A thin line of blood trickles down the face of the stone, mingles with the paint, fills the groove of an N that didn't belong.

He peers down from behind the gravestone, leaning heavily on the top with his forearms crossed, hair hanging in his face.

"...nice."

"Thanks. I was gonna bring flowers, but then I had a better idea."

"How's Purgatory?"

She's having a devout week.

"Hell's great. Thanks for asking."

She sits on the grass.

"I don't know how to thank you."

He puts one hand down to touch the spray-painted letter on the gravestone. (It exposes the inside of his wrist, sliced open, raw and bloody.)

"...pretty good start."

"...good hurt or bad hurt?"

He wiggles his hand a little, as he walks around the headstone to flop down next to her on the grass.

"These are the old ones. I like remembering I'm dead."

"Of course you do."

"Seriously, I -- you didn't have to do that for me, you know."

"...look. I want to hang out with you as long as I can. Can't do that if you're not...there."

He waves vaguely at her head.

"...as long as you can? Are you ... going somewhere?"

"You might be."

"Dude, with any luck I've got like sixty years. Maybe eighty."

"Yeah, but — forever's a long time, you know?"

"Not claiming to be a saint, but by the grace of God I think I can scrape by into Purgatory."

"...yeah. It wouldn't be hard."

"And then we'd have forever."

"I haunted a kid the other day."

"...like, someone you knew...?"

"Nah. Somebody new moved into our house. Kid in my room's, like — sixteen? Cute girlfriend. He steals her makeup."

"I showed him how I died."

"...oh, Z. Why would you do that? That's going to mess that poor kid up."

"He's already messed up. He cries in his sleep. But he's...trying, right? To be good."

"He deserves to be where I am."

"...oh, man."

"Dude, I ... that's messed up. You gotta ... you can't do that? You gotta let that kid make his own choices. Wearing makeup isn't even a sin. Go haunt his girlfriend and tell her to give him some so he doesn't have to steal it."

"Can't. I can show up for you, I can show up for this kid if I'm in my room reenacting some shit...that's it. So far."

"...fine. You stop traumatizing the kid, I'll smuggle him some makeup. Deal?"

"...deal."