Results! Breya slid through the counter casually, moving over to Mica, who had slipped off his unenchanted headphones and said Thomas' name again; this time, his tone held a more self-centred lilt. He was most likely wondering if he was going crazy, and recovering from the initial shock. Breya wondered if she had had any ghosts when she was living. What would it be like to be on the other side of things, when hallucinations and strange things were limited to scientific explanation? Had she believed in ghosts? Probably not. Most people didn't in the modern world.<br/><br/>She was now at Mica's side, floating in a cross-logged position at chair height. It really was one of the biggest perks of being dead, floating. That and you don't have to worry about keeping yourself alive.<span style="font-style: italic">I feel like a genie,</span>Breya thought giddily as she followed Mica to the clothing-covered lamp.<span style="font-style: italic">Finally, some light in the place,</span>she thought as he turned it on. It wasn't like Breya could stub her toe on anything, but still. Living by computer light didn't seem like the best way to spend your time.<br/><br/>As Mica threw on his shirt, Breya realized just how comfortable she had become with his nakedness. It had excited her for a while. Now it seemed to be just a natural part of things like the clock on the wall or the groadiness of the microwave from several explosive hot pocket incidences. Him putting on clothes seemed almost like more of a surprise. He seemed to be preparing for whoever he thought was 'visiting'. It definitely crossed out the idea of Thomas being a lover.<br/><br/>The idea had still amused her.<br/><br/>Mica locked the door. It wasn't like anyone would come in. Not even a burglar, knowing the area. But crazy people did crazy things, especially when they started preparing to talk to a voice in their head. Mica scanning the ceiling before speaking in a hesitant tone.<br/><br/>"Now come on, jerkface, don't be weird about it, just show yourself."<br/><br/>Well, if he insisted. It was a golden opportunity on a silver platter. Breya would have to do some rummaging first, which made her hesitate. She always felt like she would get lost whenever she looked into a case's head, afraid of becoming trapped in someone else's memories and never come out. Breya couldn't even find her own memories; she certainly didn't want to get stuck with another person's.<br/><br/>She'd just have to suck it up, then.<br/><br/>The sensation Breya felt while going into Mica's mind was like going into a hot tub. Warming the insides, swirling all around. A bit bubbly. She didn't have to search deep to find the memories she was looking for, since they were at the front of her case's mind.<br/><br/>Oh. So Thomas was his brother.<br/><br/>Handsome too, though Breya knew memories were always skewed towards the rememberee's perspective. It showed right away that Mica looked up to him, admired him, idolized him.<br/><br/>Breya fought back tears as she recalled the pain of Thomas' death. It was second-hand emotion, but still painful. She felt the anger too, towards the drunk drivers in the world. They all deserved to die for what they did. Anger towards all the apathetic well-wishers at the funeral.<br/><br/>Oh no. Breya was drowning in the warmth, losing her vision to the churning bubbles. She fought to emerge herself from Mica's mind, struggling to break free.<br/><br/>Then, like a plug being pulled from a drain, Breya resurfaced, and she was only herself, and no one else.<br/><br/>She knew what this was now. Breya was a ghost, pretending to be another ghost. It happened quite often. It was extremely unlikely to get the actual ghost you were looking for. Statistically impossible, what with how many dead people there were acting as ghosts, and how many living people were being haunted.<br/><br/>Except for the grudgers again, of course. The special snowflakes.<br/><br/>Sorting out her thoughts and forcing herself to become a sea of calm, Breya recreated herself as Thomas. The dark hair, the jawline, broad shoulders, blue eyes, all became her own features. She placed herself on the couch, relying on the memories to get the body posturing right. Then she let herself be seen, and coughed.<br/><br/>"What are you looking at the ceiling for, Mica?" she asked, raising an eyebrow, "and jerkface is so hurtful, you know. Sit." She patted the space on the couch beside her.<br/><br/>It was going to be an interesting evening for the both of them.