<span style="font-style: italic">Thomas</span>.<br/><br/>The word, the name, was cradled with such surprise, such gentleness, such fear. Breya had shaken Mica to the core with her first few words.<br/><br/>It was going to be a good haunt.<br/><br/>He was probably thinking that he had ate something funny, or wasn't sleeping well. It was what everyone did, to reassure themselves that they weren't going crazy. People weren't supposed to hear voices in the dark when they were at home, all by themselves. There had to be a logical reason.<br/><br/>Of course, there was a reason, just not a logical one. It had to be expanded to the supernatural realm, where the dead took on jobs to haunt the living just for something to do.<br/><br/>The Underworld was awfully boring.<br/><br/>Yet the way her case had said that word, the name of a friend, family, or a lover... Breya suddenly snorted at the thought. She wasn't one to judge, or at least, she didn't think she was, but the chances of the slob in front of her being the lover of a Thomas was far too unlikely in her eyes.<br/><br/>Once again, Mica was on the computer, playing his games. He had shaken Thomas, though more accurately, Breya, off as a figment of his imagination,and was trying to relax in his agitated state. Breya peered at the screen. Obviously she hadn't been a gamer in her life that she couldn't remember, because she understood nothing. There were too many abbreviations, too much happening on the screen. What was an HP, besides a sauce that you put on steak?<br/><br/>At least Breya could remember the taste of steak, and potatoes and chocolate and tea. All of those foods, she could never taste again. Of course, she could bring the taste on to Mica's tongue, but not her own. A schizo ghost couldn't be fooled by their own tricks.<br/><br/>Despite remembering all those tastes, Breya couldn't remember her own family. It was a curse of the dead, to forget all of your personal life as easily as the first two years of living are forgotten when you're alive. Breya wondered if she had a Thomas, a name she had held on her lips with as much hope and care as Mica had barely moments ago. She would have had parents, unless she was fostered. Bah, she was starting to act like she had when she first became a ghost.<br/><br/>Everyone did it. After the trauma of learning you were at the gates of The Underworld, being directed along with thousands of others by a demon with a megaphone and a friendly "Ask Me Questions! (:" button on their shirt, and of realizing all your memories were gone, you naturally began fantasizing about your life before you died. The older ones always concocted grand stories of how much they did in their waking life, while the children, bless their souls, imagined that they had been princesses or the youngest astronaut ever.<br/><br/>Breya had died at the awkward age of 23, where the childish dreams of princesses were forgotten, and the grand stories weren't possible to fit in.<br/><br/>She liked to imagine that she had lived a normal life until her last year of college, when she got so stressed she had a heart attack and kicked the bucket.<br/><br/>That sounded like her.<br/><br/>Mica had a moment of peace while Breya thought, leaning against the couch. She didn't exactly understand how, as a schizo ghost, she could stand, sit, and lean on objects, but could never move or pick up anything. She figured it was The Boss' assholery at work.<br/><br/>It was just like how Grudgers remembered every messed up detail of their death, and why it was important to destroy the person who caused it. No one was left with the happy memories, were they?<br/><br/>"Does this really make you happy? Why'd you give up?"<br/><br/>Breya was throwing some stock phrases, getting a feel for what made her case tick. She could look into his mind, find bits and pieces that helped with her job, but Breya always felt the process seemed too intimate, to surreal. She preferred to be a sort of detective, looking at his phone while he was on it, snooping through the house when he was away, though the latter method didn't help much. He didn't keep pictures or documents, it was like the place wasn't a home. There were just some meaningless shells and driftwood, and signs that said things like "Live, Love, Laugh". Obviously put there by someone other than Mica.<br/><br/>Visual hallucinations weren't supposed to start on the first day, but Breya was behind. As she stared balefully at the screen through her deep green eyes, it began to flicker. Off, on, off, on. Off. Slow at first, then to a hammering, heart-thumping pace until the computer tower set off dancing sparks, like a yellow fireworks show.<br/><br/>"You're wasting your time on these games, Mica."<br/><br/>Of course, there was nothing wrong with the computer. It was all in Mica's head. He would blink and everything would be just the way it was supposed to be, with his computer screen on and his little character still smashing away at some sort of living tree.<br/><br/>He was going crazy, after all.