Author's note: I should say, that this story is not intended to be a one-shot and there are other parts forming but unfortunately due to time constraints it may be a one-shot if it is not worth pursuing. I wanted to start from a different point with this story, it is set three years after One more day and is AU which is apparent in the story. I actually got the idea for this when reading 'My Pictures of You' by Specialatedk14, so I'm hoping that they don't mind me piggybacking somewhat. Feedback is always appreciated.
PJ slowly made his way up the staircase leading to the second floor of the hotel, each step creaking underneath his weight in protest. He had haphazardly made his way here, hectically weaving his way through the assortment of traffic that only Melbourne could offer. He checked the note in his hand for the hundredth time although the numbers were well etched into his brain. Room 207. He quickened his pace slightly as he reached the platform, glancing at each door before stopping at the allocated room.
He stood, body tensing. His eyes did not move, not even blink as the numbers glared back at him.
He lived by it. He had made a career out of it. Unfortunately, he had never given much thought to belief. His eyes stared at the numbers. He had not idea what truths he believed in any longer.
They said she was alive. His Maggie. Alive.
He shifted his shoulders to relieve the tension emendating from his neck, his outward exterior calm while internally he was sure his nerves were short-circuiting, anxiety choking him. He shut his eyes briefly allowing the memories to calm him, allowing himself to remember her. The feel of her skin, her voice, her smell of her hair, the way her eyes would sparkle with amusement when she teased him, smolder with desire and if he had really put himself in it, burn with rage. God he had been fighting like hell not to let those memories fade, always afraid that the last semblance of her would dissolve over time. Memories just were not enough. Never had been. Now perhaps, they might not have to be.
PJ's eyes snapped open at the last thought. For that split second, he had almost believed it
His hand moved to the doorknob, his fingers curling around the handle. She was on the other side. Waiting for him. He felt his heart constrict as emotion began to swirl in his head and he hesitated as another assault of emotions hit him, this time unexpected.
The feeling escalated, forming a lump in his throat, choking him as he tried to calm his conflicting emotions. Every day of the last three years spiraled into his mind.
He felt the familiar tears prick his eyes and he choked as her dull lifeless eyes stared back at him. The haunting music that marked her procession echoed in the empty hallway. The uneven grooves of her urn burned his fingertips, reminding him, consuming him.
One phone call.
One phone call could have prevented it all.
She would never have been a distant memory.
The call had come.
But three years to late.
He took a deep breath, clenching his jaw in determination as he swung open the door, despite everything he had to know. Had to know the truth.
His eyes instantly met with hers and he knew. She was alive.
He wanted to reach out and touch her. Wanted her more then she could know.
But she was a ghost.
And he fled.