"What are you doing here? How the hell did you find my house?" Dominic's disbelief was evident.

The night air had become laced with tension and charged with unease from the unexpected visit, the echo of Dominic's confusion amplifying with the nocturnal gust.

"I kinda followed you home. I know it's weird but hear me out," Key told him.

Hard lines permeated Key's forehead, his tone careful as he tried his best to diffuse the tension. He wrapped his arms around himself in a futile attempt to shield himself from the cold but it did nothing to stop the violent shivering of his body.

When Dominic didn't protest, he continued.

"I don't remember anything. I don't even know where I'm from, when I was born, my parents..."

"And you're telling me this why?" Dominic asked, clearly exasperated.

He hadn't meant for it to sound so harsh but these days frustration was the quickest emotion to accompany his tone. It was easy to get angry. Especially now, in the wake of an unexpected visit from a stranger he had met by chance in a cemetery.

"Well, because after I met you and that girl, you know, Celia? I kinda started to remember a few things and I feel like you're a big part of that," his auspicious tone was countered by a chilly gust, contrasting his sanguine with the whistling and howling of an ominous symphony.

"Me? Brother, I have never seen you a day in my life before today. Look, I'm sorry you're going through a hard time, but so am I. You need to leave. Like right now! My granddad isn't a fan of guests."

"His name is Joel, right?" Key stated confidently.

"How did you-" Dominic had begun to ask when his attention turned to the headlights barreling down their street.

He cast a brief look at his watch, and the sight of 10:30 pm sent a wave of panic surging from his stomach to his throat. A lone vehicle traveling down this street at a time like this could only be one person. After all, this was the only house on Belbrooke Road.

Joel had laid down a few simple rules since Dominic's arrival. Firstly, the attic was off-limits, and secondly, no one should know where he lived.

Worried he might see Key, Dominic instinctively pulled him inside.

"Look, you're not supposed to be here okay? Follow me to my room and don't you dare make a sound," he emphasized as he shut the door behind them.

Responding with a nod, Key quickly trailed behind him through the dimly lit hallway. The old house revealed its age with every echoing step of their footfall as the pair took the stairs two at a time.

Dominic's room was perched at the pinnacle of the stairs while his grandfather's was farther down the hallway, neighbored by the sole bathroom in the house.

As they dashed inside the room, hurriedly shutting the door behind them, the front door's creaking hinges could be heard from below.

The silence was almost deafening as Dominic leaned an ear against the door to listen. The heavy steps of his grandfather's boots against the wooden floor were especially nerve-wracking tonight, his guilt a cord around his neck.

He heard the usual rattle of his keys as he pulled them out and placed them on the kitchen counter and then the familiar hum of the refrigerator as he plucked a beer from one of the doors.

He knew all about his grandfather's nightly routine even when done out of sight; the diminishing supply of Bud Lights a silent witness to Joel's nightly habits.

"What are we listening to?" Key asked, granting him a hushed "shhhh" from Dominic who could now hear footsteps marching up the stairs.

There was a slight pause before a knock was heard, startling both of them.

Joel seldom visited Dominic's room, and the heavy drill of his knock seemed to have purpose tonight.

"Hide!" He mouthed to Key who was unfortunately having a hard time reading his lips.

"Hi?" Key asked lowly.

"No, hide!" Dominic whispered.

Before Dominic could say anything else, another knock echoed at the door.

Pushing Key to the side of him, Dominic partially cracked the door open.

"What?" He asked, his face void of any emotion.

In contrast to the typical stereotype of a quiet, feeble senior citizen, Joel Gray was a scary man at 65. His age-mates may have been characterized by thinning silver hair with age spots marring drooping skin and the inevitable burden of a bad back, but Joel Gray stood as a behemoth among the senescent.

He loomed at 6'1, his posture defying the brute force of aging. Large muscles strained against the tight-fitted, plaid lumberjack he always wore and his toned legs were hidden by baggy True Religion jeans. His brown boots against the creaky wooden floor sounded of a distinctive cadence that Dominic could recognize anywhere.

A trickle of sweat traced the side of his face, the hood of his puffer jacket slipping off as if revealing his vulnerability.

Joel's dark eyes followed the salt droplet, watching its descent to the floor before locking on to Dominic's gaze.

His grandfather remained an enigma. A detective to every nuance and detail, he seemed to see through Dominic with unsettling insight.

"You left the door open," Joel said, his voice as stern as his looks.

A gray stubble adorned his face, his sagging skin a testimony of age. His hair cut in its usually military fashion displayed specks of silver and ash brown all standing at attention atop his head.

He looked nothing like Dominic's father. And he often mused if Marcus had been fortunate enough to inherit his grandmother's looks.

"Sorry about that," Dominic responded, his throat dry from anxiety.

"You left your bag," Joel then said, hoisting the gray backpack up to eye level before extending his arm out for Dominic to take it.

With both hands keeping the door ajar, it was awkwardly difficult to retrieve the bag and maneuver it through the narrow opening he had left for fear of discovery.

"Who were you talking to outside?" Joel questioned, and Dominic could feel his heart somersault as a sense of defeat threatened to kick the stool from under him.

"No one," he staunchly met Joel's eyes.

"Quit going to the cemetery every day. You're driving yourself insane," his grandfather advised with solemnity.

The searing strokes of anger burned vividly through Dominic as he clenched his jaw. This man hadn't uttered a word of encouragement or remorse since his parent's death. The stinging jab of the words "get over it" was his only advice til this very day and now he had the gall to say something so insensitive.

"I don't tell you what to do with your spare time," Dominic spat.

A smirk slid its way across Joel's lips before he emitted a slight scoff.

A resounding crash sounded from Dominic's room immediately pulling both of them from their conversation.

The fury that had propelled Dominic to defend his parents turned to dread as his head shot back to see the broken glass of a photo frame that had been on his shelf— a memento of his parents, shattered on the floor and an extremely apologetic Key pleading silently to him.

"Who else is here?" His grandfather pushed the door open from Joel's grip with ease to enter.

Dominic involuntarily stepped aside as his grandfather barreled past him, surveying the room with curiosity.

Key froze as his eyes met Joel's before his attention shifted to the shattered glass on the floor.

"I can..." Dominic began to explain but was cut off abruptly.

"Close the window and clean up that broken glass. The wind's strong on this side of town," Joel instructed before turning to leave the room.

Frozen in place, Dominic seemed to glitch as he looked at Key, their eyes locking in bewilderment.

Hurriedly shutting the door, he leaned on it, placing a trembling hand over his heart.

"What the hell just happened?" He murmured, fearing his grandfather might be lingering outside, listening.

"I was looking at the picture of you and your parents and tried to pick it up but it slipped. I'm sorry," Key explained.

"What? No! Not that. Joel looked right at you and left. He doesn't want strangers to know where he lives, let alone being in his house. It was almost as if he couldn't see you," Dominic said.

"Because he can't," Key told him, picking up shards of glass and chucking them out the window.

"What?" Dominic was confused.

"He didn't see me because he can't see me. That's what I came here to tell you. After you left the cemetery today, I almost passed out. Just like you. And I remembered something," Key chucked the last piece of glass before reassembling the picture frame and setting it on the shelf again.

"I was walking through the town. I had no idea how I got there, just that I left this huge parking lot and started walking. When I got in the town, I tried to ask someone where I was and what time it was. They didn't answer. No one did," Key said,  taking a seat on the windowsill.

"It was like I was a ghost."

"A ghost?" Dominic repeated, breaking out into cynical laughter. The situation was far from humorous yet laughter seemed to be the only response he could muster for such a ridiculous tale.

"You're not a ghost. I can see you," Dominic said matter-of-factly.

"That you can," Key responded, his face reflecting rumination.

"But your grandfather can't. No one else can. Well, except for you and Celia of course. I honestly don't believe it myself. I don't feel dead."

Dominic observed Key with an intensity bordering on fascination and disbelief. He watched as he turned his palms upward, clenching two fists before releasing them. A silent narrative of frustration and wonder played across his features as his eyebrows knitted in a furrow of concentration only to relax moments later in a steady rhythm. It was a hauntingly familiar gaze to Dominic but he struggled to grasp the surreal nature of the conversation.

"And you don't remember anything?" Dominic asked after what seemed like forever.

"No."

"But you remember your name though," Dominic said, eager to find a gap in his lie.

It was strange that Joel didn't see him, yes. But a ghost? Trailing him home and into his room? It was madness! Surely it had to be. It was far more likely that Dominic was indeed grappling with his sanity. Had those cemetery visits really driven him on the verge of lunacy?

"About that," Key said, standing before stuffing a hand in his front pocket.

He pulled out a piece of crumpled paper and opened it up, handing it to Dominic before taking his place on the windowsill once more.

"I found this in my pockets when I woke up in the parking lot. I mean, I don't know if it's actually my name but I didn't know what else to call myself," he laughed dryly.

"This is insane," Dominic said, shaking his head as he slumped on his bed. The absurdity of it all seemed to intensify the weight of his grief.

"I know right? Imagine waking up in a parking lot and not remembering anything then finding a piece of paper in your pockets with a single ominous word, then-"

"I've finally gone mad," Dominic interrupted, the words slipping out involuntarily.

"Yeah, you've... wait, what?" Key asked.

Dominic was sure something was wrong. His parents had died and since then, life had become an unpredictable tale of delirium. From chasing after grave vandals, dizzy spells coupled with haunting visions to a boy claiming to be a ghost.

He could not help but notice that these bizarre situations were mirroring the uncanny haze he had been living in since his parent's passing. It was as if reality itself had become a series of surreal and disjointed events each more bewildering than the last.

"You're not even here right now," he continued.

The sadness Dominic had been carrying for weeks pressed down on him, making every movement feel like wading through treacle.

Ghosts weren't real. If anything today was proof of that. The flowers the townsfolk had gossiped to have sprung up overnight were the doings of an empathetic schoolgirl.

But then again, Celia had seen Key too.

How could a figment of his imagination also appear to her? None of it made sense and yet, Dominic couldn't help but draw parallels between Key's story and his own psychological turmoil. Both were lost, searching for answers in a world that had unsuspectingly shifted beneath their feet. Their only difference was that Dominic's clues weren't found in his pockets but in the ringing of his parents' voices and haunted memories.

Perhaps his mind had created someone similar in order to cope with his loneliness.

"Hey! Snap out of it!" Key commanded, suddenly standing in front of him.

"Look, you're not going crazy. I am real. I think. But that's why I came here. Maybe we have some kind of connection. I thought maybe you had seen something too when you had passed out or if I saw you again I might remember something else," Key explained.

"Have you?" Dominic's voice was strangely calm. A thin veneer covering the tumult of emotions beneath.

"Well, no. But it's good to finally talk to somebody about it," he admitted.

Flopping on his bed, Dominic placed an arm over his face.

"Maybe if I ignore you, you'll go away."

"Very mature," Key responded, a wry grin evident in his words despite the gravity of the conversation.

"How did you know my grandfather's name?" Dominic questioned.

"Oh!" Key shot up, pulling something from his back pocket. "You dropped this in the cemetery."

Dominic's eyes widened in surprise as Key handed him his wallet. The feel of the old, worn-out leather felt warm in his hands as he recalled its origin. His father had given it to him and inside there was a showcase of a rare moment frozen in time. A photo of him, his parents, and Joel at his middle school graduation. On the back of it, his mother's handwriting inscribed words of love from all three of them along with their names.

In the photo, he sat around his dad's shoulder, his graduation gown covering half his face while his mom laughed at them and Joel looked sternly into the camera. Looking at it now, he wondered how they had convinced him to even attend.

"I guess it fell out when you were chasing Celia. Based on what she guessed, it was your parents' name on the grave so I figured the other guy must be Joel," Key said.

"Look, I don't know what's going on but this supernatural stuff? It's not possible. I understand that you have a lot going on but I got my own stuff to worry about. I'm sorry about your amnesia and all but you can't stay here," Dominic told him, the weariness in his voice a testament to the avalanche of emotions Key had unleashed.

"But-"

"Just go before Granddad changes his mind about having visitors," Dominic said, rising to open the door. The silent understanding lingered between them that Joel's peculiar silence may be the only protection from this inexplicable situation.

He could see the disappointment and sadness envelope Key as he prepared to leave. The room suddenly felt heavier with unspoken mysteries and Dominic's turbulent emotions.

"Just one more question. Did you see anything? Hear anything? Anything at all?" Key asked as he stepped through the door.

Dominic silently deliberated on whether he should say anything. He didn't want to nurture any false hope inside him yet the optimism in his voice stirred a sense of compassion.

"Yeah, a white room. And beeping. Flowers too. I don't really remember," he lied.

Key's face twisted in thought, replacing his initial beam with a furrowed brow.

"You know what Dominic? I think we're gonna see each other again," he declared, turning on his heels to descend the stairs. Dominic closed his door and leaned against it, grappling with the thought that Joel might be right about his dwindling sanity. He stood there, anticipating the sound of the front door opening and closing, but it never came.

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