• “They’re asleep, finally.” She murmured, the light trip-trap of her heels barely audible across the stone flooring of the kitchen. She was approaching the man at the counter; the one buried up to his elbows in bubbles and dishwater, scrubbing at the last remains of their meal for that night. “After much protest and demand for at least three stories per person, of course.” Her fingers massaged the back of her neck, sighing her relief as she turned on her heel and put herself up on the counter besides the sink.

    “Thank you, Dahlia.” His voice was lightly accented, his native tongue being that of deep Louisiana, close to New Orleans, in the small community of New Hope. His name was Sebastian, a forty-some-odd year old man of great charisma and intense gentlemanly appeal. He had aged gracefully, for he was still strikingly young looking for his years. “I think I’d be absolutely lost if it wasn’t for your help. If you’ll just let me finish these dishes,” He held up one soapy plate for her to see. “I’ll drive you home.”

    Now, Miss Dahlia was a twenty-three year old woman; she was model-tall, five-eleven with curly, carrot-red hair and green eyes. She said her grandmother came straight from Ireland, and that was why she didn’t so much tan like Sebastian, as burn and scald. Her voice quickly carried over his, her hands coming up to stop anything else he could have said. “Whoa! No need, oh please. I’m a big girl, and I’ve got legs. I can walk, it’s only to town.”

    “Are you sure? I wouldn’t feel much of a gentleman…”

    “You’ve already done so much for me. I don’t know how I would have found a job locally and go to college full time if it weren’t for your offer to watch these kids of yours. You work so hard too- maybe a little too hard, if you don’t mind me saying so. What with all the work you have to put into this manor and the bakery.”

    “Hm. The town.” His green-gold eyes were cloudy with some indescribable emotion; Dahlia pegged it for pain. The little town was decidedly religious, and Sebastian’s Cajun roots had rendered the man ‘gifted’ in a sense. An affinity for the supernatural. Ghosts and God did not mix well. “Oh, Miss Dahlia?” He lifted his head, auburn hair stuck in one corner of his half-moon glasses. “Would you care to stop by the shop tomorrow? I’ll have your brother’s birthday cake finished.” Even as he said it, his eyes wandered up and away, fixating on the spiraling staircase visible through the doorway of the kitchen. Like a hawk, he was watching something on it, mouth drawn into a grim line.

    Dahlia looked up, and then right back to him. “Which one is it?” She asked softly, understanding his ‘talent’ completely.

    “One of the crawlspace-men. He’s all in shadow, looks a bit sad, Miss.”

    “How about you look away now? Sebastian, I think he just wants some attention from the one living person in this house who can see him.” She reached out to lay a hand on his shoulder, give it a squeeze and attempt to draw attention away from the restless spirit back to her. Her brow knit, and then the instant her fingers touched his shoulder she recoiled with a sharp cry, green electricity angling off his body to her fingers with a sharp ‘pop’ and ‘crack’. “Ow!” She cradled her hand to herself, nursing the reddened skin with a cool puff of air from her lips.

    “God! Damn!” She heard him sputter. Rarely did he ever use those words, being the oldest son of the town’s resident Catholic preacher tended to do that to a man. “Dahlia, are you alright? Let me get some ice for that.” Sullenly, he moved to the fridge and got her a bowl of ice to put her fingers in, setting it in her lap while he shook his head. “I’m tired of this.”

    “Is it gone?”

    “Long gone. I wasn’t watching it after I nearly fried you.”

    “It’s just a spark. Like what you’d get if you were touching a bad wire on a lamp, it doesn’t hurt, I’m all right!”

    “Who can live with this, Dahlia?” He said her name for emphasis, leaning against the counter with his forehead in his hands. His glasses were askew, and he didn’t seem to care. “With a human eel of all things!” She’d never seen him that stressed; normally he was rather optimistic, but at that moment, he looked defeated. “I feel like a freak. I am a freak. Who electrocutes people, seriously now?”

    “Superheroes do.” She offered, shrugging one of her shoulders. “James and Charlotte live with it; your kids love you, they’re not scared of this… defense. I’ve talked to them, they feel safer. You are a hero, you fight off the ghosts and bumps in the night. When the power goes out, they know just to go to you and there will be a lamp to settle them, because of this power you’ve got. And! Elisabeth did! She lived with you every day, in this house, with you, and I don’t think she could have ever considered hating it.”

    “I see ghosts. Dahlia, I see ghosts. Do you understand how insane I sound? Three years ago, my wife vanished from the world. Everyone thought I murdered her, because I saw ghosts. They chalked me up as the main suspect in a murder case that was never solved, and I will never be able to walk in town without being hated and despised. I’ve even been ostracized from church. I can’t even go to church because they think I conspire with the devil.”

    “I don’t hate you!” She finally burst in, shaking her head fiercely. “I never once hated you, even when I heard all the rumors before I met you. The point it, I can’t let you hate what you’ve got. You saved my life once. How could you have done that if you weren’t able to fight back against that ghost?”

    His silence meant she’d made a point. She reached over again, extracting her fingers from the bowl of melting ice. “They can say whatever they want. You’ve got your kids still, and there’s me too. You’ve got me.”

    “You’re… a wonderful friend.” He patted her hand on his shoulder and smiled a little, moving away to escort her to the door politely. For the moment, he was on the recovery. “I really wouldn’t be able to do anything without you, now would I?”

    “Yes.” Dahlia was glad he wasn’t looking at her at that moment, as she wiped a hand over her eyes briskly, as if rubbing away sleep. “Can’t help it, can I? Where would you be without me, Sebastian? You’d be helpless. I am the best friend you could have.” She patted his back and stepped off the counter, her heels trip-trapping across the stone floor to the doorway. “Goodnight…” She whispered to him and heard his gentle reply, and she left before he could see the tears on her cheeks, tasting the bitterness of romantic interest; the sharp line between friendship and love that she felt would never be realized.