Chapter Text
July 2002
When Julie landed her position as a songwriter at the Hollywood Ghost Club, her boss, Caleb Covington, offered to pull some strings to get her a discounted apartment nearby. He talked about the place’s excellent acoustics and how a bunch of his most talented souls enjoyed the atmosphere.
Unfortunately, he did not mention the drafty windows. Or the faulty wiring. Or the ghost chilling in her fridge.
Or the leaky pipes.
Or the ghost chilling in her fridge.
Or the creaking floorboards.
Or the ghost chilling in her fridge.
His name is Luke – the ghost’s, not her fridge’s – and he’s been living (his words) here for about half a year. Well, actually, he’s been around for almost two years. Her apartment used to be his. Another detail nobody deemed worth mentioning when she signed the contract.
“If it helps, I didn’t die in here,” he tells her offhandedly while checking her fridge. “Fell down the stairs and cracked my skull open.” He shrugs, unnervingly casual about the entire being dead thing. Then, he proceeds to inspect the contents of her fridge. He spots the milk jug she’s storing in the door and tuts.
“Wouldn’t do that. The temperature in the door isn’t constant enough.”
He continues to berate her choices. How she should separate the fruit from the vegetables. How she should label the food containers. How she should organize her dairy products.
And Julie lets him. Because he’s clearly not real. Of course not. There’s no such thing as cute ghosts chilling in fridges.
Julie has always had a very fertile imagination. But this time, her mind has really outdone itself.
Tilting her head, Julie takes a moment to give him a once-over.
Damn, he’s really cute.
He’s white and maybe around her age. He’s wearing an orange beanie. But strands of messy dark brown hair are poking out from underneath, their ends curling up like little octopus arms. She can’t make out the color of his eyes. Maybe blue. Or grey. Or hazel.
His outfit screams all grungy punk rock – from his cut-off band tee to his ripped jeans. She can’t see his feet – he’s sitting in the drawer with his legs outstretched, feet disappearing in the counter. But Julie suspects he’s wearing scuffed vans. There are chains attached to his black jeans. They jingle when he twists his body to get a better look at the upper shelves.
Maybe it’s the light of the fridge, but he looks pale – like the colors have been washed out. And he’s also translucent. Julie can see right through his head.
He’s still giving out unsolicited fridge hacks. He’s a chatty one, huh? He’s been talking non-stop ever since Julie discovered him this morning. Julie huffs, rolls her eyes, grabs the bottle of orange juice, and closes the fridge. His voice dies instantly. Blissful silence.
Wild hallucinations and questionable state of the building aside, it’s a nice apartment. The living room with the open kitchen is spacious and light. Afternoon sunlight is streaming in through two windows. There are no curtains yet. And the beige walls are still bare. So are the IKEA bookshelves she and her dad had spent hours assembling over the last few days. (And for the record, she didn’t encounter any ghost, poltergeist or other form of revenant on any of those occasions.) She just moved in today, and most of her belongings are still stored away in boxes that are stacked up against the far wall of the room. She wonders if there’s any use in unpacking them. After all, she won’t stay here for long.
However, she did place a few colorful throw pillows on the black leather couch – a remnant of the previous tenant.
If Flynn were around, they wouldn’t waste a second. By midnight, they would have given this place a complete makeover before crashing on the couch, exhausted but happy and with plenty of pizza in their bellies. But unfortunately, Flynn isn’t around. She, too, got a position at HGC, but in the marketing and promotion department, which means a lot of traveling. Currently, she’s up north in the Bay Area. She’ll be back by early August. Hopefully, Julie would last until then.
She puts the juice on the counter next to a bag of bread and the peanut butter, then groans in frustration. She forgot the jam.
She stomps back to the fridge. When she yanks the door open again, her ghost is gone.
Julie smiles triumphantly. See, no ghosts. She must have been hallucinating. Julie blames the stress. It’s been a rough couple of weeks, and the prospect of working for Caleb Covington as a songwriter while being unable to write music isn’t exactly soothing her nerves.
Shaking her head, she grabs the jam jar and closes the door.
She turns, and suddenly he’s there again, not in the fridge anymore. He’s so close – their noses are almost touching.
Julie freezes. Her grip on the jar slackens. It slips out of her hands and hits the ground, glass splintering into pieces. Jam spills over the floor. Julie doesn’t notice. Neither does he. A big grin stretches his face. His eyes twinkle with mischief.
“Boo!”
Julie screams.
So does he.
Julie leaps back.
So does he – except there’s no fridge behind him to catch him. There’s just a window. He stumbles, and Julie’s breath hitches in her throat. She should warn him. She should rush to his help. But she can’t move. Horrified, she can only watch as he tumbles right through the windowpane.
“Oh fuck!” She finally snaps out of her shock and dashes to the window. Her heart’s pounding in her chest. Her fingers dig into the wood of the window as she peers outside. But the angle is all wrong. She can’t see the pavement. She’s about to open the window, fingers already fumbling with the latch, when a voice interrupts her.
“Don’t bother.” Julie whirls around. He’s in her kitchen again, sitting on her counter. “I’m dead. And I can’t leave this place anyway. Believe me, I tried.” His easy smile is gone now. He’s frowning at her. “You hear me.”
Julie just stares.
“And you see me?”
Julie continues to stare.
Nope, that’s not happening. Uh-uh. Ghosts, let alone cute ghosts, don’t exist. That’s crazy.
She must have mumbled that last bit aloud because the ghost’s face suddenly lights up. “We’re all a little crazy.” He winks at her.
Yeah, that’s the best way to summarize it. She’s crazy. She’s gone insane. All the stress has driven her nuts. She already feels the telltale signs of a headache. There’s pressure building up her eyes. Groaning, she closes them and tumbles over to the couch, where she flops down, head in her hands.
The ghost – Luke as she recalls – clicks his tongue. “Yeah, man, I did the same when I figured out I was dead. Real bummer.” There’s a melancholy in his tone that startles Julie, and she peers through her fingers. His eyes are downcast, his shoulders hunched. His hands are balled into fists. The way he sits there – he looks so forlorn.
Julie’s heart pangs with sympathy.
He’s been here for half a year, apparently stuck in this apartment, and she’s the first person able to see him. No wonder he was excited.
Julie straightens her back and puts her hands in her lap, wringing them.
“I’m–,” she begins, just as a knock on her door interrupts her.
Her head swivels around. So does Luke’s. They both stare at the door, and Julie holds her breath.
Maybe this is another figment of her imagination.
It knocks again.
Or maybe not.
“You’ve got a visitor,” Luke comments. He tries to play it cool. But he can’t hide his excitement. His entire body(?) is vibrating, and he swings his legs before he launches himself off the counter, bouncing on his heels.
Right. Half a year of isolation must have driven him a bit stir-crazy.
Julie doesn’t exactly share his enthusiasm for answering the door. But reluctantly, she peels herself away from the couch, trudges over to the door, and peeks through the peephole. She sucks in a sharp breath. Oh, for fuck’s sake.
“There are two dudes outside.”
“Neighbors?” Luke suggests, shrugging. “The walls are pretty thin, and you’ve got quite a set of pipes.”
Oh, fantastic. She’s been living here for less than a week. They’re off to a wonderful start.
Luke’s bounding over to her. But then, halfway between the kitchen and the door, he stops dead in his tracks. Suddenly, his eyes are wide with panic.
“Oh fuck, wait! What if–” he says just as Julie yanks the door open.
Luke’s words die in his throat. He makes a strangled sound that’s half a cry, half a sob. It’s a gut-wrenching sound.
So, he knows them.
Julie fights off the urge to turn around and check on him. She can’t. Not with two guys looming on her doorstep.
Like Luke, they’re white and about her age. Guy #1 is blonde and lean. But his height seems to make him uncomfortable. He’s ducking his head as if trying to make himself smaller. There’s a hint of a smile on his lips, but it’s uncertain. And kinda … sad. His hands drop to his side where he wipes them nervously across his black pants.
Guy #2 is less reserved. He’s smaller – about Luke’s height. His hair is dark, almost black, and slicked back into a pompadour. He’s wearing a black leather jacket that doesn’t quite match his boyish face. His cheeks are dotted with freckles, and his eyes are a vibrant green. He’s beaming at her.
“Yeah?” Julie asks, eyes dancing between the two strangers.
“We’re sorry to bother you,” tall guy says. He’s keeping his voice low, gentle. Like he’s desperate not to scare her off. In theory, it’s a sweet gesture. But also a bit creepy.
Behind her, Luke’s gone strangely quiet. Julie doesn’t risk glancing at him again.
It’s a weird situation. Not exactly threatening. Not really. Still, Julie feels the urge to retreat into the safe confines of her apartment. Her clasp on the door tightens, ready to shove it into their faces.
Tall guy seems to notice her growing discomfort. His eyes bug.
“Oh, fuck, we’re scaring you, aren’t we? Fuck! I swear we aren’t creeps. We’re just … we’re your neighbors. And I was over at Reggie’s place–” he gestures frantically at the door across the hall “–when we heard you scream. And I thought that’s odd. What if you ran into a burglar? So we argued about calling the police. But what if it was false alarm? But what if it wasn’t? We know you’re living alone because we saw you moving in, and, oh shit, that makes us sound even more creepy. We’re not, I promise. We’re– I’m gay, actually.” His final confession is barely a whisper. It must have exhausted his ability to articulate himself as well because he turns to his friend, desperate for help.
His friend, Reggie, is still grinning from ear to ear.
“Hi,” he says, waving cheerfully. “I’m Reggie.” He jabs his thumb at his friend. “And that’s …”
“Alex,” tall guy – Alex – says. “And I’m sorry.”
Julie bites back a laugh. “There’s nothing to be sorry about. Thank you for checking in on me. You’re being good neighbors.” She smiles, and Alex exhales in relief. Then Julie holds out a hand, opening her door further in the process. “I’m Julie.”
Reggie is first to grip her hand, shaking it enthusiastically. His fingers are calloused. Mr. Covington mentioned that all the tenants are musicians working for HGC. So maybe a guitarist. Or bassist.
Alex is more careful. He wipes his hands again before he takes hers. He doesn’t have any callouses, and his hand is warm and still slightly sweaty.
“So, you’re alright?” Alex asks, letting go of her hand. Immediately, his hands fly back to his pants, rubbing his thighs like he’s desperate to scrub his hands clean. “No burglar? No psycho stalkers? No intruders at all?”
She chances a glance at Luke, who hasn’t moved. He stands there between kitchen and hallway, looking supremely helpless.
“Yes … I mean no. No burglars. No stalkers. No intruders. I’m fine. Totally.” She chuckles. It’s forced and awkward, and her hands flail while she’s talking. Alex isn’t the only one who has a rough time with giving good first impressions. “And I’m so, so sorry for disturbing you guys. I just thought I saw something.”
Alex frowns. “Like what?”
“Uhm …”
“Oh no,” Reggie exclaims, eyes wide with horror. “Don’t tell me Luke escaped again?” Reggie rakes a hand through his perfectly styled hair. “Shoot.”
“Luke?” Julie gasps, and she instinctively turns her head to look at Luke.
To her surprise, her ghostly roommate just rolls his eyes.
“Of all things he could have done to honor my memory, he decided to go to a pet store, buy a hamster, and name it after me.”
Julie blinks. That’s … wow.
“Hey, buddy, you here?” Reggie asks, craning his neck to get a better look inside her apartment. “It’s daddy!”
Alex grabs his shoulder and jerks him back. “Dude! It’s her place now. You can’t barge in there like that anymore.” He gives Julie an apologetic smile. “I’m sorry. A friend used to live here. But he …” He swallows thickly. “He had an accident. He’s …” Alex’s voice breaks, and he closes his eyes.
Dead, Julie concludes. She casts a look over her shoulder. Luke’s not meeting her eye.
“I’m sorry for your loss,” Julie condoles. She smiles at Alex, and he smiles back, sad but grateful. Even Reggie’s cheerful demeanor has been doused. His smile falls, and his shoulders drop. His eyes become glassy. He blinks rapidly to keep his tears away.
The silence that follows is awkward, only disturbed by Reggie’s rising sniffles. Julie desperately wishes there was anything for her to say. Anything for her to make them feel better. But there isn’t. Julie knows that. She truly does. After her mother’s death three months ago, many people have tried to cheer her up. Sometimes, she’d been grateful for their efforts. Sometimes, she’d been raging mad.
Nothing, no hollow phrases or complacent words, can take the pain away.
The pause stretches. It’s bordering on awkward when Alex finally breaks the silence.
“Okay, we’ve bothered you long enough.” He claps Reggie on his back. “Let’s head back.” Gently, he veers him away. She hasn’t known Reggie for long. But the way he’s slouched over, head hanging low – it seems totally, totally wrong.
And suddenly, it’s Julie who feels compelled to say something – anything to make him feel better.
“Don’t worry about your hamster,” she assures him. “If I see him, I’ll let you know.”
Suddenly, Reggie lifts his head. “How’d you guess Luke’s my hamster?”
Julie’s eyes widen. Fuck. “Uhm. I’m not sure. You just, uh, strike me as a hamster person.” She smiles.
Reggie still blinks at her, astonished. Then his face lights up, and he’s smiling again. It’s still a bit wobbly, though. “Sweet.”
Meanwhile, Alex’s smile has disappeared. He’s eying Julie – not hostile, but wary. He didn’t buy her lie. (She doesn’t even blame him. She wouldn’t either.)
“So, your hamster,” Julie continues. “Luke, right? Does he escape a lot?”
“Oh yes,” Reggie says, nodding gravely. “Luke doesn’t like rules.”
Alex snorts. “Yeah, that’s certainly something he has in common with–” He cuts himself off. He shakes his head. “Never mind.” He smiles again. But it lacks its genuineness from earlier. Instead, the look in his eyes seems haunted. “Enjoy your evening, Julie.”
“You, too.”
She smiles back one last time before closing the door. The door clicks shut, and Julie slumps. She releases a long but relieved sigh.
That surely wasn’t how she imagined meeting her neighbors would be like.
“You’re a terrible liar,” Luke states, and Julie jerks her head around to glare at him. But Luke’s face is neutral, his voice devoid of any teasing. It’s just a matter-of-fact observation.
Julie closes her eyes and leans her head back against the door. “I know,” she groaned. Lying has never been her strong suit.
Luke doesn’t comment on her self-assessment, though, which surprises her. He’s been so talkative before. Julie peels her eyes open again. Luke’s leaning against the counter, hands gripping the edge of the countertop. His face is unreadable. And while Julie can see right through his head, she cannot look into it. She’s got a good guess, though.
The sound he made when he recognized his friends … it’s still haunting Julie.
“Your friends,” Julie says after a heartbeat, “Alex and Reggie, they seem like great guys.” A bit weird. But who is she to judge.
His expression softens, and a smile tugs on his lips. “They are. Maybe not the best at first impressions, though.”
Julie rolls her eyes. But there isn’t as much annoyance to it as before. It’s good-natured. “You’re one to talk.”
“In my defense, I didn’t expect you to hear me.” He shrugs. “Or see me.”
“Why?”
“Nobody ever has. Not since I …” His smile falls, and he drops his gaze. “… died.”
There’s a finality to the word that sends a shiver through Julie’s body. She tries not to dwell on it.
Right. The invisibility thing. Luke mentioned that before. And Julie’s inclined to believe it. Surely, Reggie or Alex would have mentioned their dead friend hanging around in her apartment if they had seen him.
So why does she see him?
When she asks him, Luke merely shrugs. “Maybe it’s a you thing,” he suggests. “Maybe you’re like that kid from The Sixth Sense that sees ghosts?”
“Yeah, sure,” Julie scoffs. “I’ve been surrounded by transparent people all my life.” Truth be told, she wouldn’t mind these days. Seeing ghosts would mean she could speak to her mom again.
Luke jerks up, straightening his back. “Wait, I’m transparent?”
“Uh, yes?” Julie tilts her head, sizing him up. She can see the front of her cupboard right through his head. “I mean, you’re not pearly white. Not like Casper and his stupid uncles. But, uh, definitely see-through.”
Luke raises his left hand up to his eyes, inspecting it. His eyes are alight with curiosity. “Interesting.” He holds his hand up against the kitchen lamp as if expecting the light to pass right through. He frowns. “Seems normal to me.”
Julie levels him with a stern look. “You mean as normal as hanging out in a fridge?”
“Touché.” Luke smiles sheepishly. He has a really good smile. It makes his eyes crinkle. It’s also contagious. She has to avert her face to hide hers.
Maybe it could work. Sure, Julie is not quite sure she’s entirely wrapped her head around the idea of sharing her space with a stranger, let alone a supernatural being. Wait, he’s a ghost. Does that mean he has powers? Like magic? Could he do magic?
Julie glances at him again. Except he’s gone.
Blinking rapidly, Julie looks around. “Luke?”
No response.
Unsure, he pushes herself away from the door and ventures into the kitchen. But there’s no sign of him at all. Just the broken jar on the floor. The jam has seeped between the cracks; the floor is sticky and covered with shards.
Julie can’t help but feel a little bit disappointed.
Dejected, grabs a roll of paper towels and crouches down next to the fridge to clean up the mess. Careful not to cut herself, she picks up the shards. While she does, she only vaguely registers the stuttering sounds coming from her fridge. Maybe the compressor is broken.
The next morning, there’s still no visible trace of Luke, and Julie begins to worry. Whether about her missing ghost or her slipping sanity, she isn’t sure. But she worries. Right until she opens the fridge.
“Morning.” Luke flashes her a big, goofy grin.
It is important to note that this time, Julie did not scream. She did yelp, though. Just a little.
Luke’s folded up in her fridge, knees drawn to his chest, and arms looped around them. He’s wearing the same clothes as yesterday. Do ghosts actually get changed? Does he have spare clothes? Do ghosts even sleep?
Julie shakes her head.
It doesn’t really matter right now. It’s 8:30 am, and Julie’s about to have her first day at a job she is so not equipped for, and there isn’t any caffeine in her system yet.
She’s absolutely not in the mood for his ghost antics.
Without a word, she grabs the milk and slams the door shut.
“Hey,” Luke shouts, stumbling through the fridge door into the kitchen. “That was kinda rude!”
Julie ignores him decidedly.
Since most of her kitchenware and appliances are still packed away in boxes, there isn’t much for her to fix a proper breakfast. (Or coffee, for that matter.) Still, she’s got her favorite bowl and a package of cereal. She dumps about a quarter of the box into the bowl, then pours milk over it.
It’s not the most appetizing meal, and Julie isn’t feeling particularly hungry. The prospect of today makes her stomach churn. But she has to eat. She isn’t going to risk the embarrassment of a rumbling stomach.
Just as she dips a spoon into her breakfast, Luke hoists himself on the counter.
“So, big day, huh?” he asks. Unlike Julie, he’s in a good mood. And that’s extremely aggravating. Her fingers clamp around the spoon. “Since you live here, you must have landed a job at HGC. The place isn’t too bad. I mean, yeah, it’s not the same as standing on a stage, obviously. That feeling’s unmatched. But it did pay well. And the equipment they have is rad. Could never afforded that. And you already met Alex and Reggie, so you know the people working there are cool.”
Julie shouldn’t be surprised by the revelation that Luke used to work for the Hollywood Ghost Club (wow, prophetic name). But she is. It makes sense, though. All of the tenants work for HGC. Why should that exclude the former ones?
Luke’s now rambling about a nearby diner where HGC employees get a discount. Apparently, they’re making some meatball subs that are just “gnarly”. The mere thought of it makes Julie’s stomach recoil.
Julie wishes he’d stop talking. She doesn’t want to hear about the job or the label. What she wants is to wallow in misery and self-pity. She also wants to throw up, but that’s beside the point.
Unfortunately, if she’s learned anything about Luke so far, it is that he hardly ever shuts up.
“Oh, but you better watch out for Covington, though.” His tone has changed. His voice is laced with bitterness. “That guy’s a bastard. He tried to screw me over all the time. Took me a while to figure that one out.”
He sighs. Heavy. Grieving. Under different circumstances, it would have made Julie feel sorry for him. But Julie’s too focused on keeping her food down. Scoop. Chew. Swallow. Repeat.
“He has the rights to some of my best songs. That still sucks. But …” Suddenly, his tone is light again. Almost mischievous. A wicked gleam enters his eyes, and he smirks impishly. “… once I realized he was fucking me over, I started doing the same. Made him furious. He suspected it at some point, I guess … that I kept the good songs for the band. Hey, wanna hear one of our songs? So from musician to musi–”
Julie’s grasp on the spoon slackens. It slips through her fingers and clatters in the ceramic bowl.
Luke ends his monologue abruptly, looking at her in surprise. “You okay?”
No. But that’s none of his business.
“Why are you here?” she asks instead.
Her question catches him off-guard. He blinks at her, confused by the sudden change of topic. “Uh, what?”
“Why are you even here?” Julie’s voice is quivering. Even she can’t tell why.
Luke shrugs. “I live here.”
“But you don’t,” Julie argues. “You’re dead.”
“So?” He’s trying to sound casual. But the anger is simmering underneath his translucent skin. His easy smile and joviality are long gone.
Maybe she should let go of it. But she doesn’t.
“So why are you here?” Julie asks again. “Why are you still here? I know it sucks, but this isn’t your place anymore. I mean, look around. All your stuff is gone. So why are you hanging out in my fridge when your friend lives right across the hall?”
Luke’s face contorts in anger. His brows furrows; his eyes flash dangerously. “What’s your deal?” he snaps. There’s another emotion flickering in his eyes. Hurt.
Julie feels a shaft of guilt. She’s on edge. But this isn’t Luke’s fault. She knows that.
Frustrated, she throws up her arms, groaning in the process. “Just stop talking about music.” She abandons her half-eaten meal and brushes past Luke, who’s still glaring at her, half-angry, half-confused.
“But you’re a musician!” Luke shouts. It’s a good thing that nobody but her can hear him. His voice would have woken up the entire building. “You gotta love talking about music!”
“But I don’t,” she snaps back. She isn’t a musician. Not anymore. She’s fake. An imposter. “I don’t like music. In fact, I hate it.”
Luke stares at her, baffled – like she just slapped him. “What?”
Julie almost feels sorry for him. Almost.
Instead, she grabs her messenger bag and slings it over her shoulder. Without a word, she marches over to the door and yanks it open.
She’s already out in the hall when she stops, spinning around, facing him one last time.
“Just stay out of my business,” she warns him off. Then, for good measure, “And my fridge.”
Then she slams the door shut.
Onboarding passes in a blur.
Julie remembers being greeted by a secretary with a kind smile. She remembers being ushered into a tiny, cramped office where she put her name under various documents. She does not remember the contents of those documents. Not precisely. She does recall some of the titles, though. She remembers reading terms like confidentiality agreement and transfer of rights agreement. The last one stirs something in her mind, and she hesitated. Luke mentioned that Caleb Covington holds the rights to some of his songs. But she has been too preoccupied to pay much attention.
Still, it makes her pause. She fidgets with the pen. Has Luke signed a similar contract? Is that the reason why Caleb Covington owns some of his songs?
The secretary, Enrique, doesn’t miss her hesitation. His fixed smile slips off his face.
“Anything the matter?”
“No,” Julie says hurriedly. “No, not at all.”
She shakes her head feverishly and signed the contract. It doesn’t matter. She doesn’t possess any musical talent – not anymore. She won’t produce anything worth publishing.
Then, she is handed a keycard and a slip of paper with her logon information, and she is given a tour around the building. They visit the recording booths and the sound studio. Luke’s right. The equipment is state-of-the-art, brand-new, and shiny. HGC doesn’t hesitate to show off.
As they wander the maze of corridors, they eventually run into Reggie, who gives her a warm, welcoming smile and a wave. Julie also catches sight of Alex. But he’s too distracted to notice her. Seated behind an HGC-branded drumkit, he’s twirling his drumsticks nervously while talking to a tall man with tanned skin and dark, long hair. Julie could have been mistaken. But she is almost convinced there was a blush creeping up Alex’s neck.
Then they venture up a staircase and arrive in an open-plan office. The cacophony of sounds assaulting Julie’s ears is overwhelming. There are too many. The shrill ringing of phones. People debating loudly with each other over the phone or across the mid-height room dividers. There are the clacking sounds of people hammering on their keyboards.
Julie grimaces.
This isn’t the creative sanctum she’s expected. But, like earlier, it didn’t really matter. So she dutifully trudges behind Enrique as he shows her to a desk by the windows.
That’s where she is now, standing by her assigned desk, inspecting it. There isn’t much to see. A desktop computer (a newer model, given the Windows XP sticker on the chassis) is placed on the desk with a flatscreen monitor sitting on it. There’s a keyboard and a mouse, a desk lamp, a landline, and an empty letter tray. She’s even been offered a cell. But Julie refused. This job already haunts her without 24/7 access to her life.
“I’m going to inform Nick you’re here. Why don’t you befriend your new companion while you wait. Your login info is on the tower. Don’t forget to update your password. IT will show you how if you need help.” He gestures at the PC.
Julie has no idea who Nick is. But she nods anyway.
Given Enrique’s pleased smile, it was the expected reaction. The next second, he’s gone, off to fetch Nick.
Being left alone in the middle of a bustling office makes her feel extremely self-conscious. Nervous, she glances around. But none of the other employees pay her much attention.
So she unhooks her bag, places it at the feet of the desk, and settles on the swivel chair. The paper slip is still clutched in her hand. She puts it on the desk and reaches forward to boot up the PC. Just as her fingertips touch the button, her eyes catch sight of a pencil cup. She pauses, frowning at the cup. It’s not the pencil cup itself that has caught her interest but the pens inside. Most of them are ordinary black pens branded with the HGC logo. But among them is a blue pencil that sticks out. It looks misplaced. Curious, Julie takes it.
It’s a personalized pencil. Letters are stenciled into the casing. Julie rolls it in her fingers to get a look at the engraving.
Luke.
As if being burned, Julie drops the pen. It clatters on the wooden surface.
Was this … did Luke work here? Did she not only rent his apartment but also inherit his workplace?
She inspects the items on the desk closer. But aside from the pencil, there’s no evidence that this desk has ever been occupied.
Stealthily, Julie glances around. There are multiple desks surrounding her, and even the ones currently unoccupied are littered with personal items and knickknacks. Family photos and Discmans and one with those weird little trolls with neon hair.
But Luke’s desk is empty.
Just like the apartment when Julie first set foot into it.
And suddenly, it hits her.
For the first time, Julie is confronted with the full gravity of the situation. Luke’s dead. He doesn’t exist anymore. He’s gone. And so are his belongings. Cleared out. Thrown away. Trashed. Maybe a few items have survived a rigorous cleaning. Now, they’re memorabilia put on display on mantelpieces and shelves where they’ll gather dust.
Was it really so easy to erase somebody’s existence? Pack up their stuff and shove it into a tiny storage space, or just dump it on the street for someone else to make use of?
Would this, eventually, happen to her mom’s things too?
The thought fills Julie with dread and sadness, and she shudders.
She doesn’t want to think about it.
Shaking her head, she distracts herself by picking up the pencil again. She didn’t notice before, but it has been crudely customized. ‘My name is’ has been scribbled next to ‘Luke’.
She bites her lip in order to conceal her smile. It’s such a pointless line – it’s oddly hilarious. Julie wonders if it is some sort of inside joke. Maybe she can ask Luke about it when she gets home-
“Are you Julie?”
Julie yelps and almost drops the pencil again. With her heart racing in her chest, she turns. A guy is standing by her desk, leaning casually on the cubicle divider. He’s young, not older than her, with floppy blonde hair and a very charming smile. Also, unlike Luke, he’s very, very opaque. So, most likely not a ghost.
Julie stares at him with comically wide eyes, and his smile slips off.
“Oh damn, did I startle you?” he asks, sounding concerned. “I’m sorry. I’m Nick.”
Oh, that’s Nick. Julie tilts her head. He’s really cute. He’s white and blonde with blue eyes that look at her expectantly.
With a start, Julie realizes it’s her turn. Her eyes widen with panic.
“Yes,” she says hurriedly, “No, wait. No. You didn’t startle me. I just … I got distracted. But that was my fault. Yes, I’m Mulie Jolina …” She trails off, blinking rapidly while her own words sink in. Oh.
A warm blush blooms on her cheeks.
Nick chuckles. It’s a nice sound – melodic and soft. But unfortunately, it fuels her embarrassment. Her face grows even warmer. Her skin prickles. She grimaces.
“Can we start over again?” Julie asks, pleading. “I’m Julie.”
“Nick,” Nick says. “And I’m your writing partner.”
Julie frowns. “Writing partner?”
Nick nods, expression turning serious. “Yeah, one of the writers left a couple of months ago. He was also a guitarist. They couldn’t find a replacement that could do both.” He shrugs. “So, the position got split. But we are still expected to work together.” Julie wonders if he’s talking about Luke. But he continues before she can ask questions. “They didn’t tell you, huh? Truth be told, I’m not much of a songwriter. But I listened to the piece you submitted for your application. It was amazing!”
A few months ago, his praise would have filled her with pride (and also a good chunk of embarrassment). She would have been flattered. Now, it only makes her stomach drop.
The worst of it? His praise seems totally genuine. He means it.
Julie forces a smile anyway. “Yeah, it … I wrote it for a class.”
“You have a degree in music?”
Julie nods stiffly, and Nick beams at her. His smile is perfect. It’s blinding, and his teeth are sparkly white. He shouldn’t be working for a label. He should be doing ads for dental products.
Nick’s nice. Very nice. And very cute. And Julie thinks she likes him.
But just like Luke this morning, he’s prodding at a wound that is better left alone. It will never heal.
The song. The application. The degree. That was all before. Before her mother’s death. Before, when music had been a safe haven and a source of comfort.
Today, it’s a burden.
“Hey,” Nick says suddenly, startling Julie from her thoughts. “It’s lunchtime. And there’s a diner across the street that gives us a discount. Do wanna head out and grab some food?” He shrugs again. It’s an attempt to be casual. But his cheeks are tinged pink. “To get to know each other.”
“Sounds great!” Julie says with a fixed smile. It feels more like a grimace. “I, uh, heard they make a great meatball sub.”
“Oh? From whom?”
“Uh, a friend.” She jumps to her feet and moves to grab her bag. “Wanna go?” Her sudden eagerness takes Nick aback for a moment. But then his smile is back.
“Sure.”
As she follows him outside, she slips Luke’s pencil into her bag.
It’s almost 8 when Julie staggers up the stairs. She’s tired. And hungry. And her head is spinning.
Is this it? Is this what the rest of her life will look like? Spending the better part of her days in a crammed, noisy office, staring blearily at a screen, eyes dropping before being allowed to head home, crashing on her couch, too groggy to do anything?
Yeah, she’s going to have a bright future ahead of her. This was all supposed to be a stepping stone toward something greater. She knows she’ll fail at this, it’s inevitable, but now she’s seriously worried for the rest of her life.
Her foot catches on the last step. She stumbles but avoids the fall. She considers that a win. She trudges over to her apartment. Fumbling with her keys, it takes her two attempts before she manages to unlock the door. She opens it, but then Julie stops on the threshold, suddenly unsure.
The apartment looks exactly as she left it almost 11 hours ago. Her moving boxes haven’t magically unpacked themselves, and her cereal bowl with her half-eaten breakfast still stands on the counter.
The sight of her apartment, still so devoid of any personal touch, makes her pause.
When Julie first set foot into that empty apartment (together with her dad and Flynn while Carlos visited Mom at the hospital), she saw a lot of raw potential. She’d just signed with HGC and was about to graduate college and start a life filled with friends, family, and music. She’d been so excited.
Then her mom died, and she came back to the empty apartment, feeling like she fit right in with all the unused potential.
Had Luke been around while they viewed the apartment? But why didn’t she see him then? And what did it feel like for him, having to watch a stranger move into a place that used to be yours? And had he been around when his stuff had been moved out? Had he been forced to watch while his friends and family had snooped through his belongings and put them away into cardboard boxes? Julie doesn’t even want to think about it? Watching all your possessions, your entire life being stripped away from you … having a stranger move into your apartment while you’re stuck in that place …it must be horrible.
This used to be Luke’s place.
Julie looks around. But again, there’s no sign of him. But she’s got an educated guess where he’s hiding. Tossing her bag on the couch as she walks by, she heads straight to the kitchen. As she passes by, Julie peers into the bowl and grimaces. Her cereal has turned into glop. The broken jar is gone, but the floor by the fridge still feels sticky, and the floorboards creak as she steps on it.
She knocks on the fridge door. There’s no response. But there’s this stuttering sound again she heard yesterday. Maybe the compressor isn’t broken at all.
Luke’s in there again.
He doesn’t acknowledge her. Doesn’t even look up. His right foot taps along to a melody only he can hear. His shoe keeps passing through her butter. She really hopes there’s no such thing as ghost dirt.
Julie breathes in, then says, “I’m sorry.”
Luke stops mid-movement but doesn’t turn to look at her.
“I shouldn’t have snapped at you. It wasn’t fair. And it wasn’t fair to tell you to leave. This … this is your place.”
To her surprise, Luke shakes his head. He closes his eyes, defeated.
“No, you were right. It isn’t. Not anymore. I know that.” He heaves a sigh. (Interesting that he can still do that.) “And if I could leave this place, I would.”
“You can’t?”
He shakes his head. “It doesn’t matter how I try – by walking out the door or passing through a wall.”
“Or falling out a window.”
“Or that,” Luke admits, and an involuntary smile tugs at his lips. It wears off quickly. “As soon as I leave, I get dragged back, and the next thing I know I’m sitting in the fridge again.”
“Why? And why the fridge?”
He shrugs. He’s just as clueless as her. “It’s a cool place.” His expression turns smug. “Very chill.”
Julie scoffs and rolls her eyes, but there’s no malice behind the gesture. Mild exasperation, maybe. “It’s not even your fridge.”
“I know. But yours is much cooler. And cleaner. And newer.”
That is … not a surprising revelation whatsoever.
They both fall silent, and Luke’s right hand wanders to his hip, reaching for a blue rabbit foot that is attached to his jeans. Absent-mindedly, he rubs it.
Suddenly, there’s a rumbling sound as her refrigerator’s compressor jumps to life, and Julie can feel a waft of cold air on her skin. She shivers.
“Yeah,” Luke says, clicking his tongue. “You might wanna close the door again. This can’t be good for your milk.” Pointedly, he waves towards the milk jug she still stores in the door.
“Wanna get out first?”
He’s stunned by her question, but only for a moment. Eventually, he unfolds himself and staggers out of the fridge. He’s still wearing the same clothes, and with all his things, including his clothes, gone, Julie suspects that won’t change. It also reminds her of the discovery at work.
“Oh, I gotta show you something!”
She spins around and hurries to the couch, where she dumped her bag. She grabs it just as Luke materializes next to her. Right, ghosts have teleportation skills. Yeah, very handy.
She shakes her head, shaking off the thought. She opens the zipper of her bag and rummages through it until her fingers clasp around the pencil. Luke’s pencil.
“I found this.”
She extracts it and holds it out to him. Luke’s breath catches in his throat. (Do ghosts even breathe?)
“That’s mine.” His voice is husky and his eyes glassy. A soft yet sad smile plays on his lips.
Luke reaches out, but his hand stops before he touches the pencil. It hovers awkwardly in the air.
“What’s wrong?”
“I can’t.”
To prove his point, Luke moves his hand as if to take the pencil. His fingers pass right through.
“Oh.”
“Yeah.” He retracts his arm and shoves both of his hands into his pockets. Then he flops down on her – formerly his, Julie realizes with a start – couch. The fake leather doesn’t dip. “It was a gift from the boys.”
No wonder it makes him sentimental.
Julie hesitates only for a moment before she joins him, settling into the cushions. Unlike Luke, she sinks in. She bites her inner cheek, suddenly nervous. She knows she shouldn’t be prying – not after telling him off this morning. But she’s been wondering about it all day. Eventually, her curiosity gets the better of her.
“My name is Luke?”
Luke chuckles. “It’s a song I wrote when I was 16.”
“And you named it after yourself? I see.” She giggles. “Very humble.”
“Hey!” Luke exclaims in mock offense. “It’s actually very deep, you know.” His features soften. “Wanna hear it?”
At once, Julie’s body stiffens, and her heart stutters in her chest. She’s clasping the pencil tightly, nails digging into the flesh of her own hand. Her fingers are clammy and cold.
Luke’s a ghost. He neither has a body nor a heart. But he used to. He used to be a human. A very perceptive one, by the looks of it. A very pushy one, too.
He notices her discomfort, turning toward her. “Why do you hate music so much?”
Julie doesn’t want to confess. But she not only owes him an apology, he also deserves an explanation. She takes in a long breath, gathering her thoughts.
“I don’t hate music,” Julie confesses in a low whisper. “Not really. I, uh, actually used to love it. My mom was a musician and a music teacher. She taught me how to sing and play the piano. We, uh, our garage got converted into a music studio. We spent every free minute there, making music together. And I loved every second of it.” She truly did. Making music with her mom had been the best time of her life. “I even went to a performing arts school and enrolled at university to study music. It had been such a huge part of my life, you know.”
Luke hasn’t said a word since she started talking. She doesn’t dare glance at him. She knows he’s been hanging on her lips. With her right hand, she’s still holding on to the pencil. Her other hand rests on her thigh.
“A year ago, my mom got sick. It was a shock. For all of us. My mom, too, I guess. But she never let on. She always put on a smile and told us not to worry. She always assured us she’d get better. But I think she knew.” Julie sniffles, and her left hand balls into a fist, twisting the material of her pants. Tears prick in her eyes. Her voice is choked with despair.
“I considered taking a year off to spend more time with her. But she insisted that I graduate first. So I did. I graduated and applied for a job as a songwriter at HGC. She was so proud when I got hired. She, uh, died a week later.”
Julie can’t hold back her tears any longer. They brim over, flowing down her face and soaking into the fabric of her pants.
Beside her, Luke sighs. Heavy.
“I’m so sorry.”
Blinking against the veil of tears, she turns her head. Luke’s eyes are wide and earnest and filled with compassion. Julie almost laughs at the irony of the situation. Here she is, receiving condolences about her dead mother from a guy who’s dead.
It almost draws a laugh from her. Almost. Sniffling wetly, Julie looks away again, focusing on her knees instead.
“I haven’t sung or played ever since. I can’t. It just … it hurts too much.” She shrugs, helpless. Death didn’t just take her mom. It has also stolen a part of her. A vital part of her soul has been ripped out, leaving a gaping hole behind.
Time heals all wounds, people say. But Julie has her doubts. Because the hole the loss of her mom has torn in her – it’s fraying. It’s consuming her.
It’s been two months already. It’s been only two months.
How long until the agony will swallow her?
Julie shakes her head. This will never be over.
“I guess you’ll be rid of me soon. It won’t take HGC long to figure that I can’t write music anymore. Mr. Covington will kick me out, and I won’t be able to pay rent for this place.”
She laughs, but it’s mirthless. She almost expects Luke to do the same. After all, he should be happy. He’d get his haunt back soon.
But Luke doesn’t. Instead, he hums, lost in thought. “Do you want to stay?”
Julie whips her head around. “What?”
Luke’s not looking at her. His head is tilted back; his eyes are trained to the ceiling. His brows are knitted together in concentration.
“Do you want to stay here and work for HGC?”
Julie just stares at him, confused. She can’t follow.
“Well, you can’t write music. And I totally get why,” Luke adds quickly. He looks at her as if awaiting confirmation. So Julie nods, and Luke continues, “And I can’t write music either.” Right. He couldn’t even touch his own pencil. “So, I thought why don’t we can make a deal? Uh, like a partnership? I come up with songs, and you …” He points at the pencil still in her right hand. “… write them down?”
Julie’s jaw drops. She gapes at him. “You … want to help me?”
Luke’s not meeting her eye anymore. His right knee is bouncing – whether from nerves or excitement, Julie can’t tell. “You’re the first person who can see and hear me since I … died.” He shrugs. “It’s nice – being able to talk to someone again. To you. If you leave, they’ll just rent this place out to somebody else.” Somebody who might not be able to see or hear him. Julie’s heart sinks. If she moved out, he’d be alone again.
Julie hesitates, deliberating his preposition.
It’s not a bad one. She can clearly see the benefits on both sides. It would save her a lot of trouble. And the embarrassment of telling her family the truth.
When Julie told her parents about this job, they both were so proud of her. She saw it in their eyes. They gleamed with parental pride. Her dad still looks at her like this. Losing the job and this apartment would mean she’d have to tell him the truth. And Julie isn’t ready to do that. She isn’t ready to face his disappointment.
Julie exhales slowly. “I guess we both got nothing to lose.”
“Exactly!” Luke says. He’s beaming from ear to ear. “So, Julie, wanna team up with a ghostwriter?”
Julie scoffs. His puns are awful. But it makes her lips twitch nonetheless. “I’d love to,” she replies. She only hesitates for a moment before adding, “Thank you.”
Luke smiles. Soft. Sincere.
And Julie can’t help it. She smiles back. It’s tentative. A bit wobbly, for sure. But it’s a smile. It’s a start.