For most people, sleep meant escape from their day-to-day life as they dreamt of those they couldn't embrace within reality. Erica didn't have the luxury of dreaming. Nights were sleepless for her if she was lucky. Some nights, she dreamt of awful visions of the future.

            She remembered dreaming of her parents' divorce long before they announced it to her, not that any of it was a shock considering her parents had never shown affection towards each other in their ten long years of marriage.

            Each night, as she closed her eyes, she longed for a peaceful night. At times, she would simply avoid sleep in fear of viewing her own demise.

            Tonight, however, sleep crept over her steadily as she sat in the dimly lit library, eyes sliding shut as she examined the pages of her assigned reading on the history of the electoral college. Truth be told, Erica wasn't sure what drove her towards Constitutional Law, except, well, her mother's influence and the eventual promise of being financially well off.

However, her lack of passion for the subject was putting her to sleep.

            She preferred to study on the ground floor where hardly anyone ever entered due to the inconvenient seating arrangements, designed more towards individuals instead of study groups. A girl two tables down napped on her textbook and Erica's eyes widened when she checked the time, noticing it was nearly one AM. She wasn't even close to finishing her workload.

            Deciding to stop for the day, she began to pack her books into her bag but paused as the sound of someone pressing a piano key gently struck the air. Her brows furrowed as she considered who could be playing the piano this late.

            A part of her shivered as she recalled that dark, lanky form within the woods. She reminded herself that not every spirit in the other realm had good intentions and that investigating who was playing the piano this late at night might only cause trouble.

            Still, curiosity got the best of Erica as she ventured towards the bottom floor lounge where she knew the antiquated grand piano that no one ever played stood.

            The girl's back was to her as dark tresses rippled with each of her motions. Her skin glowed golden, as her shoulder blades stretched exposed, and the back of her sundress dipped low enough to reveal a smattering of moles along her spine.

            Everything about her posture radiated elegance as her fingers glided from key to key, barely producing enough psychic energy to press it.

            The sweet melody hummed out, sounding familiar to Erica but not familiar enough that she could recall the name. She simply watched as the girl swayed with the music, much as her blond friend had at the party.

            "Sad, isn't it?" Her voice came out like a soft purr.

            Erica blinked rapidly for a few moments, as she responded quietly, afraid if she spoke too loudly the delicate girl would simply shatter. "What is?"

            "The song," she replied, eyelashes fluttering as she lowered her lids. "It's Satie. People say it was based off this poem, Les Antiques. I used to know all the words to it." The music stopped. "Now that I'm dead, I can't remember them anymore."

            Erica was always unsure of what to say in these moments. She'd never developed a method for comforting ghosts because she knew nothing she could say would seem genuine. She was alive and they would do anything to be in her place once more.

            She bit back the urge to spout the cliché, 'I'm sorry.' Instead, she inquired, "You know French?"

            "A little," the girl allowed, the words bubbling out of her mouth as water would trickle down a brook. "I was fascinated by French for a while, but I lost interest after a few weeks, so I never became fluent."

            "What's your name?" Erica ventured on, despite knowing some ghosts withheld that kind of information. Knowledge was power, after all.

            "Elena Mehrotra," she breathed, chest rising with each exhale and rustling the hair curling past her shoulders. "And you are?"

            "Erica," she returned, cautiously stepping forward. "Erica Solomon."

            "Like the king," Elena remarked, eyes twinkling in amusement.

            "My mother chose her own last name as a child because she had no family," Erica explained, chewing on her bottom lip.

            "I see," Elena murmured, growing still. "Honestly," she began again, chest swelling. "I don't have much time right now. I can feel myself fading, but I wanted to make sure you can see me."

            "I see the dead, yes," Erica informed her, nodding her head grimly.

            "I-I need your help," Elena continued, voice quivering slightly as she attempted to find her words. "I want to find out who did this to me, but I can't remember."

            "You don't?" Erica repeated, blinking rapidly. She'd met plenty of spirits who weren't aware of their demise, but never one that knew yet couldn't remember.

            "No," Elena admitted, hanging her head. "But Cecilia can say. I can't reach her, though. No matter how much I try."

            "I can try to help," Erica assured her, shifting on her feet as she inched closer to the spirit. "Just tell me everything you can remember."

            "I can't right now," Elena whispered, eyelashes jutting out against her cheek bones. "There isn't enough time. There never is. But, please, find Cecilia. Tell her Elena wishes to speak to her."

            "How do I make her believe me?" Erica questioned, raising an eyebrow. She didn't know why she felt such a strong desire to help this girl.

            "Tell her whose song I played," she answered simply, an easy grin stretching across her features as her eyes fluttered shut.

            Erica's eyes flew open, and she sat up rapidly, feeling the paper unstick itself from her face as she realized it was a dream. A puddle of drool had formed next to her textbook, and she hurriedly glanced around the library, registering that it was probably the middle of the night.

            She decided to call it a night after that.

*

            Sol sat across from Erica at the cafeteria table with his girlfriend, Hanna, pressing a napkin to the corner of his lips. He shooed her away gently, feeling uncomfortable about Erica witnessing the act of affection. Erica, however, paid no heed as she hurriedly made a revision to her paper.

            "Are you going out this weekend?" Hanna inquired of Erica out of courtesy.

All Erica and Hanna really had in common was the fact that they both spent far too much time around Sol. After that, their similarities ended as Hanna was the jolly cheerleader who spread kindness everywhere she went while Erica saw the dead and seemed to have an eerie cloud hanging around her always. Still, Erica found Hanna's presence mostly pleasant.

            "Hm..." Erica glanced up briefly, tapping her pen against her chin as she considered the notion and shrugged, admitting, "Probably. What else can I do?"

            "That's true," Hanna proclaimed, despite knowing about ten other ways in which Erica could entertain herself on the campus. "Anyway, I have class starting in a few minutes, so I'll see you."

            She swooped down and planted a kiss onto Sol's lips to which he eagerly reciprocated, watching her with starry eyes as she bounced away. Erica seemed to be wrapped up in her own matters as she  ahead of her with a squinting glare.

            "Sol," she piped up when Hanna was out of earshot, eyes fixated on something in the distance. "I need you to do something for me."

            "That sounds vague and suspect," Sol returned, nodding his head with approval. "What do you need?"

            "You said that blond girl was in your chemistry class," Erica pointed out, taking a hearty bite of her sandwich in between syllables.

            "Cecilia?" he questioned, quirking an eyebrow in anticipation.

            "Yes," Erica returned, recalling the name Elena referred to her with in the library. "I need you to get to know her. Ask her for help or something. Invite her out with us. I think it's her first year at Damon so she might not have any friends."

            "And you want me to use that to my advantage?" Sol inquired. However, she remained unflinching at the wording.

            "Do whatever you have to," Erica decided, wiping her mouth with a napkin. "Just make sure to introduce us."

            "All right," Sol agreed despite his face betraying that he thought it was a bad idea. He always went along with Erica's ploys despite knowing the risk. "I'll try. I don't want to make any promises."

            "You're charming," Erica assured him, tapping at her phone screen after she wiped her hands. "She'll like you. Just do that thing with your face you always do when your eyes get all crinkly."

            "What thing?" Sol murmured, eyebrows furrowing together in confusion.

            "Just," Erica continued, ripping her gaze away from her phone screen. "Flip your hair and make her laugh. It'll be fine." Her phone dinged from an incoming email, and she caught sight of yesterday's messages for a moment, pursing her lips.

            "Hey, um," Erica began before he could comment further, navigating through her phone until the text was on the screen. "I got a weird email on our business account yesterday. They were offering me up five hundred dollars."

            "Sounds like a scam," Sol piped up, trying to adjust to the change in topic. He craned his neck to examine the phone screen and read the message. "The tone is very..."

            "Formal," Erica finished for him. "I thought it was a scam, too."

            "What if it's not, though?" Sol pointed out, tapping his chin. "Five hundred dollars is quite a lot."

            "Hm," Erica hummed, pressing her teeth into her bottom lip. "There's really no way these people are for real."

            "I mean," Sol started, straightening up. "What's the worst that can happen if you do go and check them out?"

            "I don't know," Erica began, cocking her head to the side. "I could get kidnapped and held ransom for a million dollars. They'd probably cut my body parts off and send them in the mail like in those movies."

            "Hey," Sol replied, scratching at the back of his neck. "If you want, I'll wait by the phone the whole time. You can get an app that tracks your location and connect me to it."

            "You bring up a good point," Erica murmured, narrowing her eyes. "It's hard to fall off the grid nowadays. I don't think a tracking app is necessary, but I'll text you throughout it. If I take longer than twenty minutes to respond, assume I've been taken hostage. Or really time. Either way, assume the worst."

            "Fine by me," Sol retorted, shrugging.

            At the confirmation, Erica unlocked her phone and entered the number attached to the end of the email, sending a message that contained the words: Hello. This is Erica Solomon. I received your email and am willing to work with you.

            Now, all that was left to do was wait.