The woman sitting across from Taylor wrote notes on a small notepad set in her lap. The girl was apparently suffering from trauma. Thinking on her intuition, the shrink raised her eyes to rest on the teenager, who sat comfortably on the leather chair across from her. "'He?' Who is 'he'?" she prodded.
Taylor closed her eyes. Her throat shivered slightly as she swallowed back tears. "He... I don't remember his name. S-sorry. I know he's there, though!" She sat up in the seat, her back arching as she stiffened. Her eyes were forced wide, staring into an empty space beside the shrink's head. "His... his name starts with..." Her forehead creased in frustration. The name escaped her grasp.
The woman brushed out creases in her formal attire. She smoothed her skirt across her knees, and jotted down a few more sentences on her notepad. "Is there anything more you can remember? Anything bad, anything good?" She raised an eyebrow as she bore her sight on Taylor.
Taylor relaxed, slumping into her chair. She closed her eyes and conformed across the seat. A stray tear escaped her self control and rolled down the side of her cheek. "He was my best friend. I remember sitting in a field of flowers with him, when we were eight..." The letter M found its way into her head.
She slowly opened her puffy, red eyes, streaming with tears now. "That's all I can remember. Th-thank you, Miss Lim." The therapist crossed her legs, finishing a sentence. She rose from her seat and offered Taylor her hand.
"Come back tomorrow, sweetie. Maybe we'll find out his name, right?" A smile dawned on her face. Taylor returned it with due respect. She shook her hand gently, then strode across the carpeted floor to meet the door. Her father stood on the other side when it opened.
---
Miss Lim closed the door behind Taylor gently, wishing them a good night before she did so. Her thick-framed glasses slid down the bridge of her nose. Her face started to lose its color and turn pale-white; her hair darkened to a pitch black, and grew to a length that sprawled over her shoulders. The wrinkles in her face disappeared and cast the guise of youth across her figure. "She can barely remember you. I did what you wanted; what more do you ask of me before you comply with our demands?" Her voice fell on empty air.
Michael appeared into her sight. His sweater was black now, devoid of insignia of a school he once attended. The sleeves were pushed to his elbows; his forearm, lean and pale, ended at a gloved hand. The knuckles down to his fingers were shown where the glove cut off. His glasses were gone now; he no longer needed their aid to see in his deathly reign. The mop of hair on his crest had grown in length, brushing the edge of his now-gray eyes. He matched the same skin tone as the woman before her.
"As long as she doesn't remember me, I will do anything you want." His eyes rested on the floor in front of his feet. "It's better for her that way. Without me fogging her mind in that... 'accident,' she won't be held back in life." His gaze flickered to meet the woman's. "What did you want me to do?"
A smirk formed from her lips. "Why don't you spend a few days with your Taylor? I want you to enjoy her presence before you're sent away." Michael's stare hardened. Realizing he was granted a bit of freedom, he took a few steps towards the door. He stopped, closing his eyes.
He doubled over. He muffled a scream in his hands as bulging contours formed on his back. He stood, releasing an agonizing cry; wings, with feathers black as the night, sprouted out of his back. His breathing became heavy. Michael's eyes shifted to the woman, sending a look full of hate. He strolled through the doorway, his ghostly form phasing through it.
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