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Ghostwriters' Library
Chapter 4: Ghost Visitation

Chapter 4: Ghost Visitation

"911, what's your emergency?"

"I think a man will soon have a heart attack at Taylor Residence on South Swift Avenue."

"Hold on—a possible heart attack? What makes you think that?"

"Just a hunch..."

Suddenly, a blood-curdling scream tore through the line. It was so sharp, so visceral, that the call agent on the other end of Kastimir's payphone flinched, hearing it as if it were happening right next to them. The scream was followed by a horrible silence, and then the agent’s voice, strained but focused, came through, speaking quickly. "Right, I’m sending an ambulance immediately. Stay on the line."

Kastimir looked over his shoulder, expecting to see a ghostly apparition, but what he found instead was the ghost of Gian already settled in the passenger seat of his car, as if he’d always been there. Kas hung the phone and went in the drivers seat.

"I... I guess I overdid it," Gian said, his voice uneasy. He looked at Kastimir, a sheepish, almost childlike expression on his face.

Kastimir sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose. "No shit Sherlock. Ghosts are practically built for jumpscares. It's like an inherent talent. It’s your whole thing. You might wanna dial it back a little next time."

"I... didn’t know," Gian mumbled, staring at his hands in his lap as if they were foreign to him now.

"Look at you—suffering from success," Kastimir said with a half-smile, the edges of his tone sharp but not unkind. "No wonder Sean had such... mixed feelings about you. Loved you, hated you, loved and hated you... Siblings, man. So complicated." He waved a hand, shaking his head as if it were a puzzle too confusing to solve. "Anyway, our job here is done."

"Just like that?" Gian’s voice was full of hesitation. "Do you think he’ll be alright? After all that?"

"So you do care about your old man, huh?" Kastimir asked, glancing over at him, his eyes softening just a touch.

"Of course," Gian answered quietly. "I'm a ghost not a monster."

Gian’s words hung in the air for a moment, and the silence that followed felt dense, like the air had thickened between them. His eyes were distant, and he seemed lost in thought. As they drove through the quiet streets, Kastimir could feel the weight of the moment, the lingering tension. Finally, he broke the silence with an observation, his voice steady but carrying the hint of a deeper understanding.

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"Let me guess," Kastimir said, eyes still on the road. "The moment your father saw you, he probably denied your existence. Pretended you weren’t really there."

Gian turned to look at him, his expression caught somewhere between surprise and disbelief. "How’d you know?"

Kastimir shrugged, his gaze never leaving the road. "Call it a hunch. I’m good at reading people. After that, when he realized it was you, he was probably furious. All that time wasted, all the things you could’ve done. And in his eyes, if you’d survived, everything would’ve been better. He probably yelled at you, didn’t he?"

Gian’s face tightened, and he looked away, almost as if the memory itself was a wound too raw to revisit. "No way. That’s exactly how it went down."

Kastimir nodded, understanding in his voice. "And then... he probably asked you what he could do to get you back. Make it all right somehow."

A deep, painful sigh escaped Gian. His eyes fluttered closed, and for a moment, his voice trembled as he spoke. "I hated him for that. I hated him for... everything. For not seeing what I’d given up, what I’d done for my brother, for him. My love, my sacrifices—all of it gone because he couldn’t see it. I wanted him to feel it, to know my pain. But when I looked at him... for the first time, I saw fear. Real fear. Not the stoic mask he usually wore. And in that moment, I knew... I knew my feelings had finally reached him."

Kastimir’s eyes softened as he glanced at Gian. He slowed the car as they neared their destination, letting the weight of Gian’s words sink in. "Sounds like a turning point. You got through to him. Maybe it’ll take some time, but things might get better now."

Gian was silent again, and this time, the quiet felt heavier. It was as if the words he didn’t say were louder than the ones he did. Finally, after a long pause, he spoke, his voice thick with uncertainty. "Do you really think that was enough? Do you think... I said what I needed to?"

Kastimir nodded firmly, turning into the quiet driveway of the Scriptorium. "Yeah. You did. Your father’s gone through the stages of grief, whether he knows it or not. He’ll be angry, sad, depressed... but eventually, he'll accept it. You said your piece. The rest will come with time."

The Scriptorium loomed ahead, its old, ivy-clad stone walls a quiet testament to the passage of time and the stories contained within. Kastimir pulled up to the familiar stone steps and parked the car. The weight of the moment still lingered, but there was something about the stillness of the place that felt... right. He got out, walking toward the massive oak door with the same ease as if he’d done it a thousand times before.

Inside, he went to the shelves, his fingers brushing against the spines of countless books, each one containing untold stories. He pulled out a blank book, its pages crisp and white, waiting to be filled. He turned to Gian, who was still seated in the car, looking out the window, lost in thought.

"Ezekiel," Kastimir called softly, and as if on cue, a bottle of ink and a somber quill soared across the room, landing in Kastimir’s hands. He handed them over to Gian with a quiet gesture. "Now it’s time to unburden your soul. Write whatever you need. Whether it’s for your brother, to let go of your frustrations, or just to reflect on your journey. In this place, you can write as long as you need, until your story is finished."

Gian looked at the book, the quill, and then at Kastimir. His expression softened, his voice quieter now. "Can I also borrow your piano?"

Kastimir smiled, a genuine warmth in his eyes. "Be my guest. I’m sick of the endless wailings of lost souls. Your music... it’s more than welcome here."