Ghost of a Chance

[Atlantis Rises]

GHOST OF A CHANCE written and copyrighted by "Atlantis Rises" a.k.a. R.J.Stewart

Logan was your typical security guard on the night shift.

Fresh out of university, he graduated with honors with a Bachelor of Arts degree. But due to the global recession, a low-paying job was all he could muster.

It depressed him, among other things. Thousands of dollars spent and all it got him was here. He felt helpless, as if his future had been stripped away by an unforeseeable force leaving him utterly defenseless.

After finishing his rounds, he returned to the main lobby. It wasn't a large building and his patrol only took him ten to fifteen minutes tops. He paused momentarily, then returned to the security office located at the end of an alcove behind the elevators.

But after climbing the three steps leading up to the office, he paused curiously when he noticed the door was propped open, for which he knew he had closed it when he left. Inside was another guard.

"Hey, what are you doing here?" he said to the mysterious, young man. He was about Logan's age.

The guard briefly eyed him and then turned back to write something down in his notebook.

Logan sat down in a chair opposite to the other. The guard was from the same security company. "No one told me I was training someone tonight."

But the guard ignored him.

Puzzled, Logan raised his voice. "Hey man, I'm talking to you!"

"I know," the other replied.

"Then why didn't you answer?"

The guard put his notebook on the desk next to him. Logan leaned over and looked at the guard's name on the front of his notebook after he finished with it.

"Shaun Michaels, eh? Like the wrestler?"

"Yeah, but spelled differently," the other answered.

"My name's Logan. So why did the company send another guard here?"

"Because they needed someone to fill the slot. Maintenance let me in."

Perplexed by Michaels answer, Logan frowned. He paused momentarily before speaking further. "But I work here, and this is a single guard shift," he said questioningly.

"Yes, and I'm that guard now," Michaels said matter-of-factly.

Still confused, Logan said, "I'll get to the bottom of this. If I've been terminated, I want to know!"

He took out the site cell from his pocket and dialed head office, but all he got was dead air. There wasn't even a dial tone.

"You won't get through," Michaels said.

Logan growled under his breath, frustrated after trying twice more. But Michaels was correct. He couldn't get through. The phone was dead. "What's with the phone?"

Michaels expression mirrored empathy when Logan looked back at him. "How long have you been here?"

"I was assigned here a few months ago," Logan said.

"That's not what I meant. I mean, how long have you been here?"

"I just told you!"

Michaels gave Logan a serendipitous look. "I see, so you don't know?"

"Know what?"

Michaels nodded. "I understand. You're continuing as if nothing's happened."

There was a slight pause whereas Michaels looked thoughtful. Logan had seen this expression before, just before someone delivered bad news.

Logan met Michaels sensitive stare. Michaels paused momentarily, then said, "You're dead."

Logan laughed. "Is this some lame April's Fool joke?"

"I'm serious. The police came and everything. Don't you remember?"

Logan sat back in the chair. "Stop it. That's not funny."

"Your body was found in one of the underground parking storage rooms."

Logan snorted angry. He stood, and the chair rolled back with force crashing into the wall. "Stop it! Who put you up to this?"

Michaels shook his head. "You're totally unaware of it, aren't you?"

"Of what?"

"That you're dead."

"That joke's wearing thin. I'm calling head office and reporting you!" Logan dialed with his phone, forgetting for a moment it didn't work. "Give me your phone."

Michaels retrieved a cell from his belt and put it on the desk next to him. Logan immediately noticed it was the exact same phone he had.

"It won't do you any good," Michaels explained. "And you won't be able to touch it."

"Stop it! This isn't funny anymore!" Logan shouted.

"Tragic deaths are never humorous," Michaels replied sympathetically.

"I'm not dead! Stop saying that!" Logan reached for the phone, but shockingly his hand passed through it and the desk. "What the hell?" He repeated the action with the same result.

"The dead cannot touch what exists in the living. . ." Michaels explained. "Your ethereal form isn't anchored corporally to this world anymore."

Logan stared at his hand in disbelief.

"But I was able to use the elevator. . ."

"Yes, but your ethereal energy now subconsciously projects your actions."

Logan reached for the chair he had launched across the room a moment ago, he felt faint and he wanted to sit down - but his hand passed through it. "But I just. . ."

"Your consciousness is adjusting to its new reality," Michaels explained.

"It's not true! What happened?"

"From what I heard, you committed suicide."

Anxiety and fear flushed Logan's face. "No. . .I would never. . .I'm not capable. . .things weren't that bad. . ." He then looked at Michaels sternly. "Wait a minute, if I'm dead. . .how come you see me, huh? People can't see ghosts!"

"I had a small brain tumor removed a couple of years ago that left me sensitive to certain paranormal energies. I've learned to live with it."

"How long?" Logan finally asked.

"Three weeks ago."

"But I just came to work tonight after two days off. I took the bus here like I always do. I remember that clearly."

"It's called loop memory. Time is irrelevant to a trapped spirit, especially after an unaccepted death."

"I saw no evidence of suicide in the storage rooms when I checked them. No one's used them in months."

"You saw what you wanted to see. To you, the event hasn't occurred. In your case, you re-act events up to a certain point and then loop back, unaware of what transpired later. Your mind is unable to accept it, and you haunt this building, repeating the same events over and over."

Logan blinked twice in disbelief. "How. . .how did I kill myself?" he asked, stuttered fretfully.

"With a kitchenette knife to your heart," Michaels said with regret. "The police also found your journal in your book bag, saying how miserable you were."

"I know I had problems like the next guy, but it hardly justified killing myself?"

"Who are you trying to convince, me or you?"

Logan slumped his shoulders, his eyes saddened with grief. "I can't believe it."

"Depression can be overwhelming if left untreated, even in short term. It's caused by a chemical imbalance in the brain that can lead to suicidal thoughts."

Logan sighed deeply. "How do you know so much about ghosts?"

"Paranormal research is a hobby of mine," Michaels said. He pulled out a book on the subject from a backpack and put it on the desk.

Michaels shivered.

"Are you alright?" Logan asked.

"Yeah, it's just getting cold in here."

Logan saw Michaels breath. "Like a ghost?" He frowned.

"Yes," Michaels said. "A sudden temperature drop in an otherwise tempered room indicates paranormal activity. But normally only in the presence of an unhappy spirit. Once the spirit acknowledges its own death, however, it can then pass on peacefully."

Michaels smiled thinly. He then exhibited his wrists. And across each vein was a slit mark, stitched. "I know the reality of depression, Logan. Unlike you, I survived my attempt. And with the help of a good friend, I no longer try."

Michaels pushed the book away, then leaned back in his chair with his fingers cusped together in front.

"Let's talk," Michaels said. "I'm not a psychiatrist, but sometimes all a person needs is someone who will listen."

Logan smiled, feeling an overwhelming sensation of relief, and he exchanged a smile with Michaels. He nodded. "Okay."

They talked all night.

[wondergirl100]

GHOST OF A CHANCE written and copyrighted by "Atlantis Rises" a.k.a. R.J.Stewart

Logan was your typical security guard on the night shift.

Fresh out of university, he graduated with honors with a Bachelor of Arts degree. But due to the global recession, a low-paying job was all he could muster.

It depressed him, among other things. Thousands of dollars spent and all it got him was here. He felt helpless, as if his future had been stripped away by an unforeseeable force leaving him utterly defenseless.

After finishing his rounds, he returned to the main lobby. It wasn't a large building and his patrol only took him ten to fifteen minutes tops. He paused momentarily, then returned to the security office located at the end of an alcove behind the elevators.

But after climbing the three steps leading up to the office, he paused curiously when he noticed the door was propped open, for which he knew he had closed it when he left. Inside was another guard.

"Hey, what are you doing here?" he said to the mysterious, young man. He was about Logan's age.

The guard briefly eyed him and then turned back to write something down in his notebook.

Logan sat down in a chair opposite to the other. The guard was from the same security company. "No one told me I was training someone tonight."

But the guard ignored him.

Puzzled, Logan raised his voice. "Hey man, I'm talking to you!"

"I know," the other replied.

"Then why didn't you answer?"

The guard put his notebook on the desk next to him. Logan leaned over and looked at the guard's name on the front of his notebook after he finished with it.

"Shaun Michaels, eh? Like the wrestler?"

"Yeah, but spelled differently," the other answered.

"My name's Logan. So why did the company send another guard here?"

"Because they needed someone to fill the slot. Maintenance let me in."

Perplexed by Michaels answer, Logan frowned. He paused momentarily before speaking further. "But I work here, and this is a single guard shift," he said questioningly.

"Yes, and I'm that guard now," Michaels said matter-of-factly.

Still confused, Logan said, "I'll get to the bottom of this. If I've been terminated, I want to know!"

He took out the site cell from his pocket and dialed head office, but all he got was dead air. There wasn't even a dial tone.

"You won't get through," Michaels said.

Logan growled under his breath, frustrated after trying twice more. But Michaels was correct. He couldn't get through. The phone was dead. "What's with the phone?"

Michaels expression mirrored empathy when Logan looked back at him. "How long have you been here?"

"I was assigned here a few months ago," Logan said.

"That's not what I meant. I mean, how long have you been here?"

"I just told you!"

Michaels gave Logan a serendipitous look. "I see, so you don't know?"

"Know what?"

Michaels nodded. "I understand. You're continuing as if nothing's happened."

There was a slight pause whereas Michaels looked thoughtful. Logan had seen this expression before, just before someone delivered bad news.

Logan met Michaels sensitive stare. Michaels paused momentarily, then said, "You're dead."

Logan laughed. "Is this some lame April's Fool joke?"

"I'm serious. The police came and everything. Don't you remember?"

Logan sat back in the chair. "Stop it. That's not funny."

"Your body was found in one of the underground parking storage rooms."

Logan snorted angry. He stood, and the chair rolled back with force crashing into the wall. "Stop it! Who put you up to this?"

Michaels shook his head. "You're totally unaware of it, aren't you?"

"Of what?"

"That you're dead."

"That joke's wearing thin. I'm calling head office and reporting you!" Logan dialed with his phone, forgetting for a moment it didn't work. "Give me your phone."

Michaels retrieved a cell from his belt and put it on the desk next to him. Logan immediately noticed it was the exact same phone he had.

"It won't do you any good," Michaels explained. "And you won't be able to touch it."

"Stop it! This isn't funny anymore!" Logan shouted.

"Tragic deaths are never humorous," Michaels replied sympathetically.

"I'm not dead! Stop saying that!" Logan reached for the phone, but shockingly his hand passed through it and the desk. "What the hell?" He repeated the action with the same result.

"The dead cannot touch what exists in the living. . ." Michaels explained. "Your ethereal form isn't anchored corporally to this world anymore."

Logan stared at his hand in disbelief.

"But I was able to use the elevator. . ."

"Yes, but your ethereal energy now subconsciously projects your actions."

Logan reached for the chair he had launched across the room a moment ago, he felt faint and he wanted to sit down - but his hand passed through it. "But I just. . ."

"Your consciousness is adjusting to its new reality," Michaels explained.

"It's not true! What happened?"

"From what I heard, you committed suicide."

Anxiety and fear flushed Logan's face. "No. . .I would never. . .I'm not capable. . .things weren't that bad. . ." He then looked at Michaels sternly. "Wait a minute, if I'm dead. . .how come you see me, huh? People can't see ghosts!"

"I had a small brain tumor removed a couple of years ago that left me sensitive to certain paranormal energies. I've learned to live with it."

"How long?" Logan finally asked.

"Three weeks ago."

"But I just came to work tonight after two days off. I took the bus here like I always do. I remember that clearly."

"It's called loop memory. Time is irrelevant to a trapped spirit, especially after an unaccepted death."

"I saw no evidence of suicide in the storage rooms when I checked them. No one's used them in months."

"You saw what you wanted to see. To you, the event hasn't occurred. In your case, you re-act events up to a certain point and then loop back, unaware of what transpired later. Your mind is unable to accept it, and you haunt this building, repeating the same events over and over."

Logan blinked twice in disbelief. "How. . .how did I kill myself?" he asked, stuttered fretfully.

"With a kitchenette knife to your heart," Michaels said with regret. "The police also found your journal in your book bag, saying how miserable you were."

"I know I had problems like the next guy, but it hardly justified killing myself?"

"Who are you trying to convince, me or you?"

Logan slumped his shoulders, his eyes saddened with grief. "I can't believe it."

"Depression can be overwhelming if left untreated, even in short term. It's caused by a chemical imbalance in the brain that can lead to suicidal thoughts."

Logan sighed deeply. "How do you know so much about ghosts?"

"Paranormal research is a hobby of mine," Michaels said. He pulled out a book on the subject from a backpack and put it on the desk.

Michaels shivered.

"Are you alright?" Logan asked.

"Yeah, it's just getting cold in here."

Logan saw Michaels breath. "Like a ghost?" He frowned.

"Yes," Michaels said. "A sudden temperature drop in an otherwise tempered room indicates paranormal activity. But normally only in the presence of an unhappy spirit. Once the spirit acknowledges its own death, however, it can then pass on peacefully."

Michaels smiled thinly. He then exhibited his wrists. And across each vein was a slit mark, stitched. "I know the reality of depression, Logan. Unlike you, I survived my attempt. And with the help of a good friend, I no longer try."

Michaels pushed the book away, then leaned back in his chair with his fingers cusped together in front.

"Let's talk," Michaels said. "I'm not a psychiatrist, but sometimes all a person needs is someone who will listen."

Logan smiled, feeling an overwhelming sensation of relief, and he exchanged a smile with Michaels. He nodded. "Okay."

They talked all night.

So Logan is the spirit? Wow!

[Ashotep]

Depression is a big reason a lot of people take their own lives.

[Still Waters]

Well done

[Atlantis Rises]

Thank you (all) for commenting on my story. I appreciate the attention.

[xCrimsonx]

Good stuff AR!