“You don’t have to,” Joe said, putting his hand over Derek’s before he could turn the knob to open the door.
“Yes, I do. I have to lay his ghost to rest.” Taking a deep breath, he let them into the room. It was exactly how he remembered; only now it seemed sad, pathetic. “A wasted life enshrined,” he said under his breath.
“Not at all,” Joe replied. “There’s not a damned thing wrong with remembering someone you loved.” He went to one of the shelves, looking at the dust covered sports trophies. “Though this carried it bit over the top. We need boxes for all this stuff.”
“I think I’ve got some in the basement.”
“Good. I’ll get them.” Joe bustled out of the room.
For a moment, Derek hesitated. Then firming his resolve, he began taking down the posters, rolling them up before laying them on the bed. Behind where they’d hung, the wall was three shades darker than the rest of the room. A testament to how long it’s been since he died? Derek supposed so.