I am aware that this story doesn't quite fit into Kelley Armstrong's world, but this story was inspired by the man who jumped onto the saw. It does not contain any of Kelley Armstrong's main characters. It only vaguely uses her world. I am happy to answer any questions about this story. Just comment/PM.

Disclaimer: I do not own Kelley Armstrong's 'Darkest Powers'.

He gazed out over the factory floor. The smell of the room was metallic and musty. The lights were off and only a few emergency lights and exits signs glowed around him. Below, the saw was spinning and hissing. His hands gripped onto the railing and he looked down into the jaws of the beast. This was what he wanted. He had laid the plan out carefully; switch the saw on, stand above on the overhanging platform, and jump. Everything would end. Everything would be still. He would finally be at peace.

Looking down now, however, he felt fear surge through him and he began to second guess himself. Would it hurt?

Not for long. His subconscious murmured to him, comforting. Just one jump and its all over.

"Just jump." He whispered aloud. He stepped up onto the lowest bar of the railing and looked down. Slowly he lifted one leg over and hooked it around the pole. The other leg followed. The boy paused and pulled his Father's factory keys from his pocket. He threw them over his shoulder so that his Father wouldn't need to get new ones cut. Even now, he wouldn't be a burden.

He knew he had to do it. There was no going back. He squeezed his eyes shut and leaned out, only his hands holding him back. A deep breath, and then he dove off of the balcony and onto the whirring saw beneath.

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He wasn't sure what he expected from death—perhaps just an end to everything, ceasing to exist. He definitely didn't expect to feel every bit of pain that the saw caused as his chest slammed into it. White-hot agony spread through him and numbed his mind to all else. He shrieked, sounding like some sort of monster. His mouth and nose filled with blood, and he choked.

His body was flung off the saw and he landed with a horrible crunch. His body twitched for a few minutes, blood pooling around it. His left arm was lying on the other side of his room and his legs were both bent the wrong way. Eventually his body gave up and he was still.

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He awoke to the sound of voices. He shifted, forgetting his pain, and stood up. Was he in Heaven? Certainly not. He was still standing in the factory. The saw was turned off and there were people all around. Police officers and two people who looked like they were paramedics. They were all talking. He stepped towards them, going to tell them that he was sorry and he didn't want to be in any trouble.

He came up behind one of the police officers and went to tap him on the shoulder. Only his fingers slid right through the man. Surprised, and sure he was seeing things, the boy stepped back. He tried again, this time with his whole hand, only to find it slid right into the man's back. He left his hand there, but he couldn't feel anything. In fact, he didn't feel much at all.

"We'll get the CSI guys to get the body; they can determine whether it was a suicide or a murder." The man was saying. The paramedics nodded.

"I've seen some messed up stuff…but this?" One of the paramedics, a female, said. She gestured over her shoulder at something.

The boy turned to see what it was. Horror filled him and he ran over to where he had gotten up from. His torso laid on the floor, gaunt and grey-skinned, the blood forming a purple puddle around it. It was missing an arm and its legs were both bent the wrong way, the bone showing through the ripped jean of one leg.

The walls were covered with blood splatter and bits of ripped skin. The body's chest was ripped open, exposing cracked bone and flesh. The saw was worst of all, it was caked with blood and had skin hanging from its spikes and bones fragments jammed in between the joints.

The boy screamed, but no one heard him.

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The girl had been seeing ghosts for years. She saw them everywhere, everyday. Sometimes they talked to her, reaching out, but she could only do so much. She had known the boy since they were both little, but neither had spoken much to each other. When she heard about what happened to him in the factory, she knew she had to help.

The problem, however, was not how to help, but how to get close enough to him to help. She had walked past the factory one day on her way home from school, but there were still too many policemen around to be able to get a closer look.

She had seen his Mother crying. She had come to the school to collect what had been left in the boy's locker. The girl had watched from her own locker, feeling like she should have noticed that he needed help. Too bad she was only good with the dead.

The kids passed his Mother with whispers, but she seemed oblivious to it. She stared at each item and touched it, holding it to her like it had part of her son attached to it. Word had gotten around the school quickly enough—it had been suicide and not murder.

The girl knew what his soul would be going through. He would relive the moment of his death over and over for eternity, that is, unless she could help. She needed to get into that factory.

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By the end of the day the CSI unit had gone and the boy was left alone in the dark once more. He wandered the factory until he came to the door. He pulled it open, and went to step outside. He couldn't take being there any longer. However, he found that he couldn't step over the threshold. He squirmed and pulled and shoved, but he could not move. Frustrated and scared, he had withdrawn into the dusty factory.

The boy had been scared at first when he had felt the undeniable pull. It forced his body—could he even call it that anymore?—to go back up the factory stairs and back to the railing. He knew what was coming next. The saw below started spinning on its own and the scene began to replay itself.

The pain was unreal. As his body was thrown back against the wall as it had been the night before, his 'spirit' as he had decided to call it, burst from the body and he covered his face, crying into his hands. He was alone. How many times would he be made to go through this?

He looked around, expecting to see his body freshly killed, but all he saw was the twisted, reeking body that had been broken last night. The boy turned away from himself and went into the next room. He didn't want to see that saw ever again.

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Every night, at the same time that he had jumped into the saw the first time, his body fell into the sort of trance again. He tried to fight it with all his might, but he found himself being pulled up the stairs and towards the railing again. He was beyond crying or screaming. He knew now that no one could hear him.

He could hear the saw buzzing beneath him but he refused to open his eyes. The air didn't even shift around him as he fell and hit the spinning blade chest-first. The boy shrieked at the pain but soon his body was thrown off of the saw and he was standing up again.

The CSI team cleaned up the body and scrubbed the blood off the walls. They had concluded that the death had, in fact, been a suicide and that the factory could open again. The saw had been thoroughly cleaned, all the bits of bone were gone and there were no more scraps of dried flesh hanging about.

The boy, who had given up trying to communicate with them sat on the stairs and watched. He didn't cry. He simply sat and stared as what was left of his life was moved away. He knew he would be remembered for the wrong reasons. Was death really what he had wanted?

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The girl had passed the factory every day after school. Finally, the police had cleared out and the building was left silent. She walked up the path to the front door of the visitors section and looked at the sign that hung there.

'We will be reopening on July 20th. We apologize for any inconvenience.'

Only two more days before it would reopen. The girl bit back her anger and instead kicked out at the door. She winced as pain shot up her toes and into her leg. Was it so easy for them to move on? A boy had needed help and no one had heard him. He reached out to the only thing he thought would help—death. She wished she could have helped.

She decided she would come back that night and try to get in then. She still had a chance to help him. She turned back down the path and onto the sidewalk. Beside her, the ghost of a homeless man shook a tin of coins. She doubted he even knew he was dead.

The girl stopped in front of him and knelt. She smiled at him sadly and offered her hand to him, her palm facing up. The man looked confused and set his invisible coin can down on the sidewalk. He went to touch her hand and as he did she closed her eyes.

"Walk towards the light." She murmured, her voice sounding distant to the man. He gasped as he suddenly became aware of the light before him. He stood with her and then nodded his thanks. She smiled once more and then he was gone and she was alone again.

The girl pressed her hand to her chest, feeling the remnants of his death in her and then she stood up and walked away.

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The boy watched from one of the windows in the top of the factory as the girl walked away. He recognized her from his school. He wondered why she had kicked the door. Did she know what had happened to him here?

He longed to talk to her in some way. He watched as she bent down in front of a homeless man just around the corner. She held her hand out to him like she would help him up. The boy watched, puzzled, as the man latched onto her hand and then he disappeared. He blinked twice, long and hard and then continued to look as the girl clutched her chest.

In another moment, she stood up and then continued on her way. The boy turned away from the window and wandered back into the factory floor.

Awhile later the sun was setting. It cast a vibrant orange glow across the horizon and the boy watched it. Once he would have thought it was beautiful and taken a picture of it or written about it. Now, however, he found it to be torture.

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The girl set her alarm clock for 2:00 AM. She was set on getting into the factory. Even if she couldn't open the doors, she wondered if maybe the ghost could help her get in. If he could hear her…and if he even wanted her help. She had a flashlight stuck under her pillow and went to sleep in her clothes. She wasn't sure if she would be able to sleep, but eventually her eyes drooped shut.

She woke up when her alarm clock started to honk at her. She turned it off and stood up. She gathered the flashlight, her sweater, and a can of mace. You could never tell what might happen. She quietly made her way down the stairs, slipped on her shoes, and headed for the factory.

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He knew it was only a matter of time before he would feel the sick pull in his chest that would lead him up the stairs again. It happened every night at 3:02. He kept count by the clock on the wall.

The boy paced the floor in the men's locker room, wondering that if he did it enough he would wear a hole in the floor. He doubted it, because anything he touched was only temporarily affected. If he left the door open, it would only stay open a few minutes before it would close again.

A sudden anger surged through him. He kicked out at a locker. It made no noise. It didn't even hurt. He ran head-long into the lockers, but nothing happened and he backed up a step. His rage had been simmering all day and now it was boiling over. He picked up a small metal garbage can and threw it at one of the mirrors over the sink.

The glass broke without a sound, shards landing in the sink below and across the floor. The garbage rolled on the floor, one side bent.

The boy sat on the bench in the centre of the room and held his head between his hands. He took a few deep breaths—not that his body needed them anymore—and tried to clear his head. His situation was maddening. He was sure he would go insane…Or maybe he already was.

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It didn't take long for the girl to get to the factory. She was nervous that the ghost would be angry or already too crazy to help. When she was just outside the factory she ducked behind a bush and carefully scanned around for a surveillance camera. She didn't see any and so she slowly crept up to the doors.

The girl tried both handles and found they were both locked, like she had suspected. A sigh escaped her lips and she tugged on the door handle a few times, shaking it to try and get the ghosts attention.

"Hello? I've come to help." She spoke through the door and then shook it again. "Can you let me in?"

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The boy raised his head and looked through the open locker room door and out into the main hall. The doors moved and shook. He stood up and took a step towards them. It was then that he heard the girl's voice.

"Hello? I've come to help." There was a pause, she shook the doors again. "Can you let me in?"

He stepped out into the hall. He placed one of his hands on the door and sighed.

"If only there was any help for me." He whispered, knowing that she wouldn't hear him.

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The girl heard him on the other side of the door and then heard his defeated words. He didn't think she could hear him.

"I can help you. I can hear you. Open the door." She shook the handle again and looked over her shoulder back onto the street. "Quick, before someone sees me."

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The boy's eyes had been closed but when he heard her speak again they flashed open.

"You can hear me?" He questioned, still wary.

"Yes!" Her reply was laced with frustration. "Now let me in!"

He put his hand on the dead bolt and turned it. It clicked and then he pulled the door open. The girl looked at him through clouded eyes and then stepped inside. When she turned to look at the door it was closed, as if it had never been opened, but she didn't seem surprised.

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The girl stepped inside and felt a twinge of sadness as she looked at the boy. She guessed that by now he knew he was dead. She knew the door had already closed behind her.

"Hi." She murmured, tugging absently at the sleeve of her sweater.

"Hi." He replied, his voice little more than a croak. "You can see me?"

"Yes." She nodded and a small, sad, smile turned her lips.

"How?" He shoved his hands into his pockets.

"I'm a necromancer." The girl looked at her shoes and contemplated what to say next.

"I think I've heard of them." He replied, watching her shoes too as she scuffed them against each other. "Why have you come?"

She looked up at him again and she reached her fingers out to him. She wasn't sure if he would take her hand.

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"I'm a necromancer." The word was familiar to him, something from a movie or a comic maybe. The boy nodded at her.

"I think I've heard of them." He told her, keeping his voice soft. Curiosity bit at him. "Why have you come?"

He felt a wave of something roll through him as he met her eyes again. Her hand reached out to him. The boy stared at it for a long time before he tentatively reached out and brushed his fingers over her palm. He felt heat from her, and more than that—solidness. His fingers hadn't passed through.

The boy withdrew his hand and looked at it cautiously. "It passed through the police officer." He murmured, almost to himself.

"It's different because I'm a necromancer." She replied and then withdrew her hand, curling it up inside the sleeve of her sweater. He watched her, longing to reach out to her again. He held himself back.

"You said you can help?" He questioned, letting his hand fall away from his examination of it.

"Yes." The girl nodded.

"How?"

"I can get you to the other side."

"What's on the other side?"

She shrugged at him. "I don't know."

"Is it better than here?" A surge of hope shot through him at the prospect of getting away from the factory.

He watched as she nodded and he felt better. The boy stole a glance at the clock and felt a moan escape his lips before he could hold it back. He started to tremble.

"What is it?" She asked, stepping forwards and putting a warm hand on his arm.

"It's 2:59." He whispered, eyes wide and fearful.

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The girl let her hand drop to her side and her eyes widened. "What time did you die?"

He squeezed his eyes shut and she thought she saw a tear. "3:02."

"It's alright I'll help you through it." She whispered. "Take my hand."

She felt his icy skin against her and closed her eyes, imagining the bright white light that she had called to help the homeless man through.

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When the boy took her hand he immediately felt better. Suddenly there was a white light before him, shining heat down onto him. He felt himself smile.

"Walk towards it." He heard her voice and looked over to where she was. She nodded encouragement at him and he took a step.

"Keep going." She whispered and he took another step. He was about to take a third when he felt the familiar pull in his chest. His body ripped itself away from the girl and their hands broke apart. He found himself again in the dark factory, being forced to the stairs by an unknown force.

"What do I do?" He called, fear rising in his voice.

"Fight it!" She called and hurried towards him, locking her arms around his waist and trying to pull him back. She locked her legs around his shins and sat behind him. He fell forwards soundlessly.

For a moment he was still. The stairs loomed before him and he sighed in relief. However, he felt the pull again and without permission his arms began to claw their way towards the stairs, dragging the girl with him.

"Concentrate!" She told him, gripping tighter. His arms pulled him up the first step. The girl latched her arms around the railing and held on with her arms while her legs remained gripped around his legs. "Remember the light!"

He tried to draw up the image of the light, but his arms tried to pull him up another step and he banged his head on the railing.

"Let me go." He huffed and then tried to shift out from under the girl. "Just let me get up the stairs."

She hissed something out that he couldn't hear and then she pulled herself off of him and stood up. She moved up the stairs and knelt beside him where he shifted onto his knees.

"Are you going to go through this again?" She whispered to him, resting a hand on his back.

"Is there another solution?"

"We can try to hold you back long enough that you can concentrate and get through..." She didn't sound very convincing and the boy struggled to his feet.

"Can you get me through once it's done?" He asked, his body staggering up another step, and then the next.

"Yes." Her voice shook and he looked over at her. The girl's face was drawn back and she looked conflicted. He reached out to her and she took his hand, walking with him as he was pulled upwards and towards the railing.

The boy let go of her while he was made to climb over the railing. The saw had started to twist below him. He reached out to the girl again, his arm shaking with the power her was trying to fight.

She wrapped both arms around his arm and held it.

"Are you sure?" She questioned him, trying not to look onto the saw below.

"No." He smiled at her through tight lips. His face was pale and grey. "Thank you."

She nodded and he gripped onto her. He looked into the spinning blade and then his body was flinging downwards.

There was a terrible scream and he looked to see that the girl had been pulled over with him. He hadn't let go. He didn't really even have time to think before his chest slammed into the blade again. His yells were nothing compared to those of the girls. She shrieked and shrieked, calling out curses. His spirit was thrown back against the wall and he slid down it.

The girl's body lay just beside the saw that was now silent. She was still alive. There was an ugly cut on her side and down one arm. She was coughing and sobbing.

"Oh my God." The boy shakily moved towards her, disgusted with himself.

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She felt herself being tugged after him when he had jumped. He was clutching her sweater so tightly that there was no way she could have gotten away. She shot over the railing with him and shrieked in fear as she saw she would fall onto.

The pain was not like she expected. It burnt and seemed to consume her. Her whole body felt enflamed and she thought she was going to pass out from the burning. She couldn't remember how but she ended up on the floor. Hot tears traced down her face and she wished she could just stop feeling.

She felt someone touch her hand, their skin was cool and she clutched at it, enjoying the feeling.

"It hurts." She whimpered, tasting something metallic on her lips.

"I'm so sorry." His eyes were wide with fear and she didn't understand why. Nothing logical seemed to be able to make its way through her head. She squeezed her eyes shut for a moment.

"No! Stay awake!" The voice was urgent and then another cool hand was placed on the side of her face.

"Your hands feel nice." She mumbled, turning her head to the side, eyes still closed.

"You need to stay awake!" He shook her a bit and she turned to look at him. As she did, the girl coughed and blood gurgled up her throat, foaming out of her mouth and gagging her.

She choked, blood sputtering out of her mouth and down her chin.

"I want to go home." Tears leaked from her eyes as she watched him and he ran a nervous hand over her brow.

"What do I do?" He asked, and she wondered why he looked so worried.

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"What do I do?" He asked hopelessly, stroking hair out of her face. He wanted to make her pain go away. What could he do? He couldn't exactly go for help. No one but her could see, hear, or even feel him.

"Don't leave." She murmured and turned her head so it was resting against his knee.

"I won't." He stroked her hair absently, guilt running through him like ice water. It was his fault she was dying. He had been so selfish.

"I'm sleepy." She whimpered. Her breathing was slowing. It had been coming out in strange irregular pants before, but now it was shallow.

"I know." He said closing his eyes and wishing his dry eyes could cry.

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When she woke up she was in the factory. She sat up and looked around wildly. It was then that she remembered what had happened and she knew. She was dead. The girl got to her feet and took a step back from the saw. She almost tripped over her own bloody body.

A single scream jumped from her throat at the site of what she had been crumpled on the floor. There was a hand on her shoulder and spun around quickly to see the boy. His eyes would not meet hers. His hand dropped to his side again.

"This is my fault. I didn't want it to happen." He whispered. His voice was shaking so badly the girl could barely understand what he was saying.

She stepped away from him and towards the door. She reached it and pulled it open after unlocking it. The world outside was alive. She could hear animals and watching cars shooting down the road. She went to take a step outside only found she couldn't. She was rooted to the spot.

"Please don't leave me here." His voice made her jump and she turned to look at him, shocked.

"What?" She asked. The door was closed again.

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Fear surged through the boy. She was angry. Would she leave him here to go through this torture day after day? The thought was unbearable and he felt anguish move through him. There was no way out.

"What?" She asked. He noticed the door was closed behind them again.

"Please…I don't know what I'll do if I'm left here." The boy raised his eyes to look at her. She looked stunned.

"No, of course not." She frowned. "I wouldn't do that to someone."

"Thank you." The words escaped his lips barely above a breath.

She shook her head. "Don't thank me."

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The girl couldn't bring herself to be angry at him. He hadn't meant to do it. She was upset, of course she was, she was dead. Somehow, however, it was almost a relief. Every time she had helped someone cross over a part of her went with them. She only had so much to give.

She stepped around him again and back to where her body was. She stared down at it and then knelt and touched her own brow. It was the most surreal thing to be seeing yourself dead and mangled. She sighed.

"You sat with me?" Her memories of the night before were very vague.

"Yes." He was closer than she expected and she looked back at him.

"Are you ready?" She asked and got to her feet. When he nodded she took his hand and closed her eyes, searching for the light.

She found it as easily as she had in life. Together they stepped into it and were consumed by the glow.