Rhys and Marshal sat, on lookout, just a little ways away from the Willowstream mortuary. They were hidden, for the most part, by the cover of a few bushes with tall, looming trees at their back. It was a good vantage point from here, as they were able to easily peek through the leaves and keep watch over the small car park and the main entrance to the building; that seemed perpetually bathed in the pale, flickering, light of the lone lamp post that stood vigil nearby.

"Hey Rhys?" Marshal opened with a whisper. They had been sat for what felt like forever, but had been little more than ten minutes. The ground had grown slightly damp as the coolness of the night had laid itself over them like a blanket, and smothered the previous heat of the summers day. Inferred danger aside: Marshal had been so excited for the possible adventure, but now found himself quite bored with the waiting. Not to mention a certain part of his body was getting number by the second, only adding to his discomfort.

Rhys answered with an affirmative hum as he stared at the morgue doors with intensity. A serious expression furrowed on his face, gave hesitance to what Marshal was about to ask. The question was stuck in his throat, and he knew it was a particularly grating issue for Rhys to talk about. But something akin to hope, pushed him to ask anyway:

"Do you mind if I ask, if you've seen her?" He quickly blurted out, quickly averting his gaze to avoid looking at Rhys. Although he could feel the questioning look Rhys had shot in his direction.

"Who?" He answered intently, his voice knowing, as if giving Marshal a second chance to rethink his question.

"Yasmine... Have you seen her?" Marshal continued, although much quieter than before as he pre-emptively flinched at the oncoming outburst. But then felt a swell of guilt as Rhys let out a sigh thickened with a sad disappointment. Marshal got the impression that it wasn't disappointment that he had asked the question, as is the norm when the rare occasion popped up on the subject of ghosts and spirits. Instead he felt it was a disappointment turned inwards at himself. It was like he could taste the sense of failure Rhys was giving off with the slight slump to his shoulders, and the tired look upon his face.

"No. I can't see ghosts, Marshal. You know that. I wish I could... Fuck, I really wish I could..."

"Hey, you did that one time, remember? It helped you find that dog who'd taken your keys?"

"That wasn't a ghost, Marshal. That was some weird energy, I dunno. A memory maybe of where I left them? I don't exactly have a handle on this" Rhys rubbed at his face with his palms, and Marshal placed a warm hand on his shoulder in comfort. Offering a small, understanding, smile which Rhys mimicked fondly.

They hadn't talked about what losing Yasmine had meant to them. To any of the group for that matter, and while they shared everything with each other, this needed no explanation. None of them could find how to put it into words. And so they just accepted the understanding and support they each held with one another.

"How's your mother doing?" Marshal asked, changing the subject. He had seen Rhys' mother more than a few times through out his life. Growing up as best friends meant they were in and out of each others house enough that they practically had two places to live at all times.

But unlike Marshal: Rhys had practically raised himself, for his mother wasn't totally there. She was beautiful. The same, unruly, chestnut brown hair that Rhys sported, although hers fell into flowing curls that poured along her shoulders and halfway down her back. An aged, and kind face that forever looked to the distance. Looked to the forest. Looked to Rhys' father. Her speech was passing and faint, proffering a nonsensical word every now and then. In all the years that Marshal had known Rhys, his mother had never left the same, soft wooden, chair now faded in it's pale blue colour, and was always positioned so that she could see outside. Sometimes it was in front of the window at the front of the house. Other times it was on the porch. He'd never seen her move. She'd simply be in a different place every time he visited, and each time it was if she couldn't register anything other than the distant trees swaying in the breeze that often tickled it's branches. Although Rhys promised Marshal that his mother was always happy to see him, and he whole heartedly believed it.

"Same as ever." He mentioned, a passing comment, although the gratitude for asking was there in his voice. "She gets lucid sometimes. Like it's all coming back to her whenever I use my er..."

"You can say powers, ya know."

"I know, but that makes it sound like I'm a comic book hero, and I'm not a hero or in a comic book. But yeah, whenever I use my 'gift', it's like it all comes back to her. Like using it around her, brings a little piece of her back into the real world, and she's conscious all of a sudden. But a few minutes later she goes back to waiting for my dad to come back. No matter how much I heal or grow, it's never enough to bring her back fully..."

"I'm sorry, Rhys."

"It's not your fault, dummy. And you should never feel ashamed about asking. I like having someone to talk about it with. Makes it easier." Rhys smiled warmly, giving a friendly shove to Marshals arm causing him to tumble to the side with a giggle.

Rhys grew quiet again, holding a sombre expression before letting out a sigh and speaking: "I just wish I knew whatever it was they did to make me, I mean I know what they did obviously, but ya know... I just wish I knew more. Why him leaving did this to her."

Marshal puffed out his chest in a need to comfort his friend. He made to give his usual spiel of condolences, always ready with the support and love his best friend needed. As Rhys almost began to crumble under the weight of his family and the words spoken allowed that made it all the heavier: just in that moment, the soft grind of tire wheels upon gravel tore both of their attentions forward to the Mortuary.

It was a small, red, pick up-truck; that pulled into a park with a high-pitched whine of it's brakes. The beams of it's headlights were swallowed by the darkness of the night as it turned and came to a stop in front of the mortuary..

"Damn foxes must've tripped the motion sensors again." Rhys managed to pick up the exasperated voice of an older man. He hazarded a guess that the man was probably in his late forties as he stepped out of the vehicle, and stretched his legs. He was then followed by a younger man, who exited from the other side and closed the door with a slam. Although what details he could make out were spotty, given the light, they held a familial resemblance with each other. It was the Kelley's.

"Shit.." Rhys cursed, removing his phone from his ear, as he began to thumb at his phone screen in a frustrated manner. "They must be in the fridge or something, I'm not getting through."

He gave a knowing look of concern to Marshal, raising his shoulders in a look of questioning as he had no idea what to do. Marshal, who had bunched his fists in fear, was busy trying to steady his panicked heart that was fluttering madly in his chest as he chewed at his bottom lip. They needed a distraction, and it was at that realisation that Marshal knew what he had to do in that moment.

Marshal closed his eyes, taking in a deep, calming breath. He felt the confident hand of Rhys, being gently placed on his knee, it was bolstering and grounding, allowing him to pull in the focus he needed.

Rhys watched as Marshal's throat thickened ever so slightly, appearing flatter at the sides, as he took in large gulps of air through his delicate nose. Marshal typically held thin, silvery, barely visible lines on either side of his neck. Like the faintest memory of scars. Here they opened up like dried wounds, and expanded gently as small frills peeked from the openings. When Marshal opened his eyes once more, a thin film had stretched across the gap between his lids. Like a third, translucent, eyelid shielded them from harm. Making them appear dark and murky, just barely hanging on to the familiar blue that they usually displayed.

Curling his tongue, Marshal let out a small string of clicks and squeaks that carried as if it were the playful chatter of dolphins beneath the water. It immediately caused the two men to spin sharply on their heels and face the small collection of foliage that hid the boys from view.

"Did you hear that?" The younger man quickly, stepping beside his father. Rhys watched as he fiddled with his phone momentarily, and turned on the pale white of it's torch. Shining it to investigate the bushes that held them from view.

Marshal clicked again. The men jumped back with surprise

"What the fuck? Who's there?" The father called out, clenching his fists as, with his son at his side, he drew upon his bravery and settled his chest. The pair began to walk forward, causing Rhys' eyes to widen in fear once again.

Marshal licked his lips, this was not going to plan. His eyes searched Rhys' for any sign of what to do, before letting out a small curse under his breath. Silently motioning to Rhys with his fingers, he gestured that it be best to plug his ears, before sucking in an even bigger breath than before.

Marshals throat swelled to three times it's normal size, as Rhys hurriedly shoved his fingers into both ears as tight as he could manage and squeezed his eyes shut.

With all his might: Marshal let out an ear shattering scream. It shrieked outwards like a high-pitched, gut-wrenching trill. Barrelling out of the bushes with a hiss of its leaves, the glass windows of the truck shattered like a shower of glitter as they burst violently from their frames. The two men immediately clutched painfully at the sides of their head, the blood rushing to their face and cheeks, as they howled and doubled over in agony. Within seconds they were curled on the floor, and out cold.

With a sense of urgency, Rhys and Marshal exited the bush and sprinted over to the two men, their feet kicking up small clouds of dust in their wake. They gave a synchronised sigh of relief upon discovering that they weren't dead. Just unconscious, with the promise of a headache and a story to tell when they awaken.

"Good job!" Rhys cheered offering a high five to the reluctant Marshal who accepted with a shy smile.

Alaric, Alice, and Lilly exited the Mortuary in a rush. Their shoes crunching on the broken glass of the main doors and the truck as they hurried over.

"What happened?" Alice said, rubbing at her ears in discomfort and with a scowl upon her face.

"Uh... A distraction?" Marshal answered, with a wry grin on his face. Alaric rolled his eyes as he stepped over the unconscious bodies and marched in the direction of Lilly's car.

The boys could tell by the expressions painted on their companions face, that what had transpired in the morgue had been, at the very least: distressing. Even Lilly seemed a little on edge, although was failing to hide at the giddy excitement that warred within her as she was the last to approach the scene.

Alice left next, a look of almost angry determination painted across her face as her stride was long and purposeful.

"Is anyone going to tell us what happened in there? No?" Rhys questioned throwing his arms up.

Lilly stepped forward, stooping low first to brush her lips gently across the cheeks of the two men, and then planting one sweetly on the side of Rhys' face, before skipping merrily in the direction of her car.

"Come along boys, we're going to see Micah!"

Rhys and Marshal gave exchanged surprised glances with one another, before following after the rest of their group.

A/N: So we got to see Marshal do some paranormal stuff this chapter! What did you think? What do you think he is?
As always: Thanks for reading!