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From: Serrin
Date: 11 Dec 1999
Time: 13:24:28
Joe had been lingering at Cheryl’s new apartment for days. His spectral form sat hunched up on the coffeetable, a solitary shade just beyond the view of the living. Everything around him was like a still life, he could watch but never, ever make it any different. He had imagined the moving crates being slowly emptied, and standing idly folded up against the wall waiting to be removed. Most of the items that had been transported he knew very well, the clock on the wall, the books on the new, unknown shelves. It was a comfort to him that he could sit and stare at these items, like he had spent eternity doing in Cheryl’s house in Whitin. The memories he had witnessed throughout the decades came back to him in waves, of Cheryl’s daughter Jessica growing up, of Cheryl crying over her mother’s suicide, of Cheryl making love to Fred in their bedroom. Joe felt the memories flowing through his veins, filling him to the brim with echoes.
Even if he could make it different, it was against the law.
Joe’s solitude was broken by a shimmering at the door to the room. A shape, a lingering soul like himself, passed through it with steady care, avoiding the worst of the strain on incorporeal form. He was dressed in a black t-shirt and jeans, looking only like a child. He walked up to Joe courteously. “Are you Joe Serrin? The Legion sent me to get you, I think they need your talents for something, pretty pronto. Sir.” Joe nodded slowly, and stretched out before getting to his feet next to the table where the boy stood. “Let’s go then. What’s your name?” “Simon. Wallace.” “Nice to meet you, Simon.” They passed through the door from the silent room together.