Second chapter! Reviews are appreciated.

Harry took down a few more pertinent details from Pauline Gordon before making arrangements to meet with her tomorrow evening.

Simon Ayers had been a graphic designer, working for a small but successful firm in the city. They'd met when he'd done some freelance work for the architectural company where she was still currently employed. Shortly after their engagement, he'd been diagnosed with terminal cancer. In a few short months, the 31-year-old's life came to a pre-mature end.

A low flame heated up the potion as Harry rummaged through the shelves of his lab. "Are there any usable crystals left?" he called over his shoulder to Bob as he upturned a box on his lab's work table. A few shards bounced out and promptly rolled under a bookcase.

"Yes, there they go," Bob replied, pointing. As the wizard got down to retrieving the missing pieces, he studied the rosary that had been delivered to the office as promised by Pauline. The woman had lovingly wrapped the rosary in tissue paper and then bubble wrap before putting it in the messenger pack. "If Ayers wasn't a true believer, the last rites may not have worked."

"Well, Pauline says he got really into it toward the end," Harry said from his place on the floor. "Man, it's dusty down here. I need to clean this place."

"Yes, so you said last year."

"I'll get to it," defended the wizard.

"Yes, so you said las-"

"I get the point," Harry interrupted. He got up with a workable crystal and an arm caked in dust. Tying a leather strip to it, he dipped it into the mixture. "Even if Simon Ayers is sticking around, I don't even know if he's the one haunting her."

"You don't think he just wishes to be close to her?" asked Bob as he watched the solution light up.

"Maybe," Harry allowed, grudgingly.

"But?" asked the ghost, easily reading the hesitation in the wizard's tone.

"It's just the way she describes the haunting. It sounds almost painful. Like, physically painful. If he wanted to stay around her, couldn't he do it without hurting her?"

"You don't think she might have omitted something in your interview with her?" Bob speculated as the wizard extracted the crystal. "Something that might be causing Ayers to be upset with his fiancee?"

"What, like she cheated on him?" asked Harry. The ghost shrugged. "No…I don't think so," he said, thinking about Pauline's weeping. "It doesn't fit." Shaking the dangling shard from the leather strip, he let the excess potion drip back into the bowl before holding it up for Bob's benefit. "Gotta test it first. Make sure it's working."

"By all means," gestured the ghost.

The wizard held the crystal over the ornamented skull sitting on the work table. The crystal swayed on the cord for only a few seconds before the clear shard lit up to a bright blue color, indicating a spectral presence.

"Is there a ghost in the house?" Harry inquired with a smile.

"Yes, present," Bob replied, dryly. "The spell is working."

Nodding, the wizard moved the crystal away and waited it to fade before holding it over the rosary. He watched in silence as the shard rocked back and forth, remaining clear. Harry was close to stating Simon Ayers' spirit had passed on when the crystal began to shine the faintest shade of blue.

"He's not close," said Harry, staring at the low light.

"But he is still here," Bob pointed out.

"Guilty conscience?" he asked with an ironic grin.

From across the table, his client only grimaced and pushed a bulging envelope toward him. "It's all there." He made him wait anyway as he counted out each bill.

"Okay!" he said, pleasantly, slipping the packet into his jacket. "But before we start, Mr. Bellairs, I'm curious." At his client's heavy sigh, he held up a hand. "If you'll indulge me for a moment. I'm merely curious why you're coming to me."

"Does it matter?" He only smiled back at Bellairs, pleasantly. "Because there is no one else," answered Bellairs, tiredly. "And…in the end….I want to be with my wife."

"Which one?" he asked innocently.

"Annie. My first wife," Bellairs replied. There was a distinct lack of anger in his voice despite the insinuating look on the other man's face. If anything Bellairs looked only pale and defeated. "When we divorced I was still a young man. Back then it felt like your life would go on forever," he said, sadly. "I felt like I could never die. And Annie wanted me to live a good life. Maybe poor. But good."

"And I take it you didn't."

"No, I didn't."

"So why see me?"

"Because I'm not going to live forever. I'm going to die. And…"

"And you're scared?"

Bellairs' grey eyes stared hard and for the first time, there was some of the old fire within him. "Yes," he answered, shortly. "I'm scared. I want to be with Annie. I want to be with my family."

"Yes, family is important," he said. Bellairs missed the sarcasm.

"And there is no one else to help me. You are my last resort."

"Well, Mr. Bellairs, I'm used to being people's last resort. Comes with the job. Now," he gestured to the cot. "If you'll take off your shirt and lie down, we can get started."

Bellairs rose and walked over to the small, but clean bedding. As he took off his suit jacket and began to unbutton his shirt. A gold crucifix dangled from his throat, gleaming in the low lights as he pulled off his shirt.

The other man chuckled. "You wear a cross?"

Bellairs touched his throat, as if he'd forgotten it was even there. "I…"

"No, no, say no more," he said, stopping him. "I've seen more pathetic displays. But you can take it off now." He rolled up his sleeves. "I will warn you," he said. "This is going to hurt. But no worries. Once we're done you'll feel much better."