The lab, dusty from abandonment, glowed with an eerie green, as it had since the accident. Only an imprint of footprints on the floor noted that someone had been down here recently, but they never reached much further than the staircase. The specter noticed this the moment he floated in from the glowing portal, emerald eyes taking a quick scan of the place. No, that couldn't be right. A vague image of the lab bustling with activity drifted into his thoughts, stirring strange emotions within the creature. He had to investigate. 

The house was just as empty, though cleaner than the small lab had been. A half-eaten sandwich sat on the table, evidence of someone still living here. This still didn't feel right. The house should be in chaos, not silent. He continued his journey upstairs, fully intent on finding the root of this problem. 

This all encompassing silence was really starting to get to him. There were three bedrooms up here, though how he truly knew that was beyond him. It really just looked like a bunch of closed doors, each as silent as the last. Shrugging, he phased into the door furthest into the hall, a sudden wave of sound stopping him short. Heavy sobs broke the blanket of silence, bringing his attention to a woman in a blue jumpsuit. She was curled on her side, a wooden picture frame clutched to her chest. Her body shook violently with each cry, tears washing down her face and onto the pillow beneath her head. Her mouth moved silently, but what she was saying, he couldn't tell.

A large hand fell on her shoulder, squeezing it gently. Bloodshot violet eyes opened and looked up at its owner, fresh tears dripping idly down her cheeks. An overweight man looked sadly down at her, his shoulders drooping underneath an overbearing grief. "Oh, Jack," the woman murmured, her arms tightening around the frame. "Why? Why him? Why my little boy?" Her voice hitched and caught and she burst into a fresh set of sobs. The man, Jack, sighed and dragged her into a bear hug, nestling her head under his chin. 

"I don't know, Maddie," he responded, a tear trickling down his face. "I just don't know." His eyes drifted shut against the emotion threatening to overpower him. The specter stumbled back through the door, the raw emotion striking him like lightning. This shouldn't be happening.

Shaking the emotion off, he continued down the hallway, phasing through the next door. The room was small and neat, large piles of books sitting in all corners of the room. A girl, younger than Maddie, sat at a desk, head in her hands as she leaned over the open book in front of her. Her long, red hair tumbled down her back and into her face, a turquoise headband sitting next to her on the desk. At first, he thought her to be reading, but as he moved closer, that theory was proven wrong. The tell-tale sounds of crying could be heard as he approached her, droplets of water wetting the thin pages under her. Her shoulders trembled as a hand reached out to grasp the headband. It had been a gift, though he didn't know how he knew that. She pressed the strip of cloth to her face, nuzzling it as if to bring her comfort. "Danny," she whispered into the now wet accessory, the voice sounding like more of a plea. The name... It sounded familiar... A life long forgotten...

He resisted the urge to rest a hand on her shoulder and left, finding himself in the last room. The bedroom was disorganized, clothes scattered haphazardly along the floor. Posters covered every inch of the walls, many depicting some kind of spaceship or space itself. Hit suddenly with a wave of familiarity, he abandoned this room as well, choosing to fly into the open air. This house had given all it had to offer.

The neighborhood was quiet at this time of night, peaceful even under the velvety watch of the night sky. The wind ran through his hair as he flew, trying to place that deja vu. Suddenly, however, he stopped, a lit window calling to him. He slipped inside the room, taken aback by its sheer messy nature. It was lined with technology, each device jacked into a computer where a young African American boy sat, hands tapping angrily at the keys. Hand-written notes were scattered all over the desk. The screen shot through images and schematics of what looked like a portal, calculations and designs in another window. The boy cried out suddenly, hands rubbing at his eyes. "I just don't understand," he muttered, wiping away stray tears. "I've gone through everything. It shouldn't have happened. He shouldn't have died..." Muffling a sob in his shirt sleeve, he wiped at his eyes and continued his research. Dark purple bags surrounded his green eyes, the boy obviously lacking sleep. 

The spirit shook his head, squeezing his eyes shut. This shouldn't be happening; this wasn't right. He rushed out and sped through town, unable to shake the feeling of wrongness. He didn't want to be here anymore, but something urged him to continue to a certain house, another lit window. Scowling, he flew inside, clenching his teeth in preparation. A young girl, her hair as black as night, sat on her bed, several books strewn around her. She'd been crying, her makeup streaming down her cheeks. She gritted her teeth, rubbing at her face with the heel of her hand. "Dammit, why am I such an idiot?! This is all my fault. I shouldn't have suggested it in the first place. It's my fault he's...dead," she all but yelled at herself, broken sobs accenting he words. Wrapping her arms around herself in a hug that no one would offer, she doubled over, pressing her soaking face into her knees. "Danny, I'm so sorry... Please come back... I need you." The words, they sounded so shattered that he couldn't help himself this time. He reached out and clasped a gentle hand over her shoulder, watching the shiver travel up her spine. She jackknifed up, amethyst eyes wide. "Danny?" She glanced around, but couldn't see him, his grip only tightening.

His mouth opened without thought and sprouted three words, "Sam, it's ok." Her breath caught, a trembling smile spreading across her lips. But instead of cheering up, more tears began to fall.