Author's Note: I really had no plans to continue this story, but I was encouraged to write more from some of my readers: Thank you. This story is really book-verse, but since I really liked the idea of Bob the ghost, in my world Bob is Hrothbert of Bainbridge. This isn't a happy story...you have been warned.

Chapter 2

"What can you ever really know of other people's souls; of their temptations, their opportunities, their struggles? One soul in the whole creation you do know and it is the only one whose fate is placed in your hands." - C. S. Lewis

When he reached the beetle he wasn't even sure how he got there, he yanked the door open and threw his staff into the area that had once housed the back seat even as he folded himself into the area behind the driver seat. He felt the car jerk in response to his anger and he concentrated on breathing, slow and steady, in and out, forcing himself to focus on bringing his emotion and power under control.

After several minutes he felt more grounded and better able to think. He touched the barely healed gash on his chest with the matching one on his right palm and he felt the pain of loss surge through him again, but this time it was different. The anger was there, the pain was there, but his thoughts cleared enough to formulate a plan. That is if you can call going in guns a blazing a plan.

He swallowed, and silently begged the car to start. He was slightly surprised when it did so with little resistance. He drove as if he didn't care whether he lived or died. Running stop signs and lights, switching lanes at the last minute, cutting people off and causing more road rage in 15 minutes than he normally did in a week. The beetle huffed and shuttered when he pulled to stop in front of his apartment. There were things he needed and people he needed and he immediately started screaming to Bob to help as he entered the lab.

Bob materialized quickly with a pout, and was about to reply with a some sarcastic comment when he saw Harry's blood covered clothes and read the pain on his face.

"Harry, by the gods what is it? What happened?" Bob stepped forward, raised a hand only to drop it quickly to his side as he silently cursed his incorporeal form.

Harry looked up at Bob from the floor where he had squatted to go through the cabinets under his work table, "She's dead Bob." His voice held no emotion and in the flicker of a heartbeat he was back to pulling things off the shelf and asking where things were.

Bob paled, if that was possible, and answered, "Last row in the back. Harry who are you talking about?...Top shelf, next to the bottled demon sulfur…Harry, look at me please." Bob implored even as Harry ignored him and continued to pull bottles and packages from the shelves.

"Harry Blackstone Copperfield Dresden, damn it answer me!" Bob said with quiet exasperation.

Harry stopped his rifling and stood to face the ghost. Bob was slightly shocked at the expression on the wizard's face as he spoke.

"You hold no power over me, ghost. My name means nothing from you. Now, help me or get the hell back in your skull." Harry glared at the ghost and swiped an aggravated hand over his face leaving behind bloody streaks where his recent tears had been.

"I'm sorry Harry. I meant no disrespect," his voice just above a whisper. "I only want to help you and if you tell me what is going on I might have a better chance at accomplishing exactly that." Bob said contritely, his head bowed in true remorse.

The muscles of Harry's jaw bulged as he clenched his teeth. He leaned his head back and swallowed; fighting the tears again. Once again he placed his palm over his chest and groaned as the pain of loss intensified. It was almost impossible to think and he gasped before finally turning his wild gaze to the ghost.

He suddenly fell to his knees and with his forehead against the cement he sobbed uncontrollably. He didn't want to, but he couldn't have stopped if he had all the power on earth at his disposal. He fought it with every ounce of his strength, the pain rising up in him, humming through him and around him. His soul was dead and cold and he had left it lying on the street.

Bob knelt by his side, his voice thick with emotion as he spoke, "Harry. Please talk to me. Let me help you."

Harry lifted his head and wiped at the tears, "You can't help. She's gone, Bob…do you understand?" Emotion choked him and he paused to catch his breath, "She's gone, they killed her, and I don't know what I'm going to do without her. I don't know what to do…she's not here…I can't do this alone…I feel so alone." Harry managed to get out between the uncontrollable weeping.

"Harry, Lieutenant Murphy is dead?" Bob asked, hoping he was wrong, knowing he wasn't.

Harry didn't answer, only hung his head and wept silently.

"I'm so sorry Harry, I am so very sorry." Bob said quietly, wishing he could do more for his friend than offer him simple words. Bob moved his hand to hover just above the younger wizard's head, again cursing his inability to interact with the world.

Bob knew exactly how it felt to have your soul violently stolen from you, and regardless of whether Harry acknowledged it or not, Karrin Murphy was the other half of Harry's soul. Bob only hoped that Harry was stronger than he had been.

When Bob had faced the loss of his beloved Winifred he had defied natural law and brought her back. He simply hadn't been able to go on without her. He closed his eyes and even now, hundreds of years later, the torrent of pain was almost enough to sweep him into insanity.

Not knowing what to do Bob silently stood watch beside Harry as he cried. He continued his vigil even after Harry fell into a fitful sleep, curled in a ball on the floor of the lab with his right palm pressed against his chest.