Paint was a peculiar thing in many ways. Particularly in the way how after so many years, it could still chip, break and flake away. Rubbing down the wall with a sand block, Fletcher couldn’t pull himself away from his thoughts. It bothered him that flaking paint resonated with him on an emotional level. The years he spent perfecting his happy go lucky routine fell away, leaving him to deal with the fallout. He wasn’t sleeping anymore, at least not well. His mind was always rotating between school, swim and ghosts but never catching a break.

The last place he wanted to be on a Saturday morning was school and doing manual labor certainly wasn’t among his choices for activities on such a day. Sam cranked some familiar and catchy tune, but Fletcher wasn’t sure where he had heard it before. Cautiously, Sam poured out a can of white paint into the paint tray, but his vigilance didn’t apply to his choice of clothes; A pair of jeans and a t-shirt that he’d have worn any other day. In striking contrast was Ellis bundled up in a jumpsuit tightly tied at the waist and a black t-shirt. Fletcher wasn’t sure if he’d ever seen Ellis in a t-shirt. He looked nice, relatable, not like the average Holloway student. Looking at his friends, it occurred to him that Roman was late. He wondered why.

“Why’s Roman late?” Ellis asked as if he’d read Fletcher’s mind.

“I’d call and ask but it’s Roman we’re talking about.” Sam joked as he prepared a paint roller. “I say we whip out the board and talk to some ghosts before he gets here. As payback.” Fletcher wondered if Sam knew how thinly veiled his plan was.

“Nope. Coach is wandering around here somewhere. We should at least wait till lunch.” Ellis replied, his attention remaining on the wall. Sam’s loud dramatic sigh was masked by Ellis pulling a large strip of paint off the wall creating a slick noise. “What could even make paint peel like this?”

“A number of things-” Fletcher was about to spill into a long-winded explanation of paint types and abrasions before Sam cut him off with a paint-soaked paint roll inches from his face.

“Let me have some mystery in my life.” Sam snapped.

Touchy, Fletcher noted, slightly hurt by the reaction. He figured Sam was bitter about how long it was taking to set his plan in motion. By conventional terms, his plan was a shot in the dark. The odds that they could connect to the spirit world and get Davis on the line was slim yet the rest of them seemed so faithful that the plan would work. Maybe it was Sam’s devotion to the idea that kept them going. Fletcher would have preferred to leave well enough alone and let Helga figure it out, but the boys discounted her. There was a level of irony in believing her enough to believe in magic but not that she was sane.

“So pretty boy, been crying gold lately?” Sam inquired.

The gold thing as Fletcher had come to know it was uncomfortable. Although he hadn’t seen it himself, he was certain he was the most bothered by it. Sam chalked it up to being magic which was becoming the vague explanation to anything that happened to them. Gold was already a descriptive visual, but it was the way Ellis described the sights and sounds he experienced that frightened Fletcher. Hearing him talk of water as if it was there right in front of him when there was no such thing was alarming but not as alarming as the eyes sinking into the depths. It must have meant something but whether it was to Ellis or the universe was anyone’s guess.

“Not recently but the imagery plays through my head a lot.” Ellis answered with a small grin at being called pretty.

“Could ask Helga what it means?” Fletcher added to the conversation before taking Sam’s paint roller and wheeling it up the wall. The old wall practically drank the fresh coat causing Fletcher to realize this would be an entire day of just cleaning one room.

“Nah, we should keep our distance from her.”

Fletcher was too tired to argue. He could practically smell smoke emanating off of himself from how burnt out he was. If everything could be over, he would be fine. Craving normalcy, his mind drifted to places he would rather be; anywhere with Beck. Loud footsteps from overhead pulled him from his thoughts before he even really had a chance to play them out in his head.

“Roman or Coach? Take your bets.” Sam chirped.

“Roman.” There wasn’t a shred of hesitation in Ellis's voice.

“Coach.” Fletcher guessed based on the sound alone.

The footsteps shuffled down the stairs, hurriedly. In one fluid motion, Ellis pointed to the door just as Roman entered. Funny, how he was always right. With a haughty look, Roman didn’t even acknowledge that he was late.

“You’re late.” Ellis stated.

“I know.” Roman wiggled a set of car keys in the air. “I got a car.”

“You can drive?” Ellis scoffed before breaking into an actual laugh.

“Yes.” Roman cheery tone was not deterred by Ellis in any way. “My folks didn’t want to get me a car because…well that’s a long story and I don’t know the statute of limitations on it but Dad got sick of driving Declan and I to school every Monday morning so he bought me a car…Mom’s going to be pissed.”

Stupidity couldn’t begin to describe Robert’s actions but then again Fletcher didn’t agree with much that the Davenport’s did. Rolling his eyes, Fletcher handed a paint roller to Roman who couldn’t stop smiling if he tried.

There wasn’t much talking after that, just painting but Fletcher was somewhat thankful for that. Things were still awkward between him and Roman. Fletcher didn’t want to apologize. He shouldn’t have to apologize, after all it was Roman who was in the wrong. However, Fletcher knew Roman. Apologies weren’t in his nature and so he wouldn’t. It didn’t matter who he hurt or how, they would get over it or cut Roman from their lives. Either way Roman wouldn’t care.

On the third coat of paint, the wall started to let the paint sit on top rather than soak it in. It was long past lunch time but none of them cared instead favoring to finish as soon as possible. Sam swung his roller out in front of Roman, knocking him over unintentionally. Swinging one hand back to catch himself, Roman’s right hand landed in the paint tray. Luckily, the splash of paint landed on the plastic tarp laid out before and not the hardwood floors. Half expecting Roman to be angry, Fletcher was surprised when Roman only stared down at his hand. Slowly, he dipped the other hand in and his expression turned nefarious.

“Nope. Nope. Nope.” Sam hopped back holding the paint roller like it was some martial arts weapon, ready to jab Roman if he got to close.

“Stop playing around.” Ellis demanded with his hands placed firmly on his hips.

Roman looked down at his hands and back at Ellis almost as if he was trying to calculate something. Jolting forward he grabbed Ellis’s chest creating two handprints on his pecks. Ellis's face went through the five stages of grief before he spoke again. “That…That is entirely inappropriate. Leave.”

“But-” Ellis furrowed brows and snarl silenced Roman.

“Get out. You want to act like a child? Do it somewhere else.”

Roman turned to leave, his head hung low. He looked a bit like a dog with its tail between its legs. Quickly and unexpectedly, Ellis lathered his hand in paint before pulling his arm back and smacking Roman’s ass. Not only did that sound echo in the room but it left a perfect handprint. A pin drop could have been heard in the room as Roman turned back around. With his chin held high in the air, Ellis wore a look of victory.

“Run,” was all Roman had to say to send Ellis into a sprint.

Barreling past the door, Ellis made his way up the stairs with Roman following shortly behind him. Curiously, Sam and Fletcher followed them to see what Roman’s plans were for when he finally caught up to Ellis. Laughter echoed through the dorm. Weaving through the hall, Roman was only a few feet behind Ellis when he suddenly came to a dead stop. Much like a bowling pin, Roman knocked Ellis down and landed on top of him.

It turned out Ross was standing by the door looking official as ever with an overly posh outfit. Even on a Saturday the man wore an over starched dress shirt and slacks. His hand was clasped around the journal with new pages intertwined through the old pages. Fletcher guessed the translation was more complicated than they originally thought. Unimpressed, Ross looked down at the mangled pile of limbs that was Ellis and Roman.

“Hello.” Ross directed his voice at Sam and Fletcher instead. “I came to return this.”

“Thank you, sir.” Hovering above Ellis and Roman, who were both too shell shocked to move, Fletcher took the journal from Ross.

“Where is Coach Whitmore?” The boys exchanged a quick glance before they shrugged. Cautiously, Ellis removed himself from his entanglement ensuring Ross didn’t see the handprints on his chest. Roman didn’t even put in the effort to get up instead favoring the floor for whatever reason. “Get back to work and stop goofing off.”

“Of course, sir.” Roman said as he got onto his knees then his feet. As he turned to leave, Ross called out to him.

“Uh…Roman?” It was odd to hear Ross use anyone’s first name, almost unnatural. “You have paint on-”

“I know, sir.” His cheeks started to turn a cheery red.

“Do I care to know?”

“Probably not.”

“Okay. Have a nice day, boys.” Fletcher couldn’t tell if Ross was being sarcastic.

As they returned to the room, Fletcher flipped through Ross’s notes. Nothing particularly stuck out in his translation. It read more like a poem than anything else. The translation was rough and didn’t make much sense but the gist he gathered was that whoever wrote it was homesick which checked out with the Cadière’s and their exile from the town they founded. Fletcher wasn’t sure what he was expecting to see but it wasn’t poetry by any means. The way the ink had just manifested on the page pushed him to consider the more paranormal side of things, but he never took the time to consider if he had perhaps just missed it the first time.

“So, what did Ross give us?” Sam asked as he led the way down the stairs.

“A poem about being homesick and missing a door? Translation is pretty rough but I don’t think there is anything valuable from it.” Fletcher muttered as he handed the journal back to Roman.

Roman seemed skeptical of Fletcher’s conclusion but didn’t particularly voice it. Slowly, they finished painting the wall before splitting into two groups to do the rest of the sweeping. Ideally, Fletcher would have preferred Ellis to be his partner over Sam but Roman and Sam were guaranteed to spend their time goofing off instead of helping. Although he did prefer Sam over Roman. Small blessings, he mumbled more to himself than anyone else.

It was almost 7’o clock before they’d finished everything. Fletcher kept an eyeful watch on the time, dreading each hour spent there. Though the insurmountable work was done now, he couldn’t help but complain. The sheer amount of time spent cleaning just to talk to one spirit was insane. it wasn’t worth it. As Roman closed the last dorm rooms door, Sam piped again,

“Now, can we play?” It bothered Fletcher how he always referred to it like a game as if it was fun.

“Not now. I have business to attend to.” Ellis replied but everyone knew the business he was referring to was homework. “We can all just show up early to set up. Before the supervisors and other kids.”

“That’s almost three weeks away. You want to get murdered by a ghost beforehand? Oh wait, you’re the only one not affected by this.” Sam snapped. He’d been doing that a lot recently.

“Don’t drive your truck. Problem solved.”

“Uh, should we meet up over the break? Just to keep on the same page?” Fletcher asked silently hoping the answer was no.

“Nah, my parents will be home for the first time in a while.” Sam dug his keys out of his pocket. “Do you need a ride?”

“Yes, thank you.”

“My parents decided to split winter break this year, so I’ll be in New York for a little bit.” Roman added.

“Lovely.” Uncaringly, Ellis smiled. “So, see you guys after the break then.”

Silently they all agreed and went their separate ways. Following Sam to the parking lot, Fletcher thought about the distance they were about to put between them but for some reason he felt that it didn’t matter what they said. They’d be back together soon enough almost like they were drawn to each other.

Bizarrely, Sam was still choosing to drive the truck in spite of what happened. Not that Fletcher could really judge, he still attended swim without much regard for his safety. He was fairly certain that if Davis wanted him dead, he would have already been at the bottom of the pool. However, that left the question of what he did want. Fletcher tried not to think about it too much; He already had enough anxiety. Getting in the passenger seat of the truck, he could just barely hear Sam say,

“I feel underappreciated.”

“Oh? Why’s that?” Fletcher replied as he buckled himself in.

“I came up with a brilliant plan.” It was far from even well thought out. “And Ellis shoots me down at every turn.”

“Maybe, he has a reason. It’s not exactly a science now, is it?”

“Bullshit. It’s the best we’ve got besides visiting the notable insane-”

“She’s not insane, if we talked about what’s happening to us openly, we would be hospitalized too.” Fletcher watched as Sam swung his arm behind Fletcher’s seat and started to back up.

“You can play devil's advocate all you want. I’m saying we don’t know her; we shouldn’t trust her.” The way Sam spoke as if they hadn’t told her about exactly how Davis ended up the way he did. Helga held all the cards and still hadn’t done anything to betray them. “If you have a problem with my plan, just say so.”

“You sound like Roman.” Fletcher said observantly.

“Take that back.” Sam sounded like he was only half joking.

“I will when you stop.”

The conversation shifted to softer topics, school, family or anything that didn’t involve the unknown. Dust fell faster than usual even for the colder months; it shouldn’t have been this dark. Sam turned his high beams on and the radio up. Streetlights illuminated only a small portion of the road, but Sam drove on without much concern. Sounds of wildlife filled the air. If Fletcher had to guess, it was a mixture of racoons and squirrels. They were the only animals that would dare get so close to the suburbs.

“You think Ross is going to give us a decent mark?” Sam asked uncaringly.

“I hope so.” Fletcher softly spoke as he peered out into the depths of the night. “When does your parents' flight come in?”

“Around- Bird.” Sam sped up. “It’s dark, why are there so many birds?”

At first, Fletcher assumed it was a diversion so that he didn’t have to discuss family matters but in the absence of light, he could see what looked like movement. Squinting, he tried to make out the flapping wings of a crow. It’s too small to be a crow, Fletcher decided; Maybe a raven?

THUNK! The raven crashed into the windshield. Its wings sprawled out across the glass. Cursing, Sam left the truck pulling the probably dead bird off the window when a familiar flock flew in. The birds rushed past him and in the midst of it, Helga appeared.

“Couldn’t call, could you?” Sam clutched his chest. “You’re just like fucking Beetlejuice or something.”

“You didn’t give me your phone number.” She replied. “Huh, I forgot how short your hair is. That is an issue.”

Slowly, Sam backed up and slid back into the truck. If the smile on her face was any indication, she didn’t notice how afraid he was. He rolled the window down just enough to talk.

“What do you want?”

“Where have you been?” Fletcher couldn’t help but ask. She offered help then went completely AWOL for weeks. What had she been up to?

“Research. Trying to find the right spell to deal with the… aggravating circumstances. Not many witches know how to deal with both Fae and ghosts. Rare case but I think I may have a solution.” She paused before walking around the back of the truck, switching over to Fletcher’s side.

“Uh, yes?” Fletcher mumbled as he rolled down the window. Wordlessly, she pulled his brown curls.

“I need ingredients. The spell should protect you.” She said, strands of hair loosely gripped in her hand. “Your turn, Sam.”

“Hell no. I’m not letting you steal my hair for your magic bullshit without knowing what your actual plan is.” Sam rolled up Fletcher’s window.

“My plan-” Fletcher could just barely hear her through the window. Reaching across Sam, he rolled the window down for her. “I make a potion that is going to act as a protection from the spirit world. Ghost boy will have nothing to work with. His spirit will dissipate over time with some help from a vanquishing spell. These potions can be a little dangerous. I took some time to make sure the potion won't damage you too badly. And it won’t…Probably. Hair, please.”

“What do you mean by dangerous?” Sam pushed Fletcher back. “Stop it, dude.”

“It could kill you.”

“So, in order for a ghost not to kill me, I need to drink something that could kill me?” Sam sputtered but she only nodded as if she didn’t see the problem with it.

“Small price to pay to put this ghost business behind us.” She smiled again but this time it felt menacing. The others were right not to trust her. “I don’t have all day.”

“Why do you care so much? How does this in any way affect you?” Sam was right to ask the question. It seemed like a lot of work just to help some random teenagers.

“There is a balance that you’ve thrown off and innocent people could be hurt by a ghost boy trying to hurt you. I care about the greater good. Come on, how can you say no?”

“Like this.” Sam said, slamming his foot on the gas and the truck rushed forward birds in tow.

The flock swarmed the truck covering the entire windshield with fluttering wings. In a futile attempt Sam flicked the windshield wipers on but all it did was clip a few feathers. All at once, Fletcher realized Sam hadn’t rolled up his window. Bursting in, the birds quickly filled the cab of the truck. Between the squawks and flapping, Fletcher could just barely see the creatures pecking at Sam’s face. Slamming on the breaks, Sam tried to usher the birds out. After a few minutes, the birds flew back to Helga who hadn’t moved from her spot.

“What the hell?” Sam screamed out the window. The talons of a bird had scratched him from the edge of his eyebrow up to his hairline. That’s going to scar, Fletcher thought.

In the bleak night, she disappeared for a moment before reappearing at Sam’s door. Why she couldn’t walk was anyone's guess. Her eyes were beady and erratic as she let one bird land on her shoulder. Small shreds of Sam’s hair grasped in one foot.

“It is just a means to an end, kid. I can’t let you destroy this town just because you don’t like the consequences.” Helga paused as she took the hair from the bird and tucked it in nicely to a zip lock bag labeled Samuel. “No hard feelings but I will force feed you the potion if I have to…Well this has been lovely, but I have to catch Roman before he makes it home. See you later.”

Once again, as quickly as she appeared, she was gone. Sam’s chest slowly rose and dropped as the two tried to comprehend what had just happened. She seemed pretty serious about the situation, more so than she had when the original met. What did she mean by destroying the town? Could Davis actually become that strong? Sam slammed his fist against the wheel.

“Think she’s crazy yet?” Blood had started to drip down Sam’s face.

“I mean, we’re gonna die either way. Why not trust her?” Fletcher answered honestly.

“Did you miss the part where the birds attacked me!” Sam hissed.

It was a valid point. Helga had just for all intents and purposes, attacked them but Fletcher still would trust her expertise over the shot in the dark they were taking. He knew that his opinion wouldn’t matter at this point. They had passed the point of no return.