Chapter Text
Phil POV
There is a measure of thrill that is only matched by a similar level of guilt that comes along with what I do. After you’re dead, all of the things that made you human in the first place fade away, and most emotions are just a pale shadow compared to what they were when you were living. Somehow, guilt is one that made it through the transition. It’s not the best feeling in the world, but at least it’s something.
But right now, I have to get past the guilt and focus my energy into dissecting all of the intimate details of a college student named Daniel Howell. I can tell my new subject is getting close without even looking. That’s one of the cool things about being dead I guess. Instead of having to see someone, you can sense their location. It’s the same with moods and speech, you sense everything instead of having to experience it firsthand.
Spotting him, I amble in his direction and fall into step a reasonable distance behind him. I get that I’m invisible and he wouldn’t have a clue that I existed even if I were right next to him, but I guess I never got over my human respect for other people’s personal space. I frown as I mentally shuffle through all of the information I was given about him, which isn’t much. The only things are a physical description, some details about his family, and information about his first two years at college. Just as promised, he’s tall with a headful of neatly arranged brunette curls, slightly tanned skin, and a light sprinkling of freckles. His stride is quick, which is a good thing because according to my calculations he’s running late for his English Literature class.
Following him into the English building, I’m taken aback and gawk at my surroundings. From the outside, the 150 yr old stone structure looks like it’s on the verge of collapse, but the inside has cavernous ceilings and marble covered floors. I’m jolted back to reality as a group of students pass right through my invisible form, causing me to shudder. I dodge around more people and slip into a classroom right after Dan, settling into an empty seat in the row behind him.
As the professor starts lecturing, I contently relax into my chair. In my past life, I had an English degree so I’ve been looking forward to this part of his day. But as the minutes pass by, my fascination is drawn away from the lesson and back to Dan. Unlike myself, he hasn’t heard a word, and in fact, I’m having a hard time getting any sort of read on him at all. It almost feels like he’s emanating the white noise that static from a television provides.
Leaning forward to get closer, even though I technically don’t have to, I examine the notebook he’s writing in, but instead of lecture notes, there are intricate doodles and shapes. Eventually, the drawings turn into rows of sharp looking parallel lines before he puts down his pen and slouches down in his seat. I watch curiously to see what he’s going to do next, but to my surprise, he doesn’t move at all for the next 40 minutes. In fact, he doesn’t stir until the class is over and the student next to him accidentally kicks the desk and wakes him up. He quickly shoves his papers and book into his backpack and shuffles out of the room, leaving me sitting alone.
Frowning, I restart my undertaking and tail him across campus again. He’s supposed to be headed to philosophy next, but he veers off the path and heads back to the dorms again, apparently opting to skip the class. I ride up in the elevator with him but instead of following him to his room, I find a spot in the 3rd-floor lounge two doors down. It’s close enough that I can tune in to whatever he’s doing. Relaxing on an old overstuffed couch, I let my eyes shut and concentrate on Dan.
Music fills my head again, but this time it’s a mixture of different bands and songs. I recognize them, yet I don’t quite remember them either. Just when I feel like I’m on the verge of recall, the next song starts and the process repeats itself. I used to love music. Before.
I clench my eyes shut and focus harder. He must be moving around. Looking for something maybe? I see fleeting glances of various parts of the room. There are clothes piled up on a desk chair and on the floor being tossed around and drawers filled with random objects that I can’t quite identify. Words are everywhere, posters on the walls with names of bands on them and stacks of books on the desk and next to the bed. He must be searching for a book because now he’s slowed down enough that I can read the titles. The music and books all feel so familiar and I wish I could figure out why.
The view has changed again and this time it appears that he’s laying down on his bed. Is he falling asleep again? No. There’s a book. I get a brief glimpse of the cover before he begins flipping through it until he finds a scrap of paper tucked between the pages and starts to read:
Sometimes I wonder if it is too late to feel the same things that other people seem to be feeling. Sometimes I want to go up to people and say to them, "What is it you are feeling that I am not? Please, that's all I want to know."
I know this! I know these words and this book. It’s a book of short stories, but I can’t remember how I have that information. A warm feeling washes over me and I let my focus wane. His eyes are running over the words line by line and it feels like he’s reading to me. I can feel his voice inside of me without ever having heard him speak before.
I’m not sure how much time has passed, but when I snap out of it, his voice in my head is gone. Immediately, I know he isn’t in his room anymore. In fact, I can’t even sense him in the dorm. He doesn’t have a class this late, so I make my way outside to try and track him down.
When I think of him, there are flashes of things in my head. There’s coffee? And he’s talking with someone. It occurs to me that this is the first time Dan has interacted with anyone all day so I’m eager to find him. I know I’m getting close because I can feel his distress strumming through my body. I’m pulled a few blocks away and when I spot the Starbucks, I know he’s there. I enter and find a spot not too far away so I can observe.
He’s sitting at a small table with another guy and looks distinctly uncomfortable. He’s chewing on his bottom lip and tearing a napkin into tiny pieces while the man next to him continues to chatter and gesture with his hands, seemingly oblivious to Dan’s nervous fidgeting. Every now and then, he stops long enough to say something to Dan, who replies with a quick answer and a smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. At one point, his tablemate, who is apparently named Brad, stands and carries their coffee cups up to the counter for refills. Dan exhales a colossal breath and buries his face in his hands for a few brief seconds. Based on the mundane subject matter of their conversation, I wait for Dan’s stress levels to predictably decrease, but they never do.
I sigh in exasperation when Brad returns and continues to talk about the endless challenges of his marketing job. After sitting here for an hour, the only thing I’ve learned about Dan is that he’s extremely anxious, but I’m not sure why.
“Come on Dan,” I think to myself. “Help me out a little bit. Why am I here? Why was I sent to help you?”
But he continues just to sit, picking at his black fingernail polish and nodding absently at his friend. Eventually, I can feel the stress morphing into pure exhaustion and the look on Dan’s face reflects it. If Brad doesn’t wrap up his blathering soon, Dan just might fall asleep on the table as he’s talking. I’m sure he won’t be the first person to doze off during Brad's endless chattering.
My wish almost comes true as Dan's head nods forward causing him to nearly topple out of the chair. Despite not falling, the noise of the scraping chair causes Brad to stop talking and, thankfully, Dan takes advantage of the break to stand up and make an excuse about early classes. I smile to myself, knowing his first class isn’t until 11:00.
As they walk out the front door, I remain in my seat and watch as they say their goodbyes and end the evening with a brief hug. On the walk back to campus in the dark, I hang back further than usual. I want to sort through everything I’ve seen so far. I smile as Dan puts his earbuds in and the music starts back up again. If I’m lucky, he’ll read some more tonight. I’m not getting the information that I need, but at least this assignment has some benefits I wasn’t expecting.
Another part of me hopes he’s not going back to his room. Maybe he’ll hang out with some of his neighbors on his dorm floor? Or perhaps he’ll settle in and text friends about his night at the coffee shop.
After giving him plenty of space on the way home, I arrive after he does and make my way up to his room. But without even seeing him, I know that none of that is happening. I glance up and down the hallway and look at the whiteboards with messages scribbled on them, post-its with notes stuck to doors and walls, and colorful construction paper signs made with residents’ names on them. Doors of some rooms are propped open and the sounds of music and laughter spill out into the hallway.
I stand staring at the 315 on the plain, unadorned wooden door to his room. If I didn’t know he was in there, I’d have assumed it was vacant because the silence that surrounds it almost feels like a vacuum. This building is full of life, of teenagers just beginning to find their way in the world, of young love, and of big dreams. I can feel it pulsing and emanating all around me, except from this room. I put my hand on the cool wood of the door, but it only confirms that the person inside is alive, but somehow still empty. There’s something else, but I can’t put my finger on it. Curiously, what little I’m picking up from him is suddenly blotted out. I can’t see or feel anything real, just a vision that is reminiscent of heavy grey storm clouds.
Something isn’t settling right from today. In the five years I’ve been doing this, I’ve seen a lot of people holding on to regret, anger, and pain. They act out towards others and hurt those around them. But somehow Dan is unreadable, and whatever he’s going through, my reason for being here is well hidden deep inside of him. Other than that man in the coffee shop, did he have any friends? He barely even touched his phone which was an anomaly for anyone these days, especially a college student. No texts. No emails. No social media posts. His contact with the outside world was minimal. I don’t know why I was sent to Dan or what my purpose is, but I do know without a shadow of a doubt, he needs me. The more I see, the stronger my pull towards him becomes. As I leave the brick building, my instincts are telling me I need to find out what is going on quickly.
Technically, I can just fade away into mist, but it doesn’t feel right. My human habits are still somewhat intact, so instead, I walk over to a group of trees and sit down underneath. I watch the students as they travel from here and there around the campus, most headed back to their rooms from what it appears. Observing Dan’s dorm, I count the windows until I zero in on his room. Unlike a lot of the windows, his isn’t lit up from within by bright lights, but instead a dull glow from what is likely a tv. Since it’s only about 8:30, I wait for some sign that he is up and moving around, but one never comes. I’m relatively close to the building so I try to concentrate on seeing if I can sense something from his room, music or voices perhaps, but can only pick up the muted sound of the television.
Since he appears to be asleep, I lay down on the soft grass beneath the trees. Putting my hands behind my head, I gaze up into the leafy canopy and see glimpses of the full moon peeking through. I wait for the waves of nothingness to effortlessly envelope me as they do every night, but for some reason, much like the songs from earlier, they elude me too.