I tapped my hand on the keyboard, not clicking any letters. Glancing at his knee, fidgeting, I wanted to place my palm on his leg but decided against it.

"Let's just find out what happened to me," he said, brushing his hand through his shaggy hair.

"Do you think—" I hesitated, feeling awful for suggesting it. "Maybe your dad had something to do with your death."

Ian gazed at me as I kept my eyes on the screen. I could feel his stare piercing me until I glanced over. His hazel eyes met mine for a slight moment before I looked away.

"Sorry, I will research something else." I typed his name in the Google search, looking for anything in two thousand and two.

"Still nothing?" He stood from the bed, pacing back and forth.

"Well, is there anything in life that you desperately wanted and didn't get before you died?" I asked him since we couldn't find anything on his death, maybe we could find another way for him to move on.

He paused, glancing at me with a smirk before laughing while holding his stomach. Why was he laughing? How was he taking being dead so well? I would cry in a corner for the next ten years before I could even get myself to move.

"Why are you laughing?" I crossed my arms over my chest, irritated with him.

"You saw the articles." Ian pointed at my laptop. "I was rich, handsome, and intelligent. I had everything I could ever want."

"Sorry to pop your perfect little bubble, Ian," I said, stretching out his name. "But nothing was perfect about the life I read." I rolled my eyes at him.

He glared, smirking with a mocking expression. "Why do you keep saying my name that way?"

I scrunched my brows together. "Let me guess, Ian Cros, the handsome, popular guy on campus with lots of friends and girls," I said as he nodded. Standing, I stepped closer to him. "I can read you like a book, playboy." I lied, judging him. "Nobody knew the real you."

"Okay, let's just drop it then. Maybe I don't want to move on." His expression dropped.

Ian stepped closer as I reflected on his movement away from him. I glanced down, watching my hands. There was nothing on his death, and he didn't care about how he died. Why does he want to stay as a ghost?

"Why?" I asked.

"Why, what?"

"Why don't you want to move on?" I walked to my bed, flopping backward into my sheets.

He followed me to the edge of the bed, standing nearby. "I think this is an excellent opportunity for me to be—" He paused, biting his cheek.

"To what?"

"To be invisible." Ian glanced at me with a grin.

We gazed at one another for a moment. "You kinda sound perverted." I laughed, shaking my head.

His cheeks painted a slight red, showing me ghosts could blush. I looked at my clock on the wall, ticking by every second, screaming that I needed to go to sleep with my early morning classes.

"Sorry, Ian, I need to get to bed." I sat up, tucking my legs into my torso.

"I got the lights." He sped to the switch, trying to flip the nob down. His finger slipped through the light switch again before I stood, strolling across the room.

"Thank you for trying," I said, putting my hand into his and clicking the dorm room to a dark blue tint.

My night light danced on the green wall, waves of blue like the ocean, while the illumination lit up a path for me.

"I'll get better at this," Ian said with a chuckle, following me to my bed.

"Oh, no." I pointed at him. "You can't join me, and you can't stare at me all night," I said, lying on my sheets.

"Shit." He glanced around my room. "You are right." He walked to my kitchen area with a whistle.

I rolled on my pillow, tucking the covers over my legs with my feet out. With my face away from Ian, I closed my eyes, hesitating to sleep.

"Good night, Lake," Ian's voice echoed too close.

I glanced over my shoulder, seeing him crouched beside the bed at my eye level. I shook my head, laughing while I glanced down to see he did not have a shadow reflecting from my nightlight. He seemed human to me, but everything around him made him unreal.

"Good night, Ian," I replied to the ghost in my room.

He smiled. "See you in the morning." He was still talking.

"I hope not," I said, lying on my back and facing the ceiling with my eyes closed.

His laughter echoed in the room while his footsteps creaked in the kitchen, away from me.

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