OOM: The chains we forge in life

[obligatoryass]

After Trina told him he wasn't welcome in her home in his state, Logan had the cab drop him off at the nearest beach, but not before making a pit stop for a bottle of vodka. He's long since depleted the small flask he's carried with him since discovering Milliways Bar, and his buzz is wearing off quickly. He just needs something to dull the pain,

Comments

[supportingroles]

It's quiet, unnaturally so, on the beach for a while; even the surf seems to be a little muted.

And then . . . then there's a sound, distant and faint at first, but louder, ever louder, and louder. The sound of chains, making far more noise than they should being dragged, as they are, against nothing but the sand in which they leave no trail.

The man, if we can call him such, dragging them leaves no footprints, either, but even like this, transparent and ghostly and wrapped in chains, this is unmistakably Aaron Echolls.

Or his Ghost.

[obligatoryass]

Logan's never been quick to rise - he tends to linger longer at the edges of sleep than some people (particularly his sister) can ever manage. Now, though, he goes from 'out cold' to 'wide awake' in nanoseconds, and he's deeply disoriented when he realizes he's on a beach, in the dark. Listening to the sound of clinking metal.

"What the hell?" he mutters, finally spotting the source. "What's your problem, man?"

[supportingroles]

"Oh, this isn't about my problem, son," says the Ghost. "That's beyond any Earthly help now.

"The better question is 'what is your problem'?"

[obligatoryass]

Logan stares for a very long moment. The face...well. It's dark. He could write it off as a fluke, a trick of the lack of light, the resemblance to the late, not-so-great Aaron Echolls. But the voice - Logan knows it too well to think it could belong to anyone else.

"Dad? Dad?"

And he notices, then, that Aaron is see-through. He'd read reviews about Aaron's transparent attempts at acting, but this did seem a little literal, even for film critics.