Years of patronizing horror movies does not prepare you for reality. They show you ghosts and demons that scare you, claw at you, and attempt to kill you. They look gross and menacing and the movies teach you that you should be terrified—well, that is before you get an extreme adrenaline rush, fight back, and win, of course.

However, a ghost that smiles and winks at you as you go about your business is something else entirely, and leaves you impossibly confused. How does one react appropriately to this?

Arabella went straight into Windsor hall, eyes in a blank stare and mouth ajar as she murdered the elevator button as if it would be quicker than waiting patiently. Thoughts of swiping the basil were long gone. Her chest heaved painfully as beads of sweat started to pepper her face.

There was no mistaking that wink—Mary knew her!

She tapped her foot impatiently as the elevator creaked and whined, its motor pushing the car to the tenth floor with immense effort. Waiting for it to finally reach her floor, she crossed her arms and blew an errant strand of hair from her face. Why was New York so mystical? Wasn't it supposed to be a concrete jungle of logic and numbers, science and facts?

At last, the car halted with a violent thud, and she began another long wait as the doors pried themselves open at a glacial pace. The moment a small space could be seen, she pushed her shoulder to hedge between the doors, squeezing herself out of the confinement. She then took quick long strides to reach her apartment.

Arabella was about to place her hand on the door lever when its wide wooden panel softly cracked open, and gently swung to welcome her home.

She exhaled a pent-up breath as she thought about another one of life's mysteries probably standing in front of her.

"James, Mary saw me. She knows me! S-she..." Arabella stuttered.

She walked in and took a glass of water from the faucet as James closed the door. "She went in to see Bertie, but she winked at me first."

Her laptop faced the other way and typing began as she gulped down the rest of the water.

"Yes, today is the day."

Arabella dropped the glass in the sink, breaking it into a few large pieces. "What do you mean today is the day?" She picked up the pieces, but as she reached towards the glass bottom, her finger got caught in one of its sharp edges.

"Ow!"

The familiar sweep of air washed around her, and her hand was pulled from the shards by an oven mitten. The faucet opened and running water flowed over her wound, earning an exasperated hiss and a cuss under her breath.

"It's fine, I'm fine. I've been cut many times, James." She tried to pull her hand away, but he was persistent, his grip firm and steady on her injured hand.

There was something absurdly remarkable in observing two floating oven mittens that tried to help her with her cut. As she relaxed under his ministrations, Arabella felt her wound being gently examined, and as there wasn't anything blocking the view, she began to examine it too.

Thankfully, the wound wasn't very deep. She didn't need stitches, but she would need to clean and bandage it if she didn't want it to become infected.

"There's a reason you can't touch people. Is it because your mission doesn't require you to?" She stifled a snort. "The mitts look ridiculous." Arabella tried to pull her hand from him, but his steadfast grip remained.

"James, come on, it's fine," she whined a little. She wasn't at all used to being cared for.

A new dish towel was taken from the cupboard and wrapped tightly around her hand. She was tugged to the living room and the grip went slack. The mittens floated and casually deposited themselves on the table.

"Sit and wait for me," James's voice came from the computer behind her a few seconds later.

She obeyed and took a seat on the sofa. Minutes later, her first aid-kit came floating down the stairs.

"How did you know where my kit was hidden?" She smiled. This roommate went through her things!

The laptop was brought beside them, and the kit was opened and put on the seat next to her. Bandages and peroxide were taken out one by one.

Arabella used her good hand and started to remove the towel from the injured one, but James pulled the errant hand away and shoved it under a pillow. She chuckled at his antics and pulled her good hand out easily.

Just as quickly as she had removed it, he shoved it back under the pillow and added another pillow over it as if to emphasize what he wanted.

"Stop it," he typed on the computer.

Arabella laughed. "I told you it's fine, I can do it myself." She pulled her hand out from under the pillow, toppling the shaky tower of fluff in the process. Just what was he trying to accomplish with this?

"I'm warning you, keep it there," James said through the laptop, and swiftly pulled the able hand back under the pillow and then rebuilt his tower over it.

"Come on, do you think these pillows will stop me?" She pulled it out once again, this time causing the pillows to scatter in a mess on the floor.

But before she could touch the injured hand, a pillow was thrown solidly at her.

Her reflexes allowed her to catch it between her hand and face. Insulted, she grabbed the soft assaulting object and threw it down to the floor, revealing a surprised expression.

"Did you just throw a pillow at me!" The question turned into bewilderment at the man's audacity.

As hard as she tried to keep a straight what-did-you-just-do face, her surprised look eventually gave way to amusement.

"I warned you." His voice sounded robotic, but she sensed the triumph in his words. She could almost imagine him raising a brow to taunt her further.

"Fine." Rolling her eyes, she laid back comfortably and allowed him to proceed. As she eyed the paraphernalia laid out on the seat, she thought that it seemed like he knew what to do anyway.

As she relaxed, the subject of Mary going into Bertie's grocery resurfaced, and she itched to know what James had meant when he so ominously said, "it's time."

"James, what do you mean it's time? What is Mary going to do with Bertie?" She whispered softly, as they waited for the Betadine to dry.

"Bertie will be fine. He's the key to finally allowing Mary to pass on tonight or tomorrow morning. She's sure of it."

Arabella stared at the screen, so many questions boggled her mind. "Do you mean..."

"Bertie might be the answer. She's done it with every other age and gender, and Bertie seems to be the missing link. At least that's what she believes."

"And do you think she's right?" Arabella was concerned about Bertie, really. What if he got attached? You simply shouldn't get attached to something so temporary.

There was a brief pause, and James tentatively typed out his response. "I believe she's correct in her assumption, yes. Bertie seems amenable to it."

Amenable? "Are you telling me that Bertie knows?" If they had been winking at each other for days, the old man may have perceived this as meaningless flirting, perhaps even a weird friendship of sorts.

"I'm not sure." There was a pause and a heavy feeling hung in the air as James resumed applying the bandage. He cleaned up the mess and proceeded to throw it in a nearby bin.

A moment later, the typing continued. "Mary finds you adorable because you are willing to help me. Most of us don't have human friends. We need to use what we can to get on," he continued to explain.

When Arabella didn't respond as the conflict was still alive in her belly, James continued, "Bertie will be fine. They'll find an arrangement that will be good for both of them. You'll see."

Arabella sighed. There was just no point in arguing about it. Different people go about getting to their goals in different ways. Ghosts were simply the same way.

Resigned, and exhausted from the events that had transpired, Arabella thanked and left James the laptop.

She sent him a good night message before hitting the bed. "Good night, James. Thanks for treating the cut." She even left a winky-face as an inside joke.

When Arabella was fast asleep, James tinkered with the laptop and stumbled upon her documents and photos. Her box was digital, and he was ecstatic to happen upon it.

There was no hope of discovering anything from the documents as they lay in a mess of icons and folders. Instead, he ventured into the photos drive and saw a multitude of colorful stills of Arabella's life. People had perfected the technology of freezing time, and as he wondered about humans' achievements, he mused that if these colored photos were any indication, he was sure that mankind would be able to invent time traveling next.

He casually viewed the images and worked his way to the buried photos of the past. He found some of her, some of friends or family members—he wasn't entirely sure, and a lot of her and presumably, an old flame.

The man looked a lot older than her, and he had a handsome grin, but his eyes held a coldness that belied a darkness of character. His hair was never disheveled in the pictures, and an arm was almost always around Arabella's shoulder, sometimes on her neck or arm, but it was always on her.

This could have been the man's way of showing his affection for her, but James had felt uneasy going through these photos. In some pictures, Arabella looked bright and happy, but in the few where her smile didn't reach her eyes, there weren't enough clues in the pictures to divulge why.

James closed the photo reel and proceeded to connect the laptop to a charger when it made a curious sound. He moved to its screen and saw a notification on the edge stating that a new email had been delivered.

It was odd to receive work emails at this time of the night, and Arabella only ever used the address for work.

James ignored it and set the laptop to the side as he perused the books for something to read.

Ding. Ding.

James paused and inserted a finger between the pages. He moved to observe the screen again. There were multiple emails now, and the notifications started to pop like crazy.

Afraid that the incessant sounds might wake Arabella, he clicked on the notification to minimize it, but the email app was brought to life and he was greeted by multiple emails from the same sender.

"How are you? I miss you," it read, and was followed by short staccato emails of "You there?", "Answer me.", "Hello," or simply "Arabella."

All the emails came from an R. Dickinson.

Troubled beyond words, James proceeded to open all the emails from this person. There was a warning at the beginning of each email stating that the contents of the email were not verified, came from a person outside the organization, and that the user must proceed with caution.

The office server did its best to filter the messages, but as the emails were sent directly to Arabella, all of them got through.

Please respond, I've been looking for you.

Your mom says you're doing well.

She said you're overseas? Your office is in New York.

Come on, we need each other.

James was stupefied. How could a man so desperately send 43 short messages within an hour? All the emails were clumped together in a single thread, and they were now marked as 'read,' since James had opened and read every single one.

For the rest of the night, James debated on what to do, as he clearly didn't want this man conversing with her, but that wasn't his decision to make.

He barely knew anything about this R. Dickinson.

As the sun rose and bathed the apartment in soft purple tones, James decided that maybe he ought to know more about him. After all, he and Arabella had become friends. R. Dickinson seemed important for him to know.

James took the laptop and sent a message to Arabella.

"Good morning, Arabella. Who is R. Dickinson?"

---------------------------------

A/N: Hello! I'm was very excited to post this update for you! I enjoyed their interactions a lot, writing this made me giddy as James is more and more shaping to be a human companion for our MC! I thought it was fun to make him susceptible to digital stalking! We are all guilty of it, it's about time that ghosts do it too! haha

Anyway, I guess the biggest twist here is the anonymous emailer. We all know who that is, but Arabella has never actually mentioned it to James or to anyone except her mother. I wanted to touch on the behaviors of people who were subjected to abuse (any kind) and how they function as members of society and yet carry this baggage in secret. 

On a serious note, If you're experiencing anything abusive from people in your family or from anyone who you're living with (or stuck with especially as we are on ECQ), please remember that you do not deserve this treatment at all. Help is available, and people care. If you're in the US, please use this National Domestic Violence Hotline: 1−800−799−7233 or TTY 1−800−787−3224 or log on to thehotline.org or text LOVEIS to 22522. 

That's all for now :) I hope you're all safe and sound!

If you enjoyed this chapter, kindly consider giving it a vote! Let me know what you think in the comments. I thoroughly enjoy receiving feedback <3

UPDATE: Edited May 4, 2020.