Dying Is The Easy Part

Chapter Eighteen: January 31st

The next few days went by in a blur. Quinn still went to class, but only participated half-heartedly while they tried to come up with any place they hadn't searched that might yield answers as to where something of Vincent's could be found. It was to no avail.

They had turned Alphie's entire shop on its head two more times, until the old man had told them in no uncertain terms not to come back if they didn't intend to buy anything. They searched the cemetery again to see if they had somehow missed a headstone. They visited every single place in town that Vincent could recall ever spending time in. Nothing.

(Their grandmother hadn't responded to their message. It was a fact they tried not to think too hard about.)

What they had found was an artifact for Caleb and Josie. Valerie had taken on most of the responsibility of hunting down one of their possessions and had emerged victorious. It was a children's picture book that the siblings had forgotten at the daycare center the day before the fire, and that had since then sat in the drawers there, their names still scrawled inside the cover. Valerie had bought it off the rather confused teacher for ten bucks.

A Walkman, a ring, a doll, a picture book. Four items that would send five ghosts to the other side the next day.

"Quinn." They were ripped out of their thoughts by Vincent's chiding voice. "What was rule number one for tonight?"

It was Monday, the 31st of January. Quinn, Vincent, and Luis were sitting in their usual classroom, scattered across three different desks. When they'd asked Vincent how he wanted to spend the last evening before Imbolc, he didn't have any wishes aside from two: he wanted to spend it with Luis and Quinn, and there was to be no moping.

"I'm not moping!" Quinn protested. "I was just zoning out. Quit moving your head."

Vincent narrowed his eyes at them but did as they said.

Shaking their wrist out, Quinn focused on their sketch again. They were drawing Vincent—had been drawing Vincent, over and over again, for the last few days. And not just him; by now, their entire sketchbook was filled with ghosts. It had to be. They needed something to remember them by when they would all be gone.

By now, sketching Vincent was as easy as breathing. Quinn had a feeling they could have done it with their eyes closed at this point, his features as familiar to them as their own, their hand easily mapping out the well-known lines of his slim frame.

They hoped the muscle memory was going to stay with them for a while.

"Stop frowning," Luis scolded.

When Quinn glanced up, they found him studying them, his own sketchbook in his lap. "Are you drawing me?"

"Obviously," he stated, the corner of his mouth ticking up. "Now go back to how you were before."

"If I'm drawing Vincent and you're drawing me, who's drawing you?"

"You already did," Luis pointed out. By now, he was full-on grinning, leaping from his desk to stroll over to them. Before Quinn could stop him, he was already snatching the sketchbook from their hands and leafing through it to the very beginning.

"Luis, no!" Quinn tried to grab it, but he avoided them with a quick side-step.

Holding the book out of their reach, he hummed appreciatively. "Oh, I look good in this. Is this the way you see me?"

"No. I see you as an eldritch horror abomination. Now give it back."

Vincent's quiet laughter crackled through the spirit box.

Ignoring Quinn's protest, Luis climbed onto the next desk and flipped the page. With a raised eyebrow, he turned it around so Quinn could see the beginnings of an unfinished figure drawing. "What happened here?"