

### Earthbound

by

Val Tobin
Earthbound

Copyright © 2017 Val Tobin

All Rights Reserved

Published by Val Tobin at Smashwords

ISBN: 978-1-988609-02-7

This is a work of fiction and any resemblance to persons living or dead, or places, events or locales is purely coincidental. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously.

Table of Contents

Acknowledgements

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

Chapter 35

Chapter 36

Chapter 37

Chapter 38

Chapter 39

Chapter 40

Sample Chapter: The Experiencers

About the Author

Other books by Val Tobin

Connect with Val Tobin

Acknowledgements

Thank you to Andrea Holmes; Val Cseh; Michelle Legere; John Erwin; Alis Kennedy; Wendy Quirion; Diane King, owner of The Hedge Witch in Sharon, Ontario; Mark Watson of AngelEarth Studios; my editor, Sephera Giron at Scarlett Editing; and my cover designer, Patti Roberts of Paradox Book Cover Designs.

"Find That Place," the song referenced in the story, is used with permission, courtesy of Mark Watson of AngelEarth Studios and is found on the CD _Reflections_ by Mark Watson.

Concepts explored in the story draw on a variety of teachings, including those of Doreen Virtue, Ph.D., whose courses I attended in Kona, Hawaii in 2008 and 2010, and my education in parapsychology through The American Institute of Holistic Theology

DEDICATION

To all the earthbound spirits. May they find their way home. And, as always, to Bob, Jenn, Mark, Chanelle, Savannah, and Jack
Chapter 1

The first thing I noticed about being out of my body was that everyone in the hospital room appeared brighter. They glowed. The second thing I noticed was that I was still shaped like me. I wasn't a ball of light floating around the room.

My spirit body, when I examined it, shimmered with an aura like everyone else's, but it was transparent. I held up my hand and could see through it—not to bones or anything internal, but to the blue coverlet on the bed where my physical body lay.

Tubes snaked from my arms, and my chest rose and fell, so it appeared I wasn't dead. However, I looked hideous: greasy, dull brown hair clumped in thick strings on my pillow or plastered against my face; dark circles under my eyes that made them look as if I'd been in a rumble; and lips that could have used ten applications of lip balm.

Which made me realize the third thing: Inside, I was still me. If I was dead—which was possible, since the machines might have been forcing my body to mimic life—then I hadn't elevated to a more saintly version of me. Judgment and cynicism still came easily.

Damn.

Shouldn't death have made me more evolved?

And where was the tunnel? The light? My dearly departed loved ones? Shouldn't someone who could tell me it wasn't my time be here?

More importantly, where was my family?

Medical personnel were the room's only other occupants, and they were leaving. All looked as if they'd fought a valiant battle, and perhaps they had. They'd tried to save me, and, while the results were nothing to high-five about, they hadn't declared me dead.

No sooner did thoughts of my family wink out of my head than I found myself in a waiting room. Two men and two women I didn't recognize sat on a couch along the west wall of the room, staring at the floor.

My eighteen-year-old daughter, Silver, sat on a padded metal chair, elbows on her knees, face in her palms. Her long, brown hair veiled her hands. She wore the same jeans and long-sleeved, green T-shirt she'd had on when I'd last seen her.

Rory, my ex-husband, perched on the edge of another chair next to her. Also in jeans and a T-shirt, he stroked Silver's back with one hand while he held his girlfriend's hand with the other.

Clara Spencer. A classy lady. Even in what I assumed was the middle of the night, she had on what I can only refer to as an ensemble: blouse, blazer, skirt. Her short brown hair was smooth and glossy.

I liked her. She was pleasant, and she hadn't been boinking Rory while we were married, so all was good on that front.

At least my ex had found a decent replacement for me when our marriage broke apart. Clara would help him get through this as long as he didn't screw it up.

He should have already married her, though I wouldn't wish that on any woman. He's not a jerk or abusive, but life with him can be silent and lonely. Strong and silent may sound sexy, but living with it had been depressing.

The doctor who'd been at my bedside entered the room, and everyone looked up with fatalistic hope in their eyes. When he said "Rory McQueen?" the four strangers in the room resumed staring at the floor.

Rory and Silver leapt up. Clara began to rise and then sat again, back rigid against the chair.

"Doctor, is she...?" Rory choked.

"She's alive, but her heart is weak. I'm sorry. She might last the night, but it doesn't look good." The doc hesitated. His nametag read "Dr. Richler." The bags under his eyes looked almost as bad as mine.

_Thanks for knocking yourself out to save me, Doc._ I hoped to thank him in person one day.

Richler continued. "You can go in and see her. Take as long as you need. If there's anyone else who might want to say goodbye, you should call them."

"What do you mean? My mother doesn't have heart problems. She's only forty-six," Silver said.

"She had a catastrophic coronary." Richler checked his chart. "The paramedics revived her once already. Her heart won't take another episode and there's a ninety percent likelihood she'll have another one."

"No." Silver waved her hands at him, shooing his words away. Tears streamed down her face.

Rory hooked an arm through hers.

"Take us to her, please."

They followed Richler from the room, Clara lagging a few steps behind.

I tried to walk along with them, but, apparently, when you're disembodied, you simply think your way places. No sooner had I decided to go back to my room than poof! There I was.

My body hadn't changed since the last time I'd seen it, but I inspected it anyway.

Having one foot in the grave hadn't made me more intuitive. I couldn't tell if I was about to have another heart attack.

Death has never frightened me. I'm a risk taker, a live-in-the-now kind of gal. The idea of exploring a new dimension excited me, but I didn't want to leave my kids. If an opportunity to avoid dying arose, I'd take it.

Rory's voice approached. He doesn't talk much, but when he does, he's loud. I heard him assuring Silver that everything would be okay. Nice of him to do that, but not practical. Her mother was dying. You can't pretend that falls under the everything-will-be-okay umbrella.

I closed my eyes and tried to feel something. Love for my children flooded through me. The expected sadness didn't follow. Was it because I was still with them?

My son, Marc, was probably on his way from university. He attended the University of Toronto, so it wouldn't be a long drive to the hospital in Aurora, where I assumed I was. It's the closest hospital to my home in Newmarket.

How I'd gotten here remained a mystery.

Richler had said I'd had a heart attack, but I didn't remember what I'd been doing when it happened. The last thing I remembered was...

Oh, damn. Damn.

I'd been arguing with Silver. We'd been loud. Yelling at each other.

Oh, not that. Anything but that.

I opened my eyes.

Silver stood in the doorway, her face pale and tear stained, her eyes red. She held her hands clasped so tight in front of her the knuckles were white. The aura of light around her was white with blue and orange patches. No understanding of its meaning came to me.

The light around Rory was also white but streaked with yellow and green. Clara's light was white, red, and violet.

For once, I regretted not studying any of that new age crap people believe. Sure, I'd picked up the odd article, and when I was in university, I took a couple of philosophy courses. But I'd never cared about anything I couldn't observe with my senses.

"Dad?" Silver whispered. She crept to her father, her gaze never leaving my body.

"Yeah, honey?" Rory hugged her tight.

"Mommy's going to die and it's all my fault." She broke into quiet sobs. The sweet kid. She was trying not to disturb my rest.

"No, sweetie. You saved her when you called 911 and gave her CPR." He spoke with confidence but one look at my body in the bed belied the words.

I yearned to go to Silver and found myself standing beside her. Assuming my hand would go through her if I touched her, I gently set it on her shoulder. It hovered there. I couldn't feel anything from the contact.

She shivered. "I'm so cold, Daddy."

"It's okay, sweetie. I'm here." His arms wrapped around her shoulders, cutting through my forearm.

I winced and stepped away from them. The touch hadn't affected me—I'd felt nothing—however, the visual was creepy.

From behind us, Clara spoke. "Would you like to wear my jacket, Silver?"

"No, thank you." Her voice was muffled against Rory's chest. "It went away."

My touch had made her shiver.

_Excellent._ It meant there was something there for her to feel.

I moved to the machines monitoring my vitals, breathing for me, and pumping fluids into me. I touched the heart monitor.

It beeped.

"Oh, God. Oh, Daddy. Mom! The machine."

The fear and despair in Silver's voice forced me away. No time to experiment—not if it made them think there was a problem.

Rory leaned over my bed and put two fingers on my neck.

"Her pulse is steady. Maybe it's a problem with the machine."

My invisible touch had affected the heart monitor. I filed the information away for later.

Later. Hah.

Who knew what later would bring? When my body died, would I disappear? Or would that be when the famous tunnel appeared and my dead relatives came to collect me? Where the hell were they, anyway?

At the very least, my grandmother should have shown up to guide me through this. I'm certain I was her favourite—my sisters always told me so. I didn't want to think about my sisters yet, though, so I pushed them from my mind.

Another frantic cry from Silver yanked me out of my head. Any of the machines that could make noise were doing so, and my body flopped and twitched like a landed fish.

Richler shot into the room, other medical personnel right behind him. He rushed to the bed and yanked the blanket off me.

"Get these people out of here," he snapped at a nurse, though she was already ushering my family out.

I can't say why, but I followed them. The logical thing to do would have been to stay there to see if they succeeded in keeping me alive. But I was conditioned to listen to authority, and when he said get out, I left.

The last thing I heard was Richler shouting, "Clear!"
Chapter 2

My death day was officially September 29, 2016.

We weren't in the waiting room ten minutes before Richler returned with the tragic news. Drops of blood decorated the front of his shirt.

Jesus, Doc, what did you do to me to make me spray blood?

Hot on the heels of that thought came the realization that I hadn't disappeared. Neither had any dead relatives or a tunnel to the light appeared. Was I supposed to wander Earth for eternity? I didn't like the sound of that. No wonder ghosts have a reputation for crankiness. Life sucks and then you die, and then death sucks?

On the bright side, I wouldn't have to go to work ever again—unless I wanted to haunt the place. That thought brought a smile to my face. I had some coworkers I wouldn't mind waking in the middle of the night with moans and rattling chains.

Richler gave my family the "I'm-sorry-for-your-loss" spiel. To be fair, he did look regretful. And exhausted. He'd worked hard to save my life. I was sorrier for his failure than I was for losing my life. There must be something about bodilessness that makes you complacent about your death. Or maybe I was in shock.

What did it mean that I experienced feelings without a body and its chemical reactions?

As I contemplated all this, my gaze fell on the four strangers still sitting in the room. One of the men and both the women watched the scene, grief and relief it wasn't their loved one evident in their eyes. The other man, however, kept his gaze focused on the magazine he'd been reading, his expression relieved, but not in the dodged-a-bullet way the others displayed.

While I watched, he calmly closed his magazine, set it on the end table next to his chair, and exited the room. I popped into the hallway after him.

He headed toward the elevators, his stride long and purposeful. It was as if he'd been waiting for this news, and now he could leave. Why? Who was he? I didn't recognize him, so perhaps his departure at that moment was a coincidence.

But if he was waiting for news of a loved one, why would he leave?

Sounds of grief from the waiting room drew me back in, and I shrugged off the mystery man. I had enough to contend with without waxing paranoid. He could have been heading to the cafeteria—probably couldn't handle watching another family face what he might face soon.

My biggest regret at the moment was that my family didn't know I was still with them. I wasn't worried. Silver had sensed me before, and I'd affected the heart machine when I'd touched it. That meant I could make them notice me. I'd find a way.

But ghosts who'd gone before me had probably thought the same thing and had failed. Sure, psychics had always insisted spirits were around us, but I'd never seen physical proof.

I'd promised my mother I'd come back with proof if I died first.

When I was in my twenties, my mom, my two sisters, and I had a girls' night at my mother's place. We'd pulled out the blender and over margaritas had a slurred and somewhat confused discussion about the afterlife.

My mother is a firm believer, and so is my sister Lois. Sarah and I are more scientific minded. We want peer-reviewed studies.

At some point, my mother made us agree that whoever died first would return to the others with evidence of the afterlife. Sarah was sure that was impossible. For once, I was more open-minded about something than she was. I agreed.

Now, I was on deck to haunt my siblings and my sixty-five-year-old mother.

I hope none of them have a heart condition.

***

We all grouped around my bed. Richler told Rory, Silver, and Clara they could stay in the room with my body for as long as they wanted. When he asked them if they wanted the hospital chaplain to come and pray with them, they agreed.

After Richler left, Marc appeared. He was a mess. I could tell he'd been crying, though he'd composed himself by the time he reached my room. At the sight of my corpse, he fell apart and threw himself into Rory's arms. Silver put her arms around Marc as well, and they huddled together until the chaplain walked into the room.

Reverend Elizabeth Parsons brought with her a calming energy that soothed my grieving family. They gathered around my bed, holding hands, and she said the "Lord is My Shepherd" prayer. I was an atheist, though my beliefs were evolving by the second. I hadn't seen proof of God yet, but I'd left my body and hadn't died. Anything was possible.

Prayer certainly couldn't hurt, though I wouldn't relate to most of it. The words made the kids cry, which bothered me. I detest seeing my kids cry, even if it's out of love for me. An ache to hold them became unbearable. Without thinking, I touched each child's shoulder with my hands, which sank through to the wrists before I pulled away.

Both kids shuddered, and Marc said, "Mom?"

Oh, my babies, I'm here with you. I'd give anything to hold you both one more time.

I had to make them hear me.

"Yes, it's me." My voice sounded mechanical and strange, but I heard it.

No one else did. The reverend finished her prayers, and Rory, Clara, and Silver all stared at Marc with expressions of worry.

They'd dealt with the reality of my death, but Marc was still a newbie to it. No doubt, the others feared he was losing his mind from grief. A flattering thought, but Marc was stronger than that. Silver was the fragile one, and she had guilt to contend with. I worried more about her.

The room grew brighter. It glowed. A pull, strong as a riptide, dragged me backward.

No. Not now.

I fought it, but with no ability to grasp anything, it sucked me in. The last thing I glimpsed before darkness engulfed me was my son's bewildered face.

***

Everything was dark, but I was conscious and aware. Other spirits swirled around me, and I sensed their panic. A roaring in my ears irritated me, but when it cut off, the silence grew eerie.

A light up ahead was my target. The light at the end of the tunnel is a real thing.

I popped out of the darkness like a pinball out of the shoot and found myself in a wheat field. Children played in the distance and adults wandered around wearing blissful expressions. Crows circled overhead. When I glanced down at my body, I discovered I wore a white nightgown with pale-pink trim and dotted with tiny flowers.

Above me, the sky was yellow-tinged and grey clouds puffed out of the tunnel I'd exited. In the distance, where the people were, the sun shone down in all its glory.

I tried to inhale but discovered I couldn't breathe. A craving for fresh air and the meadow scent that should have permeated the air overtook me, and I struggled to suck it in through my mouth. The attempt, while it didn't hurt, failed, leaving me forlorn.

A shadow loomed over me, and I looked up. Before me stood an exquisite woman, young and golden. Instead of the long, flowing gown I'd have expected from someone in—wherever we were—she wore a sundress and big, floppy sunhat.

"Welcome, Jayden." She grinned as if she couldn't help herself and held out her hand.

I automatically reached out to clasp it and was stunned to find her grip substantial.

Awed, I said, "I can feel you."

Her warm grip almost made me swoon. How I'd longed to touch my children when I was out of body. You don't realize how profound another's touch is until you lose it.

"Yes. Come with me. I'll get you oriented." She turned and took three steps away from me. When she realized I wasn't following her, she faced me again.

"Who are you?" I asked.

What if this was a dream? Or a trick? Maybe I was in Hell, not Heaven, and if I followed her, it would be to eternal agony.

"Suzanne. We've never met, but I watched you grow up. I'm Natalie's niece." Natalie was my mother.

"Your cousin," she added, needlessly, as I'd understood the implication.

Suzanne had died of pneumonia as a child.

"Why isn't Gramma meeting me? And you died when you were ten. You look at least twenty."

She chuckled.

As I struggled to grasp what I was seeing, her body shrank, her hair grew long and twisted into two braids, and her clothes changed. Before me stood a little girl with white-blonde hair and a mischievous grin.

"Is that better?"

"Even if you grew up here, you'd be..." I did a rough calculation. "Fifty-three?"

She smiled and nodded.

"How did you shift appearance like that?"

"All in good time. Come along. We have lots to do before you return for your funeral." She waved her hand, and this time, I followed her.
Chapter 3

Suzanne showed me the way to the Light but wouldn't take me into it. I was still connected to the earth plane. Unless I was completely ready to leave my family, she advised me not to cross yet.

"Once you enter, you lose the desire to return," she explained.

"So, once you're gone, you're gone? Don't you hear your loved ones when they talk to you?"

"Sure you do. We can hear them on the other side and can even visit if we have free time."

"What if—"

"No. There's no what if."

"I don't understand."

"You will. That's part of your job now."

"My job?" I gazed out into the field where I'd first met her and understood that the spirits milling about were waiting for newly departed loved ones. God's arrivals gate.

"Your spiritual work. Don't worry about that right now. Let's go inside."

A small bungalow stood at the edge of the meadow. Cute and cozy, it reminded me of the cabin my grandfather had built in Thornton, Ontario. My grandparents had bought acreage in that tiny, rural community to keep bees, grow fruit trees, and get away from the bustle of downtown Toronto.

Suzanne led me into the kitchen area, a duplicate of my grandmother's kitchen right down to the sunflower wallpaper and bench seats around the dining table. Out of habit, I searched for the box of cookies my grandmother always kept on the counter by the sink.

There it was, a covered tin with green and red flowers. I dove at it, afraid it would disappear or that my hands would go right through it.

Relief flooded through me as I hefted its reassuring weight. I pried it open and picked up a pinwheel cookie. It had no flavour when I licked it. My disappointment must have shown, because Suzanne shook her head.

"We're not here to indulge in physical pleasures."

"There's beauty," I replied. "Sure, I'm thrilled I can see, but sight—"

"Isn't an indulgence. With time, you'll get taste and scent, too."

Suzanne's habit of interrupting me was beginning to annoy me. She'd been here for decades. Shouldn't she have learned some manners by now?

Her hearty laugh filled my head, and I realized nothing had been physical. I heard without ears and saw without sight. And she'd read my mind.

"I'm sorry."

"No harm done, dear. Patience was never one of my virtues. I'm excited to finally meet you after watching you for so many years. We'll visit a bit before we check in with your family."

My family. They'd slipped my mind. Horrified and ashamed, I dropped the cookie on the counter.

"Don't beat yourself up, Jayden. This is all new and strange. You have every right to feel disoriented."

"Thank you. I'm glad you're here with me. What happens now?"

We sat at the kitchen table, the way I used to do with my grandparents. Suzanne produced a teapot and we drank tea and ate cookies.

After a while, I could taste them.

"Suzanne?"

"I know, dear. The longer you linger here, the more you acclimate. We must hurry."

I picked up my cup of tea and sniffed. Nothing. I set the cup back on the saucer and rested a hand on either side of it.

"It'll come, but don't get too comfortable. Do you want to attend your funeral?"

"I don't have to?"

She placed her hand over one of mine.

"No. You keep your free will when you pass into spirit. Understand this, though: the more time you spend here, the less desire you have to return. Often, attending their funeral helps people learn some final lessons before they cross to this side and leave their old life behind. We encourage new spirits to go back one last time." She paused. "But you must return here within a few days. The tunnel will open again, and you'll be expected to come home and enter the Light."

"Okay, I can do that."

Of course, I could do that. It was pleasant here. No troubles, no worries, no job. I had no physical needs. I held up my right hand, wiggled the fingers and then made snapping sounds with them, two fast clicks. No twinge of arthritis. Thrilled, I snapped the fingers on both hands, working up a rhythm.

"Jayden, play later." She sounded amused, so she wasn't chastising me.

A revelation struck me. _Oh, man._ I bounced in my seat. _Yeehaw. No hemorrhoids._ I could certainly get used to this. Ever since I'd turned forty, my body continuously reminded me it was aging. Now all the nuisances were gone.

"What about sleep?" I'd had trouble sleeping for years. Sometimes it was worry about my kids, but other times, who knows? I'd toss and turn, counting down the hours to dawn.

"We don't sleep." When she saw my expression, she amended her response. "We don't need to sleep."

I nodded, contemplating.

"Can we read?" Let's face it, if I had all the free time in the world and an eternity to spend it, I'd want to start setting up a To Be Read list."

"If that's what you want. Studying is encouraged on the other side."

She hadn't exactly answered my question.

"What about fiction?"

"Yes, you can read fiction. You can write fiction if you want. Where do you think books originate?"

"Authors create them."

"Yes. They do." Her broad smile told me I had a lot to learn, but she wasn't going to explain it now. "Let's see how things are going with your family.

She waved her hand at the wall, and it shimmered and swirled. When it cleared, it was like looking at a television screen, but three-dimensional. On it, my kids and Rory sat around a table in what was obviously an office at Stevens and Jones Funeral Home. They were planning my funeral.
Chapter 4

Rory had gone to high school with Gregory Stevens, and they'd played hockey together, so I wasn't surprised to find my family at Stevens and Jones.

When their parents had retired to Florida, Greg, his sister, and his brother had inherited the family business. They seemed to love their work, which benefited their clients.

As the scene unfolded, Rory leaned back in his chair and asked, "Embalming isn't required?"

Greg shook his head. "Not unless you want an open casket for visitation."

"Daddy." Silver's voice held a warning.

I had a sudden flashback to my argument with Silver. We'd nicknamed my daughter "Quicksilver" when she was five. She was the tantrum queen, able to flare up in a second, going from calm and sweet to hellion.

Right before my death, she'd been more hair-trigger than usual. Palpable stress rolled off Silver now, unrelated to coping with my loss.

"Something is worrying her," I said. "She was on edge before, and my death will make it much worse."

I stuck a finger in my mouth and then removed it when I realized biting my nails was physically impossible.

Suzanne interrupted my thoughts. "Go to your family."

"I'd like that." Then I could uncover what was bugging Silver.

The fight we'd had when I died had been about something stupid, as many fights are. I'd been tired from working long hours over fourteen days straight. On my way to bed, I noticed she'd left a dirty cup on the counter. I asked her to rinse it and put it into the dishwasher. You'd think I'd asked her to clean the entire house.

She stomped into the kitchen, and amidst sighs and eye-rolling, suggested I should have done it myself. When I protested, she screamed about being picked on. Tired, frustrated, craving bed, I screamed right back at her. Next thing I knew, I was standing by my body in the hospital.

Nevertheless, while Silver has a temper, she's not a crazy bitch. That was out of character. I should have realized something serious nagged at her—much like the way her guilt over what had happened now nagged at me.

My heart attack wasn't her fault. If I had a faulty ticker, it would have happened anyway.

I glanced at Suzanne. At some point, she'd returned to the twenty-year-old version of herself. That gave me an idea.

"Can I make myself look younger before I return?"

She giggled. "Yes. Everyone wants that eventually. You can morph to any age you like. Focus on it."

When I was twenty-four, I was in the best shape of my life. Slim, great hair—this was before I got pregnant with Marc and lost it all. I focused on my appearance from that time.

The video screen changed to a full-length mirror, and Suzanne waved her hand at it.

"Take a look. You're lovely."

I shifted from side to side, trying to see every angle. My nightgown had transformed to a tank top that revealed sculpted arms and a denim mini skirt that displayed my long, sexy legs. My shoulder-length, tousled hair framed my face, which showed a hint of makeup. The cutest flat sandals had appeared on my bare feet. Their base was black leather, and the straps were gold and silver studded with jewels.

I'd never looked this hot when I was alive.

Delighted, I grinned at Suzanne.

"I'm ready to go plan my funeral now. How do I get there?"

***

Once again, the desire to do something or go somewhere was all I needed to accomplish it. My family still sat at the table talking with Greg Stevens as if no time had passed. Silver scowled at Rory, who faced her with a patient expression.

"I want to understand what's required and why, sweetie."

Silver drew in an audible breath and exhaled it in a rush. "You want to cheap out. I won't let you. You're discussing my mother. I want to see her. Everyone will want to see her. We need an open casket."

Rory put a hand on her arm, but she shrugged it off.

"Did I say we wouldn't have her embalmed?"

Greg watched the back and forth silently. As the argument wound down, he cleared his throat and spoke. "We're old friends, Rory. I loved Jayden. You'll get a good deal for the funeral."

"Thank you, Greg. We appreciate that. What do we do now?"

"We've filled out the required forms for the coroner, registered the death, and took care of the burial permit. Jayden's body will be picked up from the hospital today." Greg checked his watch. "We can select a coffin from the casket room now, if you like."

They'd be picking up my body already? I searched for the date. Greg's laptop displayed October 2nd. For a moment, I was disoriented. How much time had I spent on the other side? It hadn't seemed to me like it should have been three days later. Not that time mattered to me, but I regretted being away from the kids.

Silver and Marc both looked like they hadn't slept since I'd died. Rory seemed to be holding it together well enough. He was always solid that way, so I didn't take offence. I'm not the type to think people should fall apart over me. I prefer balls on a man, and, quite frankly, on a woman too.

They rose, and Greg led them down the hall to a large room with photos of caskets on the wall and samples of wood below each picture. The real things stood on display throughout the room.

I gravitated to a lovely oak coffin, the lid propped open to show off the cream crepe interior. Not bad. Tasteful, understated. Just my style. I imagined my body lying in it, arms folded over my chest. Yes, it would suit me.

This would be interesting. Rory had terrible taste—or, I guess it would be more mature to say Rory had taste that differed from mine. Thank God, Silver had a better eye for the aesthetically pleasing. If it were up to Rory, I'd end up resting for eternity in a plaid coffin with a pink polka dot lining.

"What do you think of this one, Marc, Silver?" Rory crouched in front of a picture on the west wall. I blinked over and peered past his shoulder.

Mother of God, it was worse than I'd feared.

The picture showed a shiny pink coffin, the interior white with pink roses. What appeared to be plastic red roses decorated the lid.

Rory, if you put me in that thing, at least have the decency to cremate me.

"Oh, Dad, gross." Silver's hand slid through my shoulder and grasped her father's arm.

That's my girl.

Marc shuffled over and studied the image.

"No, Dad." He didn't say anything else, just turned away and meandered over to the east wall.

"Here's a nice oak one. What about this?" Marc touched a fingertip to the specs list below the picture. "Cream crepe interior. She'd like this, Dad."

Rory walked over, stood next to Marc, and glanced at the sticker price. "Nah, that's not her style."

Greg joined them.

"We have this one on display right over there." He waved his hand to indicate the coffin I'd checked out before.

"Twenty-five hundred." Rory contemplated, the fingers of one hand rubbing his chin while his other hand supported his elbow.

"I can let you have it for twenty-two," Greg said. "That's a deal, Rory. It's a mid-priced model. Very tasteful. Good, solid construction."

"I like it, Dad," Silver chimed in. "That's the one."

I popped over to sit inside the coffin. The lining was probably soft and comfortable, but I couldn't tell. It might appear that I was sitting in the coffin, physically supported by it, but I couldn't feel it. Only my will kept me from sinking through it.

Behind me, a man spoke. "You have good taste. That's a nice one."

I waited for Rory or one of the kids to acknowledge him. When they didn't, I turned around. He winked when our gazes met and tipped his fedora. If I hadn't already had a heart attack and died, I would have then.

He was talking to me.
Chapter 5

The man looked young, but that didn't mean anything. He could be ninety years old and make himself appear twenty-five. His translucence told me he wasn't alive.

Logically, I should have wondered where all the dead people were before this. Odds were, I wasn't the only one who'd died recently and wanted a peek at funeral arrangements. However, I sensed this guy wasn't new to the death game.

A throwback to the sixties, he wore a tie-dye shirt, flared jeans, hair longer than mine, and that fedora. I couldn't peg the year he was trying to pull off, but the overall effect said "sixties."

"Who are you?"

He disappeared for a second and reappeared next to the casket, his face leaning into mine. "You're not twenty-four. How old were you when you died?"

"Tell me who you are first." I could pop in and out of anywhere, so I wasn't threatened by him. However, he'd intruded on my casket purchase, and I'd asked him a fair question. He owed me an answer.

"Daniel Bowes. Your first guess was right—I'm twenty-five. At least, that's how old I was when I died. Now you."

He'd been reading my mind. Why couldn't I read his?

"Jayden McQueen. I was forty-six when I died two nights ago. When did you pass away?"

"Nineteen-sixty-four."

I gasped. "All that time. What are you doing here?"

Maybe he'd been sent here to help me through this, like a tour guide or mentor.

He chuckled. "I can help you if you need it."

Not sure what to make of Daniel but way too preoccupied to worry about it, I said, "No, thanks."

Behind Daniel, Rory made his decision about the casket. Silver and Marc had both insisted on the one I liked, so Rory bought it. My kids are awesome.

As I observed them, Marc glanced repeatedly at the casket, his expression puzzled. He squinted as though trying to see more clearly, and I swear he glimpsed me.

"Can the living see us? My son—" I couldn't continue. I'd give anything for even one of my kids to see me, to know I hadn't left them.

Daniel studied the group and focused his gaze on Marc.

"Yup. Sometimes. Psychics can sense us, sometimes with sight, other times with a gut feeling or another psychic sense. I think your kid is psychic and doesn't know it."

"He senses me? Does he know it's me?" I figuratively held my breath.

"He probably gets 'corner of the eye' flashes and can't understand what's causing them. Don't worry—he'll get better as time passes. Your death likely triggered the ability."

"Fascinating. No one in my family is psychic."

Daniel laughed. "Bet you a hundred dollars you were psychic and never developed it."

"Nonsense. I would've been happy to have evidence of psychic ability, but it doesn't exist."

"Honey, that's what blocked you." He studied me. "You dress like one of the cool kids now, but you went the science route in university. You wouldn't have recognized proof of the paranormal if it jumped on your back and asked for a ride. I'm surprised you don't think this is all a dream."

"You're full of assumptions, aren't you? Computer science. I was a software developer. That doesn't make me closed-minded. It makes me logical. I tested the dream theory, smartass."

In my periphery, the kids and Rory were leaving the room with Greg. Why was I sitting here arguing with a strange dead guy when my family was planning my funeral?

"I gotta go, Daniel. Nice meeting you."

I focused on Silver and popped up next to her. The group had returned to Greg's office and were seated once more around the table across from his desk. He had his laptop out and was opening a file.

"You've expressed an interest in the basic funeral package. I'll need to ask you some questions to ensure you have everything you need." Greg put a hand on Rory's arm. "Don't worry about cost. Let's get a quote together, and then I'll play with the figures to get you the best deal. Okay?"

Rory agreed, and Greg led them through the options. He was nice to offer the discount, but Rory isn't as destitute as he makes everyone believe—he's a cheapskate, like Silver said.

I'd been touched to hear what Greg had said about me. He and Rory had spent a lot of time together, but Greg and I were never close. I never saw him after my divorce. I was flattered he even remembered me.

They hashed out the schedule for the visitation, the service, and the burial, which would be at the Newmarket Cemetery. Greg helped Rory determine whom to contact about my death, such as the insurance company and my workplace, and what parts of the process S & J would handle for him.

At first, I interpreted the comments about contacting my office as evidence they hadn't received news of my death yet, but it turned out Greg referred to filling out the human resources-related forms. S & J would take care of quite a bit of legwork. I was impressed. They'd even contact my bank.

Mention of the bank pricked up my ears. My death would mean the mortgage on the house would be paid out, and Marc and Silver would own it. Thank God, I'd updated my will two years ago.

When the form was completed and Rory signed off on the final total, Greg helped them complete my obituary. This is what it said:

McQueen, Jayden Anne passed away at South River Health Centre in Aurora on September 29th, 2016 surrounded by her family. Former wife of Rory McQueen. Mother to Marc and Silver.

Jayden was born October 6th, 1969. While building her career in software development, Jayden volunteered at the foundation for unwed mothers in Newmarket. She loved walking the trails, gymnastics, and music.

Family and friends can join us at Stevens & Jones Funeral Home 27 Dauphin Street West, Newmarket on Monday, October 3rd from 1:30 to 2:30 for visitation with service starting at 2:30 PM followed by refreshments. Interment to follow at 5:30 PM at the Newmarket Cemetery.

If desired, donations can be made to the Heart and Stroke Foundation. Online condolences may be made under www.stevensandjones.com

As obits go, it wasn't bad. At least Rory hadn't tried to add that I was friend to Clara. No offence intended, but I wouldn't have been surprised.

They didn't mention my cousins and nieces and nephews, nor did they mention anyone from Rory's family. But where do you draw the line on these things?

I'd have liked them to mention my parents and sisters, though.

They'd been with me throughout my life, loving me. I doubted they'd feel slighted or hold a grudge, but I wanted them acknowledged.

As soon as I finished my silent diatribe, Marc spoke up.

"You forgot to mention Gramma, Grampa, and the Aunties, Dad. I think she'd like it if you mention her immediate family in the obituary."

My son. Bless his soul. The kid sensed my thoughts. God, how I wanted to hug him—Silver, too—but this guy made my ghostly eyes want to water.

"I'd never have pegged you as an athlete."

Daniel.

"I wasn't."

While Greg added the extra names to the obituary, I confronted Daniel. "Are you lost?"

"Just wanted to see how you were doing."

He perched on Greg's desk. The fedora was gone, and his thick, dark hair was tied back with a leather thong. What a freakin' hippie.

"Let me guess, you attended Woodstock in that getup."

"That was 1969, babe. I was dead by then." He smiled. "But hell, yeah. Wouldn't have missed it. What a party."

"Why are you following me?"

"I want to help you. Look, I've been where you are. It's not easy. Sure, it's cool to watch your family buy the casket, order the flowers, and say nice things about you. But you've got some tough stuff ahead."

"And you're going to help me through that?"

"Yes."

"Why?" I gave him the hairy eyeball.

People don't do things for no reason. This guy had to have an angle. Wouldn't be money. The dead don't need money, from what I'd seen so far.

"What's in it for you?"

"A warm feeling from helping another soul." He popped over to stand next to me, grief in his eyes. "I do this, Jayden, because I can't go home."
Chapter 6

Daniel's sad eyes broke my no-longer-existent heart.

"Home?"

"To the other side. Our real home."

Before I could ask another question, Greg rose from his seat and offered Rory his hand. When Rory clasped it, Greg said, "I'll see you all here tomorrow at one o'clock. If there's anything you need in the meantime, don't hesitate to call."

He shook hands with the kids, too, and patted Rory on the back as he stepped into the hallway.

"I'm so sorry, Rory. Anyone at Stevens and Jones is here for you, but feel free to call me direct for anything, no matter how small."

"Thanks, Greg."

After my family left, Greg moved his laptop back to the desk and sat. He powered it up and focused on the screen.

"I missed them ordering my flowers. Now I don't know what they got," I said.

Behind me, Daniel spoke. "I'm sorry."

I met his gaze.

"It's not important." It wasn't. "What are you going to do now?"

"Are you going to your house?"

"I'm going wherever Silver's going."

His eyes went distant for a moment, and then he said, "They're running errands. The bank first. They'll be home later to go through the photos and select the ones they want for the collage."

My chest thudded as if I had a heart in it.

"You can tap into them?"

"Sure. Focus on the thoughts of the person you want to locate instead of their body. It locates them without going there. Sometimes, you just want a bead on a person. This'll give it to you."

I tried it and caught Silver's thoughts. They were preoccupied with the errands they needed to run, the people they needed to contact. I tuned out again, and my eyes misted over. Where were these physical reactions coming from? How could they happen?

"Let me take you somewhere, Jayden. Away from grief and funerals for a while. Get some space. They don't need you hovering over them. Tomorrow will be difficult enough. Let them sort through the red tape at the bank. We'll catch up to them after."

I hesitated. Time with my family was slipping away.

"You'll get quality time later." Daniel had read my thoughts again. "I'll show you wonders."

"Wonders? Are we going to the circus?" A giggle slipped out of me, and I felt a lightness that had nothing to do with being a spirit.

He smiled. "Take my hand."

He reached out, and I slipped my fingers into his.

***

Hawaii in early October was as beautiful as Hawaii was at any time of the year. Daniel took me to The Big Island, to the summit of Mauna Kea, where different countries had built observatories. Canada had an interest in two of the telescopes there.

At the top of the dormant volcano, the terrain of Mauna Kea resembled a lunar landscape. The ground appeared dark brown and grey in moonlight and starlight, and the blanket of snow told me it was cold. At 13,000 feet up, a light snow dusted the boulders and ground even, sometimes, in the summer. It would have been desolate if the view weren't so spectacular.

The sun hadn't yet risen, and we gazed up at the riot of stars in the cloudless sky. When I looked over the precipice, I realized the sky wasn't cloudless at all—we were above the clouds.

"It's gorgeous."

If only my kids could see this.

"I'm sorry we missed sunset, but we'll catch the sunrise. Hawaii has spectacular sunsets and sunrises. The VOG—volcanic smog—makes them colourful. Probably not good for your lungs, but," he shrugged a shoulder, "we don't have lungs anymore."

He stood beside me, his face turned toward the heavens. We emitted a gentle aura of light, and I wondered what the scientists in the observatories saw.

Daniel answered my unspoken thoughts.

"They can't see us, but we shouldn't go anywhere near the observatories. It would interfere with their equipment. The scientists aren't even up here—they're monitoring on computers at the bottom of the mountain."

"Convenient for them, I guess. But we lose something when we distance ourselves from nature with technology."

He didn't reply to that but said, "Check this out."

Grabbing my hand, he stepped over the edge of the mountain, dragging me with him. I screamed—an interesting sound when you don't have vocal chords.

So that's what a banshee wail sounds like.

If the scientists had microphones picking up audio, they were likely pissing themselves.

Daniel howled too, but with laughter.

"What are you afraid of? We won't fall unless you want to. We sure as hell can't die."

"I know." The response was automatic and a lie—I did not know it at all. I'd assumed it, sure, but hadn't wanted to test the theory.

Unable to help myself, I looked down. We stood on the clouds.

"This is incredible." Mist coated our feet up to the ankles. What a shame we couldn't feel the wind on our faces or smell the fresh air. It would have been invigorating.

We played.

I can't remember the last time I'd had that much fun. We chased each other, popping around the clouds, laughing like children. I wondered again what the scientists saw. Probably nothing. Their telescopes were trained up into the heavens, not down on the clouds.

After, we stopped and fell silent, and Daniel pointed to the constellations above us. Neither of us recognized any of them, so he concocted names for them.

"There's the wild boar." He pointed at a cluster of five stars.

"They don't look anything like a boar." I laughed.

"Does Leo look like a lion?"

"The dippers look like dippers."

"You have to admit, most of them look nothing like what they call them."

"They're beautiful even if we don't recognize them. Thank you for bringing me here." Though my gaze fixed mostly on the stars above, I couldn't help glancing at Daniel.

He had a handsome face with a strong jawline that gave him a rugged look. He must have had his pick of the girls when he was alive.

"Did you have a girlfriend when you died?"

He snapped his head around and stared at me in silence for so long, I was sorry I'd asked.

"No, not technically. She'd broken up with me the day I died. I'm still sensitive about it."

We returned to the mountaintop, and I sat on a snow-capped boulder.

"Will you tell me?" I gave him a weak smile.

He leaned against the rock next to me. I'd come to realize that we didn't tire, and so we didn't need to sit or lie down, but it was a habit I couldn't break. You sit down to chat. The act of reclining makes the discussion more intimate.

"I don't mind telling you about my life. And death."

When he started talking, I closed my eyes, which turned out to be a surreal experience. With the physical world blocked out, his words projected a movie into my consciousness.

He'd been born in 1939. Hitler held power in Germany, and World War II started. So much horror perpetrated against so many. Also in 1939, Gandhi began his fast in protest against the caste system in India; Steinbeck published _The Grapes of Wrath_ ; _The Wizard of Oz_ movie was released, as was _Gone with the Wind_ ; Mackenzie King was Prime Minister of Canada.

How much does what happens in the world influence a child's development? There'd been no Internet then, but world events must have shaped him. His family would have been affected by the war.

Again, he replied to my unspoken thoughts.

"We lost some family to the war when Canada joined the fight. My uncle, some older cousins. I heard stories, and I was terrified my dad would go."

As Daniel got older and went to school, cars became his passion.

"By the time I was fifteen, I could have taken apart a car and put it together again by myself. Physics and mechanics interested me, but I didn't care about going to university. I dropped out at sixteen to apprentice as a mechanic in a garage in Toronto. My family lived in Toronto then. We moved to Newmarket when I was eighteen. That's where I met my girlfriend."

Daniel gave me a regretful look. "We didn't start dating until I was twenty-two. I was sure we'd get married, especially since we were together for almost three years."

He fell silent, and when it dragged on, I prompted him. "What happened?"

"She couldn't tolerate my drinking. I had an alcohol problem but refused to admit it. Back in sixty-four, cars didn't have seatbelts in the back seats, there were no seatbelt laws, and if you were too drunk to walk, you drove." His voice was low but audible, since we communicated without making actual sound. Daniel even heard my private thoughts, a trick I'd have to convince him to teach me sometime.

"You died in a car accident. I'm so sorry."

He'd had a Chevy Impala. I knew nothing about cars, but Daniel gave me an excellent visual. The turquoise colour wasn't bad, but the shape and size of it screamed tank. The back had fins on it, and it was so big I wouldn't have wanted to try parking it in a crowded lot. I drove a little Mazda 3. Rory referred to it as my go-kart, but I loved it. It would fit into any parking space and was amazing on gas.

Daniel's face etched with grief. "That would have been bad enough, but I crippled my best friend. He lived, Jayden, and I died. I was the lucky one. Kirk was paralyzed from the neck down. I ruined his life. He lived a long and depressing life, and when he died in nineteen-eighty, it was a relief."

"But then you saw him again?" My tone vibrated hope.

He shook his head. "He never forgave me. Neither did my girlfriend. I waited for them, and by waiting, by refusing to cross over when it was my time, I got stuck here."

Daniel put his arm around me then, and I leaned into him. He was more solid than I was—I'd noticed that before. He could also walk and run, whereas I had to pop from place to place. Was it because he hadn't crossed?

"That's right," he said. "If you stay here, your vibration lowers, you become more material, and you get stuck here."
Chapter 7

The words "stuck here" hovered in the air.

"Forever?" I pictured Suzanne and some of my other departed loved ones waiting for me to reappear on the other side. Wouldn't they miss me and search for me when I didn't show? Didn't Daniel have anyone who cared enough to track him down?

"It's not like that."

Shame flooded through me at his annoyed tone. He'd read my thoughts again.

I faced him, but he avoided my gaze.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean it to sound the way it did."

"I know. And I don't mean to eavesdrop. After you've been here for a while, you have to force yourself not to listen in on other people's thoughts. Hearing them becomes the norm; tuning them out becomes the challenge."

"You mean you always hear the thoughts of the living?"

"Yes. You can, too, like when you tracked Silver's location by picking up on what she was thinking."

"Why can't I hear what you're thinking?"

He gave me a rueful stare. "I'm blocking you."

Before I could say anything, he continued. "Don't be mad. I planned to explain it to you and show you how to block me."

"But you didn't get around to it?" My hands fisted on my hips, and I glared at him.

"I'm sorry." He took my hands in his and placed them on his heart. "I wasn't snooping, and I didn't do it to invade your privacy." He paused. "The connection to you felt good. Intimate. I've missed intimacy."

Our gazes locked, and affection for him swept through me. Perhaps it came from him, and I was picking up how he felt about me. Anger evaporated, and I moved closer to him. An urge to throw my arms around him overwhelmed me. When he didn't move, I knew he was no longer reading my thoughts.

I draped an arm around him and rested my head on his shoulder. For the first time, I felt his touch. His hand stroked my back.

"Do you feel me?" I asked.

"Yes," he whispered.

"Is this weird? Can you touch other things and feel them?"

"Yes. You get all your senses back after a while."

"What does that mean?"

His hand moved to the back of my head and caressed my hair. "It means your vibration is lowering, and you're acclimating to the earth plane." His voice broke then, but he continued. "You don't have much time left before you have to leave."

I nodded without replying.

"Time to go to the visitation. Are you ready?"

"Okay." I'd hear what people thought now. This could get interesting.

***

Daniel and I stood beside my open coffin in the Roses Visitation Room at Stevens and Jones. My skin looked plastic and fake. The rouge on my cheeks and lips didn't help—it made me think of waxy apples and too much plastic surgery. Even with lipstick, my lips appeared too thin and tight.

Was it vain of me to wish they'd enhanced my appearance?

Was that really me lying in the casket?

At least the casket looked comfortable, and they'd selected my favourite jeans and sweater to bury me in. Silver and Marc had probably battled to get that accomplished. Rory would have wanted something formal. My kids knew me well, though. Why should I decay in uncomfortable clothes? I'd always hated formal wear.

People had sent flowers—gorgeous bouquets of lilies and roses and giant wreaths with ribbons, carnations, hydrangeas, and more roses. My casket floated in a sea of red, pink, purple, and white, and the sweet scent of future rot.

The room itself exuded peace and serenity with neutral colours on the walls and mahogany furniture and trim. In reflection of its name, vases filled with bouquets of roses graced the end tables and coffee tables. A coffee, tea, water, and juice service had been laid out on the wet bar. Guests would be able to soothe their grief with a caffeine kick if they wanted.

How nice.

If that sounded a touch bitter, it was because I wanted coffee. I used to practically mainline it at work. A hit right then would've been welcome. Maybe it would help me get over the sight of my death face. No one would say I looked as if only sleeping and could wake up at any moment. They'd probably say I looked undead and as if I'd leap up and go for their brains.

Daniel put a hand on my shoulder.

"Corpses never look as good as the living person."

When I raised my brows and quirked my mouth, he laughed.

"Sorry. I never know what to say when someone sees their embalmed body for the first time. It's always a disappointment."

"Have you seen many?" How many people had he done this with?

"Yeah. Dozens. I've been here a lot."

"Why?"

He didn't reply, just met my gaze as though contemplating the question. Probably he didn't know the answer.

I sighed, and then almost jumped on him in my excitement. You have no idea how awesome sighing is until you can't do it.

"Don't get sucked into the physical," Daniel snapped.

I answered him quickly, placating both of us. "I won't."

Suzanne, Grandma, Grandpa, and so many others I'd missed after they'd died were waiting for me. I wanted to go back and see them. Still, I appreciated the restored ability.

A male and a female staff member popped the doors open and propped them against the wall. I caught a glimpse of the same burgundy carpeting in the hallway as they had in the visitation room. Subdued voices floated in.

Silver and Marc entered first, holding hands, followed by Rory, and then Clara. Silver's eyes were red-rimmed and shadowed. Marc was dry-eyed but pale and drawn. Rory's hair was tousled, as if he'd forgotten to comb it. Of all of them, Clara was the most pulled together, her hair professionally coiffed in an updo, her mourning dress draping to perfectly accentuate her curves. She clutched a dry tissue in her hand and seemed nowhere near needing to use it.

"Jealous?" Daniel's question yanked me out of my judgmental thoughts.

"Of what?" I cocked my head in Clara's direction. "Her?" I snorted. "Absolutely not."

"Are you sorry you divorced Rory?"

I shook my head. "Believe me, it was for the best. He's better off with Clara."

"But?"

"No buts. They work well together."

Daniel stroked my back, and, to my astonishment, it soothed me. I realized how automatic my judgments of Clara had been. Even when I approved of her, I criticized.

"I guess I hate that she looks so good when I look so hideous. Too much to expect the corpse to be the sexiest body in the room, but it would have been nice if just once I could outshine her."

"Jayden, I have a difficult time believing you never outshone her. You're gorgeous."

I laughed. "Sure, when I was in my twenties I could rock an outfit like this, but look at me." I flung my arm out in the direction of my casket.

Maybe the kids should have let them dress me up. Maybe I should care more about my kids' suffering than about how I look dead.

My family now stood before my casket, staring into it. Silver and Marc were at my head, Clara and Rory at my middle. The lower half of the casket lid was closed.

"They don't put shoes on the body," Daniel said. "That's why the bottom is always closed."

"That's not true." I tried to recall any visitation I'd attended where I could see the dead person's feet.

"Maybe they don't," I admitted.

Why did she have to come with Daddy? She should have come alone, later. She's not part of our family. She won't be my mother.

It took me a moment to realize I'd caught Silver's thoughts. My head whipped around so I could stare at her. Her face angled down toward the casket, and her eyes were closed as if she were praying. But I knew better.

Marc's thoughts cascaded in. _How will I get through exams? I won't think about it. Mom wouldn't want me to louse up my year over her death. But God, it hurts._

And then Rory's: _She expects me to propose now. I'll have to. No—not have to—I want to. I don't want to rush it. You can't expect a guy to jump into marriage when his ex just died, right?_

Then, unbelievably, Clara's thoughts seeped in: _I can't believe that's Jayden lying there. It's not possible. She used to be so vibrant. What have they done to her?_

I popped over to stand behind Marc and Silver and put a hand on each of their shoulders. Marc's head snapped up, and Silver shivered.

"Mom?" Marc whispered.

Silver grabbed his arm.

"Stop it," she hissed. "Don't you dare start that creepy stuff again."

So, he'd mentioned sensing me to Silver, probably last night. Their thoughts pushed into my head in a jumble, and I popped back to the other side of the room where it was quieter.

"Daniel, how do you block it out?"

He appeared beside me. "Imagine a mirror around you, reflecting everything away from you."

"Visualization? Really?"

"Yeah, really. Do you want to block it or not?"

I focused, mentally building a mirrored wall around me, and the barrage of thoughts faded away.

"It worked. Thanks."

Murmurs from the hallway intruded; one shrill voice bulldozed over the rest. The owner tried to keep it down and succeeded to the extent that she spoke more quietly than she normally did, but there was no mistaking who headed toward us.

"I'm still in shock. She was fine when I saw her at work the other day." Laurel Kincaid caught up to her voice and burst through the entryway into the room.

She rushed to Silver's side and threw her arms around my daughter.

I visualized a chink in my mirror allowing Silver's thoughts in.

Oh, God, who is this? Did my mother like her, or is she one of the backstabbers?

Then for the fun of it, I tapped into Laurel.

The girl is even lovelier than her photos. Oh, Jayden, your poor girl.

Yeah, my poor girl. What was I going to do? Marc had his turn at hugging Laurel, and he guided her to the coffee. I followed them.

"You knew my mother well? I'm sorry; I don't know your name."

"Laurel. Kincaid. Your mother and I worked together. We were close. I'm sorry, I never had a chance to meet you and your sister. She talked about you all the time."

"I think I remember her mentioning you..." His voice trailed off as he tried to recall what I'd said.

It wouldn't have been much. Laurel and I were friends, but I always kept my work life separate from my personal life. I never brought work friends home. Part of me regretted that now. Laurel had always made me laugh, and she'd helped me stay one step ahead of Thomas Devereaux and his boys' club.

Since Laurel and I were the only women in the IT department, we naturally bonded over the typical sexist bullshit we had to put up with. Not all of the men were misogynists, but Thomas and his little band hated us for being able to hold our own against them. If it weren't for us, they'd be able to openly make sexist jokes and deride women.

Thomas and crew also had a small female following in the marketing department. I swear those women wanted to be abused and exploited. For some reason, they believed his pompous boasts and thought he was some kind of computer God.

The sound of his voice chilled my ghostly blood, and when I turned toward it, there he stood in the doorway. To my horror, he bee-lined for Silver, his expression pure fake compassion.
Chapter 8

After your death is the worst time to contemplate the guest list for your funeral, but there I was. Ideally, people who will miss you show up to send you off on your final journey. The reality is, those who disliked and resented you will show up to get humanity points for their public show of grief or to gloat.

Tom likely wanted to do both.

He swept over to my daughter and drew her into his arms, his dark bangs feathering across his forehead as he tilted down his face. Tall, he had to slouch a little to give the impression of offering comfort.

While his movie-star face and muscular body had most of the women in the office swooning, he'd never fooled me. I recognized a player when I saw one. Hopefully, Silver would, too.

"Sweet angel," he crooned. "I'm so sorry for your loss."

He halted Silver's instinctive recoil by putting a hand on each of her shoulders and easing her away from his body as though the disconnection were his idea.

At her stunned expression, he chucked her under the chin with a finger and smiled indulgently. "I'm Tom Devereaux. Your mother and I worked together. She'll be sorely missed at the office."

"Nice to meet you." Silver stammered the words out and backed away. _I'm positive Mom thought this guy hated her. Was she wrong, or is this a con?_

"That's my girl. Don't trust him." I shouted it. If only she had Marc's intuition.

I scanned the room for Daniel and spotted him on the opposite side, checking out a group of Silver's friends. "Daniel!"

He glanced my way and popped over, shaking his head. "It's a funeral, and they're dressed like—"

"Don't finish that sentence. Besides, sixties fashions weren't anything to brag about."

"They were groovy."

I laughed. "So are these—at least the kids think so."

Truthfully, the girls were chic in their form-fitting outfits. When I was their age, I didn't have the money to wear the latest fashions. I'd worked hard to be able to contribute to Silver's wardrobe so she didn't feel left behind the way I had when I was in high school.

"You want to be buried in jeans, but your daughter has the latest fashions?"

"So what? I like that she can wear what her friends wear."

"Does she want them? Or were you satisfying your own unmet needs?"

I stared at him like he'd sprouted an extra nose.

"Yes, she wants them. She's a normal teenage girl." With a sigh, I turned the discussion back to where I wanted it to go. "That jerk from my office is bugging Silver. Can I spook him?"

"What?"

"You know. Scare him. Show me how."

"What do you think we are?" He tilted his head, and gave me a questioning stare.

"Ghosts, Daniel. We're ghosts. When is that going to work in my favour? This guy is a creep." I glanced back at Tom. He was leaning in toward Silver, his expression animated, his hands gesturing in emphasis.

I popped over in time to hear him say, "No, we weren't supposed to take files home, but would you know if your mother did anyway? Did she ever do any work at home?"

Silver considered. "Not to my knowledge. That's why she spent so much time at the office."

He glanced around and abruptly dropped the subject. "Okay, thank you."

I followed his gaze and spotted Bernie, my boss, entering the room, his wife on his arm.

Thomas gave Silver's arm a stroke and, thank God, moved away from her. But now he was staring into my coffin.

"This oughta be good." I popped behind him and grasped his head with both hands.

Nothing—not even a shiver—and I was _touching_ him. _Yuck._ I released him.

Jayden, why did you push me away? We could have been so good together...

As his thoughts drifted off, I threw a desperate glance at Daniel. "What the—"

"Office romance?"

"Never. We competed over projects—and we still are, apparently. The S-O-B just pumped Silver for information on my files. He's a pest. We fought constantly, and he flirted outrageously with every woman he met. Well, except me."

"You felt left out?" He batted his eyelashes at me and puckered his lips. "Did you want kisses from Tommy?"

"Stop it." I swatted my hand in his direction, but he stepped out of my way and continued to wiggle fish lips at me.

I laughed, and if I had a body, it would have gotten to the bellyache and tears in my eyes point. "You're insane. Quit it. You're making me laugh at my funeral."

"Technically, this is the visitation. And I think you have unresolved Tom issues."

"Yes, I do. We dislike each other."

"Oh, honey, that's not what his thoughts implied. You denied your love because you thought you couldn't have him."

I glared at Daniel.

More people arrived—crowds of them. Had I known that many people?

Cousins, aunts, uncles, my sisters, my parents, more coworkers, neighbours, friends, my boss all trudged across the room to behold me in my waxen glory. Unashamedly, I eavesdropped on their thoughts.

Invasion of privacy or not, if the good Lord hadn't wanted me to listen, he wouldn't have given me the power.

"Way to justify it."

I rounded on him. "Pot. Kettle. Black."

"Yeah, and how do you like it?"

"I'm fine with it, or I'd block you."

He waved his hand at the crowd around us. "They don't know you're listening, and they don't know how to block you."

I shrugged. "What are you, my conscience? Isn't this why I'm here? To say goodbye and to hear what they have to say about me? Why else would we be invisible? It's like having a super power. I intend to make full use of it."

Before she even stepped into the room, I sensed her: Erin Joanne Tremaine—EJ to her friends, and I used to be one. I'd stopped speaking to her when she joined some idiotic network marketing scam thing and tried to suck me into it. Worse still, she never supported my one-and-only attempt at running my own consulting business.

What was she doing here? She should know I wouldn't want to see her.

EJ entered the room, and all heads swiveled in her direction.

I had to admit, she looked youthful, stunning. Her black, tailored suit accentuated her slim figure. The purse she carried displayed a designer logo. Shiny, slim-heeled pumps showed off her shapely, muscular legs.

Behind me, Silver gasped.

Marc rushed to EJ's side. "Auntie EJ, I'm so glad you made it."

"Thank you for calling me, Marc. I appreciate it." Her voice broke when she said his name. They hugged, and then she turned to Silver, who had reached EJ's side.

"I'm so sorry, Silver. I've missed her so much, but I thought we had time to work things out."

Silver hugged my old friend and they exchanged a kiss on the cheek.

"Thank you for coming, Auntie EJ."

Hearing my kids calling her "auntie" choked me up. Had EJ really missed me? She'd seemed too busy with her new friends to bother with me after I'd told her I had no interest in her business.

"You missed her, too, didn't you?"

Damn that Daniel. Did he have to comment on everything?

"Yes," he replied to my unspoken question, "on everything that upsets you. It's too late for us to lie to ourselves. We're dead. Nothing petty matters anymore."

"How long did it take you to figure that out?" I asked, my tone sulky.

"Longer than I'd care to admit. That's why I'm not letting you do it. Don't make the mistakes I made." _It'll hold you here._

I stared at him, eyes wide. I'd heard his thoughts.

He smiled. "I don't mind."

EJ made her way through the mourners milling around the room, nodding a greeting or exchanging condolences as she did. When she reached my coffin, she placed her hands lightly on the edge.

_Oh, Jayden, I'm so sorry. I shouldn't have tried so hard to force my choices on you._ Tears rolled down her cheeks, and she dug in her purse for a tissue.

"Here, EJ, let me help." Rory put a hand on her shoulder and held a tissue out to her with his other hand.

She accepted it, smiling thanks through her tears. "I can't believe she's gone, Rory. You and the kids must be devastated."

"I'm sure she's happy you came."

_Hah!_ A lot he knew.

"You're lying to yourself again, Jayden."

"I'm not," I said, but it lacked conviction. He was right. _Oh, God, EJ, your absence was a cavernous hole in my life._ _What was wrong with me?_

As I reflected on all the time we'd wasted, EJ and I sobbed side-by-side. We were together again, but she'd never know it.

***

At two-twenty, staff directed everyone to the chapel. A song played over the audio system—a new age song called _Find that Place_. Lois, my spiritual-minded sister must have selected it. She'd played it at one of our girls' weekends, saying Mark Watson, the artist, had channeled Archangel Michael when writing it. The melody and the words moved me more than I would've expected.

From behind the priest, Daniel and I watched my now closed casket float down the aisle on the shoulders of Marc, Rory, two of Marc's friends, Silver, and Silver's boyfriend Harrison Knight.

Why hadn't Harrison shown up at the hospital, and why hadn't he arrived early to the visitation? Silver and Harrison had been dating since they were both fifteen. They'd attended elementary and high school together. In a year, they'd head to college or university—not necessarily together, so maybe that was the problem.

Was it possible they'd already broken up? Oh, God, that would explain her anger the other night. And what did I do? Screamed at her to rinse her stupid cup.

Harrison, too, seemed anxious and sad—and it wasn't entirely due to my untimely demise. Without hesitation, I tapped into his thoughts.

How long am I supposed to give her? She has to talk to me. This can't go on.

After more of that kind of uninformative rambling, I switched to Silver.

I'm so scared. I want my mom. Why did she have to leave me now?

A hand on my shoulder had me turning to Daniel.

"Something's terribly wrong with Silver, Daniel. I should have known."

"A spat with her boyfriend?"

"No." I had a horrible, sinking feeling in what used to be the pit of my stomach. "She's in trouble. I have to find out what happened."

"Better be quick, then, because you shouldn't stay after tomorrow."

"I'm not—"

The priest interrupted me.

The casket had been set on its stand in front of the altar. The service was about to begin.
Chapter 9

Imagine you're at your funeral, people crying, everyone saying wonderful things about you. Your children break down as they begin to speak but then pull themselves together and tell story after story that shines you in a glorious light. You're their hero, their role model. You've made them the wonderful people they are.

Then imagine you had no idea about all this before you died, and you'll understand how I felt observing my funeral service.

The priest didn't get me all choked up—he didn't know me. Me and mine weren't church-going people. I hadn't believed in God. Last I checked, the Earth was still a cold, cruel place. People still tortured one another. No loving being would allow that on his or her watch. Nothing the priest said moved me, though his words offered comfort to many who listened.

But when my children spoke, my heart absorbed their words, imprinting them into my soul for eternity.

Silver talked about her childhood and then her adolescence.

"Mommy," she said, searing me with the word. "I love you. If you can hear me, I want you to know that I want to be the kind of mother to my children that you were to me: generous, caring, loving, beautiful. You made us feel loved, cherished. Because of you, I'm strong enough to carry on no matter what. Thank you."

Marc promised to take care of his sister no matter what.

Rory spoke and also promised to give extra love and support to Silver no matter what.

I understood then that whatever had happened to Silver, her brother and her father knew.

"Oh, God, Daniel," I said. "What has she done?"

***

After the service, Daniel and I popped over to the cemetery to await the mourners who would attend the burial. I'd be buried in the Newmarket Cemetery in a family plot. The hole in the ground, already dug, waited for my casket. Artificial grass dressing and coco matting surrounded the hole, and the lowering device was in place. Staff from the funeral parlor had transported the wreaths and bouquets from the funeral home and placed them around the site.

As the funeral _cortège_ arrived and the pallbearers carried my casket to its place above the hole, I scanned the cemetery to distract myself.

I'd always loved this cemetery, a restful oasis in the middle of Newmarket. Some of the trees were over a hundred years old, and many of the headstones identified citizens who had lived in the town from as far back as the early 1800s.

My breath caught when I spotted a couple watching me, both dressed in 19th century garb. The guy's suit included a waistcoat and the woman's dress had a bustle. They gave me a friendly wave and vanished.

With a little concentration, I adapted my outfit to match the woman's. Because I had no idea what I was doing, her version of the skirt part was poofier than mine.

_Must be the undergarments._ I'd stuck with a bra and panties. It was all I knew.

Daniel jogged my arm, which I felt as a weird sense of pressure.

"What are you doing?"

"Testing something out." I flipped back to my original attire and then changed my mind. I probably should have worn something more modest at the start of the visitation, but I wasn't thinking about my clothes back then.

This time, I selected a navy sleeveless dress that stopped above the knee. I envisioned it as linen without the wrinkles. A loop of pearls appeared around my throat. Pearl earrings dangled from my ears. Navy, high-heel pumps rounded out the ensemble.

In life, I'd always worn flats. In the spirit world, where shoes don't pinch, I could wear the highest heels with impunity. Death has its perks.

People filed slowly from their cars and shuffled toward my cemetery plot. Judging by the line of cars streaming up the small roadway, this would take a while.

"Show me your gravesite?" I asked Daniel.

He slanted a look in my direction, and I couldn't read it.

"What?"

"Why do you want to see that?"

"Why don't you want to show me? You're buried here, aren't you?"

Daniel nodded.

"And anyone can go see it, right?"

He nodded again.

"Please, take me there?"

After a brief hesitation, he hooked his arm through mine. "All right."

We popped out near the front of the cemetery. A large, grey headstone loomed before us. It reminded me of a bishop from a chess game standing on a stone box. _Bowes_ was carved into the base on each of the four sides.

Daniel's name, birthdate, and death date were carved into the west-facing side. A wreath of flowers with a ribbon on it, "loving son" stenciled in gold across the front, graced the plot.

When I gasped at the size of it, Daniel shook his head.

"See? Ostentatious. They spent a fortune on it."

"Your family was wealthy?"

"Still is. My nephew owns the business now. It's a multi-national corporation."

I considered for a moment. "Bowes and Sons. You're _that_ Bowes?"

"Yes. An extra room on every home. My dad tried to do for home renovations what Bill Gates did for personal computers." He smiled. "Damn near succeeded. It almost killed him when I told him I wanted to be a mechanic instead."

"Why wouldn't you want to be part of the family business?"

"I hated the corporate grind. Cars were my passion—working on them, tinkering with them. Maybe I wouldn't have minded working in the business in the beginning, when he still worked with his hands and built things. But he wanted me to go to business school and work at corporate headquarters in Toronto. That's not me."

"Were you into drugs?"

He put an arm around me. "I smoked dope with my buddies. Mostly, I drank."

When he didn't say anything else, I put an arm around him. "We'd better get back. They're about to bury me."

He chuckled. You don't get to say that every day.

***

We returned to my grave. The casket was on the metal and strap supports over the hole in the ground. Everyone had assembled around it.

Out of the corner of my eye, I spotted a man in jeans and a light jacket walking amongst the rows of headstones. He carried a watering can and sprinkled water over a grave. Something about him seemed familiar, and, with fear punching through my gut, I recognized the man from the hospital waiting room.

I tapped into his thoughts. He was watching Bernie, Laurel, and Thomas. His main interest was Thomas, and when the service here ended, that's who he'd follow out of the cemetery grounds.

What the hell was going on at work? What did it have to do with me? I'd had a heart attack. Hadn't I? The paranoia returned full force, and I wondered if somehow I'd been murdered.

But how could that be? I had no enemies, hadn't done anything wrong. Could it have been poison?

The priest was speaking, praying over the coffin, and, struggling to shake off the horror of my thoughts, I tuned into his words.

My mother must have insisted on the priest. If it made her feel better and believe I wasn't roasting in hell because of it, then so what? It couldn't hurt.

Silver's thoughts cut through my musings.

Oh, God, he'll want to talk when this is over. Mom, how can I tell Harry I'm having his baby? How can I wreck his future?

"She's pregnant!"

Daniel whirled around at my shriek, and Marc's bowed head snapped up as if he'd heard me, but no one else moved. The priest continued to talk, oblivious.

I went to Silver's side and tried to hold her in my arms. My attempt failed, and I fell through her, landing with my body engulfed up to the waist by the coffin. I thought my way out to stand next to Daniel.

"She can't hear you, Jayden."

"I know!" Again, it came out a shriek. "But I want to hold my baby. She's my baby, and she's going to have a baby."

_My grandchild._ Silver carried my grandchild, a child I'd never meet, never hold in my arms. Icy fingers of fear traced a path up my spine. How would she cope without me? What if something went wrong? I wouldn't be around to help her.

Daniel put his arm around my shoulder. "Don't even think about staying. You have to leave. The more you involve yourself with mortal life, the lower your vibration, and then you'll be stuck here."

"Like you."

He nodded. "Like me."

"You seem to enjoy it."

A sigh puffed out of him. "Seem being the operative word."

"Don't you?"

"I do..."

When he trailed off, I rested my head on his shoulder. "Are you tired of it?"

"No," he said. "I'm not ready to leave yet. But that's not the point. You shouldn't stay."

Around us, people talked about me and wept, but it barely registered. All I could think about was Silver and her baby and how they'd have to live without me.

"You're saying there's no way for you to leave?"

"I'm saying, I can't leave without help."

I contemplated that for a moment. "You can get help to cross?"

He averted his eyes. "I don't want it."

"Why? Why is it okay for you to stay but not for me? You're not so special."

"Neither are you." He grasped my arms. "Everyone goes. Do you want to watch Silver grow old and die and cross over where you can't follow? Her baby, too?"

"I'd rather they had me with them through this hell they call life." I was angry now. How was this fair? Why couldn't I see my grandbaby born? Why couldn't I watch him or her grow up? The baby would never know Grandma Jayden. How was that fair to the baby?

"You're not thinking straight."

"No? Because in my opinion, I'm thinking clearly for the first time since I kicked the bucket. Why can't I stay here and then raise my vibration again when I want to leave?"

"Okay. How would you do that?"

I didn't reply. Instead, I watched Rory step up to my coffin and stroke the shiny wood.

"Goodbye, Jayden. I love you. I'll take good care of our kids." He stepped away, and Silver took his place.

She touched the coffin. "Bye, Mommy. I'll miss you. I love you." Tears poured down her cheeks.

"I can't leave them. Don't you see?" I pleaded with him—a pointless gesture, considering he couldn't force me to leave. For some reason, I wanted his approval.

Marc stood in Silver's place.

"I love you, Mom. I know you can hear us. Don't worry. We'll be fine. Rest in peace."

"No." I shook my head. "No, Daniel, don't make me go." With pleading eyes and hands clasped together under my chin, my body language mimicked my tone.

He refused to meet my gaze.

Slowly, my friends, my family, my coworkers all milled past my coffin. Each had a message for me; some said a few words out loud, others talked to me in their thoughts. All said goodbye.

"No, please. It's not goodbye. I'm here." But I wouldn't be for much longer.

Suzanne had warned me not to stay more than three days after the funeral. Daniel insisted the same. Why did I have to leave if I could still return to visit?

"Right." He'd read my thoughts again, and I felt a prickle of annoyance. "You'll be able to return and visit. People do that."

"But?" There had to be a catch, otherwise, Daniel would have left when he'd had the chance.

He frowned. "You can pop in to visit a loved one, but you can't hang around them. The dead aren't meant to stay in the world of the living."

"I'm not leaving until I know Silver and her baby will be okay."

"Marc and Rory both said they'd take care of her. Silver told you she'd be fine."

"What does she know? She's eighteen. Kids that age think they're invincible. Anything can happen." But it wasn't just Silver that had me considering staying. What if I'd been murdered?

I glanced at Daniel. He hadn't reacted to my thoughts. My shielding had worked.

Everyone was leaving, saying goodbye, giving their final condolences to my children, my parents. My mother had looked stricken from the moment she'd arrived at the viewing; my father looked hollow-eyed and shell-shocked.

How would it feel to bury my child? They were living every parent's nightmare, and I hadn't spent any time with them. I had more to do, damn it.

"My point," Daniel said, dragging me back to the conversation, "is that Silver is confident she can manage. She's okay. She's letting you go."

I rounded on him. "I'll decide when to leave. Silver doesn't know I'm still with her. She thinks I've disappeared to some etheric place where everything is unicorns and rainbows or nothingness."

"Oh, I don't know. Maybe she thinks you're in hell," he said with a grin.

Tears rolled down my cheeks. Awareness of them dried my eyes. I swiped at the wet trail with my hand, but it had already disappeared without a trace simply at my wish.

"Was that supposed to be a joke?"

He lost his grin. "I'm sorry. I wanted to lighten things up. Everything will be okay. Silver will be fine. Trust me."

When I didn't reply, he said, with hope in his voice, "I'll be here."

"What?" I didn't understand. Was he saying he'd keep an eye on my family? Why? We were nothing to him.

"Not nothing, Jayden. Never that." He put an arm around me.

A change in the air pressure signaled the opening of the tunnel. I shook off Daniel's arm and backed away from the swirling mist forming near me.

"No," I screamed, "not now."
Chapter 10

The tunnel entrance yawned before me, a hazy, black shadow—a portal to another plane.

"You see the tunnel, don't you?" Daniel scanned the area around me, but if his gaze found the portal, he gave no sign of it.

"Can't you see it?" I replied.

He shook his head. "It's lost to me. That's why you have to go. It's not forever." His gaze met mine, and he had tears in his eyes as well. "Just for a while. Then you can visit."

"I don't have to leave yet."

"The sooner the better. Go." He clasped my hand.

"I can't. Not yet." I pulled away from him. Focusing on Silver, I followed her thoughts to our home, leaving Daniel at the cemetery.

***

Silver was in her room with Harrison. They sat on the edge of her bed, both wearing agonized expressions.

"What is it, Silver? Tell me. What's on your mind? Whatever it is, I can help."

She kissed his cheek. "I wish you didn't know me so well."

He laughed softly. "Honey, we were friends first, remember? I can always read you." He put his arm around her, pulled her close, and stroked her hair. "You've been pushing me away, and I've tried to be patient. It's not because your mom died. You've been moody for days. I love you. What's wrong?"

Her body shook as the tears burst from her in wracking sobs.

"It's bad, Harry. I don't know how to tell you."

Fear washed over his face, and he tightened his grip on her. When he spoke, his voice was filled with anxiety, though he tried to keep it light. "How bad can it be?"

"I'm pregnant. That's how bad it can be."

Harry kissed the top of her head before he spoke again. "Are you sure?"

"Yes. Do you think I wouldn't verify?" Her words came out clipped with anger. "The doctor confirmed it. I'm eight weeks along."

"How is that possible?" Before she could respond, he said, "You're on the pill. Right?"

She averted her gaze to study the floor. "Remember when I had that chest infection and took antibiotics?"

"Yes."

"I didn't read the warnings. Apparently, it can cause the pill to be ineffective if you take them together." She moaned. "It's my stupidity, Harry. I messed up."

Harrison rose and paced the room, silently. After three back-and-forths, he planted himself in front of her. "Why didn't you tell me when you first suspected?"

Silver lifted her gaze to him, her eyes wide and her lips quivering. "I didn't want to worry you.'

With a strangled oath, Harrison snatched her off the bed into his arms. "Don't you trust me? We made this baby together. We'll deal with it together." He released her and turned away, anger clouding his handsome face.

His hands balled into fists, and when he stalked to the wall next to Silver's dresser, I thought he intended to punch it. All he did was collapse against it, as if he needed it to hold him up.

"God, Silver. What am I supposed to think? News this huge—a burden this huge—and you didn't share it with me."

My sweet girl took two hesitant steps toward him.

The urge to take her in my arms and comfort her had me going to her, but my stupid, incorporeal arms shot right through hers. Wailing in frustration, helpless to do more than watch the drama unfold, I faced them.

She'd reached out her hand but had stopped short of touching Harrison.

"I'm sorry." She choked on a sob. "I was so scared. And then I had a fight with my mom. Harrison, I killed her."

Oh, God, how her words seared my soul.

"No, baby," I said. "No. You can't believe that."

Harrison did what I couldn't. He scooped her into his arms, raining kisses on her hair, her cheeks. "Baby, no. Of course you didn't. Why would you say that?"

She nodded emphatically. "I did. You weren't there. She only wanted me to rinse my stupid cup, and I yelled at her. I was horrible to her. If I hadn't picked a fight with her, she'd still be alive."

"Your dad said the doctor told him it would have happened sooner or later."

Silver pulled away from him, screaming out her agony. "I want later. Not sooner. Later! She can't be gone. I need my mama." She crumpled to the bed.

Harrison rushed to her, pulling her to him once again. "Shh. We'll be okay. I promise."

"How? The baby will be born before I can finish high school. You have to go to university."

"First things first, Silver. We have to tell our families."

"Dad and Marc already know."

Harrison stiffened. "You told them before you told me?" His tone held reserved rage and hurt.

"I had to. Marc saw me throwing up and Dad, well, I needed my dad. My mom had just died, Harry. I only told them yesterday." She raised pleading eyes to him. "I can only say I'm sorry."

The fight went out of his eyes then, and he slumped against her. They sat, shoulder to shoulder, not speaking.

Finally, Harrison broke the silence. "We have to tell my parents, too."

"I know. We'll do it together."

"I should have been with you when you told your family." The words were accusatory, but his tone was mild. He tucked a strand of her hair behind her ear. "What did they say when you told them?"

Yes, what had they said? I pictured Rory wanting to go for a shotgun—, which we don't own, thank God. Marc would have been sympathetic but slightly detached. He was studying engineering. Logic, to him, was everything. He'd have been practical, offering advice.

"You know Marc. He's full of wisdom. I had to ask him to stop dishing out advice, but I promised we'd talk to him together when we figured things out. My dad looked so disappointed in me it broke my heart. On top of Mom dying, now he has to deal with a pregnant teenage daughter. I've ruined his life." She pressed in close against Harrison, and he tucked her under his arm.

"You haven't ruined his life. It's a baby. His grandchild."

"You're talking like you think we'll have the baby and keep it."

Harrison and I both gasped. Surely, she wasn't suggesting...

"Silver, what do you want to do?" He held his breath and waited for her to answer.

"I..." she closed her eyes. "We... could have it. Raise it." She opened her eyes, and they were pleading. "You don't have to feel obligated to—"

He cut her off. "To what? Have anything to do with it? It's my baby, too, isn't it?"

That last was said spitefully. When she jerked away from him, he grabbed her arm.

"I'm sorry. That was unfair." He released her. "I'm hurt, Silver. I've loved you for as long as I can remember. There's been no one else."

The term "childhood sweethearts" didn't do Silver and Harrison's relationship justice. From the moment they'd met, it was as if they continued a relationship from a previous life. Maybe that was the truth of it.

But to bring a child into the world and raise it together at eighteen? Someone needed to talk sense into them. Silver wouldn't even have me there to help her. She'd be alone.

When Marc was born, Rory and I had been married for a year. It had still been one of the most difficult experiences of my life. Marc and Silver were both planned. What would an unexpected baby do to Silver's life? She'd be affected the most.

While I'd always loved Harrison and was thrilled he was so supportive, his body wouldn't be the one to change. He wasn't the one who'd have to interrupt his education and give birth and breastfeed.

Oh, Silver, what have you two done?

Behind me, the portal hovered, waiting for me to step through.

How could I possibly leave now?
Chapter 11

"Jayden." Daniel's voice intruded into my thoughts.

Unable to hide my annoyance, I snapped at him. "Why did you follow me?"

"Because I won't let you trap yourself here. Yell at me, hate me, but cross over."

I thrust my face into his. "What's it to you? You've been following me, interfering in my life—death—whatever. Why are you doing this?"

His gaze remained steady. "What difference does it make? Appreciate that I care and take my advice: leave."

"I'm staying with her." I tilted my head and smiled coyly. "You could use the company, couldn't you? You've been alone for decades."

He sighed, though when you're dead, everything sounds like it's riding on a sigh.

"What I could use isn't the priority here. If you don't go, you'll regret it. I'm trying to spare you that."

"Thanks, but I lost the need to be rescued when I was still alive. She's my daughter, and she's in trouble." I glanced at him. "If you had a daughter, you'd understand."

Up until this point, he'd held my gaze with a solid, confident glare. Now, he looked away.

"What is it?" But I knew. "You had a daughter." My voice held wonder. "Didn't you?"

"Yes," Daniel whispered. "My girlfriend was pregnant when I died."

"You stayed to be near your girlfriend and your child."

His eyes betrayed his agony. "That's why I can tell you it's not worth it. They die. Everyone dies. Which side of the curtain do you want to be on when they cross over? Here?" he scoffed. "Great. You see them for two, maybe three days. Then they move on, and you lose them all over again."

"Daniel," I said, my voice low, "when they're dead, they'll be okay. It's when they're alive that they need me." I offered him my hand, and he accepted it, linking us together.

He was shaking his head, but whatever more he wanted to say would have to wait. I turned away from him to attend to Silver once more.

She and Harrison lay on her bed, arms around each other. Silver's head rested on his shoulder, her hair obscuring her face. Harrison swept the lock to the side with gentle fingers and tucked it behind her ear.

"We could get a family unit at university. You'll have the baby by then."

"I won't be able to finish high school."

"Of course you can. We can do it." Excitement tinged his voice. "Your dad said your mom left you an inheritance. Use it to fund your education."

"I can't go to school if I have an infant."

"We'll make it work. Even if you did some classes part-time or online. I'll be there to help you."

"You're jumping ahead, Harry. I have to get through the pregnancy first. What do you think will happen at school when they find out I'm knocked up?"

"This isn't the 1950s. No one will condemn you."

She sat up, and when he tried to tug her back, she rose and strode across the room to her dresser. A square, white jewelry box sat on top of a crocheted doily. Silver picked it up and opened it. The ballerina popped up and twirled while _Lara's Song_ played. Silver poked it with her finger.

Her gaze fixed on the spinning doll, Silver said, "I know, Harry. But it'll be difficult. I'll be a curiosity at best. At worst, I'll be judged. As my belly gets bigger, I'll feel exposed."

"Who cares?"

She snapped the lid of the box closed, cutting off the music and smushing the dancing figure back down. "I do. It's not even the other students I'm worried about. The teachers will judge me."

"They're adults. If they can't understand your situation, they shouldn't be teachers."

"They might not even let me continue to attend school."

"Now you're jumping ahead. We can speculate all we want, but we need to talk to someone about this. Come on." He stood. "Let's go tell my parents. They can help us." He paused as if a thought occurred to him. "What was your dad's advice?"

I moved to stand beside her, itching to hold her. Rory wasn't known for his tact. If he hurt her, damn it, I'd haunt him.

"He tried to be helpful, but he was in shock." She gave Harrison that pleading look again. "I blurted it out, and he said I should have an abortion."

Nice, I thought. Great advice to give a confused, scared young woman.

"How did you react?"

"Well, I'd considered it. But hearing my dad say it made me realize I can't. Besides, you didn't know yet. I wanted to hear what you thought."

"What if I told you to do it?"

"Do you want me to?"

"No." He pried the jewelry box from her fingers and set it back down on the dresser. "Never."

"Then we're okay," she said with amazement.

He smiled, and, holding hands, they left.

***

The harassing started as soon as Silver and Harrison stepped out the door.

"You have to go now. She's going to be fine."

I snarled—an eerie sound. It was a shame no one I disliked was around to get a fright from it. "She's not fine yet. We'll see what happens with Harry's parents. If they upset her, I'm going to rattle chains in the night and spook them."

He laughed, and it actually sounded like a real laugh. "You talk a big game."

I laughed along with him.

"I'm not bluffing." My expression sobered. "If they hurt her, I'll make them sorry."

"Were you always this vengeful?"

I shrugged. "No one has the right to hurt my kids. If they do, they pay."

"Your friend EJ didn't hurt your kids. They looked happy to see her."

"So?"

"Seems like you were punishing her for something, too."

A lump grew in my throat as I remembered all that had cost me. "None of your business."

"When you go out of your way to hurt someone else, you only cause yourself pain."

"Too late for that, isn't it?" Bitterness permeated every word.

"That proves you need to leave. They heal you on the other side." He waved in the direction of the portal.

I ignored his claim about healing. "You can see it?"

He shook his head. "I know where it appears in relation to you."

The doorbell interrupted our conversation. I popped outside the front door to see who was there.

Thomas. He held a sealed cardboard box in his arms. What in the blue blazes did he want?

Marc opened the door, and a look of puzzlement crossed his face. "Hello?"

Thomas balanced the box on one arm and held out his other hand. "Thomas Devereaux. I worked with your mother."

"I remember you from the funeral, Mister Devereaux."

"Tom, please."

Marc nodded. "Okay. What can I do for you, Tom?"

"Sorry to show up without calling. I was on my way home from work and thought I'd drop off your mother's personal belongings."

He'd rooted through my desk. Why would Laurel let him paw through my stuff when she knew I didn't trust him and couldn't stand him?

"Is your sister here?"

Marc shook his head. "She just left."

"Mind if I come in for a moment?"

"Okay." Marc accepted the box from Thomas. "Can I offer you a drink or a coffee?"

_My polite boy._ "You don't have to offer him squat, Marc."

For a moment, Marc's expression showed surprise. My heart skipped a beat. Had he heard me?

The moment passed, and Marc stepped away from the entrance to let Thomas in the house.

"Coffee, if you're having a cup," Thomas replied.

The two went into the kitchen. After setting the box on the kitchen table, Marc went through the motions of preparing the coffee.

When had he learned how to do that? Did he even like coffee? There were so many tidbits I didn't know about my children.

"You know the important things."

"Why are you still here, Daniel?"

"To help you."

I let that comment slide as Thomas, sitting at the kitchen table, spoke to Marc. "Your mom will be missed at the office."

He'd said that at the visitation. Was the one and only Thomas Devereaux nervous? If so, it made me edgy. The man was pompous and arrogant. Nothing and no one made him nervous. What was he up to?

"Thank you." Marc leaned against the marble countertop by the coffee maker and crossed his arms, waiting.

"All her personal things are in that box."

Another pointless statement. Something was definitely up.

"Thank you for bringing them."

"Did your mom ever talk about me?"

I glanced at Daniel, who showed no reaction. Of course, he wouldn't react. He didn't suspect Thomas could be after something.

Marc shrugged. "Not that I recall. Should she have?" He squinted at Thomas, frowning. "Was there a problem with her work?"

Behind Marc, the coffee maker rumbled to completion. My son hunted in the cupboard for mugs as Thomas rose from his chair. Sunlight spilled in from the window above the sink, haloing around Thomas.

The glow around him that I'd seen around everyone since I'd died darkened to black.

"What the hell is that around Thomas?"

Daniel's reply sent a chill through me. "His aura turned black. He's going to die."
Chapter 12

"What do you mean Thomas will die? He can't." My head spun as I tried to grasp what I'd heard.

"Everyone dies."

That sounded callous. Sure, Thomas annoyed me, but I didn't want him to die—and not just because he was too young. For the love of God, would I have to put up with him in the afterlife now?

"You probably don't have to worry about it. He'll no doubt cross when he's supposed to."

"When will he die?" I tried to focus on the truly horrible part of it—Thomas's imminent death.

"Soon, or his aura wouldn't be black."

"Is there a way to find out how?"

Daniel shook his head. "No. We're dead not psychic."

Marc and Thomas had fixed their coffees and moved into the living room. Daniel and I followed. Marc sat on the couch, while Thomas reclined on the chaise, his feet up.

"He's in my seat, and he never took off his shoes when he came in the house." I gave a low growl. "I know how he dies—I kill him myself."

"You secretly have the hots for him, don't you?" Daniel swiped a hand through the hair at the back of my neck.

"Cut it out." I swatted him away. To think that yesterday I'd been unable to touch anything. To think that four days ago, I'd been alive...

"Marc." Thomas cut into my thoughts. "Did your mother talk about her work at all? Anything that went on at the office?"

"Not really. Sometimes she mentioned if she had a difficult project. She avoided talking about work—legally couldn't anyway. You never answered my question before. Did something happen with her work?"

"No, but I'm supposed to take over the project she hadn't completed. I can't find her notes."

"They're on my external drive at work where they're supposed to be." I shouted it at Marc, who flinched.

"He hears me."

Daniel didn't have a chance to reply as Marc spoke. "She never brought anything home, Tom. She only has her personal files here."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes. Did you check her hard drive at work?"

Thomas gave Marc a frustrated look. "That was the first place I checked. Has anyone else been here asking about her files?"

"No."

"I'm sorry, Marc. This is important, or I wouldn't ask, but would you let me search her computer?"

"Don't let him." I whirled from Marc to Thomas. "Keep your greedy mitts off my computer."

"There's no point. They don't let employees take sensitive files out of the office."

"No, they don't. But I thought perhaps—"

Marc cut him off. "She wouldn't have disobeyed company policy."

"No." Thomas sounded doubtful. "I'm sorry to have bothered you." His eyes betrayed disappointment as he set his mug down and stood. "Thank you for the coffee."

Marc rose as well. "I'm sorry I couldn't help you."

Thomas considered for a moment. "Would you search her computer for a file if I give you the name?"

"Sure." Marc retrieved a pen and paper from the drawer in the coffee table, and Thomas scribbled down the file name.

I peeked over their shoulders. _Prj211._

"It's on my computer at work."

So why hadn't Thomas found it?

***

Since Marc didn't have my password, he had to assure Thomas he'd figure out a way to access the computer. After some polite discussion, Thomas left.

Frustrated at having lost the ability to pace—popping in and out of locations is fun, but there's nothing like walking off a problem—I trained my thoughts on Thomas. I traced him to his car and settled beside him in the passenger seat.

He looked good—healthy. How close to death was he? Would a physical issue kill him? He wasn't much older than I was when I dropped dead. How could two of us so young and from the same office suddenly die?

This wasn't a coincidence.

I'd signed a confidentiality agreement for the project and hadn't breathed a word about it to anyone not directly involved with it. Interesting that Thomas was searching for it at my home. Uneasiness fluttered in my gut, but disappeared when Daniel distracted me.

He materialized, a transparent figure already talking, in the backseat. "You planning to follow him around? It's getting late."

"Yes." Maybe we could prevent Thomas's death somehow.

"We can try, but if it's his time, he's going to cross."

"Have you tried to stop a death?" He'd been here long enough, maybe he'd had some success.

"Sure. My daughter, for one." His voice cracked, and he took a long pause. "I failed."

I swiveled in my seat so I could meet his gaze. "I'm sorry. How old was she when she passed?"

"Ten."

"Oh, Daniel. I'm very sorry. How did she die?"

He averted his gaze. "Pneumonia."

"My cousin Suzanne died of pneumonia." A coincidence? "Who are you? Tell me the truth."

"Suzanne's biological father. I'm your uncle—or would have been if I'd married Grace."

"Aunt Gracie was your girlfriend?" Stunned, I tried to recall everything I knew about Gracie and Suzanne. And Charles, Suzanne's father—or the man she'd always called "Dad."

"Did Gracie ever tell Suzanne who her real father was?"

"No. I waited for her to—I even tried to communicate with Grace through a psychic. Nothing worked. She refused to reveal her guilty secret."

"Why?"

"Shame, probably. It was the sixties. They weren't forgiving then to young women who were pregnant and unmarried. She did a great job of raising Suzanne alone until meeting Charles when Suzanne was two. They married shortly after. Charles is the only father Suzanne ever knew."

"Oh, Daniel." My heart broke for this sweet man. My uncle. "So now you're looking after everyone in the family?" I frowned. "That's why you'd be willing to watch over Silver."

He nodded without looking up. When he raised his head, he gave me a sheepish grin. "She's my grand-niece, or something like that. I'll watch over her. You can cross."

I shook my head, making up my mind. "No, especially not now. We both stay or we both go. I'm not crossing without you."

He argued, of course, but I refused to cave. "You've been stuck here by yourself long enough, and if anyone will watch over my child, it'll be me."

"Were you always this stubborn?"

"Were you?"

He laughed that hearty laugh I'd heard before, and it eased the tension.

I faced front again and checked our surroundings. The car was pulling into a driveway in the Stonehaven subdivision. Thomas lived in one of the more ostentatious homes in this prestigious section of town.

A fountain stood in the middle of the circular driveway, a naked cherub peeing into a fish's mouth. Lights illuminated the water, the walkway, and the front of the house. Hedge animals watched any visitor's progress up the white marble walkway. Round, white steps led up to the black, double front doors. Gargoyles perched on stone pedestals on either side of the entrance. All of it looked hideously expensive.

"How much does he get paid?" There's no way he should've been able to afford a place here on one salary.

"You can't rule out inheritance," Daniel said.

"No. But you also can't rule out unequal pay. Or shady dealings." For the first time, I examined the vehicle we were riding in. A Volkswagen Jetta, fairly new, but not indicative of an affluent lifestyle.

"He never flashed money around. Yeah, he dressed well, but never flaunted wealth." I glanced at his suit. If it was designer, I wouldn't have recognized it. Menswear had never interested me.

"Ready?" I asked as Thomas eased the car into a bay in the four-car garage. "We're going in."
Chapter 13

By the time Thomas unlocked his front door and let himself into the house, Daniel and I were waiting for him. The inside of the house was as gaudy as the outside. The carpet in the main foyer, hallway, and leading up the stairs was red plush. The paintings displayed on the walls swirled with abstract patterns of colour.

"He should have hired a decorator. He's obviously got the money for it." I stuck my tongue out to show my distaste.

"Oh, I don't know." Daniel ran a hand down the black enamel bannister. "It's kind of..." He cocked his head at me, raising his brows as he trailed off.

"Yeah, it kind of is." I grinned. "Can you imagine him bringing women back here? They'd probably think he was a serial killer."

"Or that he was loaded, had bad taste, and they could redecorate as soon as they had a ring on their finger."

I laughed. "You'd have been a fun uncle. I wish I'd known you."

He sobered at that. "Thank you. I'm sorry I didn't look in on you more often."

That piqued my curiosity. "Did you? Sometimes?"

"Sure. I attended your wedding. You had a pretty good life. No big problems." He put a hand on my arm. "I was with you through your divorce. I tried to get you to see a psychic then, maybe give you some reassurance from the spirit world. But you're so damn stubborn and so skeptical, you refused to acknowledge any of the signs I tried to send you."

"You were there?" I tried to think back to that time in my life. It had been difficult, but I'd survived by focusing on my children and my work. "Thank you. I'm sorry I refused to see. I didn't know." That last had a defensive sound to it. How could I have known? My beliefs limited me to the physical plane.

"Suzanne popped in on you then, too. So did your grandparents."

"Did they..." The words were difficult to say, but I had to ask. "Did they know you? Is Suzanne aware you're here?"

"Yes."

"Then why doesn't she help you?" Anger made me shout the words. What was wrong with all those dead people? Couldn't they rescue him?

"They would if they could. Don't blame them for the consequences of a decision I made."

Our quarry had disappeared into the kitchen, so we followed him. While Thomas fixed himself some dinner, Daniel and I continued our conversation.

"I'm not blaming them," I said. "But there has to be a way. You can't be stuck here forever. That's not fair."

He smiled. "I got to meet you, so it's worth it."

"I'm glad we met, too, but I'd have been willing to give that up if you could've crossed years ago."

Daniel shrugged. "Maybe things were meant to happen this way."

I snorted. "I've always hated when people said that. Meant to be? Are murders, tortures, rapes—all brutality—meant to be?"

"I don't know. We're dead, not—"

"Psychic. So you said."

Thomas's cell phone juddered, interrupting us. He retrieved it from the holster on his belt. "Tom Devereaux... Oh, hi, Marc... Okay, thanks for trying. It was a longshot. At least this proves she didn't take files home... Yeah, I appreciate it. Goodnight." He disconnected and clipped the phone back on his belt.

The microwave sounded, and he removed from it a plate piled high with some vegetarian pasta dish. He set the dish of food on the table and retrieved a wrapped salad and a bottle of wine from the fridge.

The wine was a pinot grigio, and the sight of it made my mouth water—an exciting sensation under the circumstances. After pouring some into a crystal goblet, Thomas tested the clarity against the white tablecloth and sipped. He smacked his lips and sipped again.

"Here." Daniel held out a glass of wine.

"What?" I asked, astonishment dripping from the single word.

He laughed. "You're drooling. Here's a glass of your own."

I accepted it without another word and sipped. The cool liquid slid down my throat, refreshing it. What a marvel. We could eat and drink? How was that possible? Which of the dozens of questions springing to mind should I ask first?

"Daniel..."

"Here's the bottom line: Yes, we can eat and drink. No, we can't get drunk, won't gain weight, or any of the physical things that happen when you're alive. I manifested this out of energy, but it's as incorporeal as we are." He held up his hand and a lit cigarette appeared between his fingers. "Smoking won't harm me, either. We can't get sick. We can't die—we're already dead."

The smoke from his cigarette wafted under my nose. It smelled heavenly. I'd always liked the smell of cigarette smoke, though I'd never smoked and avoided inhaling it second hand.

I glanced from Daniel to Thomas and back again.

"Will he smell that?"

"He might if he's sensitive or if his brain waves are in the right state. If he has a departed loved one who smoked this brand, he might think it's a visit from that person."

Thomas continued to eat his meal and sip his drink without any outward indication he sensed us. I enjoyed my own glass of wine as he ate.

"Why didn't you show me this sooner?" I asked with narrowed eyes.

"I didn't want to give you any incentive to stay."

"Drinking wasn't important to me when I was alive. I used to enjoy a glass of wine with dinner after a long day at work. This is nice."

"What are we doing here? We're watching a guy eat. He doesn't look in any danger."

"I didn't look in any danger either. Then I dropped dead." I contemplated what Thomas had said on the phone to my son. "I assumed Tom was taking over the project, but that doesn't make sense. If he'd taken over, he'd have been given the file."

"You think he's snooping?"

"Maybe. He used to snoop into my work. It drove me crazy. He'd find excuses to look over my shoulder. Or he'd volunteer to partner with me when projects were assigned, especially the ones with huge bonus potential—like my last one. That would explain why he and Laurel seem to be fighting over it like dogs over a chew toy." It occurred to me then that I could eavesdrop on his thoughts. "Give me a moment."

I focused on Thomas, opening up to receive whatever he was thinking.

Where's that damn file? Laurel must have taken it. Why not leave a copy on Jayden's hard drive? Has Laurel officially been assigned to take it over before I've even had a chance to make my case?

He rose and started clearing up his dishes, worrying over the file as he did.

She stole it. Laurel's so sure she's got the project, she swiped it. She was in Bernie's office for hours yesterday. He's given her the project.

"Have you been listening?" I asked Daniel.

"Yeah. Who's Bernie?"

"My boss. Why would he give Laurel the project? None of this makes sense. Thomas worked on it with me when an extra hand was required. He's familiar with it."

"You worked with him on it?"

"Not by choice. He was the one available."

"Is it a lucrative project?"

"Sure—for the company in revenues, and for the developer in bonuses and recognition."

"Must have been difficult to gather requirements."

"They sent a guy to liaise with me. He explained it, but he didn't tell me where he worked or what he did there."

"What was the project?"

"Data collection on whatever computer it was installed on. The data would then get sent to a server for processing. So, spyware. Also linked to wireless video and audio communication devices."

"Who were they spying on?"

"They didn't say. It's not my job to ask."

"Didn't you care?"

"All I was told was it was security software. If they lied to me, I didn't want to think about it." I gave a frustrated snort. "I minded my own business. You get used to keeping your mouth shut when you work with confidential, proprietary systems."

Daniel remained silent for a moment, watching Thomas dry his dishes and put them away. "Maybe Thomas pried into something dangerous."

"What do you mean?" However, I had a sick feeling and thought I knew. Had Thomas poked into this project, or another one as sensitive, and put himself at risk? "That's insane. Who'd murder a software developer?"

"Is that a rhetorical question?"

"That's not funny. He could be in danger." What had that idiot done? Had he no common sense? "We're assuming too much. He was only interested in taking over the project." But I couldn't stop thinking about all the times in the last few weeks that he'd peered over my shoulder, offered to help with testing, or in other ways insinuated himself into the project. He'd gone out of his way to be assigned to it as often as possible.

"He just wanted to work on it," I said, not certain if I was trying to convince Daniel or myself.

Dishes done, Thomas left the kitchen. I gave him a head start, tracing his path through the house. When he entered a bedroom on the second floor, I joined him, Daniel appearing beside me the moment I arrived.

The bedroom wasn't Thomas's. An elderly woman slept in the queen, four-poster bed. Red drapes, carpet, and velvet paper announced who'd done the decorating in this house.

"At least you know now that Thomas wasn't the one with the hideous taste," Daniel said.

"Don't count him out. We haven't seen his bedroom yet."

A woman in a nurse's uniform sat in a plush, black recliner, sipping a cup of tea. Knitting needles, a ball of yarn, and the beginnings of a scarf rested in her lap. She smiled a greeting at Thomas, and he nodded in acknowledgement.

"How was she today?" he asked, his voice a whisper.

"Fine, Tom. She sat up and read for a while."

Relief flooded his face. "That's great."

The nurse shook her head. "Her energy comes and goes. She's been asleep ever since she set down her book. I came in to sit with her until she woke up for her meds."

"Thank you. I've told you before it's not necessary to sit here when she sleeps."

"Aggie likes to see a friendly face when she wakes up, and it's my job to keep her happy."

"It's your job to take care of her, not to be her slave. You let her bully you." He spoke with affection, and he smiled indulgently, first at the nurse, and then at the woman in the bed who was obviously his mother.

In that moment, shame overwhelmed me. I'd worked with this man for four years. Never once had I asked him about his family. I hadn't cared what went on in his life or what burdens he had to bear. If I'd known he had a sickly mother to care for, I'd have been nicer to him.

"You think so?"

"I know so," I snapped at Daniel. "Obviously he has a heart. He never let me see it."

"Or you never let him show it to you."

"Are you saying it's my fault we didn't get along?"

"Are you denying it's your fault you didn't get along?"

I popped over to the bed and studied the old woman lying there. Her long, silver hair spread out on the pillow in waves. Tubes snaked from under the covers and into an IV stand. The blanket covered her up to her chin, hiding her body. The gaunt face and the slightness of the mound formed by her body told me she was not just thin but emaciated.

Cancer. It had to be.

"Her aura isn't black." I threw a puzzled gaze at Daniel.

"She's not going to die soon."

I looked over to where Thomas sat in an armchair next to the nurse. His aura surrounded him, black as ever.

"But Tom's is still black." I choked on the words. "We have to do something. His mother can't outlive him. We can't allow it."

"It's not up to us." Daniel's voice held compassion, his eyes, sorrow. "I'm sorry. In one, maybe two weeks, Thomas will be dead."
Chapter 14

Thomas's gentle laughter tugged me from the shock Daniel's words had induced. When I glanced over, Thomas was patting the nurse's hand and assuring her she didn't have to remain in the room.

"Let her use the buzzer, Nora. You've done enough for one night."

"I'll give her another half hour. If she doesn't wake by then, I'll nudge her. She'll need her eight o'clock pills."

"All right." He rose and stretched, pressing his palms to his lower back. "I've got some work to do before I can relax. I'll be in my office."

Considering he shouldn't have work files here at home, I was interested to see what he planned to work on. While he kissed his mother's cheek, I got a bead on the location of his home office from his mind and popped on over. Daniel was only seconds behind me.

"What are you up to, Thomas?" I muttered, hovering over his desk. His computer monitor sat dark, the power bar underneath the desk switched off.

The office itself had a pleasant ambience. The walls were painted a neutral cream. A fireplace and recliner with floor lamp made a cozy reading nook in one corner, and a wet bar consumed half the east wall. An ergonomic leather chair faced a light oak desk clear of clutter.

"All the comforts of home," I said, envy tainting my voice.

My desk was always over-run with papers, stacks of books, doodads and folderol, pens—half of them dry of ink—candles, and anything else I'd accumulated over the years that I'd needed or wanted close to me while playing around on my computer.

Most of my personal time on it was spent playing games, surfing the Net, writing, or studying. Tech skills had to be upgraded regularly or you risked falling behind. Thomas's desk showed no evidence he even used it. Impressive.

Bookcases lined the south wall. An examination revealed the books were mostly non-fiction.

"He has an interest in the paranormal." My voice betrayed shock.

"Why is that so strange?" Daniel asked.

"He's an engineer."

Daniel laughed. "So they can't believe in the paranormal?"

"He has a book on communicating with spirits. It's not very scientific."

"And yet, here we are."

To that, I had no response.

Thomas entered the room and went directly to the wet bar. He filled a kettle and plugged it in before striding to his desk and powering up the computer. When he opened the files he wanted to work on, I moved behind him and peered over his shoulder. For once, I would do the snooping.

He opened a journal.

"A diary," I said, answering the question Daniel had asked in his thoughts. "Maybe this'll tell me what's going on, otherwise, we may have to pay Laurel a visit."

He didn't reply, and his silence told me he wasn't thrilled with my plans.

"I have to know."

"I didn't say anything, Jayden."

"You didn't have to."

Another cigarette appeared in his hand, and he puffed on it. "I didn't even think anything."

"No. But whether you approve or not, we have to figure out what's going to kill Thomas. If it's preventable, I'll stop it."

When Daniel still refused to comment, I returned to scanning Thomas's file. Thankfully, the kettle shrieked then and he went to fix his tea. I wanted to read what was displayed before he scrolled away from it to begin today's entry.

September 30, 2016

Jayden wasn't in the office when I arrived this morning, which was highly unusual. She's always there before me. I wasn't concerned, assuming she had an appointment, but then Bernie called us all into the boardroom to tell us she'd had a heart attack and died.

I don't know how to handle this. She was a lovely woman—and I don't just mean her physical beauty, which she certainly had. When she was around, I wanted to be near her. I know I annoyed the hell out of her—she made that abundantly clear. But there was something about her that was gentle underneath and that I wanted to be around.

If only I hadn't spent so much time pestering her. But I knew she didn't like me, and it hurt, so I defaulted to arrogance. I loved telling her about the women I dated and treating her like one of the guys. Or hitting on her in ways that riled her.

I'll miss her and what might have been had we been different people.

The worst part is, she'll never know how much I tried to help her. That damn project. Good girl that she was, she towed the company line and didn't dig.

At that moment, Thomas returned and scrolled away from the entry. He entered the current date and wrote that he'd had no luck locating the project file and was relieved I hadn't taken it home.

Why?

I turned to Daniel. "Time to visit Laurel."

***

Laurel lived in Aurora in one of the new apartment complexes off Bayview Avenue. When Daniel and I appeared in her living room, she was in the midst of having after-dinner coffee and dessert with Bernie Dawson.

"Interesting. I didn't know she and Bernie were this cozy."

Laurel had always told me she didn't trust Bernie—that he held us back because we were women.

I'd never believed her. My dealings with him had been positive, and he'd never struck me as sexist or misogynistic. He wanted the right person for the job—not because he believed in fair play so much as he believed in making money. Get the best person who could do exceptional work fast and maximize profit.

"Maybe they're still working through their grief over your loss."

I started to laugh but cut myself off when I realized Daniel was serious.

"No, that's not it. Look how close they're sitting. It's so intimate."

Daniel contemplated for a moment, and his expression told me he was picking up their thoughts.

"He has a wife."

The incredulity in his voice drove the chuckle from me. "When did that ever stop a guy?"

"My dear, were you always this cynical?"

I frowned at him, and he said, "I'm sorry. Did Rory cheat on you? I thought he met Clara after you'd divorced."

"After we separated. My cynicism isn't Rory's fault. It's life's fault, I guess. Too much misery and hurt everywhere." I scowled. "I never expected Laurel to be the other woman, though."

"How much will the new project net the company, Bern?" Laurel scooted closer to Bernie on the brown leather sofa and put a hand on his arm.

"At least a million."

"Same client?" Was that a hint of nervousness in her voice?

"Is that an issue for you?"

"After what happened to Jayden? Yes, it's an issue for me."

"What do you know about the client?" He squinted his eyes, studying her, suspicion lacing his voice.

"Nothing," she said, too quickly. When she continued, it was with a stammer. "I have no idea who the client is. Just the liaison. Jayden didn't know either."

"Jayden was snooping into things she shouldn't have been snooping into."

My stomach lurched. "Daniel, as God is my witness, I don't know what they're talking about."

"And Thomas?" said Laurel.

"Him too. I warned him—warned everyone who works at Dawson Data to stay out of the client's business. Jayden ignored that, and Thomas is ignoring that. Watch yourself, Laurel."

"What does that mean?" Daniel asked me. "What did you do?"

"What they told me to do. I communicated with one guy. All I knew about him was that his name was Gerry. I didn't even get a last name."

When he didn't reply, I said, "Was I murdered?" My voice shook. "How? The doctors said it was a heart attack. They said that!" I was getting hysterical, but I couldn't stop the babbling. "How could I have been murdered? You can't give someone a heart attack."

"It's okay." He put his arms around me. "We'll figure it out."

"Oh, God. What if whoever the client is thinks I have files at home? Thomas came looking. What if they hurt my kids? I have to get back to them. They have to be warned."

"Jayden—"

Whatever he said, I never heard. I was already back at my house.

***

The main floor of the house was dark and quiet. I followed Marc's thoughts to his room where he sat at his desk, working on his computer. When I peeked over his shoulder, I saw a lot of math and physics. A programming book lay open on his desk, and one on calculus rested open in his lap. Envy flared through me. I'd always enjoyed studying calculus. It would be nice to lose myself in it again.

Since Marc was all right, I turned my attention to Silver. She also was in her room, but she wasn't alone. Harrison was with her, which reassured me. They didn't seem agitated, so their talk with his parents must have gone well.

"They'll be fine." Daniel had joined me and stood behind me.

"I hope so. If anyone tries to hurt them, I'll—"

"—haunt them. Yes, I know."

"It's the truth. No one hurts my kids. No one." I hurled the words out in a torrent.

"Easy, girl. You have no reason to think anyone wants to." He put his arm around me again, and this time, I let it soothe me.

"What can we do?" I couldn't think. Yesterday, my worst problem had been that my teenage daughter was pregnant. Today, I was certain I'd been murdered. "I have to prove they killed me."

"If they've found a way to give someone a heart attack remotely, they're damn good," Daniel said.

"I was at home. Poison in my lunch? Would have been difficult. I make my lunch and keep it in a cooler bag by my desk. I mean, used to." It's difficult to think of yourself as dead when you still exist.

"What did you do that day? Where did you go?"

At that moment, Marc went rigid, and he rose from his chair. Shivering, he grabbed a sweater from his dresser. With a puzzled expression, he scanned the room.

"Mom? Are you here?"

"He feels me." I was unable to hide the excitement in my voice. "Marc!"

"Shouting doesn't help. They either hear you or they don't."

"Help me, Daniel. Make him hear me." I turned a pleading gaze on him.

"What do you expect me to do?" he asked.

"I don't know!" I tried to stomp across the room and only managed to jump from one spot to the other. Chains appeared in my hands, and I rattled them, shaking the holy hell out of them.

"A bit cliché, don't you think?" The grin on Daniel's face made me bust out a laugh.

"I have to do something. They're cliché for a reason."

Marc returned to his desk and picked up his textbook again, but he didn't even glance at it. "I miss you, Mom—if you're here, I want you to know how much I love you. You always said it to me, but I didn't tell you enough. I regret that."

"Oh, baby, it's okay. I know you love me." The chains vanished—stupid idea, anyway—and I threw my arms around my boy. "Oh, God, it hurts you can't see me."

He shivered again, despite the sweater.

"Mom? I know you're here." He paused, and his frustration leaked out of him and into me. "You were at the visitation and the funeral, too. I sensed you. I could smell you."

I threw Daniel a horrified look. "I smell?"

"Everybody has a scent. You don't wear perfume, but your shampoo has a flowery scent. Lilacs?"

"Lavender—and it's the conditioner. The smell of my conditioner survived my death?" I shook my head. "It doesn't matter. What's important is Marc knows I'm here."

"When your vibration lowers, you are more physical, and those in the physical plane will more easily sense you."

"Then Silver will recognize my presence?" Hope surged into my heart. My girl would know me. I popped over to her room.

Daniel followed instantly. "Cut that out."

"What?" I gazed down at Silver and Harrison lying in her bed. Both slept, Harrison's light snoring the only sound.

"Disappearing without informing me. I hate that."

"Sorry. I can't get used to how quickly things happen when all I do is think of them." I faced him. "I know where we need to go next."
Chapter 15

When I explained to Daniel who I wanted to see next, he argued. "If you follow the trail to the client now, you'll risk your family."

"I'm _dead_." That, ladies and gentlemen, explained everything. I'm dead. End of story. He wanted to tell me I should do this, or I couldn't do that? Wrong. I'm dead. Get it? When you're dead, you are master of your own domain. Queen of your castle. Go to the other side? Nope. Don't' want to. Don't have to. I'm dead. You want to tell me I can't track someone down? Sorry, I can do what I want. I'm dead.

"Jayden." His tone oozed patience, but his eyes flashed with irritation. "I understand you're angry."

"Angry," I said through clenched teeth, "doesn't begin to cover it."

He stroked a hand down my arm, clasping me by the wrist when he reached it. "Honey, the things you're thinking, the impulses compelling you to act, they're understandable."

I waited, the big, fat "but" hanging in the air as if he'd already said it.

"But it's rash. We can't interfere."

"We're here. No one can stop us."

"Do you think there'll be no consequences to our actions because we're not fully on the earth plane?"

That gave me pause. "You've been doing what you want for decades. Spirits can do whatever they want."

"So it would seem." He took my hand. "Come with me."

I gave him a reluctant nod, and we vanished from Silver's bedroom.

***

We appeared on the moon. The freakin' moon! Imagine it. Sure, I'd been reading minds and popping over to Hawaii, but I had no idea how broad my horizons really were. Dazed, I attempted to walk across the dusty terrain, but only popped from where I was to where I wanted to be.

"I want to walk!" It came out a wail of frustration. "Why can't I walk?"

Daniel strode to my side.

"Show-off."

"Give it time. You can go to the moon."

"Or anywhere in the universe?"

"Yes." He sounded so blasé.

"Why didn't you show me this before?"

He smiled. "I showed you Hawaii."

We'd stood on clouds. That should have tipped me off to our capabilities. "The sky's not the limit. Hey," I said, as something occurred to me. "I'm the first woman on the moon."

Daniel gave me a cheeky grin. "No, you're not."

"You brought other women here."

His smile broadened. "Best way I know to impress the ladies."

"You're hitting on women who've died?" My opinion of him lowered a little.

"It's not as bad as it sounds. You had a nice time when we went to Hawaii, didn't you?"

"Yes."

"You're my niece. I wanted to help you cope with what happened. It worked, didn't it?"

"Yes, I had an amazing time."

"I've helped others deal with the transition, and not all of them were my relatives. So I want to impress the ladies. Why is that so bad?"

"You're taking advantage of them."

He raised his hands toward the heavens where stars and uninterrupted blackness shimmered. "Look at it. It takes your breath away."

I scanned the darkness for the Earth and spotted it, a pale blue dot. "So beautiful."

"As you're so fond of saying, we're dead. When I bring a woman here, I simply want to share a special place and time with her. There's nothing sexual about it. It helps them gain perspective. Do you understand?"

The Earth floated, far away, a ball with swirling clouds, blue oceans, and brown lands.

"It's so beautiful," I repeated—and it was. The sight filled my heart with joy. I imagined new spirits coming here with Daniel, a strange new friend. A kind new friend. A friend to guide them through a disorienting new existence.

"I think I do," I replied. "What's down there," I said, pointing at the Earth, "all that activity, all the worry, means nothing out here."

We fell silent for a moment, and in the silence, he took my hand. His palm warmed mine, and its solidity released tension from my whole being.

"On the other side, these problems must seem even more vague and meaningless," I said.

"I don't think so," he replied. "I think they mean even more on many levels."

"Don't be so cryptic, Uncle." I smiled at him with affection. "Are you telling me there's a reason for what's happened? For what's happening?"

"And for what will happen," he concluded.

"You can't ask me to forget about everything they've done to me and my family."

"Would you agree there's a reason for everything?"

I considered it. When I was alive, I'd believed everything was random, coincidental, or pointless. The only one who controlled my fate was me. But someone else had decided I had to die, and I had been powerless in my ignorance to prevent it. My children—and my grandchildren—would suffer the consequences of what some faceless sociopath had orchestrated.

"Cause and effect," I finally said.

When I didn't say anything more, Daniel prompted me to continue. "Yes?"

"They messed with the wrong woman," I snarled. "What they did, they had no right to do. They've stepped on a landmine, and I'm going to explode. They caused it. I'm the effect. If there's a reason for everything, then there's a reason they picked me and a reason I'm going after them. I want to know who did this. I have a right to know."

A noise behind me had me spinning around in time to see the portal that had followed me around for two days vanish from my sight.

"Well, what do you know?" I said, easing from tirade to smugness. "I'm trapped here. Eternity is mine, and I'm going to take advantage of it."

***

Gerry, the client's liaison for the project of death, was my logical go-to person now. I tapped into his thoughts by visualizing him and focusing. I shuddered when I picked up his thoughts, grim, black, and preoccupied with killing.

"This guy had me killed." Wonder, more than anything else, filled my voice. "How can someone kill in cold blood?"

"Sadly, too many people are capable of that," Daniel replied. "They justify it, though not all of them manage to sleep in peace after, no matter what they tell themselves."

"What happens to them when they die?" I returned my gaze to the Earth and grimaced at it as if I could see evil wafting from it like smog.

"Same thing that happened to us: they cross to the other side, are allowed to return for their final goodbyes, and then they leave through the portal."

"Aren't they punished?" If they weren't, then getting retribution on my killers was even more critical.

"I don't know what you expect to happen. You mean, are they sent to Hell? If you're looking for Divine retribution, you won't find it. What does happen, I've been told, is that everyone goes to the level of their vibration. This means those who aren't as spiritually evolved have a longer journey through the various levels, and it'll take more lifetimes to accomplish it. There's also a life review, and the worse your behaviour in life, the more unpleasant the review experience is. But you're the only one who judges your life."

"Great. So the monsters who slaughter innocents get to judge their own actions."

Would I be able to appear to Gerry as an avenging angel and terrify him? The moment the thought passed through my mind, I morphed. I must have appeared sufficiently terrifying because Daniel cried out in alarm.

When he caught his breath, he said, "Knock it off, Jayden. Obviously, you can appear any way you want. You're assuming, though. When you undergo a life review, you live it from the perspective of the other people involved, and you experience your actions firsthand from their point of view."

I returned to my own form.

"So Hitler experienced what his victims endured?" That was more like it.

"Yes. Kind of gives new meaning to 'do unto others,' doesn't it?"

Something niggled the back of my brain.

"Is that why you won't leave? You're afraid to relive what you did from your friend's and your girlfriend's perspective?"

When he averted his gaze and remained silent, I had my answer.

"Uncle, I'm sorry."

He must have suffered immensely when his loved ones had died, leaving him between this world and the next.

"Don't you think you've punished yourself long enough?"

"I can't leave," he whispered.

"Can't? Or won't?"

He again refused to respond, so I dropped it.

"We're paying Gerry a visit. If it means we can prevent him from harming anyone else, we have to. Maybe that's the reason for everything that's happened and for us meeting."

Daniel's eyes narrowed as he thought about it.

"Okay."

Arms linked, we left the moon and reappeared by Gerry's side.

He wasn't alone, and it was evident we'd stumbled onto something more terrifying than I'd imagined.
Chapter 16

We found Gerry in his office. At first glance, it appeared to be a typical office. The furniture was more expensive than what we had at Dawson's, but it was all your standard pieces for an executive office: desk with an ergonomic chair behind it and two chrome and leather chairs in front; a sideboard with coffee machine and tea service; and a round table with four chairs.

Then I spotted the terrifying features.

My picture, one of many, was thumbtacked to a board. A red 'X' marred it, as well as some of the others, but most were unmarked. Next to mine, hung Thomas's picture. It was unspoiled. The flagged ones were probably people already dead and the unmarked ones still living. Anyone seeing this would draw the same conclusion.

The man himself sat on the couch, ankle propped on knee, a mug of coffee in his fist.

Gerry, whose last name I still didn't know, wasn't an attractive man. He'd always had an icy stare, despite the fact that his eyes were brown—an eye colour I'd always associated with warmth. A bald spot crowned his noggin, and he kept the rest of his hair, which was salt and pepper, army trim.

Even when he wore a suit—and he always did whenever I saw him, including now—he carried himself as if he were wearing fatigues. When we'd worked together, I'd kept expecting him to tell me to drop and give him twenty. His mouth curved down even when he was relaxed, making his expression the male version of the resting bitch face.

On the couch next to him sat another man. The sight of him froze my blood.

This man was younger than Gerry and sexy in a rock star kind of way. He had full lips any woman would fantasize about kissing. His eyes, brown as acorns, held the warmth that was missing from Gerry's.

Black bangs that he'd brushed to the side drooped onto his forehead, giving him the air of a rebel. Even though he was sitting, I could tell he was tall. Despite the suit, I could see he was fit and muscular.

Death swirled around him. This man had killed, and he'd killed recently.

Pointing to the younger man, I said, "He's the man who murdered me."

Here sat my murderer, having coffee with the man who'd likely told him to do it.

"Why are you so sure?" Daniel asked.

"I just know. Gerry relayed the orders. This other man pulled the trigger."

"Pulled the trigger how? You had a heart attack."

"That's what we're here to find out."

The younger man rose and walked to the wall of targets. From his thoughts, I picked up the name "Michael Valiant."

Michael removed the thumbtack from Thomas's picture and studied the image.

"Did you send me the file?" he asked, his voice deep and soothing.

"Right before you got here, Mick. Check your email."

He nodded. "How?"

I shivered, nauseated. He wasn't asking how to check email.

"The ray." In his mind, an image of what looked like a laser pointer appeared.

"Two heart attacks in two weeks in people too young and healthy to have heart problems?" He tacked the photo back onto the board and perched on the edge of the desk.

Gerry shrugged. "No one will put it together. The average person won't have the smarts or the leverage to act on any suspicions. They'd probably suspect something in the office environment or work-related stress."

"Are there issues with the environment?"

"No, the building's too new."

"Then why—"

"It was a for instance, Mick. Relax. You're always over-thinking things." Gerry grinned, and, chillingly, the grin was affectionate.

Would he still qualify as a sociopath if he could feel affection for another person?

"Maybe he's not a sociopath," Daniel said.

"Then even more reason to be terrified. He believes in his mission then. He's a crusader."

"They're discussing the Tesla Ray."

"What's that? How do you know?"

"Picked it up from their minds. It's a death ray. Ever hear of physicist Nikola Tesla?"

"Of course," I replied.

"Some think he created a death ray machine that used a microwave beam to penetrate walls and cause damage."

"How do you know this?"

"Tesla's work fascinated me. Society gave him a raw deal. Rumour had it, the FBI stole his personal documents, and the plans to the death ray were in there."

I gasped. "How is it possible? The government created a death ray? That's crazy."

Daniel shook his head. "Tesla wanted his research used for society's benefit—to do good. The government wanted a deadlier weapon. I thought it was just another conspiracy theory. Guess I was wrong."

Michael returned to sit across from Gerry and checked his cell phone.

"When?"

I held my breath.

"We're waiting on some final surveillance reports to come in. If he's still snooping, you'll get the green light day after tomorrow," Gerry replied.

"I'll be ready." Michael rose and stretched, arching his back. "I'm going home. Jess has been complaining I don't spend enough time with her. If I leave now, I'll arrive in time to go to bed with her."

"You're whipped. You've always been whipped."

"She's not being unreasonable, and I want to spend more time with her. She's my wife, Torque."

Gerry, who apparently went by the nickname Torque—where do guys come up with these silly names?—seemed displeased at the reminder that Michael cared about his wife, but it made me strangely relieved.

If he could love another person, maybe there was hope for him.

***

Early the next day, Daniel and I followed Thomas to his cubicle at the office.

If we could force Thomas to stop his snooping, or, barring that, convince Gerry's spies that Thomas had backed off, we could save his life. I had to believe that.

Daniel disagreed. He was convinced this was a done deal, fated, which infuriated me. I refused to believe the future was set. If that's the case, then we should all give up striving for anything.

I also had a nagging feeling I'd missed something critical.

Gerry had said he was waiting on surveillance reports. If they didn't assassinate people willy-nilly, then something or someone had driven them to conclude they had to eliminate me. But I hadn't done anything wrong.

When I tried to recall anything suspicious about my behaviour around Gerry at work, I drew a blank. I'd treated him the way I treated all clients: with respect and no interest taken in his personal life. I only asked questions about the job and nothing about his business.

So where had it all gone so fatally wrong?

Thomas booted up his computer and dove right into digging through the network files for information on my project. He'd accepted that Laurel now controlled it, but he persisted in his quest to track the files.

"Damn you." My irritation spiked when I tried again to pace and only succeeded in popping to one end of the room and back again. I hadn't realized how often I'd used pacing to work through my frustrations until I physically couldn't do it.

Desperate to stop Thomas, I appeared behind him and rammed my hand through his monitor. His computer was an all-in-one, which meant everything including the hard drive and processor were inside the monitor. It made a satisfying sizzle when my fist thrust through the screen and out the other side.

The odor of burning plastic wafted through the air, and the screen flickered and went dark. Thomas cursed. Even though he knew better, he pressed the power button in a useless attempt at turning it back on.

"No good, Tommy boy," I said.

His head jerked up as if he'd heard me, but if he suspected I was there, he didn't show it. He grabbed his phone and called for tech support.

My little stunt didn't slow him down for long. Within an hour, he had a replacement computer and was back on the network.

We never saved files to internal hard drives. Everything was saved to an external drive, which was backed up to the network and locked up at day's end. He hadn't lost anything but hardware.

Satisfying as it had been to affect something on the physical plane, repeatedly frying his electronics would be a useless exercise. However, it made me realize I was becoming physical enough to force him to recognize my presence.

I scanned the cubicle and spotted his coffee mug on the corner of his desk. The question was, could I affect solid objects as well as electronics?

"Daniel," I called out. "Help me fling this coffee mug across the room."

If we could get it soaring, Thomas couldn't explain it away. He'd have to consider paranormal involvement. Since I was his only recently dead acquaintance, he'd have to recognize I was behind it.

"You can do it." Daniel crossed his arms over his chest and prepared to observe the fun.

"Do I punch it?" I licked my lips and rubbed my hands together. _It's just a cup. How hard can it be?_

Impossible, I realized, if I didn't have a low enough vibration. I inhaled and braced for impact.

"Use your mind. Visualize the cup hitting the back wall over there." He pointed in the appropriate direction.

"Okay. Watch this."

I roared as I struck, imagining the mug splatting against the wall, coffee spraying everywhere.

It didn't even make it off the desk. The mug shifted an inch closer to the desk's edge and remained vertical, taunting me.

"Again!" Daniel shouted into my ear, and without thinking, I slammed it again.

This time, it hurled off the desk and into the wall, shattering, spraying glorious coffee everywhere.

A sudden craving had me manifesting a cup of dark Arabian brew in my hand, hot enough to raise steam. I inhaled its aroma and took an appreciative sip.

Thomas, meanwhile, lurched to his feet. He raced to where the remnants of his mug had fallen, scattered below the milky residue trickling down the wall.

"Tom?" Laurel peered over her side of the cubicle wall. "You okay?"

"I dropped my coffee." He continued to stare at it. _How the fuck did that happen?_

I winced at the use of the "f" word, but what could I do? He was a curser from way back. No matter how often I'd asked him to clean it up when in my presence, he'd never learned to control it.

To be honest, I was seriously tempted to take up cursing myself after what I'd learned over the last two days.

"You dropped it against the wall?" Laurel raised her brows.

"Yes. I tripped. It flew. That's the result." Thomas waved his hand in the direction of the mess. Outwardly, his confidence hadn't wavered, though when I tapped into his thoughts, they were sprinkled with curses and laced with unease.

_He can't deny something weird just happened._ I skipped in place.

"Are you all right?" Laurel asked him.

"Fine." Thomas paused. "How's the project going? The one you inherited from Jayden?"

Laurel huffed out a breath. "It's difficult. Every time I work on it, I think about poor Jay. I'll never get over losing her."

Her eyes misted, but her thoughts betrayed her: _Jesus, Bernie's right. Tom's snooping. Idiot. Drop it._

"Daniel, follow her for the day. Find out what she knows. See if you can pick up an explanation for why they killed me."

He nodded, understanding in his eyes. He disappeared, his destination Laurel's cubicle.
Chapter 17

Laurel remained chatting with Thomas as he cleaned up the mess with a whiskbroom, dustpan, and paper towels he'd had stashed in his desk drawer. Who kept cleaning supplies in their cubicle? This place had a nightly cleaning service. I had no idea he was such a neat freak.

"Tom." The seriousness and the hesitation in Laurel's voice made him look up and hold her gaze.

"What is it?"

The coffee-soaked paper towel sprinkled drops onto his shoe when he shifted his weight. He swore and tossed it into the garbage can by his desk.

"The project's close to completion. She did excellent work. You know how she was: thorough, perfectionistic. She put in a ton of hours."

"Yeah." He snatched another piece of paper towel from the roll and wiped his shoe. As he tossed the wadded paper into the trash, he said, "So?"

"The client was happy with the work. But with Jayden gone, they've decided to deal only with Bernie going forward."

"Why?" He soaked another wad of paper with bottled water, and proceeded to wipe down the remaining traces of coffee on the wall.

"Probably to maintain anonymity. Their work is highly sensitive. How much did Jayden explain to you?"

He shrugged. "Just that. I never met the client she liaised with."

"Good." She nodded. "She was always careful to maintain confidentiality."

Thomas chucked the last paper ball into the trash and fisted his hands on his hips. "What's this all about, Laurel?"

"I'm not shutting you out. Bernie thinks I should work alone on this. He'll communicate with the client and give me direction, but he wants me to work on it solo."

"That'll extend the deadline. Did you tell him that?"

"He knows. The client's aware. They said they can live with that. What's important is having as few eyes on it as possible. Okay?"

"Sure." He shrugged. "Less work for me. Good luck with it." He rested his hand on the top of the divider. "I'd better get back to work. Thanks for the update."

"Okay." She placed a hand on his arm. "It's for the best, Tom. You'll still get credit for work done. I can handle what's left."

She turned away, and he returned to his desk.

Determined to force him to sense me, I appeared behind him, leaned over, and hugged him. I nuzzled my face against his neck—hell, I would have licked it if it would get his attention.

Nothing.

He continued perusing the files on the network.

"They'll track you, you idiot! Stop it!"

I swatted his mouse. It flew across the desk and dropped to the floor.

Thomas leapt to his feet. He scanned the office, but no one had reacted.

I gripped him around the waist and squeezed without penetrating his body. That isn't as gross as it sounds—neither of us felt anything. People walked through me all the time, a side effect of being invisible and without substance.

This time, he shivered. He snatched his jacket off the back of his chair and slipped it on as he sat down again.

"It's Jayden!" My voice sounded mechanical and irritating, but desperation kept me screaming. "I'm here." I kept up a steady barrage of shrieks.

Thomas had gone pale, so maybe it was working. He recoiled in his chair. When he reached out to retrieve his mouse from the floor, his hand shook.

Jayden, are you around me? Do you see us?

At last, his thoughts travelled in the right direction. I searched the desk and almost went for the candy dish—a bowl full of chocolate kisses would be fun for him to pick off the floor—when I chose the light bulb in the desk lamp instead.

If the bulb had been an energy-efficient fluorescent one, I wouldn't have tried this. They contain mercury, and I was trying to save this weasel's life, not end it. Luckily, it was one of the old-style lightbulbs. Breaking it would only scare him, not make him sick or kill him.

I gripped the bulb and squeezed. For a moment, nothing happened. I screamed in rage. The glass shattered and the light went out, not only in Thomas's cubicle, but in the entire IT department. To finish the deal, I shoved my hand into the outlet where his power bar was plugged in. All the units in the department went down.

"To answer your question, Tom, yes, I'm here and I see you." I sat on top of his desk, legs crossed, and waited.

"Oh, my God," he whispered. _Jayden, if that was you..._

Around us, pandemonium ensued, but Thomas remained in his seat, silently staring at his dark computer screen.

After a moment, he opened his desk drawer and removed a pad of paper and a pen. He set them on the desk.

Can you write?

_Good question._ Excellent idea if it worked.

My fingers struggled to grip the pen, but they kept slipping through it. Huffing with frustration, I swatted it, and it flew off the desk and crashed against the partition.

_Okay_ , Thomas thought.

He picked up the pen and set the tip against the paper as if he wanted to jot down a note. Inhaling deeply, he closed his eyes.

Can you channel a message through me?

From where had this idea come? I was intrigued but didn't know what to do. How did mediums channel? Did a spirit take over their bodies? For lack of a better idea, I sat in his lap and let my body sink into his.

Instantly, I felt the pen gripped in his fist, and that was great. But I also felt his body encasing mine, and the shock propelled me to my feet.

It must have affected Thomas, too, because he tilted off his chair and collapsed on the floor in a dead faint.
Chapter 18

They sent him home.

After Thomas regained consciousness, he checked in at the nurse's station. The nurse told him he'd probably caught a stomach bug and needed to go home to recuperate. As he retrieved his bagged lunch and whatever else he'd stored in his cubicle for the day, Bernie stuck his head in to have a word. He kept his distance and didn't touch anything.

"Feeling okay to drive?" _God help me if he passes out at the wheel and kills someone. The last thing I need is a lawsuit from some family whose kid he killed._

_Nice, Bernie_ , I thought. _Very compassionate._

"Yeah, I'm fine. Just need some rest."

In reality, Thomas had not only recovered, he was trying to hide his excitement. His thoughts rushed at me a mile-a-minute, and it was all I could do not to take over his body again to knock him out and shut him up.

I've got to get home. Jayden, stay with me. We have to communicate. It'll work out better next time. When I'm home, we'll be undisturbed.

And on and on and on it went. I had to hand it to him—most people would be losing their mind if a ghost took possession of their body. Thomas was revved up about it, but not in a bad way. He was excited and anxious for more.

Satisfied that he'd at least make it home okay without me riding along, I popped over to see how Daniel was doing with Laurel.

He lounged in a chair next to her desk, his long legs stretched out, his feet propped up on the arm of her chair.

Laurel was nowhere in sight. She'd joined the others in the department for coffee in the kitchen while the electrician worked on the power outage. Most of the PCs in here would probably have to be replaced. That gave me some satisfaction.

"You look comfortable," I said.

Daniel dropped his feet to the floor and sat up straight. "She's not digging into anything she shouldn't now, but she was. According to her thoughts, she's the one who was snooping through your stuff and into the client files."

His eyes flared with anger, and he scowled. "She hacked into your computer from her desk and snooped from there."

"Oh, my God." I put a hand over my stomach. "She set me up?"

"Not deliberately. She covered her ass by exposing yours. You thought she was your friend, but she put you at risk to protect herself."

"Why was she digging?"

"She knew you had a lucrative contract and wanted to find out how much of a goldmine it really was. Once informed, she planned to confront Bernie and get a piece of the pie."

I perched on her desk. "She knows who the client is?"

Daniel shook his head. "She didn't get that far. Turns out, she didn't need to. All she had to do was seduce Bernie Dawson and the project was hers. Of course, you helpfully died first, and she convinced Dawson to pull the project from Thomas, who was at that point the most logical person to take over."

"I don't blame Thomas for trying to get the project back, but he can't continue to access the files. He's oblivious to how dangerous what he's doing is." I leaned forward, anxious. "We have to get to Tom's. I've managed to convince him I'm still around. We can save his life."

For the first time since I'd seen the black in Thomas's aura, I felt certain we could change the future.

***

Daniel and I arrived on Thomas's front porch as he pulled into the driveway. We went into the house while he parked the car in the garage and met him in the kitchen.

He scanned the room as if searching for me, so I moved next to him and hugged him. He shivered. Perhaps frequent exposure to me made him more sensitive to my energy.

"Jayden?" Thomas staggered and braced himself with a hand on the counter. He took a deep breath and exhaled. "I'm dizzy. I don't know if it's you or not, but my head is spinning."

I searched the room for a way to make my presence known. This time, I didn't want to cause a huge mess—I only wanted to let him know it was me.

"Knock on the wall," Daniel suggested.

"I can do that?"

"Well, sure. You hear about ghosts rapping on doors or tables all the time."

The kitchen table was solid oak.

"That'll do," I said and went to it.

First, I tried banging my fist on it. Both Daniel and I heard it loud and clear, but Thomas continued to stare into space with a hopeful expression.

"Harder."

"Okay, Coach." I grinned.

Daniel is the nicest dead uncle a girl could have. "I love you, Uncle. Thanks for helping me."

His face flushed pink, and he averted his eyes. "Thanks, Jayden. I love you, too."

"I had to say that. You never know when things will change."

He nodded. "No one ever learns that when they're alive."

I wasn't sure that was always true, but it was in my case. If I'd known my time was up, I'd have told a lot of people, especially my kids, how much I loved them. Maybe I'd even have gone out with Thomas, just once, and given him a chance. He wasn't so bad when you got to know him.

Throwing emotion into it, I pounded on the table. All the other times I'd managed to affect the environment, I'd been upset, angry, or in some way surging with emotion.

Thomas leapt to the table and gripped it with both hands, hard enough to turn the knuckles white.

"Is someone here? Do that again. One knock if it's Jayden, two if you're someone else."

This was good. We could at least do a question and answer session using yes and no. I gave another solid tap.

"Jayden, Oh, my God." He released the table and paced. "I wish I could see you. Okay, I have to test this. If this is Jayden, knock once for yes if your daughter's name is Patricia and twice for no."

I was impatient to get to the project-related stuff, but didn't blame him for wanting to verify. I banged twice.

"All right. Good." He paced some more. "Were you at your funeral?"

Bang.

"Were you watching us at the cemetery?"

Bang.

"The service was lovely. I'm happy you were there."

Impatient, I considered throwing something across the room so he'd get to the good stuff, when he changed his line of questioning.

"Do you know Laurel has control of your project?"

Bang.

"They've booted me off."

_Don't tell me stuff I already know._ How could I tell him not to keep digging? How could I explain anything? Why couldn't he hear my voice?

I did the only thing I could do: _Bang. Bang._

"No?" He studied the table as if it held all the answers. "You want me to try to get back onto the project?"

A scream of frustration burst from me. "Damn it, no!"

Bang. Bang.

"Okay." He fell silent, deep in thought. To cut to the chase, I eavesdropped, so when he spoke again, I already knew what his idea was. It was a good one.

He explained he'd like to execute it at 3:00 o'clock in the morning. He thought he had to wait until the witching hour. _Cute._ I rapped once in agreement.

If we had the rest of the day to ourselves, I knew exactly who I wanted to visit next.

I waved a hand to Daniel and saw agreement in his eyes.

Together, we disappeared from Thomas's kitchen and went to find the enemy.
Chapter 19

We found Gerry in his boss's office, an elegantly furnished tribute to a long and lucrative career. Degrees, awards, and photographs of past triumphs and celebrity encounters adorned the wall. In the corner, a gas woodstove with a gold cooktop emitted a warm light and probably a comforting heat. It reminded me that fall was underway and, though Daniel and I didn't feel it, a chill was in the outside air.

Jim Cornell looked close in age to Gerry—maybe early fifties—and resembled a cartoon character. Cornell's cheeks were chubby, his head almost bald. He had a monk's fringe and sorrowful eyes that, combined with his horn-rimmed glasses, added a comical touch.

Gerry slouched on one of the armchairs in front of Cornell's desk. He looked more miserable than usual.

"I don't know what happened. Dawson says a power surge knocked everything out. They didn't lose any work."

"What about that new girl? Laurel Kincaid?"

"Dawson's got her on a short leash. He assures me there'll be no problems. She'll get the project completed."

"Does he still believe we're with the DND?" Cornell asked, referring to the Canadian Department of National Defence.

"Yeah. He doesn't pry, so other than at our first meeting, it's never come up again. All he cares about is the money we're paying. As long as we're giving him more than the work is worth, he'll remain uninterested."

Cornell leaned back in his chair, looking satisfied. "How's Mick?"

Gerry snatched his mug of coffee from the coaster on the desk and sipped before replying. His thoughts told me he was stalling for time. Interesting.

"Fine," Gerry said with a firm voice.

"No issues?"

"None that I can see." His tone dripped innocence, but he couldn't hide his internal unease from me.

I'd have to spend some time with this Michael person. Perhaps I could rock his solid little world enough to at least get him fired.

Daniel interrupted my plans. "That'd be playing a dangerous game."

"What? Getting a killer fired? Yeah, I'd be real sorry," I snapped in response.

Cornell spoke then, dragging us back to the main conversation.

"Bringing him into the office is a risk, Torque. I hope you're watching him."

I popped over to sit on Cornell's desk and faced Gerry. Here was the type of man who could sic a killer on someone without regret. His thoughts never turned to me, never considered how my family might be suffering while he enjoyed mid-morning coffee with his co-conspirator.

"Don't worry, Jim. Mick's demonstrated over the last five years that he's stable enough to join us here at headquarters."

A fabulous side benefit to tuning into people's private thoughts was that I could fill in the blanks as they retrieved information from memory. Sometimes, this remembering flashes by in images as it did now.

An image of a blonde by the name of Althaea flickered through Gerry's mind. Michael and this woman had worked together intimately, Gerry doing his best to push them together.

The plan had failed when Michael rejected Althaea, remaining loyal to his wife, and their partnership ended badly. Gerry worried that the incident had damaged Michael's dedication to their agency and had worked miracles to keep the extent of the debacle from Cornell.

"That old adage is wrong—there's no honour among thieves," I said.

"They're not thieves," Daniel replied.

"They stole my life." I popped over to join him behind Cornell's desk.

Our combined presence must have affected the air around Cornell, because he shivered and used the remote to turn up the thermostat on the fireplace.

"Gerry manipulates his partner, and he lies to his boss. What a hive of depravity we've got here." I vanished and reappeared to stand beside the thermostat. It currently read twenty-three degrees Celsius and was set to twenty-two degrees. Smiling to myself, I covered it with my hand and watched the indicator plummet.

"What are you doing?" Daniel asked.

"Just playing." I snickered. "Call me immature if you like, but they deserve at least some discomfort for what they've done."

The two men continued to talk and sip their coffee. I kept my hand on the thermostat, forcing the gauge to read far less than the actual temperature in the room.

After a while, both men removed their jackets, and Cornell again adjusted the thermostat to try and shut off the heat. Of course, the fire continued to burn brightly.

Finally, Gerry rose and strode over to the thermostat.

"Jesus, Jim, no wonder it's not shutting off. The gauge reads fifteen degrees."

Cornell stalked over to join him. "I'll have it checked. It's obviously broken."

He shut it off, but shivered when his hand slid through mine.

"There must be a cold spot here."

Fun as this had been, it was time to leave. I signalled to Daniel, and we left them tinkering with the thermostat.

***

Michael Valiant lived in an executive home in Aurora, Ontario. Since his job permitted him the flexibility to work from home, we found him there. He spent a good portion of his day locked in his office even when his wife was around.

The outside of the house was trim and professionally landscaped. They had money—murder for hire obviously pays better than software development. Of course, he had a spouse helping pay the bills, but I suspected he earned a great deal more than she did.

His wife, Jessica, wasn't home when Daniel and I arrived, but her energy was ubiquitous. She'd made the house a home with a few simple touches. Framed family photos lined the mantle of the fireplace, rose up the wall along the staircase, or stood propped on an occasional table.

A romance novel casually rested on the sofa in the family room, waiting for her to pick it up again. A trace of a floral scent hovered in their bedroom, remnants of the perfume she used. A patchwork quilt draped across the back of a recliner in the living room.

A note she'd left on the kitchen counter read "Don't forget to check on the roast in the slow cooker. I'll be home around 7:00. Love you."

The normality of this cold-blooded killer's family life shook me more than the sight of the gun strapped to his hip had. In their bedroom, I traced my finger down a photo of the two of them. Their arms were wrapped around each other, her lips pressed to his cheek and a radiant smile on his face. They both wore bathing suits, and behind them, ocean waves and white, sun-kissed sand formed a glorious vacation backdrop.

"He loves her," I said to Daniel. "How can he love someone but kill another human being?"

Daniel shrugged. "Don't bother to try and understand such a mind."

"I have to," I replied. If I understood why he'd killed me, perhaps I could find a way to forgive him.

"Why is that important?" Genuine puzzlement filled his voice.

"For me. For my kids. I hate him, Uncle, and I don't want to."

"I hate him, too, honey." His tone was gentle. "I can live with that."

His choice of words made me smile. "But he shouldn't kill."

"A lot of people do things they shouldn't."

I shook my head. "No, you misunderstand. Look around. Everything about their lives shows he makes room for love. How can such a person murder without remorse?" The question was rhetorical, so I answered it. "He shouldn't be able to. He ought to be wracked with guilt. Don't you feel the energy around him?"

"I don't get it."

"Come." I took him to the office where Michael sat hunched over a laptop. The screen displayed Thomas's picture.

I gasped at the sight, but forced myself to swallow my fear. If I could prove my point to Daniel, perhaps I could find Michael's humanity and put a stop to his evil quest.

Michael's aura glowed with a golden light. The energy around him soothed rather than frightened. He used his right hand to click with the mouse and propped his chin on his left fist. As he stared at Thomas's picture and the stats that accompanied it, the air around him gradually transmuted. His posture grew rigid, his expression hard and cold. Even his aura darkened and muddied.

"Oh, my God," I said. It was as if he were turning into someone else. "What's happening?"

"He's thinking about his next assignment," Daniel replied.

"About killing." I switched positions and observed him from the front. No trace of warmth or kindness was left in his eyes. His lips curled into a sneer. He picked up his cell phone and made notes.

On an impulse, I smacked the phone from his hand, sending it sailing across the room. As it dropped to the floor, Michael sprang from his chair.

Before he could retrieve it, I squeezed it in my fist. Something inside it zapped, and a whiff of smoke curled up from it. A scent of ozone wafted through the air.

"Fucking great," Michael said. He kicked the phone against the wall, but then bent down and picked it up.

In his head he rationalized what had just happened, telling himself he'd flung the phone by accident.

"Yeah, you tell yourself that, killer." I slammed into his empty chair and sent it spinning across the hardwood floor.

Michael staggered backward until he crashed into the wall. His eyes showed surprise and annoyance rather than fear. His thoughts raced as he tried to reframe the incident, but the only option that fit was spirit activity.

He stared at his computer for a moment and contemplated getting back to work. Instead, he said, "I'm shutting it down. Okay? If you're listening, I won't work on anything. I'll power down."

"Clever," I said to Daniel. "He figures I won't zap his laptop if he's not on it."

"Will you?"

I shrugged and pointed to the laptop screen. "See that?"

Daniel leaned in. "What am I looking at?"

"He's working remotely. Everything he's accessed is stored on a server at his office building. It's probably backed up every night to an offsite server."

"Okay." Daniel wasn't going to argue. He had no personal experience with computers. By the time Bill Gates's dream of a computer on every desktop had become a reality, Daniel was long dead.

"I've seen enough," I said. "Let's go home."
Chapter 20

Promptly at 3:00 AM, Daniel and I appeared in Thomas's home office. Thomas sat at a round table, an Ouija board before him and a pad and paper beside his arm. The middle and index fingers of each hand rested lightly on the planchette. Two candles on a sideboard next to the table provided the only illumination.

His thoughts raced, and he inhaled a few deep, calming breaths. At first, I thought he was afraid of dabbling with a spirit board, but then I realized he was more excited than anything else.

"His arrogance serves him well tonight," I commented.

"Always a judgement with you," Daniel replied.

"I'm not judging." I migrated to the top of the table, sitting with legs crossed.

Daniel's hearty laugh made me glare in his direction.

"I was making an observation, not judging."

"All you've done since we met is criticize and condemn him for who he is." He joined me at the table, parking himself on one of the chairs.

It was a strange sight. The chair was pushed into the table, and Daniel's body was cut in two at the waist. His head, shoulders, chest, and abdomen seemed to grow out of the wooden tabletop.

Had I? I tried to recall all the times that I'd derided Thomas. Perhaps it had been frequent, but I'd been venting.

"He frustrated me when we worked together. Plus, I thought he disliked me."

I gave Daniel a pleading look. What if he thought I was a horrible person? What if he left me?

"I wouldn't abandon you, sweetie. You're my flesh and blood."

We both smiled at the expression, technically incorrect on more than one level. However, it was the sentiment that mattered.

"Thank you," I said. His affection flowed into me like a warm breeze. "I had a lot of anger and resentment toward Tom when I died. He always knew how to annoy me."

"And he did it deliberately, right?"

I nodded.

"What does that tell you about him?"

I considered. "He wanted me to pay attention to him. It's a juvenile strategy."

"Agreed. But was your reaction any more mature?"

I had no reply. Daniel was correct, but I wasn't in the mood to admit it.

"Jayden? Are you here?" Thomas's question interrupted the discussion. "If you're here, move the planchette to yes."

"Me?" I glanced at Daniel, who nodded his encouragement.

"He doesn't know I'm here. Answer him."

After taking a deep breath, I placed my hands over Thomas's. He shivered.

I gathered an emotional charge and shoved the planchette toward "yes."

It nudged halfway to the goal. Before attempting another push, I focused on the yes, inhaled again, more deeply, and gathered more rage into me. Vaguely, I wondered if only negative emotions allowed me to interact with the physical plane.

The triangle-shaped disk slid smoothly onto the word yes.

"Awesome. Thank you." _Maybe that was me pushing it. God, I hope she's really here._

I moaned in frustration. "He's going to wonder this for every answer I give."

Here I was, struggling to communicate with him, digging deep for emotion, dragging energy from him just to move the triangle three inches, and he doubted my presence.

"Okay, Jayden," Thomas said, sliding the planchette back to the centre. "Are you following me for a reason?"

I shoved it back to yes.

"Because you have a crush on me?"

"Oh, the arrogance," I said through gritted teeth.

_No._ If there were a way to add an exclamation to that, I would've done it.

"Oh." He sounded disappointed. "You want to tell me something?"

Yes.

"Use the letters to spell it out."

Painstakingly, I moved the plastic triangle around until he had a word scribbled on his notepad: D-A-N-G-E-R.

Thomas stared at the word and frowned. "At home?"

I groaned, frustrated. It would be helpful if he were more intuitive. _No._

"At work?"

Yes.

His eyes widened, and his lips pursed. "The project."

A statement, not a question. Good. _Yes._

"Who is the client?"

"He's getting at the crux of it now," I remarked. "Maybe this won't take all night after all."

D-O-N-T-K-N-O-W.

I paused a moment, then continued.

K-I-L-L-E-R-S.

Thomas paled. "They killed you?" he whispered. "Oh, Jayden."

Grief flowed from him in waves, overwhelming me. Tears sprang to his eyes. "Why? You didn't do anything."

Suddenly, a look of horror crossed his face. "Oh, my God. It's my fault."

I swept the planchette to "no," quickly putting a halt to that line of thinking. By this point, his fingers weren't even touching it. Each letter displayed under the small window in the triangle for a moment, and, as soon as he wrote it down, I sailed to the next one.

In this way, I explained to him that he had to stay away from the project. When he spoke about calling the police, I told him to back off. Without explicitly saying so, I let him know that would endanger him even more.

As I finished, Thomas shivered, making the planchette tremble under his fingers. He scanned the room and reached for the sweater he'd slung on the back of the chair.

"Why'd he get cold? I haven't touched him?"

An aura of darkness seeped through the room.

"Jayden, honey," Daniel said. "We've got a problem."
Chapter 21

The temperature in the room dropped enough that Thomas's breath puffed out in soft, white clouds. He leapt from his chair, knocking it backward onto the floor.

"Who's there? What's happening?"

In a panic, I rose and scanned the room, searching for whatever had interrupted our session. A hideous thought had my stomach sinking and my heart thudding.

"He opened himself up to everything in the spirit world, not just us, didn't he?"

Perhaps the superstitions about spirit boards were right.

"Yes." Daniel moved behind Thomas, prepared to defend.

In the centre of the room, a cloud of oily darkness coalesced into a human shape. Thomas didn't see it—his gaze bounced around the room, passing over the dark spot without lingering.

"There!" I pointed at the male figure. "What do we do?"

An anguished cry tore from the man's throat, and his gaze moved from me to Daniel to Thomas. The moment he realized Thomas was the one in the physical plane, he vanished and reappeared on the table in front of the board.

His eyes glowed red with hatred, and his lips curled into a sneer. He wore soiled jeans and no shirt. Lashes of congealed blood scored his back, chest, and arms. Easing into a crouch, he raised his fists and prepared to pounce.

Without thinking, I hurled myself onto his back. As he twisted and tried to shake me off, Daniel smashed the Ouija board off the table.

"Get Thomas out of here," I hollered at Daniel.

The moment the Ouija board soared across the room, Thomas backed against the wall. He blinked a few times, squinted in the gloom, and then struggled to make his way back to the table.

Was he crazy?

Daniel added his energy to mine, and we wrestled the dark man to the table.

"Damn it, Uncle, I appreciate your help, but I've got this. Get Thomas out of here."

Daniel replied through gasps as he struggled to help me hold Dark Man. "You don't have this. We don't have this." He jammed a knee into Dark Man's back, eliciting a howl.

The table shook and bounced from its place on the carpeted floor. The whole thing might have appeared comical to Thomas had he been able to see it. Or maybe not, I thought, catching a glimpse of the sores on Dark Man's back.

"Who are you?" I screamed at him.

He only grunted in response and vanished.

The moment he disappeared, Daniel and I dropped through the table onto the floor below and then, unnervingly, through it. My vision blurred, I screamed, and launched myself back up, Daniel duplicating the manoeuver right down to the girly yelp.

We huddled on the floor and he put an arm around me.

"Thomas never put up protection before using the spirit board. Damn it. He's opened a portal to some dark place, and we can't close it for him."

Fear balled in the pit of my stomach. "What does that mean? Why can't we?"

"Because he opened it on the physical plane. It'll stay open, and more of these spirits with toxic energy will find their way through."

I groaned. "Oh, God, that's all we need. How are we going to explain that to him?"

But we had to.

I popped over to the board and flipped it right-side up. "Bring the planchette here, please."

Daniel did as I asked, swatting it across the room. Thomas followed behind it, wide-eyed but swallowing his fear.

Newfound admiration for him made me want to redouble my efforts to save his sorry hide.

With effort that had me drained of energy by the time we finished, I explained to Thomas about the open portal and his need to close it. I also suggested he research the safe way to use the Ouija board.

I mentally kicked myself for not thinking of this myself and letting him mess unprotected with the spirit world.

"Don't blame yourself. We all should've considered it. If anyone's to blame, it would be me," Daniel said.

Our gazes met over the board. "Have you seen that spirit before?"

"No. But I've attended séances and the medium has always put up energetic protections. I should've remembered that step."

"Can we put up the protection ourselves?"

He shook his head. "Someone from the physical plane must do it."

"This is so frustrating. Talking to them is difficult." I'd never felt this exhausted on the spirit plane.

He moved to my side and put an arm around me. "Not much makes us tired here, but some things do drain our energy. Minor dabbling doesn't harm us, but when you spend time communicating and then battle a low-vibrating energy, you feel it."

"Dark Man was a low-vibrating energy?"

Daniel nodded. "Toxic energies vibrate at a lower frequency than energies from the light."

"Okay, I'll buy that." There was no time to contemplate the implications, so I let it go. I checked on Thomas.

He sat on the floor beside us, rereading the information we'd given him.

"Okay, I'll find a psychic who can help me," he said.

In the dim light from the candles, his aura remained blackened.

***

We spent another hour at Thomas's, and then Daniel and I went home to my kids. Both slept, Silver wrapped around Harrison as if he were a giant teddy bear.

They'd be rousing soon, starting their day.

Daniel and I sat on the couch in the living room, biding our time. The sun hadn't brightened the sky yet, but it was on its way. Marc would return to university today, and Harrison had promised to move in here and stay with Silver.

His family hadn't protested, and I was relieved when I heard he'd be with her. While Silver's unplanned pregnancy would complicate their lives, they were at least taking the responsibility seriously. Money wouldn't be an issue for them—I'd left my kids plenty, and it would allow them to complete their education despite the delay for Silver while she went on maternity leave.

She'd be fine.

Rory and Clara had told her to call them if she needed anything, and when I eavesdropped on their thoughts, I was reassured they meant it. They even showed excitement over the idea that they'd be grandparents.

And Rory had put a ring on Clara's finger. She'd officially be Mrs. McQueen, grandma to Silver's baby.

"She'll never take your place, sweetie."

I could always count on Daniel to derail my self-pitying or negative thoughts.

"Maybe she won't mean to, but it's inevitable."

This time, I refused to give it up so easily. My grandchild would never know me. My heart split in two at the thought.

"This child will only know Clara." Tears slid down my face. A sob escaped as my shoulders shook.

"Oh, Jayden, no. It'll be okay. You'll see."

"How can it be okay?"

From upstairs, I heard the floorboards creak as someone—I listened for thoughts and connected with Silver—walked to the bathroom.

"Your daughter will keep your memory alive."

"I know that."

He was right. Silver wouldn't forget me. She'd tell the baby stories about her grandma Jayden. Silver loved me. I should trust she'd ensure the baby knew me.

Silver appeared at the bottom of the stairs and made her way to the kitchen. I popped in to watch her make breakfast. She put coffee on for Harrison, but I was happy to see she put the kettle on for herself. She'd been a coffee fiend from the time she'd turned sixteen. At least she was making the sacrifice for her baby.

"You going to breathe down her neck over every little thing?"

"None of your business." My voice betrayed hurt. "She's my baby, and if I want to see how she does, I'm entitled. It's not like she'll know. She won't even know I care."

Daniel's face fell, and he rushed to me and hugged me.

"I'm sorry." He kissed the top of my head, and some of the tension eased from the pit of my stomach. "I didn't mean to hurt you."

Except for my sobs and the sound of Silver making toast and oatmeal, the kitchen was silent.

"I'm jealous." He said it gently, his voice barely cutting through my sobs.

I wiped the tears from my face and rubbed my eyes. "What?"

"You have a loving family—even your ex is stepping up. I never had that. I'm sorry. I don't mean to take my regrets out on you."

"Is that what compelled you to stay on this side?"

"Perhaps. She loved our baby so much. My family was fragmented. I never felt that kind of love from my parents. You have it for Silver and Marc. So does Rory."

"I'm sorry you missed out. I wish..." But I couldn't complete that thought.

"What?" He stroked my hair, his arms holding me tight.

"I wish you hadn't died, and we'd have met earlier. I know I said it before, but I can't help it. Regrets are powerful, so I understand how you feel." I gazed up at him, giving him a rueful smile. "Silly, right? We can't change the past."

Harrison walked into the kitchen and interrupted our tender moment. He went over to Silver and put his arms around her from behind.

"What are you doing up so early?"

"I couldn't sleep, so I got up to make breakfast." She waved at the coffee maker. "Have a cup. It's fresh. Marc better get up soon or it'll scorch."

Harrison moved to the stove and lifted the lid on the pot that sat on the front burner. "Oatmeal."

"Just like Mom used to make." As soon as the words were out of her mouth, Silver's face contorted in grief. "Harry, oh, God."

She buried her head in her hands and sobbed.

Harrison dropped the cover back onto the pot and rushed to embrace her. "Oh, baby, it's okay."

She shook her head violently. "No, it isn't. It'll never be okay ever again." Convulsed with sobs, Silver crumpled into a chair at the kitchen table.

Harrison pulled up a seat next to her and drew her into his arms once more.

"Shh. Honey, I'm here." His eyes, too, brimmed with tears.

Silver raised her gaze to his, and when she saw the grief there, she cupped his face with her hands. "Thank you." Desire replaced anguish, and she kissed his lips.

"If they do it on the kitchen floor, I'm leaving."

"Daniel." I sounded exasperated, but I was amused, too, and above all, grateful to him for distracting me. Silver's grief had triggered mine, and Daniel's remark caught me a moment from a tear-filled meltdown.

"We should go anyway," I said. "Can't leave Thomas unsupervised for too long."

He chuckled in response, and we vanished from my home.
Chapter 22

Thomas spent the day working, and he didn't do anything at the office that he shouldn't be doing. Grateful for the probably temporary lull, Daniel and I took a mini-vacation to Greece. I'd always wanted to see the Mediterranean, and Daniel happily made my dream come true.

We toured Athens, Crete, and stood at the top of Mount Olympus. When I begged Daniel to cloud-walk with me again, he laughingly obliged. We played as we had on Mauna Kea, and then we settled for an afternoon of watching the ships in the harbour on one of the many islands.

Around the sea-view café we'd selected, whitewashed buildings clustered near sandy beaches. The water below us was dotted with sailboats, yachts, and cruise ships. Tourists strolled in and out of shops and restaurants.

We perched on the stucco wall overlooking a sea so blue and sparkling the beauty of it hurt my eyes and put an ache in my heart.

"I wish my kids could see this." Sighing with both contentment and wistfulness, I sipped on a café mocha I'd manifested. Between us sat a plate of Greek pastries, most of them made with phyllo dough and dripping with honey.

No matter how much I ate and drank, I discovered, I never felt overfull and never gained weight. With all the potential for pleasure on this in-between plane of existence, I was surprised the place wasn't packed with spirits who'd opted to stay.

Picking up on my thoughts, Daniel said, "Don't be so sure."

"How so?"

"Plenty of spirits remain earthbound. After a while, you get tired of it. Sooner or later, everyone finds their way home."

"You didn't."

"No." He selected a fat piece of baklava from the plate. Honey seeped from the sides, and it had a thick layer of nuts between wisps of phyllo. Daniel licked his lips and bit in, his eyes closing as he savoured the taste.

How would we manage to cross once we'd accomplished our mission?

I plucked another morsel for myself and we munched in companionable silence. The roar of the waves on the shore soothed me, and I could almost feel the breeze lapping at my skin. My eyes closed as I turned my face to the sun to drink in the moment. Even on this side of the veil, peace was fleeting.

Would I even want to leave this plane?

"We have to return to Thomas," I said. "I'm sorry, Uncle. Your world must have been lovely and peaceful before I burst in and disrupted it." I smiled, trying to mitigate the sadness bubbling up inside me.

He waved his hand and the plate of treats vanished along with the coffee and cigarette he'd held. "My dear, don't you know by now I wouldn't change it for the ability to step through the portal to return home right now?"

"But—"

"No buts," he replied, grinning. "I've had a lovely day. All my days since you've arrived have been lovely, if not busy." He took my free hand in his and pointed to the mug I held in the other hand. "Drink up, darling. You're right. We have to go."

***

We stood guard over Thomas the rest of the week, but everything remained quiet. If Gerry's spies were watching, Thomas didn't give them anything significant to report. He'd stayed away from the project files at work and spent his off-hours searching for a psychic to help him clear his home. Daniel and I hung out in Thomas's home office, stopping any low-vibrating-energy souls from crossing to our side.

By the weekend, visits from the darker side had become more frequent, and I was drained more often than not. I craved an end to this, but at least by Saturday morning, Thomas announced he'd found his psychic.

While we hadn't had another Ouija session, Thomas talked to me whenever he was alone. When he finally announced he had an appointment, Daniel and I heaved sighs of relief.

He'd found the psychic at a store called The Green Witch, using an Internet search. The woman's name was Arla Hanson, and, according to the bio and testimonials on the site, she was knowledgeable, experienced, and accurate. She'd agreed to meet with Thomas at his home after she finished work.

As if preparing for a hot date, Thomas took pains with his appearance, changing his clothes three times before settling on black slacks and a burgundy dress shirt. He looked sexy, I begrudgingly admitted, annoyed that I felt a pang of jealousy as well.

"You do have a crush on him," Daniel teased.

I took it in the spirit in which he intended and laughed. "Maybe I prefer to hog all the attention."

"Did you notice he cleaned the whole house, including his bedroom?"

I had, and he'd prepared appetizers and uncorked a bottle of red wine from the cellar.

"That doesn't mean anything. I'd have cleaned my house, too. He has no idea if clearing the house means going into every room. Besides, he knows I'm watching. He's probably never going to have sex again."

"We could seriously damage his love life." Too much glee infused Daniel's eyes at the idea, and I laughed again.

"You were the practical joker in class, weren't you, Uncle?"

"Maybe."

The doorbell rang then, and we relocated to the door as Thomas set a platter of munchies on the coffee table in the living room.

A blonde goddess strode into the room. She flashed the bluest eyes I'd ever seen at Thomas and sashayed past him in a clatter of bracelets and bangles.

"She'll never sneak up on a ghost, that's for sure," I commented.

"Easy, girl, rein in the green-eyed dragon."

"I'm not jealous." I wasn't. "I'm stating a fact. She's a belled cat in that getup."

Arla twirled back around to face Thomas, her rainbow skirt swirling around her knees.

"Pleased to meet you. You must be Tom." She grinned, flashing perfect teeth. A hand, every finger sporting at least one ring, poked out from under the sparkly shawl around her shoulders.

Thomas clasped it in both of his and actually bowed.

"Oh, for the love of—" I cut myself off before I said something truly nasty.

"Welcome," Thomas said. "Let's go into the living room. You can put your bag down and tell me how you'd like to proceed."

She handed him her wrap, and he hung it on a hook behind the door. They walked together to the living room and settled side-by-side on the couch. Thomas poured tea, while Arla explained the house-clearing process.

"Doesn't sound too scientific," Daniel said.

"Have you been through a house clearing before?" I asked. "Will she clear us out, too?"

"Yes and maybe." Before I could comment further, he said, "We'd be pushed out temporarily. For some reason, when someone on the earth plane burns sage, the air in that space becomes intolerable."

"Interesting."

How and why did that work?

I waited for Thomas to ask or for Arla to explain, but neither did.

"She takes it on faith, and he trusts her," Daniel said.

"Surely she knows how it works, though?"

As she talked, I started to warm up to her. Rather than flirty and outrageous, she came across as fun, friendly, and down-to-Earth—at least, as down-to-Earth as a psychic could get.

"You sounded a little panicked on the phone, Tom," Arla said. "Shall we get started? When I'm done, you can ask as many questions as you like."

I watched, unable to take my gaze off her as she unpacked an abalone shell with stand, a pouch of sage, a wild turkey feather, and a box of matches from her tote bag. She crumbled sage into the abalone shell and struck the match.

No sooner did the sage flame, smoke curling from it, than I recoiled.

When I'd been alive, I'd loved the smell of incense and herbs, sage included. Now? All I wanted was to escape the eye-watering stench of it. Daniel and I sputtered and coughed.

"Before I take this around the house, I'll call on Archangel Michael to fill all the rooms with light, removing any trapped spirits and taking them to the other side." Arla set the shell on the stand she'd placed on the table and held her arms away from her body, her palms turned upward.

She said, "Archangel Michael, I call upon you now. Please fill this home with light and help any spirits trapped here cross to the other side."

"Oh, no," Daniel shouted. He grabbed my arm, and before I could respond, yanked me from Thomas's house.
Chapter 23

We reappeared at my house.

As always, the first thing I did was search for my children. Marc's thoughts placed him back in his dorm at university. Silver was in the kitchen preparing dinner. She was alone and contemplating converting her room into a nursery and taking over the master bedroom.

Her mood was sedate, but beneath the calm, I sensed grief brewing. My girl wanted to be practical—the house had only three bedrooms, and she couldn't take over Marc's room, so her plan made sense—but her heart hurt at the blatant acceptance of my death.

I set that aside for a moment to ask Daniel what the hell had just happened.

"Why'd we have to go in such a rush? The sage?"

He shook his head. "She called on Archangel Michael. He'd have taken us to the other side."

Daniel said this so matter-of-factly I could only stare at him, stunned.

Finally, I asked, "Just like that?"

He looked sheepish.

"I don't know for sure," he admitted, "but I didn't want to take the chance. You heard what she said. If there are angels—and I'm not saying there are or there aren't—he'd have been able to bring the portal back for us and drawn us through."

I considered carefully what Daniel had said before replying. "Is that what you think?"

"It's what I suspect."

"Angels use force?"

Daniel's brow furrowed, and he squinted at me. "They might require cooperation from us, but I didn't want to take the chance." His eyes widened. "Unless you're ready to go?"

"No," I replied quickly. "We can't leave without helping Thomas."

His aura retained that unsettling blackness. I refused to desert him until it either disappeared or he joined us on this side.

"Death isn't the worst thing to happen, is it?" I asked.

Daniel raised his brows. "You think Thomas might be better off dead?"

"No, of course not." I reclined on the sofa. Unsure how long Archangel Michael might linger, I figured we had time to chat. "But if we can't prevent it, he's not going to suffer."

"You're assuming his experience will be the same as yours."

"Wouldn't it be?"

He started to reply, but, with a huff of exasperation, I cut him off. "You don't know."

"No, but I can say the spirit we fought at Tom's had an experience different from ours."

"He was alive once?"

Daniel parked himself cross-legged on the coffee table in front of me.

"What did you think? That he was always like that?"

"He was in agony." We'd added to his torment by sending him back, I was sure of it, but we couldn't have let him stay here. "Rage and destruction were consuming him."

"Perhaps he'd been that way in life and couldn't shake it after death."

"And he never went through the portal."

Elbow on one knee, Daniel propped his chin on his hand. "I've seen some lower-vibrating spirits who refused to cross. Some are mean as hell."

He fell silent, and the uttered "hell" hung in the air between us.

Maybe there was no Heaven or Hell—not the way the Catholics meant it, anyway. Perhaps we made our own versions of it.

"It's not punishment from without, but from within," I said.

Going rigid, Daniel ended the discussion with a finger to his lips.

Swallowing loudly, I whispered, "What is it?"

"Come on."

He clutched my arm and, with me ignorant to our destination, we vanished once more.

***

Compared to Gerry's or Cornell's office, Michael Valiant's was less opulent. It lacked the fireplace, expensive furnishings, space, and view. Of course, Michael didn't spend as much time in his office as his partner or boss did. Michael's main job was field work—such as murdering me.

What had gotten Daniel worked up enough to drag me here turned out to be Michael's next assignment: he was preparing to hunt down and kill Thomas.

"Why?" I screamed it out, my voice panicked. "Thomas hasn't done anything."

"Neither did you," Daniel replied. "He killed you anyway."

"When they thought I was prying into their business." Is that why they were after Thomas now? Had something happened to make them believe he'd been snooping again? "Could it be Laurel?"

Daniel shook his head. "We should have checked in with her and Dawson."

"Do it. I'll stay with Valiant."

"Jayden," he said.

I gave him a questioning look.

"Take care."

"You too."

As soon as Daniel disappeared, I focused my attention back on Michael Valiant.

He'd already changed into jeans and a T-shirt and was gathering the tools of his trade into a black duffel bag he'd snatched from the closet. He then strapped on a shoulder holster. The gun he slipped into the holster looked like it could easily blow someone's head off.

But he wasn't done yet. From his thoughts, I picked up that he had to requisition the weapon required for the job: the death ray he'd used on me.

I didn't wait for him to sign it out but met him at his car in the parking garage. He drove a mid-size vehicle. It was black and the seats looked like leather. Seat warmers are helpful in Canadian winters unless you're a spirit, and he had them. The dashboard looked like the control panel on an airplane—not that I've seen one, but I could imagine—and it had a manual transmission. Show off.

Michael stuck the duffel bag on the back seat and slid behind the wheel. I rode shotgun. If he planned to use the death ray on Thomas today, then I wanted to be close enough to interfere.

Instead of pulling out of the parking spot, though, he pulled out a paperback and read.

After ten minutes, a white van with a cable company logo on it pulled up, Gerry behind the wheel. Michael transferred his bag into the back of the van and jumped into the passenger side. I found a place to sit right behind them.

"Everything all right?" Michael asked.

"Had to wait for them to release the van."

"Is that why you wanted me to meet you at my car?" Michael's underlying motive for asking the question wasn't curiosity or idle chatter. I sensed suspicion.

How long had they been partners? Gerry had pushed Michael toward his previous partner, so probably once the woman was out of the picture, Gerry took her place. Had Gerry manipulated the two so their partnership would implode and allow him to move in as Michael's partner, or was it an attempt to break up Michael's marriage? Maybe both. No wonder Michael didn't trust Gerry.

Perhaps there was a way to work that into Thomas's favour. I had to do something—Thomas's life was whittling down to hours, maybe minutes.
Chapter 24

Gerry parked the van on the street outside Thomas's house, and then he and Michael climbed into the back and fired up some impressive equipment. They had monitors displaying various rooms in the house. When Thomas received a phone call from a telemarketer, they listened to the conversation. If Thomas would've logged onto his laptop, they'd have monitored the activity on it.

This, as it turns out, provided Thomas a stay of execution.

Michael picked up activity on Thomas's office PC cracking into the project's database. Yet here was Thomas, relaxing at home, enjoying a glass of wine with Arla the psychic.

"Problem, Torque." Michael slid a finger along the screen of his laptop. "This traces a route through his office PC. See? I got a pingback from the database as soon as it was accessed. The IP routes through his office PC. I'd assume he was using remote access, but he's not on his computer. His laptop's not even powered up."

"What are you saying?" Gerry leaned into the screen as if that would help him understand.

"I'm saying," Michael replied, "Thomas Devereaux isn't your guy."

Why couldn't they have verified my innocence this way?

At least Michael was putting a stop to this. I popped into the house and peeked at Thomas's aura. The dark tinge remained.

Arla sat next to Thomas on the couch. A few nibbles remained on the appetizer tray, and the bottle of red wine was half-empty. The newly acquainted couple gazed into each other's eyes, and both wore goofy grins. I could all but see floating hearts and twittering birds around their heads.

"Tom." Arla yanked her gaze from Thomas and focused it on me. "Someone's here."

If I could have staggered backward, I would have. As it was, my knees shook and I almost crumpled to the floor. Could she see me? Hear my thoughts?

"I thought you said you'd cleared the house?" Thomas scanned the room, but his gaze passed right by me.

"Yes." Arla faced Thomas. "I banished whatever was stuck here and sealed the portal you'd opened, but this spirit is connected to you."

She turned back to me. "It's all right. I sense your presence and can communicate with you. My name is Arla Hanson."

"Can you hear me?" My voice, when I chose to use it, sounded tinny to my ears, but I could distinguish the words. Based on my family's reactions to it, I suspected most people heard a low buzzing sound but nothing resembling speech.

"I hear you fine. What's your name?"

"Jayden McQueen. I worked with Thomas." I changed location to the armchair. Arla continued to gaze at the spot from where I'd originally spoken.

"It's—"

Before she could finish, I cut her off.

"Stop. Don't say anything. Just listen." The place was bugged. If Gerry and Michael realized Arla was communicating with me, it would endanger her life as well.

Arla nodded at the armchair.

"What's going on, Arla?" Thomas squinted in my direction.

"I'll tell you in a moment," she replied.

I stood. "That's your little red car outside? Nod or shake your head."

She glanced at Thomas, confusion clouding her face, but nodded.

I glanced at the half-finished bottle of wine. They hadn't had much, considering they'd been sitting here for at least two hours.

"Can you drive?"

She nodded.

"Tell Tom you want to take him for a drive. We'll go to your house. Don't ask any questions. I'll explain when we leave. Do you understand?"

Again, she glanced at Thomas and nodded.

"Okay, now tell Thomas you would like him to go back to your place with you."

She did as I asked.

Thomas hesitated. I tapped into his thoughts. He wrestled with the strangeness of her request and his attraction to her. Finally, he said, "I'll have to tell my mother's care provider I'm stepping out. She's gone to her quarters for the night."

Arla explained to Thomas on the drive to her home that I'd been the impetus for the change of place. I didn't say anything more until we arrived and Arla had ushered Thomas into the living room.

Her home was cozy, cute. She had witchy knickknacks that gave the place a goddess energy I loved. The sensation was new for me. In life, I'd have thought it all ridiculous.

A witch's broom, made of ash and willow, stood propped in a corner next to the woodstove. Statues of a Norse god and goddess ruled over a cloth-covered alter, surrounded by a small, lidded cauldron made of cast iron, a slim vase of flowers, and a three-candle candelabra.

The furniture was assembly-required pine with navy accents. Heavy on the feminine touches, it verified that Arla was a single woman living alone. A row of bookcases lined one wall, romance novels predominating.

"Jayden?"

I turned toward her.

Thomas and Arla huddled together on the couch, hands clasped. I had to admit, they made a cute couple. There was no way to predict if they'd end up together, but they deserved the chance to try. I relocated to the coffee table in front of them—an over-sized square that complemented the sectional where they sat.

"I'm here, Arla. Tell Tom."

She did, and he shifted his gaze to the coffee table. "Jayden, I'm so sorry for what happened to you. I can't believe you're dead."

"Tell him I'm not dead," I replied.

Instead of turning to Thomas, Arla continued to face me, worry etched on her face.

"Jayden..."

"No, I understand I've passed. But I'm not dead. I'm here. To me, dead means gone, and I'm not gone."

"I understand." She repeated to Thomas what I'd said.

He silently digested the information. His thoughts were a confused jumble, skipping from one idea to the next, until settling on what we were doing at Arla's.

"Why are we here?" Thomas asked. "Why couldn't you talk to us at my house?"

With Arla's help, I explained that Thomas's place was bugged. I left out the threat of death around him—they both looked stricken enough at the news that someone was listening to them.

"Who are these men?" Arla asked.

Thomas provided an abridged explanation of the project we'd worked on together.

"Someone else has control of it now, and I've got nothing more to do with it." He faced me again. "I'm out of it. Whatever they're after, they can have it. I won't risk my life or anyone else's."

The wall of targets in Gerry's office flashed into my head.

"But there are other people who will get hurt."

Arla repeated my message to Thomas.

"What can we do?" he asked.

She rose and paced the room, envy for the ability growing in me with every step she took.

"It's not your business," she said to Thomas. "Stay out of it."

"I'm not arguing with you," he replied.

Arla halted and confronted him, hands on hips. "They'll hurt you."

He paled. "Are you sensing that? Is that a premonition?"

She hesitated, and I picked up from her thoughts that she wanted to tell him it was but didn't want to lie. At last, she said "no" and hung her head. When she looked up again, she went to sit beside him once more.

Taking his hands in hers, she said, "My recommendation to you, my client, is that you stay out of this. These men are dangerous—that's my intuition talking. You'll be okay if you keep your head down and do your work. I also suggest you find another job."

Before my eyes, Arla's aura darkened.
Chapter 25

My stomach churning and hands shaking, I stifled the groan that threatened to escape. Panicking Thomas and Arla wouldn't help anyone, and I was stumped. Everything I'd seen indicated that Thomas should no longer be a target, never mind that Arla wasn't.

How could this have happened?

"I have to leave for a while," I said.

"Why?" Arla hugged herself, and her expression showed worry.

"It'll be okay," I lied. If Hell existed, I'd be burning in it for misleading them, but telling them the truth would only freak them out. "Stay inside and tell Thomas to stay out of the office servers."

She relayed the message, and he agreed readily enough. His face was white, and I'd never seen him so accommodating. Sorry I'd caused him such anxiety, I swore to myself I'd make it up to him.

"Arla?"

"Yes?"

"Tell Thomas to stay off his phone, too."

Without waiting for a response, I left Arla's and returned to Gerry's van, which was now heading back to Toronto.

***

As we reached highway 401, Daniel appeared in the captain's chair beside me. Before I could speak, he said, "It's not Laurel."

"Then who?" I slumped in my seat, emotionally drained.

"Someone from outside the company."

"Who?"

He shook his head. "Impossible to tell."

"Stop parsing me the information and tell me what happened."

He scowled, and when he replied, his words were clipped with frustration.

"Someone was using Tom's PC. Remotely. No one was in the office. Okay?" His fingers tapped on the arm of the seat. "I found Laurel, but she wasn't on a computer. Neither was Dawson. They were together, by the way."

"Were they...?" I didn't want to finish that thought in case I got a visual.

"Yeah. I didn't stick around to watch."

I'd never met Bernie's wife, but I felt sorry for her. No one deserved this kind of betrayal.

"He's using Laurel. He doesn't love her and won't leave his wife for her."

I frowned. "That makes it better?"

"No. I'm telling you what I picked up when I was with them. He's a slime. On that, we agree. But so is Laurel. They deserve each other."

"Never mind." The important thing was to find out who was messing around in Tom's computer. "We have a serious problem."

I told him what had happened with Thomas and Arla.

"Her aura darkened." My voice was close to hysterical by the time I finished. What if my interference had put her at risk? Guilt by association. If I'd stayed away from Thomas, he'd never have used the Ouija board, and he'd never have had a reason to contact Arla.

"They're going to kill her, too, and it's all my fault." I gripped the armrests of my seat.

Daniel covered my hand with his. "You don't know that. Maybe you were meant to get involved."

"Stop it. You know that's false. I'm to blame for this, so I have to fix it."

He stopped arguing, and as we fell silent, we realized Gerry and Michael were doing some disagreeing of their own.

"... killed an innocent man," Michael said.

"But you didn't," Gerry replied. His gaze was focused on the road ahead, so he didn't see the fury twisting Michael's face. And, of course, he wasn't privy to Michael's thoughts, which were ripe with rage.

"What's their definition of innocent?" I whispered.

"No idea. What did they think you were?" Daniel leaned forward so he could examine their faces. "Michael has doubts. If either one of them is likely to back out of killing Tom, he is."

"Have you listened to his thoughts? He's not thinking about killing either one of them." I frowned, puzzled. "He's not thinking about killing at all. Right now, all he cares about is that he might have killed without cause. He believes Tom is innocent."

"That's good, right?"

"Yes." I grabbed Daniel's arm. "But if he doesn't want to kill either of them, then why are their auras dark?"

"I don't know."

When we arrived at the office building, I searched for a sign or logo and didn't find one. The building looked like any one of a hundred other buildings that housed offices, but this one didn't announce proudly who owned it, while most of the others did.

"Downtown Toronto, so they can remain anonymous and lost in the crowd. No one's going to come in here without purpose. Check out the security." I waved my arm at the security desk in the lobby.

Banks of monitors displayed various locations in the building. Michael and Gerry buzzed themselves in and showed badges to the guard. Each pressed a thumb onto a scanner. After their identities were verified, they removed their weapons and stepped through a metal detector.

"Kind of ironic that they're checking killers for hidden weapons, don't you think?" I asked.

Daniel shrugged. "Routine. But I see your point."

"Watch this." I stood in the middle of the metal detector.

Within seconds, it zapped and sparked around me. When it went dark, the lights and monitors also went out.

"Cool." Daniel gave me a thumbs up and grinned. He wiped an imaginary tear from his eye. "I'm so proud of you."

The security guard was already using his cell phone to call for help. Michael and Gerry eyed the elevators.

We stuck with Michael when the two reached the top of the stairs and went to their respective offices.

I poked Daniel in the ribs and laughed. "Did you see how I made them take the stairs?"

He rubbed the top of my head with his hand and returned the chuckle. "Too bad they didn't use the elevator. We could've had fun with that."

"If they don't back off, I'm going to have more than a little fun with them."

In Michael's office, we waited for him to power up his PC and open his files. He pulled up a report with Thomas's name on it and started typing. I leaned in behind him and observed.

"He's closing the case," I said, "and recommending they remove the surveillance equipment from Tom's home to focus on the office."

As Michael worked, I tapped into his thoughts. "He's determined to find out who's invading the system." I paused, listening to Michael's meanderings. "Terrorists. He hunts down terrorists."

The implications of that had me trembling with both fear and fury. He'd thought I was a terrorist. Who were these people who had the authority to mete out death without a fair trial?

Daniel leaned in closer to the screen, but a crackling sound made him pull back.

"Oops." He gave a wan smile. "Don't want to fry the CPU."

I put a hand on Daniel's arm, and when he raised his eyes and met my gaze, I said, "We have to find out who's hacking into Dawson's project and stop them."
Chapter 26

Anytime I wanted to locate a person, all I had to do was focus on the person's thoughts and draw my energy to that location. It was a matter of tapping into the person's aura and leveraging the personal connection. Since the moment of my death, I'd done this so many times it had become as automatic as breathing used to be.

However, tracking people I didn't know by name and had no connection to made locating them seemingly impossible. I refused to believe it couldn't be done.

Daniel suggested we begin from Thomas's office, which I agreed might be helpful. After ensuring neither Michael nor Gerry was likely to hunt down anyone that night, we headed to Dawson's.

At night, Dawson's offices are eerie and silent. During the day, there's always background noise, even if you tune it out. The IT department tends to be library quiet except for the whir of technology: printers, phones, fax machines, and such that testify to our productivity.

Now, all was quiet but for the almost imperceptible grind of Thomas's CPU as it executed whatever instructions our mystery person provided it.

"Thomas would be able to track the hacker, but I don't want him involved." I perched on top of the desk, glaring daggers at the blinking lights on the side of the monitor. "He's in there right now, and we can't get to him."

"Him?" Ensconced in Thomas's chair, Daniel stretched his legs out and rested his feet on the desktop.

"The generic 'him.' The hacker could be a woman, and it would be wise to remember it."

"Gerry's people are watching him. They'll find him for us."

I shook my head. "We have to find him first. If they locate him, he's dead."

Daniel nodded. "Likely. But maybe he deserves it."

"You mean if he's a terrorist?"

"Why else would he be doing this?"

"Gerry and Cornell jumped to that conclusion about me," I replied. "Obviously, they were wrong. They were wrong about Tom, too. At least they discovered that in time." Yet they weren't losing any sleep over my death, and, so far, no one had questioned whether they'd killed an innocent woman.

"Yeah," Daniel said. "You'd think someone would have been fired for it."

"Somehow, I think their definition of employee termination is different from ours." I hung my head. These men contained such potential for cruelty—too much to bear.

Daniel leaned forward and raised my chin with his finger. "Don't let what they are beat you down. If you do, they win."

"Thank you," I whispered, and, embarrassed that he'd seen weakness in me, glanced at the monitor. The lights continued to blink and the CPU ground on.

To change the subject, I said, "What do we do now?"

He frowned at the blank monitor. "Find a way to connect to the person at the other end."

"He masked the IP address. If Gerry's team can't trace the route on the Internet, neither can we."

Daniel leaned his elbow on the desk and propped his chin on his hand.

"I'm not suggesting that. I don't understand the technology. But if we can sense his energy, we might be able to pick up thoughts. If we can do that, we can locate the hacker."

I must have looked puzzled because he gave me an affectionate smile. "Have you heard of remote viewing?"

"I've heard the term," I replied. "Seemed like hooey to me."

Daniel chuckled. "The US government studied it."

"How do you know?"

"Being dead gives me the highest security clearance."

I couldn't resist laughing out loud. "You spied on the US government?"

"Not spied. I was trying to understand the limits of my abilities. I heard about their experiments and popped in to observe."

That would have been interesting. "Did they know you were there?"

He grinned. "No. All those psychics and not one of them sensed my presence."

Perhaps that meant they weren't psychic.

Daniel shrugged in response, though I hadn't vocalized it. "They weren't looking for spirits."

Much as I'd have enjoyed debating that, there wasn't time, so I let it slide. "Who ran the experiments? The CIA?"

"No, the US Army. The Stargate Project. That's not important. We can use remote viewing to find the hacker."

"All right. What's involved?"

Daniel pointed to the carpet. "Lie down. I'll talk you through it."

Uncertain, I moved to the floor and lay down on my back. Far above me, the black-dotted white ceiling attracted my gaze. "Should I close my eyes?"

"If you want."

I did.

"Think about the project. The hacker." Daniel's voice came from the floor next to me.

I peeked through half-closed lids.

He sat cross-legged by my shoulder, his gaze focused on the monitor.

"What do you see?" He spoke gently, his voice soothing. "Who's making the CPU work? Who's coming in over the network?"

I forced my mind to clear, pushing away thoughts of my kids, Thomas, Arla, my murderers, death, and everything else distracting my monkey mind. Someone had hacked into Dawson's network. Whoever it was had accessed protected files and was rooting around in them.

The vision of a slim hand popped into my head.

"A woman," I blurted out. "I see her hands."

The fingers were long and slender, the nails unpolished but filed neatly. She wore a wedding band and an engagement ring with a decent size diamond.

"She's married." Wonder filled my voice.

"You think married women can't be terrorists?"

"No. It's a shock, though."

Daniel put a hand on my shoulder. "Find her."

I focused on the hands, and the vision expanded to include the computer monitor. The project file was open in the window, and she was running the application.

"She's downloaded and installed the app," I said.

"What does that mean?" Daniel said.

"She's running the application. That means she snagged a copy of the source code or the compiled executable and installed it."

"So then—"

"She understands software development, or someone with her does."

"Locate her, Jayden."

I slipped back into meditation mode. Gradually, as though a curtain opened, I picked up thoughts. "She's frustrated. All she's viewed so far is test data. She can't trust any of what she's seen."

"Why?"

"I've located her. Come with me and I'll explain." I took his hand and we left Thomas's cubicle.
Chapter 27

Her name was Patty Richards, and she wasn't alone. She sat at a small desk in the basement of a closed bookstore, a blond-haired man perched on a stool beside her. The two hunched over the monitor and watched the data scroll past. A fan provided white noise and a breeze that would have made me shiver. As it was, Patty wore a cardigan over a turtleneck sweater, evidence that the fan wasn't there for comfort but concealment.

When Daniel and I arrived, the two were in the midst of a whispered conversation, as if terrified of being overheard even though the entire building was deserted.

"They're afraid the place is bugged."

I nodded my agreement. "It's her fault I'm dead."

"Jumping the gun a bit, aren't you?" Daniel stroked a hand down the back of my head, a reassuring gesture.

"What else can I conclude? If she wasn't the one who hacked her way into the system through my PC, then Gerry and friends have a serious security issue. How many people do you think are doing this? How many would have the skills?"

"What about Laurel?"

"Anything she's done was harmless by comparison. No wonder the activity on my computer raised flags."

"Maybe they really are terrorists."

I studied the couple. With her long, brown hair tied back in a ponytail and flawless skin, Patty looked youthful, but her hands betrayed her age. She was likely past forty-five.

The man appeared to be around the same age as Patty. A touch of grey showed in his hair, which was long enough to brush his collar. He wasn't fit, but he wasn't fat—he had that slightly doughy look men who don't exercise get as they age.

"His name's Ralph." Daniel moved to stand behind their stools. "He's a UFO nut. I assume she is, too. I haven't tapped into her yet."

"UFO nut?" I had a difficult time wrapping my head around that. "Not a terrorist?"

"Too soon to tell. I think we've uncovered something strange, though."

"Why would UFO nuts be after Dawson's project?"

"What's the data you're storing?"

"Nothing interesting. User info. Names, addresses, data from their PCs..." I trailed off, trying to understand what that meant. "Could be for anything. It seems innocuous enough, which is why they likely thought it was okay to farm it out. It's classified as spyware. It's monitoring software, like employers sometimes use."

"Seems like an awfully simple program to farm out."

"Bernie convinced them to turn it over to Dawson's. He's connected to Gerry. Friends, maybe. Gerry threw him the business, and I bet he got a kickback from Bernie for doing it."

"Don't you have to know what an application will be used for before you can design it?"

"Not in this case. They provided us with the requirements. All I had to do was create what they'd already spec'd out."

"That must have given you an excellent head start."

"I still had to develop the system. They had done the planning and analysis. But yeah, it gave me a head start." I considered the interface. "On one end, it's a simple data entry screen. Users can create reports from the data collected from the monitored device based on entered parameters."

The beauty of the application was the object-oriented code. Usage determined functionality in the classes.

"English, please. I can't understand anything you're saying. And thinking."

"Then quit eavesdropping." I smiled so he'd know I was kidding. "The system's design is generic. How a class is used determines how it behaves. It reduces code duplication and also allows it to be reused. The inputs are typical of most data entry applications."

"Then why didn't they buy something off the shelf? Why have it custom made and risk exposing themselves?" A cigarette appeared in Daniel's hand, and he puffed on it.

"They wanted something proprietary, and they bought the source code. That means they can take what we create and modify it to suit their needs. Doing it this way saves them having to do the bulk of the work but keeps the really sensitive stuff under their control."

A cell phone sounded, making Patty and Ralph jump.

Ralph gripped Patty's arm, calming her.

"It's okay. It's my disposable." He unclipped it from his belt and answered it. "Drummond... Yes... I'm sorry to hear that... We didn't have a choice. It was easier to hack into Dawson's than the Agency... No, stay where you are. Patty's with me... Arnie's not here... Yeah, bye."

"Your contact?" Patty asked when Ralph had put away the phone.

"Yeah. Log out and shut down."

Patty's eyes lit with fear, and her brows furrowed. Her mouth opened as if she wanted to question him, but then she hurriedly closed the application and powered down. When the screen was dark, she faced Ralph again.

"What happened?"

"The woman whose PC you used to access the app is dead."

Patty gasped and put her fist to her mouth. "Oh, God. When? How?"

"Last week. Heart attack." Ralph rose and paced the room. He didn't have much space—the room wasn't much larger than a broom closet, but he worked with what he had.

Once again, I envied the ability. Popping around a room wasn't as satisfying as walking it.

"A coincidence." She said it without conviction and hugged herself.

They fell silent, and the only sound in the room was the whoosh of the fan. I caught another whiff of Daniel's cigarette as he exhaled a long drag.

"It wasn't a coincidence." Ralph planted himself in front of her, hands fisted on hips. "They must know their files have been compromised."

"And we haven't learned a damn thing." Her eyes flashed with anger and frustration. "All that data we found? It's garbage. Dummy data."

"Did you expect them to provide real data?"

Patty sprang to her feet. "Then why'd we break into their servers?"

"To grab the app. Only the app. Data would've been a bonus, but I wasn't expecting to get it." Ralph dropped his arms to his sides but his hands remained fisted. "Hacking into the Dawson server was less risky—less chance of getting caught."

"Obviously, you were wrong about that."

"We weren't caught."

"That's not what it sounds like from the conversation you just had."

"Look, we're both stressed. Take a deep breath and calm down. We've got the app, now we can use it to interpret the data once they implement it on the Agency's server. Plus, we'll be able to set up alerts for it on our own systems. Now we know they're suspicious, we'll back off for a while."

"If they find out it's not a Dawson employee rooting around in there, they'll come after us." Patty sank back into her chair.

"Arnie knew what he was doing."

His aggrieved tone made her wince.

"Okay." It was said without conviction. She shook her head. "Arnie's good, Ralph, but they might be better. They have resources we don't. I told you that before we attempted this. You refused to listen."

"I listened. I refused to let it stop me. We can't live in fear of them or they win."

Beside me, Daniel swapped out the cigarette for a chocolate bar. How he could eat at a time like this baffled me.

"I always eat when nervous," he said.

"Oh, Uncle, these little things you do make me love you." I put an arm around him. "You're so you."

"What does that mean?"

"Nothing. Don't change."

He draped his arm around my shoulders. "Do they sound like terrorists to you?"

"Seems like they have a mission," I replied. Whatever it was, they gambled away my life for it, risked Thomas's and probably Arla's, and were capping it off with their own.

I leaned against Daniel.

"We'll follow them. You stick to Ralph. I'll go with Patty. Maybe then we can figure out whose side we're on."

Daniel slanted me a puzzled look.

"If they're terrorists, Cornell and gang might be the good guys after all."

"They murdered you."

"By mistake."

"You're defending them?"

"No. I want to learn the truth."

When he agreed, a knot released in my gut. We were one step closer to dissecting this carcass and determining what was happening.
Chapter 28

An hour later, I found myself in a sprawling, brick bungalow in a comfortably middle-class neighbourhood in Aurora, Ontario. In one bedroom, Patty's teenage daughter, Michelle, and Michelle's boyfriend, Ian, studied for a math test. Fraser, Patty's husband, sprawled on the family room couch in front of the television. He'd just arrived home from a long day at the office where he held the position of CFO.

When Patty walked in the door, she called out to her family that she was home and headed to the kitchen. She leaned against the counter as she waited for water to boil for tea, tapping her finger nervously against her thigh. Based on her scattered thoughts, her husband had no idea she was involved with espionage of any kind. Her constant worry was that he'd become collateral damage if her covert activities were exposed.

I still couldn't figure out if that meant she was a terrorist. Everything about her home and her family spoke against that, but her actions and her behaviour belied it. She was involved in something lethal, but was she friend or foe? Was she fighting in the name of justice or revenge?

As the kettle whistled, her husband walked into the room.

"Hi, honey." He strode to her and hugged her in a way that told me this was the routine but she'd skipped it. "How come you didn't come say 'hi' when you got home?"

Her arms went around him but then dropped to her sides just as quickly. "I wanted to put the kettle on. Thought you might like some tea."

That was a lie. She hadn't given her husband a second thought when she'd walked in the door. Her entire focus had been on the app her group had stolen and on me. Even putting the kettle on had been done on autopilot. At least someone culpable was thinking about me with a measure of guilt.

The big question was why? Why feel guilty if she believed there was a greater good? Clearly, she believed that, or she wouldn't have been risking her own life and her family's future to do what she'd done. I sensed that what she'd done was even more serious than I knew. Whatever Patty and Ralph were up to, they'd been involved in it for a while.

"Thank you, I'd love a cup of tea," Fraser said. "Want some help? We can have it in the family room. I'm watching a show, but I can go back to it later."

She dropped a teabag into a teapot and poured the boiled water into it.

"No, you go ahead. I've got some work I want to do at my desk before I settle down for the night."

"You're spending a lot of time on UFO group stuff. Something up?"

"Oh, you know. The usual. I've got some recordings from the last sky watch Ralph's group did. He wants me to go through them. If I do that tonight, I'll get it out of my hair."

"Patty, you spent all evening with them."

"I'm sorry, Fraser. He needs me to review the video. It won't take long." Patty poured the tea into two mugs and handed him one. "I'll be less than an hour, I promise." She kissed him on the lips and left the room.

I met her in her office. She breezed in, shut the door, and locked it. After waiting by the door for a moment, listening for Fraser's footsteps, Patty strode to her desk. She set her tea by the monitor, but instead of powering on the computer, she pulled out her cell phone.

"Arnie? Patty." She dropped into her chair and yanked the elastic out of her hair. "Have you heard from Ralph?" Her gaze darted around the room. She picked up the lamp from the desk and examined it.

Amazed, I realized she was searching for anything out of place or for bugs.

"I'm fine. Anything unusual at your end?" She opened desk drawers and searched them. "I want you to meet me tomorrow, before the talk... Yeah, at the coffee shop near the convention centre... Eleven o'clock."

She powered up the computer as soon as she disconnected her call. When she was logged in, she opened her browser and went to the search box.

Once again, she'd lied to her husband about what she was up to. She wasn't reviewing any video recordings—she was searching for information about me.

A quick search on my name pulled up my obituary. Since it said only "passed away" without giving out the cause, she didn't have much to go on. Patty trolled through the photos that had been posted and studied my face, my kids, Rory.

Oh, God, we killed her. We killed that woman and now her kids have to live without their mother.

At least she felt bad, though she was taking on way too much guilt about it. She and Ralph hadn't killed me—Michael Valiant had. He'd pulled the trigger on the death ray that had stopped my heart.

I still didn't know why she'd risked my life, but it was some consolation that it disturbed her. Perhaps that meant she wasn't a terrorist.

As a software and web developer, I understood the value of occasionally doing an Internet search on myself to see what prospective employers or dates might find. I hadn't done that in a while, so when the results returned numbered in the hundreds of thousands, I would've staggered backward had that option been available to me.

Of course, I'm not the only Jayden McQueen in the world, but, still, no one famous has that name. I leaned in close to examine the top links. My obituary was at the top, which made sense since Patty had recently visited that page.

After that, my social media profile links displayed, and then a bunch of images of me and other Jayden McQueens from around the web.

The effect was creepy.

I was dead, but I still lived on the Web. My family hadn't found all my social media links, and, while my Facebook page had a notice from Silver that I'd died, the profile was still active.

The Facebook page provided Patty with the most information on my death, including that I'd died of a heart attack. As soon as she spotted that tidbit, she whipped out her phone again.

"I verified McQueen died of a heart attack, Ralph," she said as soon as he picked up. "That rules out murder, right? She had a heart problem."

As my spirit heart sank in discouragement at the thought no one would know I'd been deliberately killed, she said, "A death ray? Are you crazy?"

Her thoughts turned to accusations of paranoia against Ralph and a willful blindness to what he was telling her. Nausea and fear fought with indignation and disbelief. Part of her believed whole-heartedly that a death ray could exist, but her rational mind refused to accept it.

"How is that possible? What do you think they are? Who comes up with this shit?" With every fibre of her being, Patty wanted to believe this was another crazy conspiracy theory.

"Yes, I'm on the disposable," she whispered. "Where are you?"

On his response, she said, "Did you check for bugs?"

Satisfied with his reply, she suggested he join her and Arnie, obviously a co-conspirator of theirs, at the coffee shop the next day.

"We have to figure out a way to get that data, otherwise, Jayden McQueen died for no reason."

How reassuring.

Patty said her goodbyes and disconnected her call. As she powered down her machine, the doorknob to her office rattled.

"Patty? You locked the door?" The voice was Fraser's.

_Well, duh, dude_ , I thought.

Knots of anger and frustration roiled inside me, and it was all I could do not to zap the electricity in the house. Frying her computer would have been satisfying.

Patty scurried to the door and opened it, letting Fraser into the room. He looked annoyed, but when he noticed the worry on his wife's face, he softened.

"What's wrong, baby?" He brushed a lock of hair from her face and kissed the cheek against which it had lain.

"Nothing. A disagreement with Ralph."

Fraser flexed his biceps and wiggled his eyebrows. "Want me to have a talk with him?"

That got a laugh out of her, and her tension eased.

"No, you goof." She slipped her arm through his. "Come on. We'll watch some TV. I've done all I'm going to do tonight."

They left the room, and I zeroed in on Daniel. He was at Ralph's home, and after I locked onto the location, I followed him there.
Chapter 29

Ralph Drummond lived in a two-story brick home in an older section of the town of Aurora with his wife, Beth, and their two boys. Like Patty, he'd locked himself in his home office as soon as he'd arrived home. Like Fraser, Beth reacted with annoyance and frustration.

When I got there, Daniel was watching the couple argue about how much time Ralph devoted to his UFO group. Once again, Daniel puffed on a cigarette.

"Those things'll kill you, you know." I couldn't help myself. It popped out automatically. All my life I'd been programmed to say that.

He tossed an amused glance my way.

"Right. But maybe you should consider your next life. What if you reincarnate and the addiction carries into that life because you continued puffing away while you were dead?"

"You're reaching. I can't reincarnate—if there is such a thing—while I'm earthbound." He studied me, leaning his face into mine and squinting his eyes at me. "You okay? What happened at Patty's that got you so worked up?"

I sighed.

"We're no further ahead now than we were before at figuring out what they're doing and who they are."

"They're UFO nuts."

"Yeah, I got that. But what's their mission? Why are they messing with Gerry and friends, and what the hell is the Agency?"

"We won't figure that out until Patty and Ralph learn what data Gerry plans to store using that app."

A martini materialized in my hand. _May as well join him._ It wouldn't make me drunk, but at least I'd experience a placebo-effect destressing.

"That'll take time. First, the app has to finish the testing phase. Yeah, we completed programming, but it probably has bugs. Laurel will test it and fix bugs, and then Gerry will user-test it. If it passes, he'll take delivery, but if it doesn't, there'll be a round of bug fixes and testing."

"So? We've got time."

I stared at him, amazed that he'd so quickly forgotten lives were at stake.

"I haven't forgotten. Until implementation, Patty and Ralph won't push things. They've got a copy of the application."

"She doesn't know that much about software development if she doesn't realize they have a buggy version."

"I think all they care about is having any version."

"Makes me wonder, though. I think they not only stole the app but the source, too." Then they could do their own bug fixes, especially if they'd swiped copies of the documentation. If they had, they were damn good at hacking.

Beth and Ralph had kissed and made up by this time, though Beth continued to seethe inside. Ralph had promised to shut down his computer as soon as he'd posted a blog entry. She'd agreed to give him the space to do so, but she resented the concession. All of her thoughts revolved around feelings of neglect and loneliness. According to Beth, anytime Ralph wasn't at work, he was either with his UFO friends or locked in his home office working on UFO group business.

After Beth stormed from the room, Ralph turned his attention to his PC, which had gone into sleep mode. He activated it, and a window displaying a blank blog post appeared. While he pecked away at the keyboard using two fingers, Daniel and I read over his shoulder.

Ralph reported on a government conspiracy to cover up the existence of UFOs who come to Earth to experiment on people they abduct. I got the impression he wrote on this subject regularly and continued a previous thread.

From his thoughts, I picked up frustration at the lack of evidence of government collusion with extraterrestrials he'd been searching for with Dawson's app.

"Are you serious?" I hissed in a low voice. "They're cracking into government facilities or businesses who work with them to uncover UFO conspiracies?"

Daniel nodded. "Makes sense."

My head snapped around. "Makes sense? How?" What was wrong with these people? Why would they risk their lives, their families' lives, and my damn life to chase something that was about as real as a chimera?

"Calm down. I'm not saying they're right. What they're doing makes sense to them." Daniel put an arm around me and kissed my cheek. "What's a chimera?"

"A mythical creature. Part lion, part goat, part serpent."

"Sounds cool."

I laughed, which, as Daniel intended, released my tension.

"Let's get out of here," I suggested. "We're not going to learn anything more from him today, and I want to visit my friends and family. I need a break from all this."

Daniel readily indulged me, and we vanished, heading to my home where my daughter and Harrison would distract me for a while.

Funny how a single decision can change the course of your life—or in my case, death.

***

We took the rest of the month away from the UFO crazies. October remained mild and gorgeous, the leaves on the trees turning orange, red, and yellow, and then falling as softly as poppy petals.

Silver and Harrison often took walks through the local cemetery or along the trails that wind through Newmarket and Aurora. Sometimes, I'd follow them, reveling in my girl's pregnant glow. She suffered the occasional bout of morning sickness, but, for the most part, her pregnancy seemed to be going more smoothly than either of mine had.

This time of stillness, while nature wound down toward the darkness of winter, forced me to reflect on my life and what I'd done with it. To say I had a few regrets would be an understatement. That old chestnut about living every day as if it were your last haunted me as surely as I haunted my loved ones.

What did I regret? Touch. I should have savoured every touch, every hug, and every kiss that I'd ever shared with anyone, especially my children.

When they were babies, I'd tried to emblazon into my memory the soft feel of their skin, their baby-chick-down hair, their toothless smiles, how it felt to cuddle their warm bodies into the crook of my arm and feel the gentle tug at my nipple as they latched on. But as they grew, the newness wore off, and somehow, I forgot they were miraculous.

Oh, not always—there were times throughout their lives when I'd pause and impress a poignant moment onto my brain—but not often enough. As I watched Silver wander through her days, going to school, sharing her life with Harrison, I wished that I'd been more aware when I'd been on the physical plane.

Perhaps that's why I stole October for myself. We couldn't touch, but I could see and smell and hear, and that gave me as much of a second chance at appreciating those close to me as I could hope to get. It was a consolation and a comfort, though only Marc ever knew I was nearby, which made it bittersweet.

I even managed to slip away and visit my mother and sisters to fulfill my promise to provide proof of the afterlife. Daniel had suggested I visit during the night, while they slept. It's possible then to communicate with the living, though they often believe it's a dream.

My sister, Sarah, the skeptic, refused to believe it was anything more than a dream. Mom and Lois interpreted it as my spirit's farewell, which is likely true. Mustering energy for dream communication drained me, and I didn't want to try it again anytime soon.

A huge positive of my month off was the disappearance of the darkness in Thomas's and Arla's auras. Both cleared up, and that gave me the assurance I needed to let my guard down. However, as October eased into November, I discovered that while Daniel and I had been enjoying ourselves, Gerry and Michael had been busy.

We hadn't ignored those two—we just hadn't stalked them. Did I stop caring about what they were doing? No. But some things never change, even with the best of intentions, and I was never what you'd call an activist.

Was it possible this group that called themselves The Agency had some kind of agreement with extraterrestrials? Possibly, but I didn't really believe it. In all my life, I'd never believed in little grey men. I'd never bought that the crash in 1947 in Roswell, New Mexico was anything other than a weather balloon, just as the US military maintained.

Same with the sightings at Rendlesham Forest in the UK. The moving light reported could very well have been a nearby lighthouse.

What makes more sense? That extraterrestrials visit our planet, teasing us with light shows, exsanguinating cattle, and creating artistic designs in cornfields while the government covers for them? Or that attention-seekers get their fifteen minutes of fame by sharing their stories about sightings and abductions?

Some people make an excellent living from these stories. I refused to buy into them. Not this gal. You can't sell me swampland in Florida. I want solid proof. Heck, when I was a kid in Catholic school, and I heard the story of Doubting Thomas, I identified with Thomas. Show me the proof. There's nothing wrong with wanting to see the evidence.

What finally pulled my head out of the homey quilt I'd burrowed it into was a chance encounter with Patty Richards.
Chapter 30

I followed Silver to the mall after she finished school one Tuesday afternoon. She continued to work at her part-time job as a sales associate at Dressing Up, a clothing store selling the latest fashions for young adult women. In a few months, when she would begin to show, she planned to quit. At least the money she'd inherited from my estate would keep her afloat for a while.

Alone in the store, Silver worked on pricing items and stocking shelves. She admired the new fashions with more than a little regret that she'd be unable to wear them. Feminine laughter interrupted her work, and she greeted her new customers.

"Hi, may I help you?"

The mother and daughter could have passed for sisters, but I knew they weren't. Patty and her daughter, Michelle, returned my girl's smile.

"Daniel!" I couldn't hide the panic in my voice.

"It's all right. They're shopping." He placed a reassuring hand on my shoulder.

"Are they? She searched about me on the Internet."

He levelled his gaze at me. "Listen to her thoughts."

I exhaled the breath I'd been holding. "Of course."

Patty's thoughts focused on finding the ideal dress for her daughter. Michelle had plans to attend a musical in Toronto on the weekend with her boyfriend and wanted something new to wear.

A twinge of pain squeezed my heart. I'd never go shopping with Silver for the maternity clothes she'd need. I tilted my face to stare at the floor so Daniel wouldn't notice my grief.

"Honey, you can't hide it from me," he said. "I can sense what you're feeling even if I'm not eavesdropping on your thoughts."

Damn it.

He stroked my arm. "That's a good thing."

"Since when is lack of privacy a bonus?"

"Instead of viewing it that way, consider that I love you and am here for you. You want to cry?" He tapped his shoulder. "Right here."

Helpless to stop the grin, I beamed at him. "I can never be sad around you."

What would I have done without him?

"Well," he said, catching the sentiment, "you might have crossed over. You could be having tea with David Bowie right now."

Puzzled, I said, "Why Bowie?"

He shrugged. "Why not?"

By this time, Silver had pulled three dresses and a top and skirt combo from racks lining the store. Michelle, her face flushed with excitement, followed Silver to the dressing room, Patty taking up the rear.

Not wanting to peep on Michelle changing, I considered leaving but was reluctant to while Patty remained in the store. She hadn't come here to spy on Silver or put her at risk, but that didn't mean the risk wasn't there.

No sooner did that thought cross my mind than I noticed a woman in jeans and a T-shirt sitting on a bench outside the store. She appeared to be waiting for someone, but something about her made me tap into her thoughts.

"She's following Patty." I gripped Daniel's arm. "Oh, God, she's Agency."

I listened further, hoping to determine if Silver's identity registered on the woman's radar. Behind me, the women oohed and aahed over the dress Michelle modelled.

"You look beautiful in this one, honey," said Patty, her voice filled with pride and affection.

Immediately, Silver jumped in with a comment. "I agree. The colour is lovely on you."

"I don't know." But Michelle didn't sound dubious. "Yeah, I think so too."

Heart thudding in my chest, I popped from the store to stand beside Agency Lady. She looked like any other shopper hanging around waiting for a friend or spouse to finish up in another store.

Her face had minimal makeup, and with nothing to accentuate her features, she wouldn't stand out in a crowd. Even her bag was plain and cheap looking. She leaned forward, sliding her running-shoe-clad feet slightly under the bench.

After following Patty all day, she was bored but alert. The shopping trip had been a slight change in routine, but Agency Lady would have preferred finding evidence of terrorist activity. She hoped this assignment would lead to a promotion. She was all but packing her bags to go for training.

"There's a camp for assassins. They train them." I turned a horrified gaze on Daniel.

"I guess they'd have to." He shook his head. "If they're fighting terrorists, what else can they do?"

"Okay," I said grudgingly. "But does Patty look like a terrorist to you?"

"It's not like we know her well."

The excited voices inside the store drew nearer to the exit. Patty and Michelle were leaving, and Silver was encouraging Michelle to post photos of her in the dress on the company's social media pages.

_That's my girl._ What a fantastic sales person.

"Jayden."

Daniel nodded at the woman on the bench.

"She's not the only one watching them." He waved at a coffee stand in the centre of the aisle.

A man leaned against a post, sipping a coffee.

Shocked, I recognized him as the man who'd been in the waiting room with my family when they'd received the news of my death. He'd been there to make sure I didn't survive. I wondered if Michael Valiant had been reprimanded for not killing me instantly. Or maybe they had to do this each time? Perhaps the ray hadn't been perfected enough to kill instantly.

When Patty and Michelle veered left as they exited the store, Agency Goon casually strode after them, giving Agency Lady a slight nod as he passed. She rose and strolled away.

"Shift change?" My words dripped disdain. Not expecting a reply from Daniel, I continued. "At least this probably means they're not interested in Silver."

"Agreed."

"What's the point of stalking Patty on a shopping spree?"

"Only one way to find out." He disappeared.

I waited, tracking Patty via her thoughts. The women were returning to the car, the shopping expedition completed. Patty's plans were to drop Michelle at her girlfriend's house so she could show off her new dress. Patty would continue on to meet Ralph.

And the Agency was hot on her heels.

I had to stop her.

From the backseat of Patty's car, I tried to figure out what to do. Daniel sat beside me, smoking a cigarette.

"You stressed, Uncle?"

"No, why?" He took a deep drag and exhaled the pungent smoke. "Does my smoking bother you?"

"No, but if you're stressed, there are better ways to relax." I gave him a rueful grin. "And I forgot again it won't harm you. Never mind."

He patted my hand, which gripped the back of Patty's seat. "You look like you could use a relaxant yourself. Are you afraid the Agency will harm Silver? They haven't been near your home or office for a month now."

"I know, but now I'm worried about Patty and Ralph—even Arnie."

We'd met Arnie a time or two over the last month when we'd checked in on Patty and Ralph. Not once had they exhibited terrorist activity. While I didn't agree with what they were doing, I didn't want them to pay for it with their lives.

Patty pulled up to a house in her neighbourhood and let Michelle out.

After giving her mother a quick hug and thanking her for the dress, Michelle raced from the car toward the house. Patty watched her daughter until she was safe inside and then turned the car around and drove to a nearby coffee shop.

When she pulled into the parking lot, Ralph and Arnie were visible through the window where they sat at a table.

"We're going in," I said.
Chapter 31

Patty bought herself a cup of coffee and joined her two friends. The trio huddled together, whispering about UFOs and government conspiracies. A few patrons, mostly teens, sat at various tables. Patty and friends camped at a table far enough away from others that they wouldn't be overheard by anyone still among the living.

Daniel and I stationed ourselves at a table beside them and conjured coffee and pastries for ourselves. While alive, I'd avoided junk food, being health conscious—for all the good it had done me. At least I'd been healthy and fit when I'd been murdered.

"Do you regret caring for your health?" Daniel asked.

"Not exactly." I bit into an éclair. "But I do regret ruining my enjoyment when I did have treats. Every time I indulged, I felt guilty about it. I should have savoured it."

He nodded knowingly.

"I was the opposite, indulging in everything. So hedonistic." His eyes filled with sorrow. "I should have gotten help for my alcohol problem."

"Too late to dwell on it now."

He raised his brows and cocked his head at me.

"Yes, that goes for me, too. At least we both know better now."

I studied the three people sitting next to us.

Arnie, in particular, attracted my gaze. He was yummier than even your typical hot hunk despite being a nerd by trade—a fellow software developer. I wasn't the only female in the room checking him out.

His eyes, blue and intense, drew me in first. I couldn't stop gazing into them. Taller than all the other men in the place, he carried his height with confidence. No slouching. His honey-coloured hair grazed the collar of his dress shirt, which was unbuttoned at the top. The sleeves were rolled up, exposing solid and sexy forearms. A light fuzz on his chin and cheeks that matched his hair in colour gave him a bad-boy allure. The unfortunate thing about this God's gift to women was his awareness and exploitation of it.

From his thoughts, I'd learned he was having an affair with a woman in his UFO group and had even slept with Patty once. When I'd first picked up on that, my disappointment in Patty bordered on rage. How could she? But every time I was around Arnie, I could understand, a little, how attention from him would be difficult to ignore.

And Patty didn't have the advantage of reading his mind. The guy was a hound inside, but outwardly? Irresistible charm.

My gaze still focused on Arnie, I spoke to Daniel. "Maybe we can help them realize their priorities are skewed before it's too late."

"That's not our job."

I frowned and shifted my gaze to meet Daniel's. "Why not?"

He opened his mouth to reply, but when nothing came out, I said, "We're here. We're aware. We've got the resources. If we aren't supposed to intervene, then why are we here?"

"Do you suddenly believe in fate?"

"No. I believe in taking charge." I waved my hand at the trio beside us. "They're playing a deadly game, and their families will pay the price for their stupidity. We can help them get past that."

Daniel squirmed, and a pained expression crossed his face.

"What?" Did he think what they were doing was okay?

"We don't know what'll happen. What if it's all true?"

"Aliens? Seriously?" I shook my head. "You don't believe that, do you?"

Or had he stumbled across evidence on this side of the spiritual divide?

"Have you seen ETs?" I pictured the little alien from Spielberg's movie and almost laughed out loud.

"I haven't seen evidence of extraterrestrials, but that doesn't mean they don't exist." He selected a double chocolate doughnut from the plate in front of us and bit into it. After he swallowed, he continued. "I've never concerned myself with UFOs or aliens. My concerns were more terrestrial. I watched over Grace and my daughter, their families. Sometimes I amused myself by appearing at a séance and startling the medium."

"You've never visited other planets?" I recalled our jaunt to the moon.

"No." He selected another pastry and chomped on it.

"Why?" Imagine seeing Saturn's rings up close, or checking out Venus or Jupiter—heck, any of the planets in and out of our solar system.

Daniel swallowed what was in his mouth and licked his lips. "Man, I haven't indulged like that since..." He trailed off, and I picked up from his mind a vision of him sitting, invisible, next to Suzanne at a family gathering.

The little girl sat on the floor in front of the coffee table, legs crossed, holding a paper plate with a thick and gooey slab of vanilla-iced cake. She scooped delicate bites with a plastic fork, and licked her lips after chewing each morsel.

Across from her, Grace sat on the couch, her own piece of cake resting on a china plate.

Suzanne must have been about eight then, only two years away from death.

Daniel had duplicated a plate of delicacies for himself so he could eat with them. My heart ached, as his did, at the memory.

"I'm sorry, Uncle," I whispered.

"You tell yourself it's enough to be around them," he said, "but the torture of being unable to touch them or talk to them never goes away."

He wiped ghostly tears from his eyes with the heel of his hands.

"Well, enough of that. Sorry to sidetrack you. Have you had enough?" He indicated the pastries.

When I nodded, they vanished.

"To answer your question," he said, "I've been afraid to venture out into space. It's not somewhere I want to see, especially not alone."

"We could go together. Find out if what they're trying to uncover is real or a hoax." Why hadn't the truth already come out? Had no one in the spirit world cared enough to solve the mystery that had dogged us since at least Roswell?

"We wouldn't even have to leave the planet. All we'd have to do is explore Area 51. The evidence, if there is any, would be there. At the very least, there'd be clues to where we could look." A sense of excitement and adventure surged through me.

Daniel contemplated for a moment, staring at nothing, his head tilted down. "Maybe we don't even have to go that far. If the Agency is colluding with extraterrestrials, there'd be evidence on their premises. We could find it."

"And give it to Patty and Ralph," I concluded.

He snapped his head up. "Not unless there's a valid reason."

"Why would we keep it from them? They want answers."

Daniel pointed at Arnie. "This guy. Haven't you noticed? He's a loose cannon. If anyone betrayed them to the Agency, it was probably this guy."

"How so?" Maybe I'd let his appearance distract me, or maybe Daniel had spent more time following Arnie, but I hadn't noticed anything suspicious about his behaviour. As far as I saw, he was no more reckless than the other two.

"For one, he flirts with any woman within his line of sight. He's not fussy. That makes him the group's weak link. Listen to his thoughts. He's randier than a one-eyed raccoon."

I couldn't hold in the laughter, and coffee sprayed from my mouth.

Daniel dabbed at his face with a napkin but continued talking, unperturbed. "For another, he's mouthy on his blog. He's daring the government to notice him. That, more than anything, would have put them on the Agency's radar. You taunt the people in charge of the conspiracy the way he does, and you're asking to be taken down. He's arrogant, and it'll hurt them all."

"Okay," I admitted. "You have a valid point."

I refilled my now empty cup with more coffee. Perk number eighty-eight for being dead: bottomless cups of coffee for eternity.

"Arnie, I want you to take a copy of the app." Patty's words caught my attention, and I tuned back into their conversation.

"You have it with you?"

She nodded and dug in her purse. When she pulled her hand out, she held a compact. Opening it, she gave her face a quick once over, snapped the compact closed, and dropped it back in her bag. Her fingers remained curled around something tucked in her palm.

They continued to chat until Patty stretched and then rose from her seat. "I need to run. Fraser's out, but he'll be home soon. I want to beat him there."

The guys rose to hug her. When she leaned in to peck Arnie's cheek, she slipped a memory stick into his jacket pocket.

"Whom should we follow?" I asked Daniel.

"You stick to Patty. I'll stay with the guys. If they separate, I'll go with Arnie and see what he does with that app."

"All right." I waved goodbye to Daniel and jumped to the passenger seat of Patty's car. As she pulled onto the street, I peeked into the rear-view mirror.

Behind us, the Agency vehicle followed.
Chapter 32

Even though Daniel and I followed Patty, Ralph, and Arnie around for a week, we couldn't find any evidence that they were terrorists. They never showed any desire to blow anything up or harm anyone. Their single-minded mission appeared to be finding evidence of the existence of extraterrestrials and suppressed collusion between aliens and the government—all governments.

The three believed governments from around the world were working with the extraterrestrials to exchange humans for experimentation for alien technology. To me, it sounded insane; to Daniel, it sounded plausible.

In the end, we decided the best strategy was to follow Gerry and Cornell around. If anyone was likely to lead us to evidence of alien conspiracies, it was these two. Again, we split up, Daniel following Gerry and me following Cornell.

Like Michael, Cornell was married, but unlike Michael, who had no children, Cornell had two boys.

On this particular day, Cornell arrived home late. This start-early-and-finish-late schedule seemed to be popular with Agency people. I couldn't figure out if it was because they loved their work so much (a terrifying thought), or if it was because they hated their family life so much.

Cornell's wife, Virginia, AKA Ginny, sat perusing a fashion magazine on the family room couch. The live-in housekeeper, Marnie, had already cleared away the dinner dishes and retired to her room. The boys, George and Wade, were up in their respective bedrooms doing homework or playing. Wade, eleven, was absorbed in a math assignment. George, only five, had no homework, so he sat on the carpet in his room, playing with his toy trucks.

I got the sense that these kids were typically out-of-sight-out-of-mind as far as their parents were concerned. If the boys needed anything, they'd bug the housekeeper before they'd dream of going to their parents. Their loneliness was a palpable ache.

After Cornell hung his coat in the closet and set his boots on the tray by the door, he headed for the wet bar in the living room. On his way past the family room, he stuck his head in to greet Virginia.

"How was your day?" she asked, though her voice was distracted. I could tell she wasn't interested. The conversation was a ritual and went the same way every day.

"Fine. Yours?"

"Good." She glanced up long enough to pantomime pouring a drink.

Receiving the message, he nodded.

He strode into the living room and fixed himself a scotch and soda and his wife a vodka martini. I decided to join them, and a cosmopolitan appeared in my hand. Amazing how it was tart, delicious, and perfectly mixed. If only I could study the mechanics of manifesting.

The new-agers in my life had crowed long and loud about how anyone could manifest their dreams. I'd always written it off as wishful thinking. Of course, things didn't work this well on the physical plane, but perhaps the love and light crowd had the right idea after all.

Cornell handed Virginia her drink. After giving him a cursory nod, she sipped and told him the martini was good. That's as far as their interaction went. He told her he'd be in his office and left the room.

I met him there and watched while he booted up his computer and settled in. As the others I'd spied on had done, he locked his door so no one could walk in unannounced. The first thing he pulled up on the computer screen was a file with reports from Michael and Gerry. The subject matter chilled me.

The reports described assassinations and kidnappings, some dating back ten years. Cornell was digging for something. He read, sorted, and filed. I stopped reading over his shoulder and lay down on the couch opposite the desk to track his progress via his thoughts. After a while, I realized he was reviewing everything Michael Valiant had worked on.

After an hour of this, I was ready to call it a night when Cornell's thought patterns changed. Up to this point, he'd been in work mode, routine. Now, he shifted to relaxation mode, as if he were getting into something that excited and interested him.

I moved to stand behind him, but when I peered over his shoulder, I must have leaned in too close, because he shivered. He went to the thermostat that controlled the gas fireplace and turned it up. In the meantime, I scanned the document he'd pulled up.

It looked like a medical file. The name at the top read "Carolyn Fairchild."

She was a healthy woman, late thirties. A photo embedded in the document showed a pretty blonde with electric-blue eyes. She wore a half-smile that hinted at self-deprecation or wry humour. Warmth and kindness radiated from her. Was it the photographer's skill that revealed such character, or was I sensing it psychically?

As Cornell slid back into his chair, pleasantness vanished, replaced by dark foreboding. He traced a finger over the woman's cheekbones, and lust emanated from him. His mind filled with a vision of her strapped naked to a table.

With rising nausea, I struggled to determine if this was something he'd dredged up from memory or from fantasy. Neither option was reassuring. I should find Daniel and report this new development. Cornell was some kind of pervert, and he used his power and authority to exploit at least one woman.

Tempting as it was to escape Cornell and his sordid thoughts, I forced myself to stay. If I was going to be any use to Carolyn Fairchild, I'd have to stay and learn what I could. How could I ignore what went on here? I'd be abandoning an innocent woman to be victimized.

Teeth gritted, I resumed reading the document as he scrolled through it—and finally found evidence of extraterrestrial contact. The agent who'd provided the report described tests done on Carolyn by extraterrestrials and then by Agency scientists.

My stomach lurched at the description of invasive tests on her reproductive organs, including harvesting of her eggs. I shivered and my hand trembled when I raised it to swipe at a lock of hair that had fallen in my face.

This one report proved that contact with alien beings had been established. It also verified that the aliens were experimenting on humans with the help and permission of this secret organization. I still had to determine who ran the Agency, but I suspected government involvement.

Eyes closed, I attempted to connect to Daniel. I picked up his thoughts and located him with Gerry.

_Come here, Uncle, please._ I infused the plea with as much urgency and need as I could manage.

Barely had I finished the thought when Daniel appeared, his face anxious.

"Jayden?" His expression turned to relief when he spotted me. "What's going on?"

"I've found what we've been searching for." I waved a hand at the computer screen.

He leaned in close, and, once again, Cornell shivered. He glanced at the fireplace, which was lit, the blower on and circulating the warm air. With thoughts of a sweater and hot coffee in his head, Cornell left the room, shutting and locking the door behind him.

Daniel took Cornell's place in the chair and studied the file.

When you're a spirit, manipulating anything in the physical plane is difficult. It takes focus and energy, and, if it involves electronics, you have to take care not to zap them. The longer you're on the earth plane, the easier it gets, but it never matches what it was like when you were alive. Therefore, when Daniel tried to scroll up to view the top of the document, he failed on the first try.

He drew in a patient breath and concentrated, dragging his index finger along the mouse's scroll wheel. This time it worked, and the document shifted up. Carolyn's picture appeared in the window.

"She's attractive." Daniel dropped his elbow to the desk and propped his chin on the heel of his hand. "Can't believe they can do this."

"I can't believe they're able to erase it from her memory." According to the document, they wiped her memory at the end of every session.

"She's a psychic," he observed. "We could communicate with her."

"I don't know." The thought of going to her and telling her what they were doing made me nervous. How would I have reacted if some ghost came to me to tell me aliens and government agents were experimenting on me and then erasing my memory?

"We can't. It'd destroy her. We have to figure out a better way."

Daniel attempted another scroll with the mouse and nailed it on the first try. The document swept two pages down.

A gasp behind us made me whirl around.

Cornell stood inside the doorway, his gaze taking in the scrolling window and the moving mouse.
Chapter 33

Daniel snatched his hand away from the mouse and leapt to his feet. As soon as our gazes met, we both laughed.

"Relax," I said. "He has no idea what's going on."

Cornell dropped to his knees in front of his desk and searched beneath it as if looking for hidden wires or magnets. The coffee cup he'd dropped on the floor had been full. The milky liquid was soaking into the carpet, unnoticed by the man who'd spilled it.

When he realized there was no trick, no smoke and mirrors, Cornell hauled himself into the chair. Working quickly, he backed out of the file and powered down the computer. He pushed away from the desk, skimming the chair across the coffee puddle and landing his stocking feet smack into it.

He spewed out a curse, and using an intercom, called the housekeeper to come clean it up.

"I've seen enough here." I wasn't going to stick around and watch him make someone else clean up his mess. "We can discuss things at my house."

Daniel took my hand, and we vanished.

***

At home, I discovered I could walk.

We were in the living room, Daniel on the couch with a coffee and cigarette, me standing at the large bay window. It was dark outside, but I stuck my face through the curtains and gazed out into the night.

Streetlights illuminated the front yard. Our neighbour, Mrs. Frankenhouser, stood on her front porch and whistled at her border collie, Percival, who'd escaped captivity and raced up and down the sidewalk. Occasionally, he veered onto the road. She was lucky the street was deader than I was.

Percival's antics made me smile but in a wistful way. We'd had a golden retriever when the kids were little, and I missed him. He'd passed away shortly after Rory and I had separated, leaving me emotionally drained. The kids had recovered enough after a month to ask for another dog, but I hadn't had the heart.

"I should have bought them a dog." Without thinking, I took a step in Daniel's direction. My face must have registered my shock because he chuckled.

"It's not a miracle, sweetie—just another step in your earthbound evolution." He moved to stand before me and clasped my hands in his. "Now, we can dance."

We spun around the room in a silent waltz, my heart soaring. There's freedom in movement that eclipses even playing in the clouds or standing on the moon.

Sometimes, it's the little things.

Daniel slowed our pace, released me, and bowed low. In return, I curtsied but wasn't ready to stop moving yet. I paced, and it was as satisfying as I remembered.

"You enjoy the strangest things, darling." Daniel parked himself on the couch again.

"It makes me feel almost alive."

Daniel produced another cigarette and dragged deeply on it. He puffed out a smoke ring. I followed its progress up to the ceiling.

Time to get back to business.

"We have to stop Cornell. He's evil."

"Surely you're not suggesting we kill him."

Horrified, I said, "Of course not. How could you think that?"

"I didn't seriously think so, but I can't see us doing anything else that ends with him giving up his career."

In a burst of inspiration, I said, "We could haunt him."

Daniel grinned. "You've been wanting to haunt someone ever since you got here. What makes you think that would halt his activities?"

"We'll interfere with everything he does."

"That can't go on indefinitely."

I halted, hands on hips, and grinned at him. "We've got nothing but time, so yes, it can."

He dragged on his cigarette and puffed out another smoke ring while he considered my suggestion. "I agree he should stop..."

"But?"

He shook his head. "We can't interfere with what's meant to be."

"Meant to be? If you believed that, you'd be over on the other side. Did you or did you not choose to stay behind?"

"Yes, but—"

"No buts." I sat on the coffee table and met his gaze. "Aren't I here because I decided to stay here?"

"Yes, but—"

I cut him off again. "If we have no control over what happens, we might as well lie down and do nothing. I refuse."

"What do you intend to do? Stand next to him to keep him shivering and turning up the thermostat? Zap his electronics?"

I shrugged. "Maybe."

Daniel leaned back on the couch, and the cigarette in his hand disappeared. "Count me out."

"What?" Perhaps I hadn't heard him correctly.

"You're on your own on this. I'm bowing out. It's not our concern."

"How can you say that? You've seen what they're doing—what they've done. I'm a casualty of it. Doesn't that bother you?"

"Of course it does." He clasped my hands. "But if death is the worst thing that can happen to someone, is it so bad?"

"Some things are worse than death—having your eggs harvested without your consent, for one. Can you really sit there and tell me you won't do anything to help that poor woman?"

I yanked my hands from his and stood up to pace again. "Can you really sit idle and let them murder innocent people? Experiment on innocent people?"

"There's nothing we can do about it." He stood now, too, and went to the window. Thrusting the curtains to the side, he pressed his face to the glass. "Don't you think I tried? For years, I tried to make an impact."

I rushed to his side and put my arms around him. "You can affect the physical plane to a greater degree than I can. Together, we can stop Cornell."

He returned my hug, but then eased away from my embrace. His eyes were sad. "I can't help you."

"You mean you won't." I snapped the words out. "For once in your life, step up instead of avoid."

His expression became wounded as well as sad, and I regretted my harshness.

"I'm sorry, Uncle," I said. "But I can't ignore what's happening."

"What can we do? We'd fail, and we'd get others killed by interfering. Have you considered that?"

"No one else will be involved in this. Just Cornell, and if he's killed, it's because he deserves it."

Shock registered on his face. "Now you sound like them."

The words cut me deep inside. "How dare you? I'm standing up for what's right. For the innocent."

He shook his head. "You're after revenge."

"You're making assumptions about my motives? Did you pick that up from my thoughts?" I glared at him, daring him to say he'd heard that.

"You've expressed anger at your murder. Not only in your thoughts—you've said it out loud."

I forced myself to hold my breath and count to ten. It was a trick I'd used when the kids were little and pushed the limits of my patience. If I didn't calm down, I'd say something else I'd regret.

"I hate that they murdered me, that they thought they had the right to decide when and how I should die. They stole me from my children. Stopping Cornell might get me some satisfaction for what they did to me and my family. But it wouldn't be as satisfying as preventing him from doing it to someone else."

"Who made you judge and jury on this? The living can look after themselves, and so they should." He stroked my cheek with his finger. "I'm out of this. If you feel you must intervene, then you'll do it without my help."

Before I could reply, he vanished, ending the conversation.
Chapter 34

Before I returned to Cornell's house, I took some time to visit with both my children.

Silver and Harrison spent their days at school. The pregnancy was still a secret kept to their immediate families, Silver's best friend, Marlene, the only exception.

I'd known Marlene since the two girls had met in junior kindergarten. They'd done everything together since then and were as close as sisters. Marlene would never betray my daughter.

Harrison kept his personal business personal and hadn't said anything to any of his guy friends. He was getting close to confiding in Alan, his best friend. Quite frankly, I hoped he would. I didn't believe in bottling things up. He needed input from a close male friend, so when he brought up the subject to Silver, I hoped she'd go along with it.

They were sitting at the table having dinner two nights after Daniel had abandoned me. Silver had made a simple meal of pasta with meat sauce and salad, and Harrison had added a garlic bread from the local pizza place.

He'd been edgy ever since they'd arrived home from school, and the air was fraught with tension. As they ate their meal in silence, he broached the subject.

"Al's dropping by after dinner."

Silver finished chewing a piece of garlic toast and nodded her head. "Okay. Any particular reason?"

"I invited him. We haven't been hanging out much lately."

"Sure." She kept her gaze on him but didn't push him for explanations.

"I'd like to tell him about the baby." He stuck his palm out as if to stop her from speaking, though she only sat, watching him. "We could tell him together. Marlene knows already, and Al's my best friend."

"All right." She spoke quietly, resigned that the news would slowly spread. While she didn't assume Alan would be the one to broadcast it, she expected that one person at a time, it would get out.

For my part, I ached for what they'd go through, but compared to the Agency horrors I'd witnessed, these were minor, temporary problems. When Silver agreed to share her secret with Alan, something released in Harrison. His face brightened and his shoulders, which had been hunched up, relaxed.

He beamed a smile at Silver, and she returned it.

"Were you worried I wouldn't let you tell your best friend?"

"Sorry, I should have known better."

"Harry, I'm not looking forward to the news getting out, but I trust Alan. You have good taste in friends." She smiled. "And in girlfriends."

"That I do," he replied.

A sense of finality hovered over the evening, and I felt as though I were saying goodbye. Maybe I was—if not forever, then for a long time. Disgusted by these maudlin thoughts, I forced myself to shake them off and enjoy the time I spent with my daughter and her boyfriend.

Silver looked happy and healthy, and so did Harrison. They had family, friends, and solid finances. At least something good had come out of my death. Of course, if I hadn't died, she'd have had my direct help and my financial support. No matter how hard I tried to look on the bright side of what had happened, to find that silver lining, I couldn't do it.

While revenge wasn't my prime motivation for going after Cornell, I had to admit revenge featured prominently.

I remained with Silver and Harrison until Alan arrived, and then I carried on to Marc's dorm room at university.

He was studying, as always. The kid was a studying machine. It thrilled me to see him so passionate about school, and I knew he'd be successful in his field. I was proud of him, but sometimes, I wished he'd find himself a girlfriend, go out, and party.

As he had other times, he sensed my presence.

I sat on his bed, and he talked to me, telling me about his schoolwork and his job helping his profs with some research. It excited him. I wished with all my heart I could speak to him, but he couldn't hear me. I'd have to be content with the knowledge that he sensed me.

All too soon, I felt the tug to confront Cornell and had to leave. The longer I stayed with the kids, the greater became the urgency to get on with what must be done. Finally, the guilt became unbearable.

I didn't sleep, but neither did the Agency, and Cornell had to be stopped. I went to Marc and kissed his cheek. Tears falling, I vanished from his side.

***

Two days later, my torment of Cornell was in full swing at his office. He was on the phone, trying to talk to someone about property the Agency held in Peterborough. From the sound of it, they had property all over North America, much of it in rural pockets where they could work undisturbed. All they'd have to do is put up fences and "keep out" and "research facility" signs, and the average person would ignore them.

Except when it came to some UFO conspiracy nuts like Ralph, Arnie, and Patty.

After all the time I'd spent eavesdropping on them, I'd been able to pick up what had motivated each activist.

Ralph did it for his family's sake. He considered himself and his children abductees, and his memories held vague and confusing images of deer and raccoons. He considered these images to be screen memories, put there by aliens to disguise their identities. It sounded insane, except that I'd seen the evidence. In all probability, Ralph was correct.

Patty didn't consider herself an abductee but was militant about exposing the Agency and its secrets. She had a blog and spoke at conventions about government conspiracies and the UFO cover-up. Her reason for digging was to prove or disprove and then expose the findings.

At first, I thought Arnie was in it for the kicks or the chicks. On the surface, he came across as a committed horn dog and spotlight seeker, bleating loudly on issues for the attention it brought him, especially from women. But as I listened to his thoughts and picked up on his emotions, I realized that he was the most militant of them all. He was doing this both because he was an abductee and because he'd built up a rage and hatred for the governments he believed responsible for his suffering.

The more I learned about them, the more I wanted to help. Since I couldn't help them expose the conspiracy, I made a nuisance of myself to Cornell.

Every time he powered up his PC, I messed with the electricity. Lights flickered; the phone hissed when he picked it up and then went dead; I froze him until his lips turned blue. No matter how much he cranked the thermostat, he shivered, his extremities turning icy and numb.

When Gerry and Michael entered the room, I eased back on the chill and they roasted. The fireplace and blower were always working overtime.

At the moment, the phone crackled and hissed in Cornell's ear, and I could tell by the tone of his voice he was furious. He finally gave up the battle and disconnected the call. The intercom refused to respond when he pressed the button, and that made him snap.

Red-faced, sweating despite the chill, he leapt to his feet, his chair almost upending from the force he'd exerted. He stomped to the door and flung it wide. It crashed into the wall, and he grabbed it on the rebound.

"Helen, contact Zacharia White Wolf. Tell him I'm on my way to see him."

One glance at Cornell's face had Helen, Cornell's mousey assistant, hurrying to obey. She was already speaking to White Wolf before Cornell left the reception area.

***

Contrary to what Zacharia White Wolf's name might lead one to assume, he wasn't First Nation. Originally from England, he moved to Toronto to attend the University of Toronto as a young man and stayed after graduation. That must have been years ago because White Wolf now had a white mane, crow's feet around his eyes, jowls, and the sallow skin and red nose that suggested a long-time smoker and drinker.

He'd changed his last name from Patterson to White Wolf when he'd studied Shamanism in Peru. I couldn't pick up much more of his history than that, but I caught the name-change stuff from peeking at his documents and eavesdropping on his thoughts.

His training might have been legitimate, but his misleading name had me instantly suspicious of him—he was no Arla Hanson, that's for sure. The colours in his aura leaned toward the muddy—he truly was a shady character. That Cornell trusted him and turned to him for help added to my distrust. If White Wolf worked for the Agency, I'd have to be extra careful.

Cornell relayed to White Wolf what had been happening to him. He mentioned that he'd been feeling cold spots and sensing a presence before this, but it had really stepped up lately.

I mentally patted myself on the back for doing such an excellent job. He'd barely gotten any work done, and it interfered with getting through their hit list. As I'd discovered, not everyone on that list was slated to die. Some of them would be abducted—by the Agency, not the extraterrestrials.

Something was brewing, and it centred on the work Patty, Arnie, and Ralph were doing. Those three had kicked from slumber a vicious dog, and it was preparing to attack.

Cornell and White Wolf sat in White Wolf's home office. A part of his home had been designated for clients. Set up to resemble a spa, two rooms had massage tables, large crystals, a diffuser for aromatherapy, and candles. Aboriginal paintings hung on the walls, and Native carvings adorned tables and shelves—all to enhance the illusion, no doubt.

Another room had a sofa, armchairs, a round pedestal table where he could lay out cards for readings, and a desk with his computer and other equipment. This room also had diffusers, crystals, and candles, but most of his therapy work was done in the treatment rooms. The two men settled here, and I perched between them on the table.

Who the hell would trust this man to treat them? Obviously, quite a few people did, because his home was in an expensive part of Toronto. He lived in the Lawrence Avenue and Yonge Street area, in a sprawling ranch-style house on a large lot. The place must have been worth at least five million.

When Cornell arrived, the receptionist asked him to wait while White Wolf finished with a client. Cornell ordered her to clear the schedule for an hour after the current appointment ended, and she did it without question.

That must have cost Cornell quite a chunk of change, especially when he paid her to go get lunch out.

As I listened to the two men talk, I observed White Wolf closely. He hadn't given any indication that he sensed me in the room until Cornell said he'd rushed over here when he couldn't take it anymore. Then White Wolf did two things: he blocked his mind so I couldn't read his thoughts, and he closed his eyes.

"She's here." White Wolf's voice was low and steady.

"A woman?" Cornell looked stumped. "Who is she?"

Now I'd see how good this guy really was. If I refused to speak to him, he wouldn't get far even if he had a gift for mediumship.

My name is Zacharia Patterson. Who are you, young lady?

I was surprised he'd provided his real name. Maybe it was a trick. I remained silent. Cornell shifted in his seat and leaned forward. White Wolf sat quietly, waiting. He didn't send me another thought, and he blocked from me any other access to his mind.

You have to identify yourself if you want me to help you. Tell me your name.

Almost blurting it out, I clamped my lips together. I swore to myself I wouldn't tell him anything, much less that I was a victim of the Agency.

A smile played on White Wolf's lips. "She's someone the Agency terminated."

He'd read my mind. I hadn't said anything—I'd only thought it—so he'd have had to have read my mind. I went through the process of blocking my thoughts from him. Why hadn't I done that first? Mentally, I kicked myself. Well, that's all he'd get from me.

Cornell's back had stiffened at the news that I was one of their targets.

"Recent?" he mused and then answered his own question. "It would have to be."

"She's closing herself off to me. She doesn't want to communicate."

"What can we do about it?" Cornell scanned the room as if he could find me. "Where is she?"

"Sitting on the table between us."

I scrambled up and bolted to the door—a silly response, considering I didn't need to use a door to exit.

"Don't go, dear." This time, White Wolf didn't think it at me. "I can't help you if you leave."

What should I do? If I told them who I was, it could have repercussions for my family, my friends, and, most likely, my coworkers.

I reached out to Daniel, and when he felt me in his thoughts, he bristled.

_Please, Uncle_ , I begged. _I don't know what to do._

Come here, Jayden. Right now.

He was right. I could return to harassing Cornell when he was alone. I followed Daniel's thoughts to his location.
Chapter 35

I found Daniel at the Toronto Zoo. He sat, smoking a cigarette, inside the cougar's habitat, a part of the Canadian animals exhibit. One big cat lay nearby in the snow. When I appeared, its ears twitched, but it didn't move.

Daniel waved a greeting to me. "Say 'hi' to Felix."

"Felix the cat? Really?" I studied the large cat's powerful body, the sleek, buff-coloured fur tinged with grey on the underside. He yawned at me, and I caught an impression of Daniel in the cage playing on the grass with him in the summertime.

"You play with the zoo animals?" What an intriguing thought. "We can communicate with them!"

"Sort of. Through images."

"He can see us," I said, wonder filling my voice. "Why doesn't it freak him out?"

"Animals here are used to people. They like it better when those of us who can understand them visit. Plus, it's a riot when people see a wild animal act like he sees something they don't. I can get Felix here to stare at me and growl. It's a hoot."

"You have a strange sense of humour." I took a seat in the snow beside Daniel. At least I didn't feel the effects of the cold.

"What happened?" He put an arm around me, and, relieved he wasn't angry with me, I snuggled into him.

"Cornell consulted a psychic. It frightened me."

Daniel kissed my cheek. "It's okay. You got away. Don't go back, and you'll be fine."

My heart sank. "I have to."

"Not this again." He snapped it out and his arm pulled away. "What did he say that scared you so much, and why would you want to go back for more?"

I shivered, chilled for the first time since I'd died. My shoulders missed his protective arm, and spirit tears slipped from my eyes.

Tired of arguing with him, I said, "Can you hold me again?"

"All right. Shh." He spoke gently and hugged me close. "If Cornell's called in a psychic, sweetie, then he knows a spirit is messing with him. You're putting yourself at risk for strangers. It might even put your friends and family at risk."

"I've thought about that." Tension eased from me. It felt so good to have Daniel's arm around me. I'd forgotten what it was like to have someone take care of me. Everyone needs it sometimes.

Sure, I could have turned to my parents anytime, but I never had after I'd moved away from home. Friends were a good backup, and so was Rory while we were married. Even after the marriage had ended, I could've turned to him in a time of need, but I hadn't. And here? After death? I had only Daniel, and I needed him now. It made me feel weak.

"You're not weak." He stroked my hair. "It's difficult here sometimes. You want to return to your family, to the way it used to be, but you can't. You go to them, but they can't see you. The longing, the ache to touch them and to have them touch you, can plunge you into a depression."

I raised my gaze to meet his. "Spirits can get depressed?"

"Oh, yes. Those of us who stay here experience all kinds of emotional upheaval. Why do you think we're supposed to cross? Honey, we're not meant to be here."

"If that were true, the option to leave would remain open."

He pressed his cheek against the top of my head.

"We chose to become earthbound. Our deliberate actions lowered our vibration and caused us to lose the option to depart. Until we find our way across, we'll remain here. But we're not supposed to stay. Regardless of how long it takes us to get to the other side, it'll remain our destination."

"In the meantime, I refuse to sit here and watch those psychopaths destroy lives. I can't play while they kill people. No one else should experience the kind of pain and devastation they forced on my family. Why won't you help me?" In despair, I pressed my palms to my face, squeezing my eyes shut.

What the hell was wrong with him? Why wouldn't he get involved?

"I can't. It's nothing personal. There's nothing I can do, and if we interfere, it'll cause problems for the very people we're trying to help."

Lifting my head, I glared at him. "Are you afraid?"

"Of course I'm afraid." Daniel met my gaze without flinching. "Cornell has called in a psychic. He'll hurt you." He put a hand on my shoulder. "Stay away from him. Okay?"

"No."

"Then at least spy on Cornell without letting him know you're there."

I shook my head. "If he doesn't know I'm there, what good does it do anyone? He needs to understand he hasn't gotten away with killing me and he won't get away with hurting others."

At that moment, Felix stepped through us and curled up at our knees. I tried to touch his sleek pelt, but my hand went through his body. Damn, I hated that. Just once, I'd like to touch something in the physical world and have good, solid contact with it.

"He's beautiful. Why'd you come here, Uncle Daniel?"

Daniel rested a hand on Felix's head. "I like him. He's the animal I relate to most. Felix never acts like I'm a spirit. Some of the others go wild, screech, or growl. Felix enjoys my company, and I enjoy his."

The simple explanation warmed my heart.

"I like him, too," I whispered.

This time when I touched the cat, I was careful to keep my hand controlled and steady. I couldn't feel his body under my palm, but I stroked him anyway. The motion soothed me.

"We're no longer part of this world. I told you it'd be difficult to stay and watch. You can't alter anyone's future. All you can do is observe what happens," Daniel said.

"You don't know that for sure."

"I do. I've tried to intervene. Do you think I wanted to watch Suzanne die?"

"She'd be with you then, away from all earthly problems."

"Did your worries disappear when you died?"

"No, but maybe if I were on the other side..."

He smiled. "People say 'rest in peace' when someone dies, but what's peace?" He continued in a rush. "Do you think peace is sleep? Nothingness? Oblivion? Because if so, then there is no resting in peace."

I had an urge to bury my face in Felix's side and sob until I felt better. Instead, I stood and paced. Felix bounced up and trotted to my side. When our gazes met, I caught an image of a large ball. Puzzled, I glanced at Daniel.

"He wants you to play ball with him."

"I don't have a ball."

Daniel laughed. "Get one."

"But I can't."

A cup of coffee appeared in Daniel's hand. "Yes, you can."

"But he won't be able to touch it." How could he? Nothing I manifested could be real on the earth plane. Could it?

"He can see us, he can feel us. It's the same with whatever you manifest."

"How?"

"Animals seem to have an ability to interact with the spirit world. Children, too, and some psychics."

I pondered that. "Arla couldn't see me, but White Wolf did." I whipped up a toy ball and kicked it to Felix, who swatted it with a paw. It bounced back to me, and I booted it at Felix again.

"That makes White Wolf even more dangerous. Stay away."

"I will." I had no reason to cross paths with White Wolf again. The promise was an easy one to make. "Thanks for helping me, Uncle."

His expression turned to panic. "Stay with me. There's so much we can do together. We can spend time with your kids."

I tapped into Cornell. He was at home. Night fell, and he hadn't bothered to return to the office after he'd left White Wolf's.

"Leave Cornell alone. Please. What's the point of getting him agitated? You'll slow him down, but you won't stop him. You'll enrage him and give him incentive to hurt you or your family."

"I'll stop him. Whatever his plans, I'll ruin them." I crossed my arms. "Look, I'll be more subtle. He won't know what's happening or who's doing it. But I won't quit."

When Daniel remained silent, I left.
Chapter 36

By the time I arrived at Cornell's home office, he'd already fixed himself and Virginia their evening cocktails. He sat at his desk sipping on a scotch and soda, the office door locked, the house silent. I couldn't even hear the drone of the television Virginia was watching or any sound from his kids.

The undercurrent in the silence was a walking-on-thin-ice fear. None of them wanted to anger him. While I sensed that he didn't hit them, there are other ways to instill fear, and Cornell obviously used them. Hate is a harsh word to describe feelings for another person, but I hated him.

I stood behind him, far enough away that he wouldn't sense my presence and get a chill, but close enough that I could view his monitor screen. As usual, he'd been reading a report. This one was on Patty Richards.

Agents continued their surveillance. Patty hadn't done anything damaging. Nor had the agents been able to locate proof that she had a copy of the app.

What a relief. She was either keeping a low profile or she was so good at hacking they couldn't catch her. I suspected if there was any superior hacking going on in that group, it wasn't Patty doing it. They probably weren't catching her in any suspicious computer activity because Arnie was the one behind it.

So, while I could feel some relief about what Patty had been up to, I couldn't trust that the group as a whole was behaving. My main problem now, though, was how to stop Cornell from pursuing them. If they didn't stop what they were doing, he'd eventually give the order to kill them.

I couldn't simply convince Patty and her friends to cease and desist. Stopping this group wouldn't save other Agency targets. Did the Agency stop any real terrorists? If so, I wouldn't want to decommission the entire organization, just the sociopath who included housewives and UFO buffs in his hit list.

Cornell closed his reports and opened another file. This one had information on psychic abilities and communicating with spirits. I probed Cornell's thoughts and hit a blank wall. I tried again with more force.

Nothing.

It was as if he'd set up protection.

_White Wolf._ He'd taught Cornell how to block his thoughts.

Then Cornell spoke aloud. "Are you here, watching me?"

I remained still and silent—not that I thought he'd be able to sense me. Cornell didn't have a psychic bone in his body.

He picked up a rectangular contraption small enough to hold in his hand. An LCD window showed 00.1 when he flipped it on. He waved it around, and the numbers went crazy when he passed it through my body.

I recoiled from it. An EMF Gauss meter—a gadget used to detect electromagnetic fields.

So, he wanted to play, did he? I stepped to the meter, and, before it could register my presence, I focused on setting the number displayed to zero. When that worked, I reset it to 00.1.

Whenever he waved it past me, I forced the numbers to remain at 00.1.

_Ass._ If a spirit could fry electronics, did he really think it couldn't influence the setting on an EMF meter?

To annoy him, I moved toward him until he shivered from the chill. I couldn't help laughing when his lips tinged blue and he raced to the thermostat to crank it up. The fireplace poofed on, cheering up the room with its orange glow.

"I know you're here. Tell me who you are. Let me see you."

As if.

He thumped the Gauss meter with his fist and glared at it when the numbers refused to budge. Still, he continued to wave it around. Every thirty seconds, I gave the numbers a nudge, but then as soon as he tried to read them, I reset them to 00.1.

I can do this all night, jackass.

His face reddening, Cornell stomped over to his desk and snatched up his cell phone. A moment later, he had his caller on the line.

"Zach? Jim. She's here."

I tried to tap into White Wolf's thoughts, but he was protecting them. Quickly, I blocked my own as well.

"The EMF meter I bought isn't working. It reads 00.1. I can't figure out where she is... Okay, but how do I make it show me her location?" He sank into the chair at his desk and leaned back in it. "So it's useless?"

Picking up his drink, he sipped and listened. Being unable to hear the other end of the conversation made me nervous. I could, of course, pop over to White Wolf's and listen from there, but I'd promised Daniel I'd stay away from the psychic.

Nevertheless, what he was telling Cornell might be important. I had to know. Before I could change my mind, I popped over to White Wolf's.

***

He sensed me as soon as I arrived, but I'd expected that.

"She's here with me, now," he said into the phone. His gaze hit me full on, and I realized I'd made a serious mistake. Panicked, I dropped out of sight behind the couch. Stupid, I know, but I couldn't think straight.

"Don't hide, girl. Come out. I won't hurt you."

_Of course not. You can't._ But I kept that to myself, my thoughts shielded.

"She's not speaking to me, Jim, so I'll take our conversation into my private room. It's shielded. If she doesn't want to talk to me, she has no right listening to our conversation."

He left the room, his footsteps telling me he headed right when he entered the hallway.

I followed, unable to help myself. How else would I know what he said to Cornell? He couldn't stop me from following him.

The door to his so-called private room was open—so much for privacy.

I stepped inside.
Chapter 37

The room was dimly lit with candles in hurricane lamps on otherwise bare walls. The walls themselves were black, which enhanced the creepiness factor. A round table dominated the centre of the room, a navy, star-spangled cloth draped over it. In the middle of this altar sat a crystal skull the size of a human head. A pearl-handle knife rested in front of the skull. Partially melted black candles in a three-candle holder stood behind the skull.

The only other furniture in the room was an enormous, dark oak armoire against the far wall with a three-seater burgundy couch next to it. I caught the hint of some kind of incense in the air—perhaps he'd burned sage because it irritated my nose and throat. Nausea niggled my gut, and the air pressed heavily on me. The room had no windows.

"Welcome." White Wolf gave me a toothy grin. He stood to the left of the door as if he'd been expecting me.

Oddly tired, I dragged my way to the couch and dropped onto it. He could leave the room, but I'd follow. Where was his privacy now? I bit my lip to stop the laughter.

"She followed me into my private room." He stepped from the room and closed the door behind him. I heard a lock snick into place.

How incompetent a psychic was he? Did he seriously think he was locking me in?

I visualized myself in the hallway. Nothing happened. Annoyed but not worried, I strode to the door and walked into it.

Into it, but not through it. The impact staggered me backward. Panic set in. My hands shook, and I groped my way back to the sofa. I bashed into the altar on my way, knocking the candles onto the floor and jiggling the skull.

How was that possible? What had happened to me? Had White Wolf done this?

My head felt like it was stuffed with tissues. I tried to clear it and calm myself by gulping in deep breaths of air, but the lingering sage in the room made me gag.

_Daniel, can you hear me?_ I tried to tap into his thoughts but got only silence. _No, this can't be happening. Daniel, please._

I pulled my feet up onto the couch, hugged my shins, and rested my chin on my knees. Maybe if I focused on sending to Daniel he'd hear me and come help me. I closed my eyes and prepared to connect when a horrifying thought stopped me.

What if Daniel appeared here only to be trapped himself? It would be my fault, and he'd warned me to stay away from White Wolf. Why hadn't I listened? But how could I have known he'd be able to do this?

That was the problem—I hadn't known, and I'd let my guard down. Now I was trapped. What would he do to me? What could he do to me?

The door opened, and White Wolf stepped inside. He slammed shut the door behind him and used a key to lock it.

"Ready to talk, my dear?" he asked.

I dropped my feet to the floor and sat up straight to face him head on. "What have you done to me?"

"Excellent." He fluttered his fingers. Spotting the candles and holder on the ground, he emitted a hiss of frustration and crouched down to pick them up.

As he returned them to the table, he said, "I'm sure that was an accident, but you might be tempted to mess with my sacred tools when I'm not here." His gaze met mine. "I'll tell you once and expect you to remember: don't touch anything. I can torture you if I want. I'd rather not, but I do have the option."

"Torture?" I whispered it. He'd torture me? The whole situation was surreal.

Satisfied that everything on his altar was in its place, he walked over to the sofa and sat.

Terrified he'd touch me and I'd feel it, I jolted to my feet and backed against the wall between the couch and the armoire.

"If torture's the only way to get what I want from you, I'll do it." He said this with an inflection of exasperation as if he were explaining the obvious to a moron.

"I'm dead." That meant he couldn't do anything more to me, didn't it? Isn't that why it had a reputation for being a sweet release?

"But not gone, and you've been earthbound for a while now. You were half in this world already, and I've ensured you're more fully in it now." He hadn't moved. His expression was bland, neutral, but underneath, a current of excitement charged him up. He enjoyed my discomfort, my fear.

That knowledge pushed my fear aside and replaced it with fury. I sauntered to the altar and stared pointedly at the skull. "So, you wouldn't want me to smash this against the wall, for example?"

His eyes narrowed. With obvious effort, he kept his seat. "Don't test me. You think you can't feel pain, but trust me, you can."

"Trust you?" I raised my brows in mock amusement. "That's cute. You work for a psychopath—you're probably one yourself—and you threatened me with torture. Why would I trust anything you say?"

"Sweetie, the confident act won't last long once I get started, so drop it."

He rose and approached me, his gaze fixed on mine.

"What do you want?" I asked.

"That's better." He took me by the arm, the jolt from his touch making me dizzy. "Sit. We have business to discuss. You might as well make it easy on yourself."

Before he could lead me away from the altar, I grabbed the knife off the table and swung at him.

He caught my wrist in a tight grip and pried the knife from my fingers. Before I could react, he'd twisted my arm behind my back and shoved upward. His other arm held me like a vise against his body. It didn't hurt, but I couldn't move.

"Why can you touch me? How is this possible?" I was talking more to myself than to him—it was difficult to get out of the habit of assuming the living couldn't hear me.

His laugh was a throaty rumble in my ear. "Iron, my pet."

I swallowed around the lump in my throat. "Iron?"

"I've lined the room with iron—all of it. You can't leave through floor, ceiling, door, or walls. Iron has been used for centuries to contain or repel spirits. When I had the room built, I had iron embedded in the material. My own little spirit dungeon."

He dragged me to the sofa, and, as one, we sat. Even when we were seated, he kept me pinned to him. He stroked a hand through my hair.

"Such a lovely girl. You died fairly young, am I right?"

I remained silent. No way would I make it easy for him to learn my identity.

"Come on, now. You might as well work with me. I can be kind as well as cruel."

"Fuck you." I struggled against him and tried to force his arm off me.

"I admire your spirit—if you'll pardon the pun." He guffawed, his breath blowing in my ear.

I twisted my head from side-to-side to escape it.

"You're so brave, trying to prevent me from learning who you are. But, sweetie, you don't have to tell me. I'll know soon enough."

No sooner had he said that than a knock sounded on the door.

"Ah," he said. "So it begins."
Chapter 38

White Wolf hollered "One moment" at the door and then hauled me to my feet. He dragged me to the armoire and wrestled it open while keeping me restrained with one arm.

I tried my best to make it difficult and frustrating for him, but, in the end, he achieved his goal. He grabbed a pair of iron restraints from one of the drawers and slapped the cuffs on my wrists. After dragging me to the wall, he attached the cuffs to a hook in the ceiling, stretching my arms above my head.

When he stepped away, I tried to roundhouse kick him—at least, what I imagined a roundhouse kick to be based on the name. I have no martial arts training.

Sadly, I missed. He saw it coming and shifted out of the way, laughing off my pathetic attempt at self-defence.

He strode to the door, shouting, "Coming. One moment."

Because I was restrained, he didn't have to hurry the newcomer into the room. White Wolf unlocked the door and swung it wide.

Cornell entered and immediately rushed to stand before me and study me. In the meantime, White Wolf once more secured the door.

"She's a ghost?" Cornell's voice held awe. With one hand, he stroked my body, testing its solidity. "Fascinating, Zach. I'm sorry I doubted you."

I shuddered at the invasion and lashed out with another kick. He jumped back at the last moment, and I almost kneecapped him.

He slapped me across the face, snapping my head back. This time, I felt it, though only lightly. It seemed the longer I stayed in this room, the more solid I became. I responded by spitting at him, which failed miserably. Apparently, I wasn't corporeal enough to hock a loogie.

Give it time.

Cornell only smiled.

"Spirit, Jim." White Wolf appeared at Cornell's side.

"What?"

"You called her a ghost. The correct term is 'spirit.'"

Cornell slanted White Wolf a look. "What's the difference?"

"A spirit still has a soul; a ghost is a soulless entity—more energy than anything else. That's where hauntings come from."

"All right." Cornell drew nearer, but this time, he approached more cautiously. "I recognize her."

"Stop talking about me as if I'm not here." My tone betrayed rage. I'd fight them, resist them, however I could. If nothing else, they'd get a lesson in etiquette and learn I refused to be treated like an object.

Cornell met my gaze. "Jayden McQueen."

"James Cornell." I added a sneer for effect.

All that did was broaden his grin. "I had no idea you were such a hell cat. We appreciate your type at the Agency. Shame you had to be terminated." He waved a hand around the room. "I assume you figured out the real cause of your death and that's what this is about?"

"You almost got away with it," I replied. "You would have if you'd left well enough alone."

He raised his brows. "Explain."

Might as well answer and hopefully take any remaining focus away from Thomas.

"I was innocent, but you treated me as if I were guilty. You didn't bother to verify who was using my computer to hack into your system. That was shoddy, and when it continued, you went after another innocent person. I couldn't let you continue your rampage of death."

"We don't kill for no reason."

"You did this time."

"The evidence indicated you were part of it."

Horrified, I shouted at him. "What evidence? I didn't do anything!"

"The activity on your computer. You were recorded working on your computer while the server on our network was being hacked from your IP."

"Have you never heard of 'masking'? Your IT guys should be fired for not figuring out they hadn't traced it correctly."

Cornell twisted his lips into a frown. "They proved it. Discussion over."

"You made a mistake—you just refuse to admit it, because then you'd have to face the fact you murdered an innocent person."

"You're not innocent. You're nowhere near innocent."

"Fuck you. I've got nothing more to lose. If I'd hacked into your system, I'd be gloating about it—except there'd be no opportunity, because I'd still be alive. If I'd been the one to hack your server, you'd never have caught me."

"Interesting." He paused to contemplate.

I attempted to read his thoughts but was blocked. It didn't even feel like he was shielding. Instead, it felt as though I'd lost the ability. The implications terrified me. Even if I wanted to call Daniel, I couldn't.

Cornell glanced at White Wolf. "Can we use her?"

The moment his gaze was off me, I kicked out, squaring him in the nuts. My mamma had always taught me to use necessary force to defend myself, and victim wasn't part of my vocabulary. He'd retaliate, but I'd go down fighting.

"I'm right here. I warned you about talking over me."

Cornell crumpled to the floor clutching his crotch. White Wolf waded in and grabbed the foot I swung in his direction as he neared striking distance.

"You'll pay for that." His voice was low, menacing.

He punched me in the stomach. Even though it forced a gasp out of me and would've doubled me over if the chains hadn't held me up, it didn't hurt.

"Get it through your thick skull: eventually, the pain will come. In the meantime, I have other ways of making you suffer." He glanced at Cornell, who continued to clutch his jewels in the foetal position.

"Obviously, it's time for a demonstration."

***

I'd lived an ordinary life with a decent childhood—not great, but not terrible. So normal that nothing prepared me for hanging from a hook in a psychic's dungeon watching him and his sociopathic friend prepare to torture me.

White Wolf set up in silence, his motions choreographed, reverent. Cornell observed from a position on the couch. White Wolf would perform a ritual first, and he'd told Cornell to stay out of the way.

The three candles on the altar burned, their flames flickering unsteadily, at times flaring and sizzling. A small caldron filled with sand and a piece of charcoal White Wolf had retrieved from the armoire smoldered with pungent incense he'd scooped from a matchbox-sized container. Next to the skull, he'd crushed pieces of sage into an abalone shell resting on a three-legged holder.

The bastard planned to light the sage and torment me with it.

He kept his gaze focused on his altar, chanting under his breath as he moved around it. Into a silver goblet he poured the contents of a bottle of ale, then picked up a drum and wooden stick he'd set under the altar. His chanting grew louder, and he beat the drum.

Deciding I didn't have to be polite, I shouted, "Hey, numb-nuts. You're not even Indigenous. Consider yourself a shaman, do ya? More like charlatan!"

He ignored me, continuing to chant and dance. His steps mimicked the tiny hop-skip I'd seen Native dancers perform at a powwow I'd attended once in town. It angered me that he passed himself off as a medicine man.

I rounded on Cornell. "He's faking. It's a scam. He's a liar and playing you for a fool."

Cornell glanced at me, but then turned away to continue watching White Wolf's show.

Inspiration struck me, and I added my voice to the din by bursting into song—the song they'd played at my funeral—the one my sister Lois had told me channeled Archangel Michael.

"Listen to your heart; let the sunlight touch your soul..."

White Wolf froze, his chanting cut off. His struggle to maintain focus was obvious. He glared in my direction, and I raised my voice.

"Let's find that place again..."

"Shut her up," He barked at Cornell, who leapt to his feet and flung himself at me.

Avoiding my kicking feet, he managed to get behind me and press his hand to my mouth. I bit him. He grunted but kept his hand pressed against my lips.

"Stop it, you bitch," Cornell screamed in my ear.

White Wolf approached, smoke pouring from the shell he carried.

"This'll distract her."

Even before he reached me, my eyes stung and watered. Tendrils of smoke penetrated my nostrils, filled my head. All I wanted was to fly away from it, but the chains and Cornell and my physicality held me fast.

The smoke reached deep into my lungs, into my body. It spread through me, burning me from the inside out. My world was pain without hope of release. I opened my mouth and screamed, a long wail of agony and despair.

In a desperate attempt to escape the pain, I focused on the Archangel Michael song, drawing the words from deep in my soul. "Within this sacred space, it's time to find that place again."

Then Daniel's words from the day we'd run from Arla's cleansing of Thomas's home popped into my head: _She called on Archangel Michael. He'd have taken us to the other side._

Spirits might be repelled by iron, but an Archangel should have the power to get through. If he existed.

Archangel Michael, I call you now.

Tears streamed from my eyes.

Take me home, please, take me home. I'm trapped.

"Bring the light!"

Barely aware that I'd screamed that last part into Cornell's hand in a fit of delirium, I continued to writhe, tormented.

I don't know when everything changed, or how. Perhaps the light in the room grew brighter. Perhaps the pain diminished enough to allow me to return to awareness. Suddenly the room grew lovely and warm and filled with yellow light. Cornell and White Wolf were hollering, but I couldn't make out their words, only the rage behind them.

As the pain died away, love and peace filled me. I no longer heard the men's voices. Instead, a soft music filled the air. My lungs, nose, and eyes cleared, and I dragged in a healthy breath. Fatigue washed over me, and as I drifted off to sleep, I wondered at the miracle that brought me such peace.
Chapter 39

I awoke cradled in a puffy comforter and soft pillow on a bed in a familiar room. When I scanned my surroundings, I recognized the place as the house Suzanne had taken me to when I'd first died. She now sat on a chair next to my bed.

"I'm so happy you returned." Suzanne smiled and gently patted my hand. "Welcome back. I was afraid you'd remain there for years, like Daniel."

At the mention of Daniel's name, I rocketed into a sitting position.

"Daniel. Oh, no." He wouldn't know what had happened to me.

"You can visit him, but he knows you're here."

"I can go to him?" Anxious to see him, I started to rise, but Suzanne pressed her hand against my shoulder and stopped me.

"Not so fast." Her expression was kind, but her tone was firm. "You have to heal. You spent so much time on the other side you couldn't return without help from an archangel."

"Archangel Michael?" He was real?

"Yes, honey."

What should I ask first? Too many questions rattled around in my mind. I decided to start with Daniel.

"Uncle Daniel has been trapped on the earth plane for decades. Why hasn't Archangel Michael helped him to cross?"

"He's never been asked. The angels can't help us without our permission. We have free will for a reason. It's a sacred trust. Our decisions are our own. The consequences of those decisions are our own."

"In all this time, Daniel hasn't asked for help?"

"He's afraid."

"Of what?"

"He made decisions in the past that had horrible consequences. Daniel's been afraid to face judgement."

"You mean we're judged on this side?" Divine retribution exists?

Suzanne nodded. "Yes, but not the way you think—not by whom you think."

"Then by whom?"

"We judge ourselves. You'll see when you have your life review."

The life review was a real thing. I shifted, suddenly uncomfortable. I'd probably forgotten most shameful things I'd done, but I could recall some doozies.

"What happened to forgiving and forgetting?"

"You can't forgive yourself without recognizing what you've done. Not everything you've done was processed consciously." She winked at me. "And not everything you've done that you'll review will cause you to feel shame. This isn't an exercise in humiliation. It's a demonstration of compassion. But you'll see."

"Then Daniel's afraid for no reason?"

"He has his reasons. It's not for us to judge them or decide for him what he should do."

"Have you visited him?"

"Yes."

"Have you told him he can call for help?"

"He knows."

I thought about how quickly Daniel had dragged me away from Thomas's house when Arla called on Archangel Michael.

"I must return."

"Not yet. When you first passed away, you were still tied to the physical plane and could return to say farewell to your loved ones. Now you must remain here for a while. After you've healed, you may visit, but your vibration will never lower enough again to stay there or have any influence on anything there."

"But what about Patty? Ralph? Arnie? They're in trouble. I want to help them."

Suzanne shook her head. "I'm sorry."

"They'll suffer. Their families will suffer. How can we allow that? There was another woman—Carolyn Fairchild. Cornell will harm her. I want to stop him."

"You're so compassionate. I love that about you. But you can't interfere with their journey. It's out of your hands now."

"If I'd known that, I never would've called Archangel Michael. I'd have endured the torture."

"But that's not what happened, and now you're here. You've passed from the world. It'll go on without you."

"No. I shouldn't be here. I should've stayed." Tears streamed down my face. All those people. Oh, God, what would happen to them? The Agency had a whole list of victims. Weary, I met her gaze. "Why won't God stop these evil people?"

She didn't reply, so I said, "He doesn't exist?"

Still no reply.

"Free will? He'd rather sit back and watch torture, pain, and brutality to allow for free will?"

"Would you prefer to lose your freedom?"

"I'd prefer he didn't make assholes."

Suzanne said, her voice patient, "We—humans—make the assholes. We create our own monsters."

"But I have to try."

She smoothed a lock of hair from my face and tucked it behind my ear. "You were always so stubborn. In time, you'll realize that you've already helped."

She rose and offered her hand. I took it, and she helped me to my feet. Together, we walked outside into the yard with the blooming flowers and the buzzing bees. A glorious light shone in the distance, illuminating my grandparents, who waved joyfully when they spotted me.

Both looked young, maybe late twenties, but I recognized them from pictures I'd seen. My grandmother had shiny, black hair that curled around her face like you see in photos from the 1940s.

"Go ahead," Suzanne whispered. "They're waiting for you."

Love and peace flowed from the light, drawing me in. I walked toward it, and then, impatient to reach it, I ran. Music and the sound of singing reached my ears, and joy burst through me.

"I'm home, Gramma," I shouted, and threw myself into her arms.

Chapter 40

My healing took months, but the spirit plane is timeless, so I never noticed. I didn't forget those still among the living, but I learned to trust that whatever journey they each were on was theirs alone to take. I had lost my opportunity to change the outcome when I saved myself, but any guilt I carried over that dissipated in the face of the love that surrounded me. Forgiveness, especially of the self, cleanses and heals.

I returned to the earth plane on a bright spring day. It was warmer than usual—one of those days that makes you feel grateful simply to exist.

Daniel was the first person I searched for, and I found him at a sidewalk café in Toronto. We sat together and people-watched, sipped espresso, and ate chocolate cake.

He'd missed me, he said, and didn't accuse me of abandoning him. He continued to resist crossing to the other side—insisted he was where he belonged. If any spirit needed therapy, this one did, but he refused to admit he had a problem.

"I've been watching them," he said.

"The UFO group?"

"Yeah. And Thomas."

This was news. I gave him a sidelong glance. "Why?"

He shrugged. "Curiosity. And for you. I knew you'd want to know what's happening."

"Thanks." I was afraid of what might have happened while I was away. "Everything okay?"

"Yeah, with Thomas. He's dating Arla. They make a cute couple."

I wasn't sure how to react to that. "I hope they'll be happy."

Daniel ignored the comment and frowned. "Something's brewing."

"How so?"

"Gerry and Michael have forced Ralph into a psychiatric hospital."

I gasped. "How? What about his wife and kids?"

"They threatened his family. If they'd wanted him dead, they'd have killed him, I assume. It's telling that they handled him this way."

"And Beth?"

Daniel's eyes grew sorrowful.

"She's struggling to cope. Goes to work, takes care of her family, but it's crushing her."

"Poor woman." I had no other words. Whatever storm brewed was rolling in quickly, and there was no knowing who it would sweep away. Ralph was just the first, and Beth was collateral damage.

"I heard what happened with you and that psychic. Bastard."

"You haven't gone near him, I hope."

He shook his head. "I don't want on his radar. He saw you. He'd see me."

Relieved, I said, "Okay. Good."

Daniel set down his fork and a lit cigarette appeared in one hand.

Smiling, I said, "I love you, Uncle."

"What?"

"It's the little things. You're a dear." I sighed, remembering what we'd been discussing. "They'll go after them, won't they?"

He nodded, understanding I meant the hitmen from the Agency would go after Patty and Arnie.

"I can't prevent that." I dropped my fork. Half my cake remained, but I waved it back into oblivion. Where did this stuff go when we made it disappear? Was it destroyed? Had it even existed?

"I know," he replied. He wouldn't intervene either. He'd made that clear before.

"You were right," I said. "Whatever happens, it's not on us to try to change it."

"They taught you this over there?" he asked.

"Sort of. I learned by healing myself."

"Is there anything we can do?"

"Yes." I looked him in the eyes. "We can pray for them."

"Pray? You believe in that?"

I nodded. "Not in the way you think. It's a way of sending light energy to them, and that opens them up to communicate with their angels and guides."

He frowned. "I've never met any angels and guides."

"No. You can if you want to. All you have to do is ask."

He averted his gaze and smoked in silence, staring into space.

At last, he asked, "Have you seen Silver?"

So the subject was changed.

"I wanted to find you first and make sure you were okay."

"I'm always okay."

"Yes, you are."

I smiled, but inside I was sad. He hadn't changed, and there was nothing I could do about it.

***

Silver was in the third trimester of her pregnancy. She was in the garden when I arrived, working at clearing away the winter debris. Harrison hovered around her, helping, trying to take the more physical jobs off her hands. She protested, insisting she was up to it, which meant the occasional tug-of-war over a yard waste bag or garden implement. It was a Saturday, so no school.

Marc opened the sliding doors and called out, "I'm putting the kettle on. Who wants tea?" He'd been back from university for a week now, final exams over. He'd work in Newmarket for the summer and then return to school in the fall a new uncle.

"Peppermint for me," Silver called out.

"Sure," Harrison said. "Regular for me."

Marc paused a moment and scanned the yard. He squinted in my direction, as though he'd spotted something he couldn't quite make out.

I grinned. He could still sense me. My vibration wasn't so high he couldn't tell I was there. I clapped my hands and squealed a little.

"Marc?" Silver said. "Something wrong?"

"No. I just..." He trailed off. "It's nothing."

He slid the door closed.

"Hi."

Expecting to see a friend of Silver's approaching, I turned to face the speaker. But the young woman who had called the greeting was talking to me.

"You can see me?"

She smiled. "Of course."

"Oh, you're a spirit too?" Why was another spirit here with my family? I didn't recognize her, but she seemed vaguely familiar.

Her hair was the same chestnut as Silver's, but her cheeks were round and her eyes the same almond shape as Harrison's. I gasped.

She laughed. "Hi, Grandma."

"But..." How could it be?

The young woman giggled, putting one dainty hand in front of her mouth.

"I can visit now that my mom is near the end of her pregnancy."

"Out of body?"

"Yes. Whenever my body is sleeping deeply."

"But you're not a baby."

"Thank goodness spirits can shift ages, don't you think? I see you're my age in spirit."

My grandkid was going to be a smartass like her mother.

"I'm so happy I could meet you."

"Me too. When I sensed you here, I had to see you. I'm sorry I won't grow up with you, but maybe you can visit me. I'll know you're here."

I shook my head, and tears sprang to my eyes. "You won't. No one can see me."

"Marc has natural psychic ability. I'll have even more. This isn't my first rodeo, Grandma."

"You'll work on it?"

"Yes, but it'll complicate my life. Dark times are ahead. They'll need me."

"Dark times?" A sliver of fear spiked through my gut. Was Cornell going to harm my family?

"More global than that. We're all in for a rough ride." She smiled. "But don't worry. I'm here for a reason."

_Everything happens for a reason._ Daniel had believed that.

"What's your name?"

"They'll name me Rylan. This time around."

Marc stepped from the house carrying a tray with tea and biscuits. He set it on the round patio table on the back deck. Silver and Harrison dropped their gardening tools and hurried to claim their mugs.

"I'll visit," I said. "I'm so thrilled we met. I love you."

She hugged me, and I kissed her cheek. She vanished, returning to her tiny body in Silver's womb.

Daniel appeared, sporting a broad grin. "So, you've met the new addition to the family, I see."

"You've met?"

"Of course. While you were away."

We fell silent then, each reflecting on where I'd been.

"I have to return now." Regardless how long I stayed on this side, the risk of becoming earthbound was gone. But I wanted to go home. Absence from the Light brought a yearning for it I could only ignore for so long.

"Okay. I'll see you again?"

"Of course."

We hugged, and I vanished.

I reappeared inside a van parked across from Patty Richards's house. Michael Valiant and Gerry Muniz sat inside, eyes on a monitor displaying the interior of Patty's house.

It's beginning. Right now.

What these two men did here would reverberate through time. I tapped into Michael's thoughts. Uncertainty and doubt rolled off him in waves. As I watched, his aura shifted. Where it had been muddy, it lightened, acquiring a yellow tinge. Other colours bubbled up to the surface.

_It's him. He's the key._ Gently, I touched my palm to his face.

"I'll pray for you, too," I said and returned home.

The End

Thank you for reading my book. If you enjoyed it, won't you please take a moment to leave me a review?
Sample Chapter: _The Experiencers_

Michael "Mick" Valiant checked his watch and realized he was going to finish work early. The upside was he'd be home for dinner; the downside was he'd be home for dinner. He cringed. The thought of going home reminded him he might be getting separated soon, perhaps even the next time he was home long enough to see his wife before she went to bed. Jessica had something on her mind lately, and he suspected it was divorce.

He pulled his thoughts away from his marriage and refocused on the job. Michael sat behind the driver's seat in the back of a white van displaying a cable company logo on the side. The video monitor before him showed the inside of the sprawling brick bungalow across the street. His target, Patty Richards, was inside the house.

Aside from the stats he needed for the job, Michael knew little about Richards. He knew her only as a threat to the Extraterrestrial Alliance Project, or ETAP, as those involved referred to it, and any threat to the Project had to go.

Michael glanced over at his partner, Gerry "Torque" Muniz, who sat next to Michael, also staring at the monitor. Judging from the vacant look in Torque's eyes, he wasn't seeing what was there. Sweat beaded on Torque's broad forehead. Hair around his bald spot spiked up, reminding Michael of a porcupine with tiny black and grey quills.

"Why don't you take off that jacket?" Michael asked. "You're drenched."

Torque shook his head, eyes still unfocused. He continued to sit and stare, brows furrowed. Finally, he spoke. "I hate leaving them alive."

He meant Ralph Drummond. They'd forced him into a mental institution to silence him. It hadn't been their typical job. As if they hadn't had this conversation numerous times since they'd been handed Drummond's dossier, Michael said, "Then why did we?"

"Have you looked at the rest of the targets?"

This was new. In previous conversations, at this point, Torque would say, "I don't know," to which Michael would reply, "Then why worry about it?"

Michael did a job, following orders precisely, and then forgot about it. It helped him maintain his detachment and his sanity. The Drummond job had been no exception though his initial gut reaction to it had been different.

When he'd first read the file on Drummond, he'd felt uneasy, like something was off. But he'd ignored it and carried on. With Torque's reminder of Drummond and his file, the uneasiness returned. He looked at Torque. "I've read the list."

"No," Torque said. "Have you looked at the list in detail?"

"What's your point?"

"I figured out why we didn't kill him, and why the other two won't be killed either."

"Okay," Michael said. "Why?"

"They're abductees, and killing them would interfere with the experiments."

"Where did it say that?"

"It didn't. Not explicitly. They're all members of the same UFO group, except this next target. The ones we can't terminate are flagged as 'catch and release.' The aliens want them for their experiments. We have to get creative if we want to silence them. Drummond goes to the mental hospital; the other two are disappeared to the Agency."

"Why didn't I see that?"

"You wouldn't have noticed if you weren't looking for it."

"Carolyn Fairchild and Arnie Griffen. I saw they weren't to be terminated."

Michael didn't have the other files, but he picked up the Richards file and opened it. Torque was right. Nothing in the file indicated she belonged to the same UFO group as the others. In fact, she wasn't a member of any UFO group. He saw on her schedule that tonight she was due to attend a concert at her daughter's school. Michael felt a twinge. She'd be dead by then.

A note in the file stated Richards was Drummond's associate, maintained a blog, and travelled around North America doing speaking engagements. "What's the blog about?" he asked.

Torque shrugged. "Doesn't matter."

Michael nodded, understanding. He removed his weapon from a pouch at his side and marvelled, not for the first time, at how something so small could be so deadly. The size and shape of a penlight or laser pointer, the weapon discharged a microwave beam that could penetrate walls and kill a person from over twenty metres away. Soon, when he deemed the time right, Richards's heart would stop, and the coroner would list it as "natural causes."

In no hurry, he waited and watched. He ran his hand through his hair, an absent-minded gesture he'd repeat often when he was waiting to kill. He glanced at Torque, expecting a remark. Torque was back to staring vacantly at the screen and hadn't noticed.

Michael looked up when he heard the door to the house open. Two teenagers stepped onto the porch. Their light and jovial voices carried through the open windows of the van. The girl was Patty's daughter, Michelle. The male would be Ian, the daughter's boyfriend.

Ian said something too low for Michael to make out. It must have been funny because the girl burst out laughing. The hearty laugh jarred Torque out of his stupor, and he looked up from the monitor at Michael.

Michael continued to wait. The two teens scampered down the porch steps and jumped into a black Volkswagen Jetta parked in the driveway. Sleek and shiny, the car couldn't have been more than a few months old. Had to be the kid's father's car. But perhaps not. Kids these days were spoiled. The car could very well be his.

Michael glanced at the clock on the dashboard and waited for the kids to pull out of the driveway. He'd have an hour before the husband returned. That would be plenty of time. Most of the neighbours were also at work.

The Jetta eased onto the road, the back end swinging past the van. Michael glimpsed Ian's face as the kid straightened the wheel and then accelerated the car down the street. Neither kid spared the van a glance.

Michael checked the monitor and changed the view to the kitchen. From his periphery, he saw Torque turn back to the monitor.

Richards, her long hair tied back in a ponytail, stood in front of the kitchen island, stirring something in a bowl. She resembled her daughter. It would be easy to mistake them for sisters even though Patty was more than twice her daughter's age.

Michael realized he was holding his breath and exhaled. Sweat trickled down his back, and he checked the thermometer: twenty-two Celsius. Hot, for the end of April in Southern Ontario, but not hot enough to make them roll up the windows and turn on the air conditioning. Fortunately, there was a breeze and only slight humidity.

He started to lift the weapon, but paused. His hand drifted back to rest on his thigh. This looked wrong. It felt wrong. But he had the right target. All the information he had bore that out, the clincher being the carefully installed surveillance equipment the grunts from the Agency had placed inside the house. Michael felt another twinge. This reminded him of the Drummond job—like someone had made a mistake and he was silencing the wrong person.

"What are you waiting for?" Torque's voice startled Michael, but he didn't flinch. He cleared his head and focused.

Michael lifted his weapon and pointed the business end of it in the direction that put the Richards woman in its path. He clicked a button and locked it into place, keeping the weapon on and trained at her. On the monitor, he saw Richards sway. She turned off the mixer, but before she could set it down, she collapsed, dragging bowl and mixer down with her.

The bowl shattered when it hit the floor. Batter and glass sprayed everywhere. The mixer plug yanked free of the outlet, the cord snaking down on top of her.

Michael waited.

She jittered and thrashed. Then she was still.

He waited.

She didn't move.

Michael took his cell phone from his jacket, which hung on the back of the passenger seat behind him, and speed-dialled Jim Cornell, his boss. He heard a click, and Cornell's voicemail kicked in. When the beep sounded, Michael cleared his throat and spoke. "Hi, Jim. Valiant here. We're done at the job site and on our way back." He ended the call and returned the phone to his jacket.

A glance at the monitor verified Richards was still motionless. Michael stuck the weapon back into the pouch at his side. Mindful of the low ceiling, he climbed into the driver's seat. He started the van, anxious to leave, but waited while Torque shut down the equipment and climbed into the passenger seat.

When they reached the south end of Richmond Hill, Michael's cell phone rang. He punched the speaker button. "Valiant here."

"Yeah, Mick. It's Jim. I got your message. Good job."

"I've gotta ask, Jim: what did these people do? They don't seem like our typical targets."

"You can ask, Mick, but trust me, they're a threat. And this isn't something we discuss over a cell phone."

"Right." He hung up the phone, but his doubts continued.

"I wouldn't question Cornell if I were you," said Torque. "If you want to ask someone anything, ask me. If I don't know the answer, it's because we're not supposed to know. Are we clear?"

Michael nodded, keeping his eyes on the road. Torque was right. But he persisted. "Don't you think it's odd, though, that we're targeting housewives now?"

"Maybe they aren't just housewives. It's not our job to verify that the targets are correct. What's up with you? I've never known you to question an assignment."

"This feels different."

Torque stared at him, one eyebrow raised, his lips pursed. "You going all new-agey on me? Have you been spending too much time on Carolyn Fairchild's file?"

Carolyn Fairchild, one of their catch-and-release targets, was a psychic medium running a holistic practice from her home. Michael laughed, shaking his head. "Thanks for that. I needed a good chuckle."

"Let it go, Mick. Don't worry about if they've been properly vetted. You can be sure they have. Whoever the Agency targets, they no doubt earned the recognition."

Michael didn't reply. He exhaled, releasing tension. These were career-limiting thoughts. He needed to get over them, or risk, at the least, his career, at the most, his life and perhaps even Jessie's life.

Two hours later, Michael pulled the van into a reserved spot in a parking garage in downtown Toronto. Torque looked around the van. "Don't forget your jacket."

Michael nodded, retrieved his jacket, and picked up his files. He locked the van and walked around to where Torque waited. Torque already had his ID badge clipped to his lapel. Michael pulled his own badge out of his pocket and pinned it on.

"Have time for a drink after we report to Cornell?" Michael asked.

"Still avoiding the home front?"

"I guess. I have to make it up to her, but I don't know how." Even as he said it, Michael knew he wouldn't have that drink with Torque, he wouldn't be home for dinner, and he wouldn't let it drop. He'd hole up in his office and do a little digging on that UFO group.

Michael mentally reviewed the list of remaining targets: John and Carolyn Fairchild, Shelly and Steven Rudolph, and Arnold Griffen. But first, he would find out why Ralph Drummond and Patty Richards were considered such threats they'd had to be silenced immediately.

###
About the Author

Val Tobin lives in Newmarket, Ontario with her husband, Bob, and Scully, their cat. She has a master's degree in parapsychology and a B.Sc. in parapsychic science. Over the years, she's participated in paranormal investigations, became a Reiki Master/Teacher, an Angel Therapy Practitioner with Advanced Standing certified by Doreen Virtue in Kona, Hawaii, and for ten years was a software and web developer.

Other books by Val Tobin

_Angel Words_ by Doreen Virtue and Grant Virtue

Val contributed a story to Doreen and Grant Virtue's _Angel Words: Visual Evidence of How Words Can Be Angels in Your Life_

_The Valiant Chronicles_ **Series**

**Prequel:** _Earthbound_

A spirit becomes earthbound after refusing to cross over in order to solve her murder and prevent more deaths, some of which might be predestined.

**Book One:** _The Experiencers_

A black-ops assassin atones for his brutal past by trying to help an alien abductee escape her fate.

**Book Two:** _A Ring of Truth_

A rogue assassin returns from the dead to rescue alien abductees and triggers Armageddon.

Injury

A young actress at the height of her career has her personal life turned upside down when a horrifying family secret makes front-page news.

Gillian's Island

A socially anxious divorcée confronts her greatest fears when she's forced to sell her island home and falls for the dashing new owner.

Walk-In

A young psychic woman fights an attraction to a handsome but skeptical novelist while she battles a power-hungry sorcerer determined to make her his next conquest.

Short Stories by Val Tobin

Storm Lake

A girl and her little brother struggle to save themselves when trapped in an isolated marina by flesh-eating creatures.
Connect with Val Tobin

I really appreciate you reading my book! Here are my social media coordinates:

Like me on Facebook: <https://www.facebook.com/valtobinauthor>

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Visit my website: <http://www.valtobin.com/>

