Too familiar indeed. And then they're inside, in a room Logan never really entered, barely even noticed. He notices the details now.
Trina is sitting with her hands on her knees, in the armchair next to the Christmas tree, staring at something on the far wall. Or maybe at nothing at all.
After a moment or ten, Virginie comes in with a mug in her hands. "Tea," she says, giving it to Trina, and sits down in the other chair.
Trina takes the mug, wraps her hands around it, but doesn't drink any of it. "Thank you. Eliza's . . .?"
"She is asleep," says Virginie.
"Visions of sugar plums," Trina says, sharp and dry.
"Excuse me?"
"Nothing. Don't worry about it," Trina says.
Another moment, and then Virginie says, "So that was your brother?"
"That was Logan, yes."
"And will he be visiting very often?"
Trina shakes her head. "No."
"Are you all right, Trina?"
"I'm . . . I'm fine. Thank you. You can go on ahead and call it a night, if you want. I'll lock up."
"Bonne nuit, then. Try not to stay up too late."
Only someone who knew Trina well would be able to tell just how forced the smile is. "But I have to wait up for Santa."
"Not too late," Virginie says.
Trina nods. But if the body language is anything to go by, she's going to be in that chair for a long, long time.
Logan tries to reach out to her, to say...something. Anything. To apologize, first, to promise to do better second.
But he stops, knowing she can't see or hear him. That's one of the basic rules of the story, isn't it?
"These things are only shadows..." he murmurs, then looks at the spirit. "She wouldn't believe it anyway. Probably shouldn't, really."
The Ghost is equally quiet, watching as Trina stirs momentarily at the sound of a snuffle from the baby monitor, and settles back into her reverie as the sounds from the nursery promptly even out into soft breathing again.
Turns his gaze to Logan, and suddenly the Ghost looks more worn and tired than he had on the beach.
Logan nods. For the first time, he's starting to understand what it means to be a human being. It's not something he can explain yet, but it's starting to become clearer. How to be a human being...well. That's a lesson that he has no idea how to manage.
"In some versions, you - the Spirit, I mean - only live for one night. I mean, of the movie. Is that - is that the case?"
Logan could point out that he did try getting out, and it didn't end so well. But when it's your own stupidity that's to blame, it seems like a fruitless argument to make.
The ghost does not reply, and is gone a few seconds later. The eyes, however, linger slightly longer than anything else, and Logan suddenly, unnervingly, understands how Alice felt when faced with the Cheshire Cat.
And then he's back on the beach, alone once again.
Trina is sitting with her hands on her knees, in the armchair next to the Christmas tree, staring at something on the far wall. Or maybe at nothing at all.
After a moment or ten, Virginie comes in with a mug in her hands. "Tea," she says, giving it to Trina, and sits down in the other chair.
Trina takes the mug, wraps her hands around it, but doesn't drink any of it. "Thank you. Eliza's . . .?"
"She is asleep," says Virginie.
"Visions of sugar plums," Trina says, sharp and dry.
"Excuse me?"
"Nothing. Don't worry about it," Trina says.
Another moment, and then Virginie says, "So that was your brother?"
"That was Logan, yes."
"And will he be visiting very often?"
Trina shakes her head. "No."
"Are you all right, Trina?"
"I'm . . . I'm fine. Thank you. You can go on ahead and call it a night, if you want. I'll lock up."
"Bonne nuit, then. Try not to stay up too late."
Only someone who knew Trina well would be able to tell just how forced the smile is. "But I have to wait up for Santa."
"Not too late," Virginie says.
Trina nods. But if the body language is anything to go by, she's going to be in that chair for a long, long time.
Logan tries to reach out to her, to say...something. Anything. To apologize, first, to promise to do better second.
But he stops, knowing she can't see or hear him. That's one of the basic rules of the story, isn't it?
"These things are only shadows..." he murmurs, then looks at the spirit. "She wouldn't believe it anyway. Probably shouldn't, really."
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"It would be easier if they were nothing but shadows. Easier if you can tell yourself that there's nothing left to try for."
"You lie to yourself more convincingly than you'll ever lie to anyone else."
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And he watches Trina again, reaches out to touch her again, this time not stopping himself.
His hand goes right through her shoulder and he sighs.
"You got anything else, Spirit?"
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The Ghost is equally quiet, watching as Trina stirs momentarily at the sound of a snuffle from the baby monitor, and settles back into her reverie as the sounds from the nursery promptly even out into soft breathing again.
Turns his gaze to Logan, and suddenly the Ghost looks more worn and tired than he had on the beach.
"Me? I'm played out," he says with a smile.
"It's all you from here, dude."
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"In some versions, you - the Spirit, I mean - only live for one night. I mean, of the movie. Is that - is that the case?"
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If the Ghost is beginning to look a bit faded, it could be a trick of the light. But his blue eyes are still bright and sharp.
"My time with you is just about up though." The Ghost shrugs. "So I guess in its way that amounts to the same thing."
"Have to clear the stage for the big final act."
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"Right. Well. It's been...educational," Logan says instead.
The ghost does not reply, and is gone a few seconds later. The eyes, however, linger slightly longer than anything else, and Logan suddenly, unnervingly, understands how Alice felt when faced with the Cheshire Cat.
And then he's back on the beach, alone once again.
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