"So," Susan drained her glass. "I think you know my friend Emily. She works in Special Collections at the university library."
"Yeah," said Bobby. "I know her. Nice kid. Smart. Really knows her stuff."
"She's brilliant. I've been helping her with her Master's thesis. Anyway, we were getting a coffee a couple of weeks ago, and I was telling her about some odd experiences I've been having. You know how something can really be bothering you, and once you tell someone else, it all seems kind of ridiculous? Well, it was like that. I was sure she'd tell me it was all in my head and nothing to worry about. But she kept insisting you could help me. She told me you'd know what to do."
"What kind of experiences are we talkin' about?"
"That's the problem. I'm not sure what I've actually experienced, and what I haven't. At first I thought it was just my imagination. I've been working late on a particularly boring project, and thought I was just overtired. You know, eyestrain or something. I keep having this feeling that someone's watching me."
"Any odd smells? Like sulphur? Ozone? Or smoke?"
"No, nothing like that. But all week I've been seeing something move out of the corner of my eye, then turn to look at it and there's nothing there. And it's not only that, now. I see shadows in the windows, and mirrors fog up for no reason. My phone will ring, I'll answer, and no one will be there, just a lot of static. The more I try to ignore it, the worse it gets."
"Sounds like something's tryin' to get your attention."
"Yes, exactly. That's what Emily said. I came here every night, but couldn't bring myself to talk to anyone. The whole thing seems so vague. I was afraid you'd think I was being silly."
"I know just about everyone who comes in here on a regular basis. Pretty lady like you, drinkin' alone in the corner? I couldn't help but notice something like that. When you didn't speak up, I figured you might have been waitin' for some idjit that didn't have the good sense to know what he was missing."
Susan smirked. "No, I'm between idjits at the moment."
"That's probably wise," Bobby replied.
Her eyes met his for a brief moment. She laughed. He couldn't decide whether to kick himself for flirting with her, or pat himself on the back because it worked.
"I'm guessin' something happened that made you change your mind," he ventured.
"Of course I changed my mind," Susan scoffed. They were idiots."
"No, I meant...you know...talkin' to me. About...hunting things."
"Oh." Susan was mortified. She stared into her empty glass, as if a cure for embarrassment might be lurking at the bottom among the limes. "Oh, my God. I can't believe I just said that. Stupid."
"It's fine," Bobby chuckled. "Now that each of our mouths has a foot in it, we're even."
"So," she took a deep breath. "Things. What do you need to know?"
"Let's start with everything that changed between 'vague' and tonight."
"Well, there's this," Susan pushed up her sleeve and unwound a length of gauze, revealing several deep, jagged lacerations on her wrist and forearm.
"Damn. I wouldn't call that vague. What happened?"
"I was typing away on my laptop this afternoon, when the screen started going all wonky. It had been a shitty day at work anyway, and that kind of put the cap on it. That's all I needed, right? Some computer glitch ruining a week's worth of unbelievably tedious rubbish. So I went to get a memory stick out of my briefcase to back up my files. When I came back, I noticed that my coffee had gone stone cold. It was really odd. I'd refreshed it not five minutes before, yet it wasn't even warm. I thought I'd pop it in the mic and warm it up again. The instant I picked it up, the cup broke - no, that's not right. More like exploded. Right in my hand."
"Let me see," he said, gently taking her arm. The wounds were quite fresh, still oozing blood. Nasty, to be sure, but nothing particularly unusual, beyond the obvious force with which the broken shards had met flesh. What interested Bobby the most was a pale, angry welt across the base of her fingers - in the exact spot where the handle of a coffee cup would rest. "Did this happen at the same time?"
"It must have," Susan replied with a shrug. "I didn't even notice it, to be honest. Too busy dealing with all the blood, I suppose."
"Does it hurt?"
Susan shook her head. "Not at all. It's kind of numb, actually."
"That's an ice burn," his eyes brightened. "I think I know what we're dealing with."
"Really?" She squinted at the seemingly innocuous injury. "You can tell from one little blister?"
"Yep," he said triumphantly. "I'm pretty sure we're dealing with a ghost."
"A ghost. Like the... um... ethereal residue of a dead person?"
"Yep. Not sure what kind, exactly, but it's a start."
"Oh, lovely. There are different kinds now?" Susan was having a hard time wrapping her mind around the concept, but Bobby seemed to know what he was doing. "And you can get rid of it? How do you kill someone who's already dead?"
"It's more like sending 'em back to wherever they're supposed to be. Depends on who they were and why they're here."
"Can you take care of it then? I'll just sit here and bleed." She blotted her arm with a cocktail napkin.
"Oh, shit. I'm sorry. Wasn't thinkin'. Let me get you another bandage." Bobby went behind the bar and found a first aid kit.
"You really ought to have that stitched up," he suggested. "I'll drive you to the ER if you want."
"I'm fine," she said dismissively. "Not a big fan of doctors." She watched with mild detachment as he dressed her wounds. "Well, Bobby Singer," she said, "what can you tell me about ghosts?"
