At times, since he realised he was dead, Yomiel feels he won't be able to do anything for the rest of time.
This would sound like a joke to normal people; but he, much to his dismay, is definitely not normal – he doesn't think he will ever meet anyone else who will claim to have been a dead man and a living cat at the same time. At least he remembers who he was, and knows perfectly what he intends to do now.
He has long tested his powers in the past days. Without the black kitten, though, his moves are too slow; the best he can do is shift from core to core quite fast. Maybe, to the present day, he may be strong enough to manipulate something more than a rat.
In the morning breeze, the leaves of the bush he is occupying brush gently against the wall. He notices the branches are quite high; from there, without any dark obstacles in the blue scenery, Yomiel could search the Ghost World more fluidly. In fact, as soon as he gets up there, he sees something shine in a short distance. The sight gives him a rush of energy – it's a living core, just enough close for him to reach.
Will it work? Well, in Yomiel's condition there is no time to hesitate – being a ghost is a hard life.
His soul jumps in a split second, and there he is. It is the body of a little she-pigeon, occupying a windowsill right in front of a messy desk.
It feels different from the cat, but it is almost easier. Her brain is simple, graceful, without a care in the world; and if he thinks straight, she seems to follow his train of thought. Now, for some reason, the most natural thought is that the strange man right there could serve him well.
He keeps his window open; he is too focused on his scientific analysis to care about the chilly morning breezes. He seems the right kind of man, and Yomiel is grateful for that – his distraction will do nothing but good to his plans.
Promptly, with all the energy he can collect, he unfolds the pigeon's wings and sends her to occupy his head.
In spite of the lack of hair, their new position is eerily comfortable – he feels secure and confident up there, as if destiny thought them to finally be in the right place. Sitting stubbornly, and sometimes flying not to kill the poor lady, he swears he will not move from there until he gets what he wants. The little brain in there shows a spark of reaction in return; she may be a pigeon, but she is a very intelligent one.
Before Yomiel can understand what is happening, the beak moves on its own and pecks at the smooth skin of the doctor's forehead.
"Hey" he croaks. "Where do you come from, little thing?"
If he could, Yomiel would bite his fingers in disappointment. But there is no anger nor annoyance in his voice; the human's silence is relaxed, almost friendly in a way.
"Oh well. You can stay there, provided that you keep quiet and behave. Okay with it, you lovey-dove?"
A soft coo answers him. The human laughs – quite a peculiar reaction, Yomiel thinks.
It takes the doctor hours and hours – two days at least – to get to Room 402, the one-hundredth room he visits in the obituary. The lock clicks and Yomiel's weary wings start suddenly – there it is, a red jacket, a black shirt, the dead mass of his fair hair. It's him, I mean, it's me, and at last I'll get myself back.
He passes his own rush of emotion onto the body he is occupying, landing on Doc's head with deep satisfaction and anxiety. Yet, in spite of his light grasp on the bald head and his – a little more than usual – insistent coos, things don't seem to go as Yomiel wishes. Doctor hesitates, standing an inch too far from any core, as if he were looking for something. He sure is a strange man.
When he finally walks on the other side of the room, it is to look for some tool in an abandoned cupboard. Damn. The corpse is unreachable from there.
He cannot give up now. Yet, when he tries to make the most logical move, Yomiel's frustration bursts and changes to surprise. The wings do not react; the pigeon does not move. Instead, he detects a strong feeling of warmth and comfort filling his – her – body with animal glee. Some sort of energy flows between the two living creatures; it is something he does not remember very well, something connected with life without a doubt. He thinks of his little kitten, wondering where on Earth he may be now. Truth be told, he does remind him of this kind of bond, so special, so lively.
Well, he may still be confused about ghost powers; but this, definitely, is not his business any more, and he has no choice but to go.
He gets ready for the right moment; and then, a handful of seconds later, he jumps hastily to the steel table, a moment before Doc closes the door and leaves the room behind.
His ghostly sigh fills the metal legs with relief – his destination has been reached, just in time.
As for the bird, the gods have decided otherwise. From now on, Yomiel will need alternatives.