Seeing dead people wasn't exactly a new thing for Heather. In fact, it was pretty common occurrence in her life - a day was never complete without at least one sighting. Which was rare - and by rare, she meant impossible - because there was a terrifying amount of ghosts left over in this world. Whether they chose to stay behind or they had some unresolved business didn't seem to change the fact that they were nearly everywhere - some knowing they were dead, the others...not so much.

But it wasn't like they scared Heather or anything. No, she'd gotten over that fear a long time ago, even years before the man-with-no-jaw - her first ghost - had stopped standing at the foot of her bed. It was at that point that she realized that while it was easy to be afraid of them, it was also pretty easy to not be afraid of them. After all, most of them didn't mean any real harm and were actually pretty understanding. And those that did mean harm, well, it was easy for her to get rid of them after some practice.

The spirits could see Heather too. As stupid as that sounds. The ghosts could, of course, see other human beings normally, but they were drawn to Heather. She was sort of like a beacon for dead - a human that could finally see them without using phony mediums or fancy equipment. But with that came the price of her privacy. It was pretty common for her to be cleaning the fog off of the mirror after a shower and see a face behind her. Really, it'd happened more than once.

So Heather wasn't really surprised when she put the milk back in the fridge and closed the door to find a woman staring at her. The woman looked at her with wide dark eyes, before saying in rough voice, "Find my son." Heather's eyebrows furrowed in confusion, but before she could say anything, the woman repeated herself - "Find my son" - and disappeared completely.

Favors - now that was a new one. Unfortunately, the woman hadn't left her name or her son's and, after a week, Heather had a feeling that the woman wasn't coming back.

Boy, was she wrong.

Almost two weeks after the woman's first appearance, Heather, while walking into her apartment with an armful of groceries, was met with the sight of the lady-with-a-missing-son. "Hi," Heather said simply, before walking past her into the kitchen. She put the bag down on the counter before turning to face the woman. Now that she wasn't leaving within five seconds of them meeting, Heather finally looked over her features.

The woman was average height but terribly thin. She had a tan face and short curly dark hair that was pulled back and mostly hidden under a scarf of some sort. She wore an older looking dress, probably around twenty or so years old, but it was stained with blood that covered nearly all of her chest and -

A Star of David.

Something twisted in her gut at the sight of it, remembering her older brother telling her horror stories of the bodies he saw while fighting in Germany.

"You died in the Holocaust, didn't you?" She made her voice as soft and polite as she could, but the woman still sighed deeply, almost like it pained her. "Yes," She answered, her voice heavy with a familiar accent, "I did." They were silent for a second, before the woman added, "Please find my son."

Ah - the favor again. "Ma'am, I don't - "

"Please find my son."

"I - " And soon enough, Heather was looking at nothing but air. She let out a frustrated sigh, silently cursing whoever thought that mediumship was fun, before turning to put her groceries away. Later that night, while curling up under her covers, her thoughts returned back to the Jewish woman. Had her son died too? Had they been separated? Why did the woman always have to leave so suddenly? Pushing those thoughts aside, she squeezed her eyes closed and became determined to get a full night of sleep. And she did.


In the early morning hours, Heather woke up, needing to use the restroom. Yawning, she slowly sat up and walked through her bedroom door, rubbing her eyes. But when she blinked, she was standing in front of a cemetery, the breeze chilly on her bare shoulders. Ah - yet another fun thing ghosts could do. They could put her in fugue state and make her walk wherever they wanted. Which today returned out to be the freaking cemetery. Perfect.

Looking behind her and seeing no one, Heather crossed her arms and began walking slowly through the gate of the graveyard. She walked a little further before she saw a familiar looking shadow sitting by one of the gravestones. She was silent as she approached only saying a word when she was by the woman's side. "Are you buried here?"

The woman looked up from the wet grass with a small smile, responding, "No, liebe. I'm buried in Germany, but I thought you'd prefer staying a little closer to home." Heather snorted, before shivering and rubbing her forearms briefly. "And why exactly did you bring me out to the freezing cemetery at 2:30 in the morning?"

"I wanted to talk to you."

"And we couldn't have done that at my house?"

"I wanted to make a statement."

A ghost with style - how beautiful. Heather let out a breath, before responding, "I don't do favors, ma'am. I'm sorry, but I can't help you." The woman's eyes narrowed. "You can't or you won't?" Heather wanted to give her a dirty look, but tried to stay polite. "I can't. Now, if you don't mind, I'd like to go home." The woman rolled her eyes, but disappeared and she started to make way back home.

She thought that that would be the last time she'd see the Jewish woman. Of course, she was wrong.

The woman was everywhere after that. The library, the grocery store, the theatre, her favorite diner, her apartment - especially her bedroom, while she was trying to sleep. While it normally wouldn't bother her, the woman had an aura that made Heather nervous and a lot like a small kid again. Not to mention the woman loved singing while she tried to sleep.

Heather was strong. She could handle this. In a week or two, the woman would get bored and move on to some other medium. But she didn't. A week later, Heather was going insane. She had no sleep under her belt and she had more paranoia than the entire United States government.

And one night, with her face pressed against her pillow and her hands covering her ears, the sound of the Jewish woman singing in an annoying voice - the song was in German but Heather could just tell it was some kind of annoying children's rhyme - finally got to her. "Fine!" She screamed, the voice finally - and blissfully - stopping as she threw herself upwards to glare daggers at the woman. "For the love of god, fine! I'll help you just please, please never sing that song ever again."

The smirk on the woman's face almost had Heather screaming again, but she stayed where she was. "Now, are you going to give me a few details before you send me off on a wild goose chase?"

"My name is Edie. Edie Lehnsherr. My son's name is Erik Lehnsherr."

"Do you know where he lives?"

There was silence, before Heather covered her face with her hands, sighing loudly. "You don't know where he lives, do you?" She took the silence as a 'I-don't-know' and let out another sigh, deciding that she really hated life.