Chapter 1

The first time I saw him was at the end of my third week at Sandover Bridge & Iron. It was late, well past the usual end of my shift, and I was heading down from one of the upper levels after clearing a mess of viruses (and deleting the illicit porn stash) from one of the VP's laptop and was looking forward to finally going home. He got on the elevator at the twenty-second floor, his eyes focused on his phone.

My initial reaction was that this had to be one of the hottest guys I'd ever seen. He had short dark gold hair, big green eyes, ridiculously long lashes, full pouty lips, finely drawn features, fair freckled skin, and a tall, broad-shouldered frame. The well-made suit, high-end smartphone, and presumable office location so high up suggested that he was another executive, though not one I'd been summoned to fix an inane technical problem for yet.

The next thing I noticed was that he seemed familiar somehow. I didn't know his name or his position, and I was fairly certain that we hadn't met before now, either here at work or somewhere else. I couldn't shake the strong sense of déjà vu, almost like some sort of connection, I felt as I watched him however.

After a moment or two of silence, I hesitantly asked, "Do I know you?"

He looked up from his phone and eyed me up and down before returning his attention to his screen. "I don't think so."

"I'm sorry, man. You just look really familiar," I persisted, feeling a bit embarrassed. "Are you sure we haven't met before?"

"Save it for the health club, pal," he retorted as the elevator dinged and opened onto one of the parking garage levels. He stepped out and glanced over his shoulder with a raised eyebrow. "If that's your idea of a pickup line, you seriously need to work on your game."

I met him for the second time a couple of days later, once again at the end of the day and once again on the elevator. This time there were other people in here with us, and I did my best not to stare at him while they were around. I knew now where I'd seen him before—he had featured prominently in the daydreams I'd had earlier today and in the dreams I'd been having frequently at night, the ones where the two of us were fighting what seemed like were various kinds of supernatural creatures.

The moment the elevator doors closed after the last of the others had left, I turned to him. "Can I ask you a question?"

He started to frown. "Look, man, I told you I'm not interest—"

"Oh dude, come on! I'm not talking about that!" I interrupted impatiently (though I had to admit the thought had crossed my mind more than once). "I just want to ask you one question."

He glanced around uncomfortably and then sighed. "Sure, one question. What is it then?"

"What do you think of ghosts?" I asked. "Do you believe in them?"

"Ghosts?" He looked startled and then chuckled nervously. "Uh, to tell you the truth, I've never given it much thought, beyond making fun of those cheesy 'paranormal investigator' shows."

"How about vampires? Or werewolves?"

"What? Why?" His expression became more concerned, and he edged a little further away. "You do know that uh, Halloween isn't for several months, right? Or is this some kind of prank?"

"No, I'm not trying to mess with you, honest! But I've been having some weird dreams lately," I explained. "You know what I mean?"

Both eyebrows rose this time. "No, not really. This has gone well beyond 'just one question,' by the way."

"So you've never had any . . . weird dreams?"

"Alright, look, man, I don't know you, okay? But I'm going to do a public service and uh, let you know that—that you overshare." He punched the button for the next floor and hurried off as soon as the doors opened. "This isn't some dig at computer nerds or whatever, but you really need to learn how to interact with other people. I don't know if this crap was meant as weird small talk or another lame attempt to hit on me, but there's something not right with you. Now if you'll excuse me, I'm taking the stairs."

The third time we interacted was right after Paul's body had been discovered. I was surprised to see him outside the break room, talking to another exec as the coroner wheeled the body out. I knew who he was by now because I'd looked him up on the company intranet—Dean Smith, the new director of sales and marketing for this region, who'd started at Sandover at about the same time as I did. His expression was different that the other gawkers—he was shaken just like them but also seemed troubled, as if he sensed something was off. He noticed me and gave me a distracted nod before leaving.

I was up on the twenty-second floor fixing a particularly vexing printer jam later that afternoon when I heard a commotion over by the executive washrooms, including what sounded like Dean shouting. I put the printer back together as quickly as I could, grabbed my bag, and headed in that direction, arriving just in time to see security guards rushing into the men's room. I lingered while the police showed up and the coroner wheeled another gurney out of the bathroom. Dean emerged as well and began speaking to an officer beside the door, his face dazed and his sleeves soaked with blood. He paused when he saw me, until the cop prompted him to continue.

My phone rang not long after I'd returned to my cubicle, the caller ID reading "D. Smith." None of us in the cube farm were making any pretense of working, not after the shock of Ian's death so soon after Paul's. If anyone else had called, I would've let it go to voicemail, but something told me this was important.

"I need to see you in my office now," he said as soon as I picked up.

I hung up and rushed to the elevator. When I got to his office, Dean was buttoning up a new shirt, giving me a tantalizing flash of smooth skin, while his old one was thrown over a chair with a bloodstained cuff visible. I was a bit surprised to see how fully decorated the room was, considering he hadn't been here long. He beckoned me to come in and shut the door.

"Who the hell are you?" he demanded once the door had clicked behind me. "And why the hell are you always around lately whenever strange shit is happening?"

"I'm not sure I really know," I admitted with a shrug. "I'm uh, Sam Wesson. I started here in tech support about three weeks ago—around the same time as you did, I think."

"Alright, that's not stalker-ish at all. Anyway, you cornered me in the elevator the other day acting all weird, talking about ghosts and crap. And now . . ." He trailed off, looking unsettled.

"Now what? When you were in the bathroom with Ian, did you see something?" I asked eagerly. "Are you saying that . . . Did you see a ghost?"

He opened a travel bottle and took a drink, his hand shaking. "Master cleanse—it's phenomenal, detoxes you like no one's business. You ought to try it. And I—I don't know . . . I don't fucking know what I saw in there just now."

"You did see something, didn't you? Okay, listen." I put a hand on his arm, hoping to calm him down. "What if these suicides aren't really suicides? I mean, what if they're something . . . not natural?"

"So what, ghosts are—are real? One's haunting this building and is responsible for all the goddamn dead bodies around here all of a sudden? Is that what you're saying?" We looked at each other as he finished speaking and sat down abruptly at the same time.

"I know it sounds crazy, but yeah. That's exactly what I'm trying to tell you," I replied, reaching out to take his hand.

He looked at my hand on his but didn't shake it off. "Uh huh. And this crazy theory is based on what?"

I gazed around as if to find an answer somewhere in this posh office before answering, "Instinct. I just have this feeling in my gut that there's more going on here than we can rationally explain."

Dean glanced down, his long lashes veiling his eyes, shook his head, and then met my gaze. "I think I've got the same instinct. I mean, it just doesn't make sense—why would that Paul guy commit suicide two weeks before retiring, and not even leave a note or something? Then Ian just now—it was a minor mistake, ten minutes tops to fix, no big deal. I wasn't even mad at him, you know? Plus there's what I saw in there right before he stabbed himself, which went well beyond any definition of normal. And to have all of this go down on the same day? Something's rotten in the state of Denmark!"

I nodded emphatically. "You know those dreams I was trying to tell you about the other day? I dreamt about ghosts . . . and now it turns out that there's a real, honest-to-God ghost here!"

"So now you're telling me that your dreams are special visions, and—and you're some kind of psychic, on top of everything else?" His expression seemed torn between skepticism and excitement.

"No, no, that would be nuts! I'm just saying that something weird is definitely going on here, right? So I've been digging around a little." I pulled some papers out of my bag and passed them to him. "I um, accessed their accounts earlier, and it turns out that both Paul and Ian got this same email telling them to report to Human Resources, Room 1444."

His eyebrows went up again. "Except that HR is on the seventh floor, and there aren't any conference rooms on the fourteenth floor. That seems pretty suspicious, doesn't it? Should we go check this out? I mean, it's getting pretty late, most people will be heading out soon, and we both probably have things to do before we can leave . . ."

I caught his eyes with intent. "I am dying to check this out right now!"

He grinned suddenly and turned his hand to squeeze mine. "I know, right? Let's go!"