Beetlejuice for the Soul - for handoften

From a post on sixwordstories 

Three weeks had passed since the strange blue phone booth disappeared in a crack of ozone in the alley outside of the run down apartment Peter Petrelli was living in with his sometimes roommate Gabriel Gray.  Everyday, from noon until three in the afternoon precisely, Peter would spend his time sitting on the dumpster silently as if waiting for the strange British man who had spent some time contemplating his murder to come back.  Peter was fairly certain he was losing it by that point.  He'd never hallucinated, but with the stress he'd been suffering, there really was nothing else to account for it.

The world had gone to hell since he and Sylar had saved it from the wrath of Samuel only to have it fall into darkness with the flying leap of a blond former cheerleader who wanted to see the good in humanity.  I use to be like her, Peter thought to himself, heels drumming on the steel of the dumpster.  An idealist.  Now, they were simply being hunted again by every living human being.  Special.  Non-special.  It didn't matter anymore.  The world was splitting apart as sure as if Samuel Sullivan did it himself.

The death of his brother, the breakdown of his mother, the loss of his friends, the desire to save whoever he could, and five years spent in the world he and Sylar created inside of the mad man's mind had ruined him utterly and destroyed the well meaning, naive soul that had always lived there.

"Peter, come inside."  Gabriel's voice drifted down from the third floor window.  Peter ignored him.

He had unfinished business to conduct out here.  "Theta...  Sigma."  It was like he was pledging to a fraternity.  He waited a moment, but nothing happened.  No one appeared.  He was still sitting there on the dumpster.  Peter swallowed.   "Theta Sigma."  It was stronger this time, but not even the wind picked up.  Maybe he was like Bettlejuice?  "Theta Sigma!"