#ghost dirk

There was, truly, no worse sound in the world than the sounds of feline distress. And no matter how many times one had to listen to the yowls and cries of a petrified cat, it never became any easier to stomach.

Dirk watched, throat tight with bitter disappointment as the animal- a delightfully fluffy ginger fellow with the softest looking paws he’d ever seen- scarpered, skidding around the corner with his tail fluffed like a bottlebrush in terror. Couldn’t get away fast enough. He sighed, lowering his cursedly incorporeal hand. It shimmered in the half-light, fuzzy and translucent, mottled silver and sepia like old film. Fitting, seeing as he felt himself growing more obsolete by the day.

It was the cats he missed the most. Of course there were other things; he rather missed food, for example. Sugary milkshakes and greasy pizza, a myriad of other sweet and salty treats. He rather missed sex, as well. Not that he ever got round to having much of it, he seldom had the time, but it was always enjoyable when he stumbled into it.

But the cats. Oh, the cats.

They were a sensitive sort though, cats. Attuned as many humans weren’t to the inner workings of things. He’d been hopeful the first time he realised they could see him, excited at the prospect of some friendly, fluffy faces to keep him company until he figured out just what he was supposed to do around here. But his hopes had been thoroughly dashed after the third hasty retreat. Restless souls of deceased holistic detectives, it seemed, were just a tad out of their comfort zone. Unnatural, one might say.

In fairness to them, it’s not like he wanted him to be here either.

He wondered if it would be easier, the loneliness, if he could only remember. His celluloid memories were growing fainter by the day, a good chunk of them- just about the entire week before his death, he’d wager- burned away completely. The faded scraps before then left little to be nostalgic for- pain, solitude, some brief tantalising glimpses of pizza and sex and cats that were barely enough to develop a nostalgia from but to which he clung nonetheless- but that week… it was important. He knew it was. But try as he might, he couldn’t recover anything of use from it- just melted shreds, and if he really concentrated… eyes. The bluest, saddest eyes he’d ever seen.

But the recollection, as usual, slipped through the cracks before he could catch it.

He sighed, tucked his hands in his spectral pockets (which, incidentally, he really wished he’d crammed a few more fidget toys into before he’d snuffed it), and drifted away.

It was a peculiar experience, the ghostly walking. With no gravity or physical presence to anchor him to the pavement, he sort of had to estimate his position above it himself. It was a difficult estimation to make from his viewpoint, and he often found himself with a few spare inches between the ground and his translucent shoes; or, on occasion, clipping through it. But he liked to make the effort, even with no one to appreciate it- he hadn’t spent his short adult life perfecting his normal detective man exterior just to drop it at the last hurdle! And god forbid he stumble across someone psychically inclined and scare off his new friend with inappropriate floating.

These were the type of considerations one entertained oneself with, you see. A person came up with all sorts of things to think about with so much time on their spooky see-through hands.

A downside of concentrating so hard on his feet and their proximity to the pavement, however, was he had little attention left for where they were taking him. Although perhaps, in his line of work, that was an upside in disguise.

By the time he was happy with his footsteps and their convincingness as gravitational pressure points, they’d taken him somewhere that seemed oddly familiar in an... unfamiliar way. He cast his gaze about the deserted street, frowning at the slight nagging feeling of déjà vu it inspired, as well as the scattered plastic cups and polystyrene boxes- and, bafflingly, mounds of paper bearing remarkable resemblance to splattered spiders. There was a lot of litter here even by city standards, and a remarkable amount of it very unusual looking indeed. His confusion was not lessened in the slightest when the squishy spiders revealed themselves on closer inspection to be A) paper hats, elastic and all, and B) octopi. That second point seemed, if anything, more unusual. He saw spiders every day, after all. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d seen an octopus!

...Had he ever seen an octopus?

He looked up, head tilted in consideration, and his gaze alighted on a sign.

Oh! He thought, with one mystery solved, another nearly in the bag, and one more teasing at the corner of his awareness like a song he couldn’t quite remember the name of. Well, looks like now’s my chance!

Excited at the prospect of filling a gap in his knowledge he hadn’t known he’d possessed, he picked his way between the debris- it was depressing to pass through it without being able to kick and crumple it into satisfying sounds, best to avoid ‘contact’ altogether- and skipped through the closed door into the abandoned aquarium lobby.

It felt, he marvelled, rather like stepping into another world.

Harsh streetlights subsided into cool blue-green, rippling like waves across the dark carpets. He raised his hands, hoping to see it paint such patterns on his skin, but it simply shone through like a pale projection on the wall. Oh well, worth a try.

He turned his attention instead to the source of the glow- a large tank set into the wall beyond the reception desk, the sole origin of light now the business was closed and the lobby dark and deserted. Dirk hurried over to it, goggling at the flicker of fish as they flitted about in the weeds and coral. So many strange shapes! He had a cursory glance at the small white plate affixed to the wall beneath, and quickly found himself growing bored of the little scientific names they had- they hardly suited their effervescent personalities! He wandered along the length of the tank, brightly renaming the fish as he went- Fionnula, Freddie, Gustav, Gillian- as he avoided getting too close to the glass. Though he doubted fish were as sensitive as cats, most creatures got a tad spooked if he stepped too close.

At the end of the tank he stopped before the corner separating him from the main event. It felt rather unbefitting, actually. Felt like there should be a big curtain to sweep aside or something. Not that he could sweep a curtain aside, even if there were one, which there should be.

Oh, brilliant, now he was lamenting his inability to sweep aside an imaginary curtain. And the absence of the curtain in the first place.

After a moment’s consideration he reached out and made the curtain-opening motion anyway. Completing the little charade with a big step through the imaginary drapes- which were gorgeous blue velvet in his mind’s eye- he walked. And with the curiosity of the proverbial fearless cat (and the added reassurance that he was already as dead as one could get), rounded the corner into the unknown.

Best. Idea. Ever.

Dirk meandered around the deserted aquatic halls, as he had done quite happily for the last hour or so. Of course, he wasn’t quite getting the full experience; for obvious reasons he hadn’t been able to utilise the touch pools, and several other sea creatures had skittered out of his view as soon as he’d set foot in theirs. But the things he did see he loved- he particularly liked the octopus! As it turned out, he had in fact never seen one in person before. Or at least, he didn’t think so, but there was a certain background familiarity about this place, that he couldn’t deny. But oh, the octopus, that was worth the wait; what a peculiar creature! He found himself rather jealous of it, actually- the things he could do with eight arms! He could… well, granted, he couldn’t remember much of what he always used to do with just two arms, but he could... eat eight slices of pizza at once! Pet eight cats at once! It would probably have some interesting effects on sex, too. Although not particularly nice ones, in the case of that poor octopus- Dirk was rather grateful to have been born human if that was what befell the males of the species! Mind you, perhaps he’d be alright if he pursued only other men and avoided those hungry cephalopod ladies. Goodness knows that’s what he’d been doing all his life. He assumed, based on very little memory or evidence but a powerful hunch and a curious sense of lust whenever he thought about broad shoulders, golden hair and… hammers.

Hm. Moving swiftly on.

He’d been so lost in thoughts of arms and hammers and such that he didn’t realise immediately that the ground seemed to be dropping away from his carefully placed feet. He was relieved to find it wasn’t the fault of the feet but that of the ground, which was sloping away in some kind of ramp. Curious (and with nothing else to do, to be quite honest), he adjusted his course and followed it down.

At first it appeared to be rather more of the same- that is to say, a corridor with a tank set in the wall, this time viewing the underwater habitat of the seals and such. Which would have been delightful, if they weren’t already asleep somewhere away from prying ghostly eyes. He expected to find more of the same further along, but nonetheless he rambled, following the path as it opened out into-

“Oh…”

Blue. Blue was the first thing that struck him. Followed shortly by green, playfully mingled, rippling far more intensely than the gentle light to which he’d become accustomed could have prepared him for. It painted its pretty patterns on the floor, an endless mandala of rippling waves, every square inch shimmering just as every. Square. Inch. Of wall and ceiling did likewise.

He forgot to even walk, simply drifting weightlessly to the centre of the chamber as his eyes roamed, wide and greedy, drinking in everything. Above his head and all around, braced by broad stone beams, the ocean- or at least, a perfect little bubble of it- hung suspended in mid air like magic. Fish swirled around, busily zipping to and fro on their fishy business, sometimes so close Dirk could touch them (if he could touch anything, that is), sometimes flitting away into the distance of their underwater kingdom. All shapes, all sizes, from the most modest grey to the lustrous and flamboyant hues of royalty.

Dirk spun in a slow circle, feeling for a quiet, peaceful second like the centre of the universe as water and life swirled about him in gentle harmony. A serene, lethargic eddy of cosmic energy, branching out like spokes of an ever-spinning wheel and endlessly turning inward, and he could feel it all; beating over him like the push and pull of the tides, under him like the salty buoyancy of playful waves. Dual feelings, equal and opposite, cradling the memory of his body just as twin realisations cradled his mind.

I’m meant to be here.

I’ve been here before.

He stopped, dropped his eyes, and found staring in his face one of many small white plaques, dwarfed almost comically by the aquatic expanse and yet plain as day even in his semi-daydream state. Another name, a scientific Latin one that he bothered to read this time, just as he did the first time; sphyrna mokkaran, also known as-

“The Great Hammerhead shark,” he breathed.

“Meowwwww.”

If he had skin, he would’ve jumped out of it. “What on-?!”

He spun again, in a rather less leisurely manner, and came face to very wide face with the dedicatee of the plaque. “Oh. Hello,” he exhaled, with a reflexive step backwards. Although in truth he was nowhere near the glass, and any shark would likely have trouble eating him even if he did strike its fancy. “Um… don’t mean to be rude, but… do sharks meow?”

The creature regarded him sideways out of one beady eye, vast body swaying to and fro, the great glaive of its tail carving through the water effortlessly. Faster than one would imagine. Twitchy, almost. Rather like the tail of a- “Meow.”

Dirk frowned. “Well. You learn something new everyday.”

Swinging its head like the implement for which it was named, the shark faced him head on, the downturned arc of its mouth parting to reveal rows upon rows of razor sharp teeth and-

More blue. Bright, bright blue.

Dirk startled, stepping further back as the crackling cobalt sparked and bloomed, spider webbing out from between gaping jaws and shooting out towards the glass. It danced through the water, a glowing orb of electrical energy, tendrils darting out to the sides and fizzling away after a few metres. He caught sight of an unlucky little pocket of swarming krill get zapped not far off, though beyond them a spiny fellow swam on with little more than a brief shudder. The other fish, he was relieved to find, heeded the cautionary tale of the krill and gave the shark and its peculiar… protrusion a wide berth. With the rate at which it was advancing, he might have to follow their example.

When the orb bled through the glass, he was already taking stock of the exits.

When the orb meowed again, he forgot about them entirely.

“...Does electricity meow?!”

He took a step forward, curiosity winning out over caution, and peered at the strange bubble of energy as it coalesced on his side of the glass. As it stretched and split off into points, fizzing into the shape of four short, slender limb-like offshoots, into a small rounded lump at the front, capped with two triangular points and a spray of fine, staticy whiskers.

“Meow,” said the electricity, floating two feet from his face, docile as… well. A kitten.

An electric ghost kitten, to be precise.

Dirk stared at the crackly critter, brow drawn. “Odd as this may sound,” he said, cocking his head. “You seem awfully familiar.”

And then the kitten cocked its head right back, big blue eyes blinking slowly, and his deductive demeanour dissolved.

“And,” he added, extending his hand towards its little sparky nose. “Unreasonably adorable.”

When it butted said nose against his hand, he noticed three things simultaneously. One, that it could, in fact, make contact. Two, that in doing so it gave his spectral body a very slight shiver like a tiny jolt of static from a cheap acrylic jumper. And three, that the frequency of wave vibrations forming its strange little body felt very, very similar to a purr.

He never thought he’d feel a cat purring again.

Melting inside, he cupped the creature’s crackly little face in his hands, rubbing it’s fuzzy cheeks to a chorus of happy purrs.

“Hello; my name’s Dirk Gently,” he murmured, for the first time in his second life. “How would you like to be my new best friend?”

“It’s pretty peaceful in here,” he said, head tilted back as if to stargaze. But instead of constellations above, schools of silver fish rippled across his line of vision in ever-shifting patterns, at one with the artificial ocean currents.

At his back, propping him up like a beanbag, his new friend grumbled lowly in agreement. The little blue kitten hadn’t been able to stay out long, seemingly drawn back into her rather outsized vessel like a hermit to her hovel. But he could tell she was still listening, still behind the wheel, so to speak. And to be fair, it was rather nice to play with her without the risk of electrocuting the other fish.

Play-fighting with a hammerhead shark was a rather unique experience, too.

He put his hand on her broad head, feeling the answering crackle of her powerful little soul under his palm, offering him some amount of purchase on her rough outer skin. She made a sound of contentment as he rubbed her mighty skull, the ghostly tremor of an electric purr tickling his fingertips.

“Well. I suppose this isn’t so bad,” he mused, coaxing purrs from her with circles of his fingers. “Perhaps I could just stay here. Find a nice little rock to call my own, live in the sea like a… uniquely elegant macho merman. Suppose there’s worse things.”

Maybe, if he stayed long enough, he’d even stop caring about the hole where his old life should be. The deleted scenes, lost to the cutting room floor of time.

Although with this strangely familiar kitten-shark about, that might be easier said than done.

He glanced down at her, frowning. “Where do I know you from?”

Rather than answering, she shifted under him and turned towards the glass, seemingly intrigued by something on the other side. He followed her gaze.

And if he had a breath to hold, he’d have lost it.

There were people beyond the glass. God, he must have been sitting still for hours, long enough for the night to roll by and the aquarium to open for another day. He saw children milling about wearing much more intact versions of the octopus hats he’d seen yesterday, pointing excitedly at fish as they flitted by, utterly oblivious to the ghost in the tank. He saw parents shepherding them around, reading out the information, older people sitting down on the benches to peacefully observe, a young couple having a snog against one of the support beams.

And there, right in the middle, he saw him.

Dark hair, pale face, scruffy stubble. A slouchy grey hoodie, partially unzipped over a black t-shirt, the tops of some sketchy white letters visible in the ‘v’. In the hood, peering over his shoulder curiously, the small, familiar head of a tiny black kitten. On his face, deep shadows bracketing blue, sad eyes.

The bluest, saddest he’d ever seen.

Assistant. Case. Time Machine. Gorilla. Hotel. Corgi. Girl. Homicidal dirt muppet. Soul-swapper. Bodyguard. Seattle. Billionaire. Death maze. Kitten. Shark. Friend.

“Oh,” he breathed, following his shark friend as she gravitated towards her original body, and her body’s original soul, and he in turn gravitated to the mate of his own. “Tremendous  assisting, Todd…”

The End

AND THEY'RE BACK TOGETHER!!! As they always must be <333

I doubt I'll continue in this universe, I don't have enough ideas and I have too many other fics on the go, so I'll leave you guys to decide where they went from there ^^