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He looked around, blinking. The kitchen was empty, still. He chanced a whisper. “Where are you...?”

‘Still in the bathroom,’ came the reply. ‘I can talk to you, no matter how far apart we are. Has to do with the fact that I’m tapped directly into your brain, rather than talking with a physical voice.’

There was a pause, and Hector just kind of squinted as he waited.

‘It works both ways, you know. Say something in your head, and I’ll hear you.’ Another pause. ‘You have to actually think something explicitly, though. Concentration is what solidifies the thoughts in our minds and makes them understandable.’

“Uh... Oh.” ‘...Like this?’ he thought, letting his gaze wander toward the ceiling.

‘Yeah. Easy, right?’

‘Er... sure...’ He grabbed the other accouterments that the reaper had mentioned, made his way back upstairs without drawing the attention of his parents, and began mopping up the bathroom floor. With each stroke, the crimson ebbed away, leaving behind a pinkish residue as the pool of blood crowded back in on itself.

He wasn’t sure how long the blood had been there, but it had begun staining the tile, so he guessed a few hours must have passed, at least.

‘You’ve gotten quiet,’ said the reaper, making Hector look up from his work. ‘I thought you’d have more questions for me.’

He stared at the blood for a bit. “...They didn’t notice.”

‘What?’

“My parents,” he said, wringing the mop out over the bucket. “They didn’t notice I was dead.”

There was a noticeable pause. ‘You were locked in a bathroom, you know. It probably would have been a while before they discovered your body.’