Lucie

Watching Cian drive was oddly enjoyable, and I don't mean that in a creepy way. There was just something about being in the passenger seat, glancing sideways at him in the darkness of his SUV, observing the calm way his hands operated the steering wheel. He steered the car as if he'd been doing so his whole life, his eyes never flitting from the road, the profile of his face silhouetted against the blurring street and traffic lights. The radio wasn't on, the only noises the rumbling of the tires against the road and the intermittent turn signal clicks. It was quiet. Too quiet.

I heaved a sigh heavy enough that Cian noticed, and in my peripheral vision, I saw him glimpse once in my direction as I slunk down in the seat. My ankle was near one of the heat vents; warm air slowly caressed it. "You didn't mention to me that you're rich, you know."

A scoff from the driver's seat. "I'm not rich."

"Right," I murmured, looking away. The Escalade was clean-smelling, as if it was still new, though I knew it wasn't. Only rich people had old cars that smelled like new cars. "Your kitchen isn't straight out of a magazine, neither is the entire rest of your house, which, might I remind you, is right on the bay and has a dock. We're totally not driving around in a Cadillac SUV right now. 'Course not."

Cian's scoff evolved into a laugh, a curt, clipped sound that I realized I hadn't heard before. Something tickled in the back of my throat. "So we're a little bit rich," he admitted, craning forward to see where he was going, his hair falling into his eyes. The streets were dim, emptier than usual, and there was something enticing about it all, as if we were the only ones awake in a sleeping and oblivious city. "Did Vinny give you a tour, or something?"

I shook my head. "Too risky. I didn't want to run into your parents. That would have been painfully awkward." I glanced in the rearview mirror, and, to my surprise, found Vinny lying still in the back seat, his eyes closed. "Is Vinny sleeping? I think he's sleeping. I didn't know ghosts slept."

"This one does," Cian said. "Makes him feel 'alive,' he says, because that makes a load of sense. It's not good for him, though; more than once he's been napping on the couch and someone's sat on top of him," he added with a chuckle, one that died off as quick as it came. When he spoke next, which was after a pause, his voice had grown dour. "My parents...I don't know, Lucie. It's hard."

I frowned in his direction, sitting up. The turn signal clicked again, engine roaring as Cian crushed the gas pedal underneath his foot. The digital clock between us read 3:16. "They can't see him, can they?"

Cian's eyes went to the rearview, then back to the road ahead of him. "No," he answered after a beat. "He's invisible to them. Sometimes it's painful to watch, because he wants to interact with them so badly, but he can't. They look right through him, unless I'm there to tell them he's saying something. I think it's slowly killing him, even if he won't admit it.

"It's his pride, I think," Cian observed. He sighed into the air, ducking his head. "Vinny's strong, so he doesn't let anyone ask him if he's okay. Nothing I can do about that. I've tried."

I started to counter his statement, but stopped myself. Instead, I leaned my head against the tinted windows, my eyebrows furrowing. My heart thumped rhythmically in my chest as I thought: What is it about the Hornes? There were scars deeper than the ones that slashed the surface of Cian's skin, deeper than the loss of the youngest son's life. I glimpsed them when Cian spoke about Vinny, about his parents' ignorance. There was something ugly beneath this family's appeal, something they didn't want anyone to know.

The car stopped moving. Oil dripped as the car settled, clinking somewhere below us. The engine sputtered and then died; the heat shut off abruptly, washing us all in silence.

I risked a glance in Cian's direction, and watched the downward curve of his shoulders as he grabbed up the keys, spinning them in his spindly fingers. I felt strangely cold, as if I was observing a stranger, intruding in someone's solitude. Into the stillness, his gruff voice sounded:

"Lucie," he said.

My blood jumped underneath my skin. Lucie. He made my name sound like a blessing, a wish upon a star.

"You make him happy," Cian told me, and only then did his eyes flick towards me, a shadowy blue in the inky blackness of early morning. One daring gold lock fell across his eyebrow; he had a smile on his face, soft and shy, and there was the slightest of reds along his cheekbones.

It was the first time I looked at him and saw the angel he was.

"For a long time, Vinny's been watching the world move on without him, and it excites him so much that someone else can see him now. And when you made that memorial for him...I don't know...you just made him feel wanted. I can't thank you enough for that," he went on, and I could tell by the look on his face that he really didn't know what he was saying, that he was acting on instinct and not deep thought. It was a beautiful expression, the one on his face. He was sorrowful and desperately grateful, as if he'd just breathed fresh air after years spent clawing to reach the water's surface. "There's just some things I can't protect him from, and I know that. Somehow, though, you're making it easier."

He exhaled.

I wanted to say something, but I didn't know how to speak anymore, so I was just kind of staring at him. I glanced back. Vinny was still sleeping.

Cian dropped his keys to the center console; they jingled in response. The car remained dormant around us as he inched his hand forward. He seemed to hesitate, but then took my own hand in his. I took in a breath, my eyes glued to where our skin touched; my heart was thudding so loudly in my chest that I was positive Cian could hear it. His palm was warm against my own, and when he spoke next, I was startled when his voice cracked a little, as if on the verge of the tears. "Thank you," he said again. "My G—" He broke off with a self-deprecating laugh, and looked up at me. "Thank you, Lucie."

"Uh," I managed, because managing seemed all I was capable of doing right now. I'd never felt something so tantalizing before. He was so close. So close that I could practically taste him, smell the salt of seawater on the tips of his hair. "You're welcome..." I trailed off, and felt my lips pull up into a smile. "Don't cry, Cian. He's okay. You're okay. We're okay."

He grinned at me as a teardrop slipped from his eyes, and I pulled my hand from his, swiping his tears away with my thumbs. He let me, closing his eyes. "I hate crying," he muttered as I dried the last of his tears. "Especially in front of beautiful girls."

I sputtered, face flushing. I was about to say something when a loud yawn sounded from the backseat, and Cian and I both sprang apart, not looking at each other. Vinny sat up, stretching, as if he actually had any live joints capable of getting crooks. He leaned forward, resting his elbows on the car console. "Oh! Are we here?" he squinted through the window, and then his face fell, lips drooping, His gaze zipped to Cian, who was deliberately avoiding him. "Cian. You didn't tell me we were coming here."

"I know. If I did, you wouldn't have come. And you needed to."

I glanced at both of them, then towards where we were parked: right in front of an array of docks and boathouses, an open view of the bay before us. The Golden Gate Bridge glittered in the distance. It was a nice place to be, I thought, even if we were here for a rather dismal reason. Why did Vinny sound so horrified? "Is everything okay?" I asked, glancing at Vinny, who was almost gone, faded to the point of near transparency. What was he hiding from?

"No," he said, and at the vacancy of his voice, I looked at his older brother expectantly, but Cian was getting out of the car without a word.

Vinny's eyes were round. "This is where I died."

"Cian!" I shouted, hopping down from the Escalade and jogging after him. He was already approaching the boathouses, headed in one direction only, his head ducked and his hood up. It was obvious he was trying not to make this a big deal, but it was a big deal. My footsteps slapped the pavement, almost in rhythm with the waves as they slammed against the wooden docks. "Cian!"

He stopped walking, but didn't turn around. "He has to do this. If he doesn't face it now, he never will."

I caught up to him, catching my breath. I placed my hands on his shoulders and swiveled him, and was satisfied to see him a bit dazed before his expression settled. The tears had left tracks on his face; he dropped his eyes. "Did you ever think about letting him face it on his own terms?" I swept my arm towards the Escalade, a few feet from us now. Seagulls screeched above our heads, flying incessantly around the clouds in flawless circles. The wind blew my hair into my face; I shoved it back. "He's terrified. This is going to kill him. Again!"

Cian screwed his mouth to the side. "Don't think that's possible," he said, then rested his hands on my shoulders, his eyebrows lifting. There was confidence in his tone. "He's going to be fine. Don't you trust me, Lucie?"

His eyes were the color of the twilight ocean surrounding us; I couldn't tear my gaze away. "Yes," I murmured. "But Vinny—"

He placed a finger to my lips to shush me, and a grin tickled his mouth and eyes. "When I remove this finger, Lucie, you are not going to worry about Vinny anymore, and we're going to go in this boathouse and do what we came to do. Got it?"

I folded my arms. It was vexing how he could at once be charming and extremely annoying. "Got it," I replied reluctantly.

He tipped his ear forward, smile splitting his lips, showcasing the brightness of his teeth. One eyebrow went up. "What was that? Sorry, didn't hear ya."

I rolled my eyes. "I said I got it. Remove your goddamn finger."

"As you wish, muffin," he said, and before he could do as he said he would, I bit his finger, smiling in satisfaction when he yelped in pain and jumped away. He shook his hand out, starting to curse and then stopping himself mid-sentence. "Ow!What was that for?"

"For calling me muffin. I'm not a muffin."

Cian simulated a pained expression, as if I'd betrayed him, placing his hands in his pockets. "Obviously not. There's not an ounce of sweet in you," he said, smiling when I scoffed, then: "Are you ready, Vinny?"

He turned, his back to me, and sure enough, his brother was standing before him. Vinny had his arms hugged around himself, his eyes on the ground. His shoulders were trembling.

"I...I think," he began, "I should wait at the car."

"Vince," Cian said, tipping his head to the side. He glanced at me, and I just folded my arms, a tacit I told you so. "Vince, don't be like that. I'm standing here, aren't I?"

"That's different. It's easier for you," Vinny told him, shaking his head at the ground. His hair, almost white with his lack of opacity, was stagnant in the breeze of the bay. The waves struck the docks we stood on, the sun just beginning to peek up above the clouds. It began to dawn on me that I'd pulled an all-nighter, yet I wasn't feeling the effects yet. "I look at the bay, and I...I feel the chains around me; I can't breathe...Cian, I can't."

He lifted his eyes then, and they were the brightest thing of him, the pupils ringed with a vibrant gold like tinsel, the remainder of the iris a soft, hazy blue. "Please don't make me do this."

I feel the chains around me; I can't breathe. A picture had began to thread itself together in my head, and I gazed towards the bay, imagined Vinny sinking underneath the waters, never to rise again. He'd drowned. It explained everything. The swim trunks, the fear in his eyes as he looked towards the water. The trembling timbre of his voice when he'd seen our destination.

I gripped Cian's arm. "Let him wait at the car. It won't take us long, right? I mean, come on. The soul's probably waiting around for you."
He glimpsed in my direction, but otherwise ignored me, shaking his arm free of my grasp. "Vinny, you can't keep running from this. Yeah, you're dead, but if you can't confront it, it's only going to hurt more. Just try, alright? Go stand at the edge of the water. Don't let yourself think about what happened."

"How can I not?" exclaimed Vinny. He let himself go, throwing his arms in the air. Cian looked taken aback. "I can't; it's too hard!"

"Vinny!" Cian stepped forward.

"No!" shouted his little brother. Vinny screamed, going to his knees, covering his ears. Cian thrust an inadvertent arm across me, silently telling me to step back. The look on his face was one of confusion and fear; he didn't know what he'd done. "No!" Vinny repeated, and the nearest street light flickered and went out, a doused flame. Cian and I both watched it in awe.

"Vince," Cian hissed, risking another step forward, but Vinny had already vanished into thin air, only the bleak street light there to remind us he'd once been there at all. My heart felt like an ancient and frigid stone in my chest.

I turned to Cian. "What was it you said again? About him being okay?"

"He'll get over it," he muttered, and started marching again towards the boathouse, which was painted a dull red, dark as blood in the faded light of the sunrise. "Like I said. He's not okay, but he's not going to admit it. I don't get it. He acts like he's alone."

I sighed, falling into step beside Cian as we neared the boathouse. "Maybe that's because he is."