Three days later.

Mitchell slogged through his day like he always did. He hadn't had a weekend off, really off, in almost as long as he could remember, and the occasional realization that he was just a few hours from a proper weekend at home made him smile, even as he mopped up sick. He was going to really have a break and shut it off. He was going to try.

Dr. Nadir spotted him from the end of the corridor and walked quickly toward him. "Mitchell," he called out, "just the person I was looking for!"

Mitchell snapped out of his haze and straightened up. "What's up?"

"Short on staff today… can you transport a patient from 314 up to the Radiology suite?" He glanced at his watch. "Straight away?"

"314?"

"I told Susan she'd be there by three." He pushed Mitchell's cart up against the wall. "It'll be here when you're done," he said.

"No problem."

Dr. Nadir nodded briskly and scuttled away. Mitchell stepped into the washroom and washed his hands, mentally recalling which direction 314 was on the floor. He didn't mind transporting patients. Didn't mind it at all. He especially liked the elderly patients, although they were a reminder that everyone he knew "before" was gone. The kids who fought in the Second World War were in their 80s and 90s now. He hadn't met another veteran of The first Great War - a human one - in decades. Certainly not since he'd started this job. Still, he took a strange comfort in the elderly and enjoyed their brief chats as he rolled them from one part of the hospital to another.

He made his way down the hallway to 314. A woman sat waiting in a wheelchair while her roommate slept soundly. She wasn't old, mid-40s at most, which was mildly disappointing.

"I guess you're all ready," he said with a smile, folder in hand. "My name's Mitchell, I'm gonna take you right up to Radiology."

The woman beamed. "Oh, lovely!" She clutched what appeared to be a small scrapbook to her chest.

"You can leave that here," he said.

"Oh, no, I couldn't," she said, looking up at him with wide eyes.

He paused and shrugged. "Suit yourself," he said, tucking the folder into a pocket on the back of the chair and pushing her out the door.

"So," he said, in an effort to sound effortlessly friendly, "Have you read any good articles lately?" He knew not to ask about the patient's condition unless they volunteered the information.

"Oh, I have, I have!" she said. "Well, not lately. I don't do much reading anymore. I always like the hero stories. The inspirational ones, you know, in the Digest. Sometimes they just make you cry, they do. In a good way, of course."

Mitchell nodded. Before he could respond, Dr. Nadir came up behind him.

"Mitchell, what are you doing?"

Mitchell turned. "You told me to transport the patient from 314 to Radiology."

Dr. Nadir stared at him like he was missing a screw. "Well, why aren't you?"

Mitchell blinked and looked at the woman from 314. She looked up at him, smiling. "Well, then, who -" he stopped and stared at her closely. Shit. He, as subtly as he could muster, touched her on the arm. Squish.

Shit. Shit.

"Bad chair," he blurted out. It was the first thing that had come to mind. "It's a… it's a bad chair."

Dr. Nadir tilted his head. "Beg your pardon?"

"The chair. Wheels are no good."

"It looks fine to me."

"I just need to switch it out."

"Mitchell, it is now three twenty-seven. I need you to get my patient up there immediately."

Mitchell nodded. "Straight away." He pushed the wheelchair to the nearest supply closet as Dr. Nadir rushed away. He pulled the chair in backward and turned to the woman.

"Get out of the chair."

"What?"

"Get up. I know you can. There's nothing wrong with you."

"I thought you were taking me to Radiology."

"Ghosts don't need radiology."

"Oh, but I'd still really like to go," she said. "You're the first person to talk to me in ages!"

"This is a hospital," Mitchell said. "There are other ghosts for you to talk to."

She blinked. "Where?"

"I don't know where. I don't keep track of the ghosts in this place."

She followed him as he pushed the empty wheelchair back to 314. "Have you seen them?"

He ignored her as he passed a group of visitors. He was disturbed that this had actually happened. Although, the more he thought about it, the more he couldn't believe this hadn't happened before. He was so acclimated to interacting with ghosts - mainly Annie - that he sometimes forgot they weren't people. Even when Annie was in one of her "solid" phases, she didn't seem any different to him. He couldn't tell, until a human interacted with her. He'd have to be more careful.

He entered 314, the ghost woman still in tow.

"Stay here," he ordered, glancing at the sleeping patient.

The woman sat on the end of the bed. "But… have you seen others? In this hospital?"

Mitchell glared at her. "Are you trying to get me fired?"

"Of course not."

"Then leave me alone."

At first, Mitchell had thought of his promise to spend the weekend with Annie as an obligation, a deal to get her to help Dahlia. But as he walked up to the door to the house, he was genuinely looking forward to it. Two days, and no hospital, no cleaning up sick, no babysitting vampires. Just hanging out at home, watching movies, relaxing and forgetting everything. Annie was right, it was what he needed.

He walked into the house, expecting Annie to be waiting for him at the door excitedly. She wasn't there. He could hear voices, talking and laughing. He peered into the lounge. Annie and Dahlia sat on opposite ends of the sofa, completely oblivious of him.

How was Dahlia still there? Mitchell wondered, disappointed. He'd expected Annie to get rid of her in a day or so.

"So," Dahlia said to Annie, "Vonda knew the whole thing by heart."

"Wow," Annie said.

Mitchell leaned in. "Hey, Annie," he said.

Annie turned and smiled. "Oh, Mitchell, you're home!"

"Yeah. I mean, you said the whole weekend."

"Is it the weekend?"

"It's… it's Friday…"

"Oh," she said. "I thought it was starting on Saturday."

Mitchell blinked. "Yeah," he said. "Yeah, we did say Saturday. Well, I'll leave you two to it -"

"Don't be silly, Mitchell!" Annie said."Come join us!" She scooted over on the sofa to make room. "Dahlia was just telling me about Venus in Furs."

"Venus in Fur," Dahlia corrected.

"Venus in Fur," Annie said.

"The book?" Mitchell asked.

"No," Dahlia said. "The play. I auditioned for Vonda, but I didn't get it."

"Wankers," Annie muttered.

"The girl who got it wasn't even into bondage."

Mitchell nodded, wondering if Dahlia would still be alive if she'd gotten the role. "I think 'Ghost Finders' is on," he said, changing the subject.

"Oh!" Annie said, hitting Mitchells arm with her fingers as he turned on the TV with the remote. "My favorite!"

"It's so fake," Dahlia said, shaking her head.

"No it's not," Annie and Mitchell said at the same time.

Dahlia shifted and watched. The Ghost Finders were in some abandoned building with their beeping machines and night vision cameras. The one with a beard and glasses breathlessly read the readings and insisted they weren't alone. The brunette woman let out a scream, and they shined a bright flashlight on her. There next to her, unseen with night vision, stood a man, his eyes hollow, his jaw hanging open. As the light scanned the room, there were more - maybe six of them, all with the same hollow look.

Dahlia screamed.

"Oh," Annie said, covering her face, "I hate it when they're like that."

"Don't they see them?" Dahlia asked, her hand covering her mouth.

"No, of course not," Mitchell said. "They're ghosts. They can only detect them with their detector thing."

"But we can see them through the TV?"

Mitchell nodded. Dahlia took a deep breath. "Why do they look so… creepy?"

"They're lost souls," Annie said matter-of-factly.

"Poltergeists," Mitchell said. "Proper poltergeists, not like Annie in a bad mood."

Annie slapped him on the arm.

"So," Dahlia said, "If I don't find my purpose, I could turn into one of those?"

Annie and Mitchell looked at each other.

"No, of course not," Annie said, touching her hand. "We'll find your purpose."

"Well, what's your purpose?" she asked Annie.

Annie thought. "It used to be getting Owen to confess, but now…" she glanced at Mitchell. "Well, it helps to have friends."

"Aren't those poltergeists friends?"

"It's complicated," Mitchell said. He sighed and turned off the TV. "Something weird happened today," he said after a moment.

"What happened?" Annie asked.

"I mistook a ghost for a patient. Almost got in big trouble, too."

"You thought he was a human?"

"I did. I mean, she looked like a patient. She acted like one. She must've died in the room or something."

"Oh, the poor woman," Annie said.

Dahlia shifted. "Patients stay in hospital after they die?"

"No, not usually," Mitchell said. "I mean, some do. I've seen more than a couple. But I never had that happen before."

"What did she look like?" Dahlia asked.

"I don't know," Mitchell said. "She wasn't really old or really young. Dark hair. She just looked like a regular person. Nadir saw me pushing an empty wheelchair down the hall and almost chewed my head off."

"Aw," Annie said, rubbing his shoulder. "I'll make you some tea."

"I don't need tea."

"Coffee, then!" Annie jumped out of her seat.

"It's Friday night, Annie. I could use something a bit stronger than coffee."

"Oh!" Annie beamed. "A Tom Collins!" She spun and disappeared into the kitchen.

Mitchell sat back, shaking his head lightly, but looking content.

"You know," Dahlia said, her arms propped on the back of the sofa as she gazed at him. "I was jealous of Annie when you first brought me here. But you two are adorable."

Mitchell glanced at her sideways, then rolled his eyes. "No…"

"No, you are! It's like you were just made for each other!"

His expression turned stern. "That's a fucked up thing to say."

"What?"

He looked at her. "She was murdered. She wasn't 'made' for me. I'm not happy she was killed so she can fix me coffee."

"I didn't mean it like that," Dahlia said. "You didn't kill her, she would have died anyway -"

"She shouldn't have died at all." He stood up. "We're making the best of bad situations. It would be one thing if she were human, but she's not. Do you think this is the life I want?" He paused. Dahlia stared past him, her expression like a gasp.

Mitchell closed his eyes. He could already tell that she was behind him. "Annie."

He heard the glass shatter on the floor and felt her breeze up the stairs.

"Fuck." He looked at Dahlia, now giving him a disapproving look. "This is all your fault."

"My fault?" She watched him follow Annie upstairs. "I said you were adorable!"

Mitchell tried to open Annie's bedroom door, but it was locked. Well, not really locked. The door didn't have a lock. It was ghost-locked.

"Listen, Annie, it's not like that. You have it all out of context."

After a moment, the door opened. Annie glared at him, Dahlia at her side. "OK, then, put it into context."

He stopped to think.

"Oh, Mitchell," she said, "I knew you were having a rough time of everything, but I didn't think I was making you miserable…"

"No, no, you're not! I never said that!"

"But you don't want this life? Because we're not human?"

Mitchell's eyes moved from Annie to Dahlia. "Do you fucking mind, Dahlia?"

Annie huffed. "Anything you can say to me you can say to Dahlia."

Dahlia nodded.

Mitchell stepped toward her. "My house," he said. "My housemate. Fuck off downstairs before I kick you out of this house altogether."

"Mitchell!" Annie gasped.

Dahlia didn't flinch. "You can be a right bastard when you want to be," she said evenly. She glanced at Annie. "It's fine, Annie, I'll be right in the other room."

Mitchell sighed and stepped in the room, shutting the door behind Dahlia. He leaned against the wall, eyes closed, for just a few seconds before leaning toward her and looking her in the eye.

"What if you had a chance for a normal life? Without me and George?"

"I wouldn't want it."

"But what if you could have those things you want? To be seen, to have a family, to be able to do your design and have people appreciate it?"

"I've been seen," she said. "It didn't exactly work out."

"But what if it could? What if you met someone…"

Annie blinked. "I did meet someone. It didn't work out."

"No, I mean -"

"Mitchell, you told me yourself you couldn't stop being what you are."

"But maybe if I found -"

"You found George. You found me." She paused. "Maybe if I were human, right?"

He looked at her. "I'm sorry," he said. "I know… That was a fucked thing to say."

"Fucked," she said, "but true." She sighed. "I think you should go."

"Go where?"

She sank into her chair. "I don't care, Mitchell, just go." He expected to see tears, but she just stared at the wall. "Get out."

Referenced in this Chapter:

"Venus in Fur," a play by David Ives (fictional small theatre production)br /

"Venus in Furs," a book by Leopold von Sacher-Masochbr /

"Ghost Finders" is a fictional version of "Ghost Hunters," etcbr /

The description and concept of the "lost soul" ghosts on the show are from the BBC Being Human tie-in novel "The Road" by Simon Guerrier