Kwong’s body trembles, wracking up a wretched cough that burns at their lungs as air begins to fill them. Crisp and beautiful, Kwong nearly hiccups on a desperate inhale. The tile is cool on their cheek.

“There, there,” the voice continues. “You’re gonna be okay.”

“Who…?” Kwong asks, slowly willing their eyes to open. They blink once, twice before finally focusing their vision. They’re still in the apartment, 434, reverse tile pattern. Kwong can see it, even from their position on the floor, just underneath their gloved fingertips.

Gently, Kwong lulls their head to the side to look around. Their body is soaked to the bone, but there is no longer the sound of running water. In fact, the water seems to have been mostly drained. Wet rugs, fallen over stools and a handful of puddles are the only indication of what’s happened here. That and Kwong, who shivers as they slowly pull themselves up with weak arms.

“That…that thing,” Kwong remembers, whipping their head to cast a glance around the apartment, their wet hair flying around and smacking them lightly on the cheeks and shoulder. The place seems peaceful now, the sink having stopped flooding with water and the balcony door is now open. The water has probably spilled out through there, down onto the street below. Kwong can imagine the public outcry.

“That was a spirit actually, one you’re probably quite familiar with, if I had to hazard a guess.”

Kwong’s eyes finally land on the other person in the room, no doubt the culprit of the open balcony. Snakes greet them, entangled around the tops of feet and disappearing around clothed ankles. Kwong has to will their tired gaze upwards until a pair of dull black shades meet them. 

“Hou ma!”

The pronunciation is awful, but the accent is a familiar one. 

Kwong scowls.

“You?” Kwong asks, unsure of what else to say. The Stranger smiles, standing up from their crouched position–Kwong realizing he was sitting on the floor beside them without a care in the world.

“That’s right. Me,” the Stranger jokes, reaching for the table and slinging a towel over his shoulder. When he turns back, he catches Kwong’s eye and bends a bit forward to hold out a hand. 

His hand looks soft. The snakes are there too, Kwong notices, slithering around the knuckles and the inner valleys of defined fingers. 

“I’ve come to save ya.”

"Save me?” Kwong mimics, confused.

Kwong accepts the extended hand, finding no energy in themself to fight it off.

The Stranger helps them up to their feet, patting them on the shoulder once Kwong’s upright. He takes the towel resting on his shoulder and places it around Kwong instead, grinning.

“That’s right. I’m a knight in shinin’ armor.”

“How did you know?”

“Know what?” The Stranger teases. “You’d be in inexplicable danger?”

“Where to find me.”

“I asked Mike.”

“What?”

The Stranger’s grin widens and Kwong annoyingly becomes aware that he remains entirely dry, even down to his shitty sandals. 

“I asked Mike. Said I owed gas money and he let slip where ya lived. A total liability by the way, not professional at all. After that, it was a matter of askin’ around. Folks here really do know everybody and everybody’s business, huh?”

“I guess,” Kwong says, still stunned by the situation. “What happened?”

The Stranger’s face falls, as if taking the question incredibly seriously. He reaches up and slowly slides his shades down the bridge of his nose and Kwong witnesses a piercingly cold gaze. 

“I told ya last night. You rippled.”

“What the fuck is that suppose to mean?!” Kwong immediately counters. The towel around their shoulder nearly falls off but they catch it in time.

The man seems relatively unphased by Kwong’s outcry, if only for the awkward shift in his step. “Ah, I thought I was pretty clear in my explainin’ it and all.”

“You explained nothing but nonsense.”

“Not fair,” the Stranger counters, frowning a bit. “You weren’t gonna listen to me anyway.”

“Again,” Kwong finds themself saying. The Stranger raises an eyebrow, confused. His glasses are back up, covering his eyes. 

“Again?” He says slowly.

“Explain it again.”

“You sure you wanna be doin’ anythin’ that isn’t restin’ in bed?”

“Lola’s nephew has a small café truck outside.”

“Is that supposed to mean somethin’?”

“It means something warm to drink. Let’s go.” Kwong doesn’t feel like speaking anymore, bending low to reluctantly slip their boots over wet socks. After that, they find their backpack scattered only a foot away and sling it on securely. 

The Stranger is clearly puzzled but lets Kwong lead them out of the apartment, down the four flights of stairs and out into the crowded dinner rush of the marketplace and setting sun.

THE GHOST, Pt. 3