She felt a hand rest on her arm, and it seemed to be enough to ground her. She stumbled back as she realized it was the ghost man who had touched her, and he considered her with a reproachful look.
"Oh my God," she blurted, and his eyes glinted in amusement.
“I’m afraid I’m not any sort of god. Just a simple lost spirit,” he mused aloud. She narrowed her eyes, and he met her gaze with a smirk. She was slowly adjusting to the fact that she could partially see through him, and it seemed that he had no ill intent. At least, none that he had presented as of then.
“What are you doing here? This is a relatively new building, and I know ain’t nobody died here,” she said coolly, crossing her arms over her chest. How on earth she was managing to keep her cool in the presence of a ghost, a real ghost, was beyond her. He seemed equally bewildered by her nonchalance, and he shrugged his shoulders in response.
“I’m… not sure. I felt drawn here, and I was actually rather surprised that I could leave my property. Typically spirits are bound to some sort of place or object,” he trailed off, and her eyes widened in suspicion.
"You're an Orlando, aren't you?" She said bluntly, and he looked at her with narrowed eyes.
“How is that pertinent--,” he began, watching as she shuffled around to the other side of the counter. She reached out to grab the diary she had purchased earlier that day, waving it at the ghost man with a faint smile.
"I bought this book at an estate sale. The previous owner of the property, Hercules Orlando, died under mysterious circumstances recently," she murmured, and his eyes widened in recognition. He walked, or more accurately, floated towards her, reaching out to brush his fingertips to the cover of the diary. "You're Hercules, aren't you?" She asked bluntly, and he met her gaze with a melancholy smile.
“I was,” he replied softly, drawing away from her and crossing his arms over his chest. For the first time, Kira took a moment to consider his appearance. He certainly didn’t seem like the classic ghost one would see in the movies, in spite of his vague transparency. He could easily be mistaken for a living human if one didn’t take the time to fully consider him and, of course, if one could see him. His skin still looked kissed by the sun, though somewhat paler than her own. His hair was dark, falling to his shoulders in loose waves. Most notable of all was his piercing green eyes, which seemed to almost glow. She mused that he was rather handsome, would have likely had his choice of women in life. She had heard vague mentions of the man when he had been alive, and he hadn’t seemed the brooding type. His death had been altogether unexpected, and rather unexplainable. It appeared he had been murdered in cold blood, but there was no sign of forced entry. There were no fingerprints. There was no murder weapon.
Inhaling shakily, she met his sad stare.
“What killed you, Hercules?” She inquired softly, holding the diary to her chest. Her heart ached for the man, and if this were anything like the stories she so loved to read, he was only stranded on earth due to some unfinished business. He hesitated, looking utterly lost.
"I have no idea," he replied bleakly, and she quirked a curious brow. "It was something… otherworldly. That's as best as I can explain it. A ghost of sorts, I suppose, but…," he trailed off, drawing his hands to his chest. "I never believed in ghosts, myself. Rather ironic, I suppose," he smiled weakly, and Kira hesitated before reaching out to him. She was surprised to feel the sensation of warm flesh against her hand when she touched him. It was as if he were corporeal as if he were a living and breathing man. He seemed equally surprised, reaching out to grasp her hand in his. It seemed an oddly intimate gesture, but it somehow felt right. As if it were meant to be.
“Do you have any idea why you’re bound to this diary?” Kira stammered out, her face growing flush at the closeness of the ghost man. He seemed shaken from his reverie, considering the book clutched tightly in her hand.
"I haven't the foggiest of ideas. I'd never even read the thing, it was some sort of family heirloom," he muttered. She hummed softly under her breath, drawing her hand away from his to flip through the pages of the book. She didn't miss his look of vague disappointment as she drew away, but she didn't want to examine things too critically. Here she was, feeling her heart pounding in a way no man had ever come close to before. She refused to acknowledge that she was attracted to the ghostly figure, that he seemed equally attracted to her. There was no way that anything could come of it. After all, Hercules Orlando was dead. She refused to entertain any infatuation with his ghost.
Shaking off that thought, she continued to flip through the book.
“I feel like there must be some deeper reason that you’re tied to this book. Maybe… maybe there is some sort of answer held within, something explaining what happened to you,” she suggested quietly, and he seemed to consider her words. “If you’re bound to this book, it would be rather unfair to leave you here alone until we’re able to solve this mystery. I suppose there’s little choice but to carry you home with me,” she muttered, averting her eyes from his intense stare.
Though the thought of adventure excited her, the adventure that had been so entirely absent from her life previously, she had no idea what she was getting herself tied up in. She could only hope she didn't end up suffering the same fate of the man before her.
Whatever that fate was.