A/N: Hello again everyone! A new chapter is here! :D

Before we get started, I would like to thank everyone that read last chapter! I would also like to give a huge thank you to Guest, winterschild11, RainbowDiamonds, and suitelifeforever9 for reviewing!

I hope you all enjoy!

The house was dark when I came in.

I stood in the foyer just for a moment and enjoyed the strange feeling of being back...well, home. No matter what happened between us, this just felt like home. James might be a no-frills kind of guy, but he knew how to create comfortable surroundings. And his house, chock full of large, hand-crafted, masculine furniture and dark, polished hardwood floors certainly qualified.

Through the glass wall of the living room, I could just make out a figure relaxing on the deck-a dark form slouched in a worn Adirondack. I headed that way and followed the lighted path the moon created for me.

The daytime mugginess had given way to a little breeze that whistled through the trees like a nighttime symphony. The sounds of crickets and other wildlife rose above the whisper of the wind. After the unrelenting glare of the sun most of the day, it was refreshing.

I paused just short of his chair and found him sleeping-lashes dark against his cheeks, sensitive mouth a little slack. I smiled a bit at the half-empty beer bottle lolling in his hand, about to hit the floorboards. He worked too hard. Maybe it was just carryover from our relationship, but I still liked to see him rest. I reached over, half leaned on his chair, and tugged at the bottle.

His eyes flew open, and suddenly I had a face full of gun. I looked into the dark hole of the weapon and stood stock-still, trying not to exacerbate the situation. I waited for recognition to dawn in his eyes. When it finally did, we blinked at each other for a few seconds. Then I began to swear. A lot. Loudly.

"Fuck!"

"Sorry, I didn't-"

"What do you think you're-"

"I didn't know it was you."

"Jesus Christ, James," I said as I put a shaky hand to my neck. Nothing to end a night like getting blown away. I glared at him as he continued to blink at me. "What the fuck?"

"I could ask you the same question." His voice was hoarse with sleep and the shock of what he'd almost done. "What're you doing sneaking around out here?"

"Sneaking? You were dead asleep. I just didn't want you to drop the fucking beer." I held up my palms. "But hey. You want the Heineken, you keep the Heineken."

He looked down at the bottle in his hand as though seeing it for the first time. "Sorry. I was having a bad…" He shook his head. "I'm sorry."

"You wanna put that thing away?"

He tucked the gun back in the holster. "It's been a long day."

I dropped down in the Adirondack next to his. I felt a little shaky myself. "You know, next time someone offers to make me a reservation at a gator farm, I'm going to accept."

"I said I was sorry, didn't I?" He rubbed a hand over his face. "How was your visit?"

Considering you were about two seconds away from blowing my fucking head off? I tilted my head back against the chair. "Can't complain."

"Did you see Rick and the girls?"

"Yeah. All that's left is my father, and I've done my filial duty. You know how it goes."

"Sure."

There was a lot unspoken in that sure. A lot. Some of it was tied to whatever he'd been dreaming about that made him pull a gun on me. But I knew he'd been adopted at a young age, and he'd been remarkably close-mouthed about his past. I didn't need to be a profiler to know there was a reason for that.

"Do you know how it goes?" I asked delicately.

"Let's just say not everyone's parents are wonderful half-baked hippies. My parents don't ride around in an old conversion van, and my mother's specialty is not making oversized oatmeal cookies."

I didn't take offense. I knew he loved my parents. They loved him right back. "What's your mother's specialty?"

"Crack, mostly."

I didn't know what to say about that. From his relaxed profile, it didn't seem like he would welcome any comfort. Not from me, anyway. I pointed at his forgotten beer. "You gonna finish that?"

He shook his head and passed the bottle. "Knock yourself out."

I took a long swig and grimaced. "It's warm."

"Want me to get you a fresh one?"

"Nah." I took another drink, longer this time. "Liquor not being the optimal temperature isn't a deal breaker for me. I'm enough of a lush to admit it."

My mouth on the bottle flirted over the same places his had been. Beer mixed with James was a little more than intoxicating. I wanted a better taste. A more direct taste, not diluted with pale ale. Only we were friends. Friends and nothing more. Right?

I looked up at the sky. I was almost relaxed enough to believe that bullshit. That all I would ever want from James would be friendship. On a night dark as pitch, with stars twinkling sporadically like faceted diamonds, a lot of things seemed possible. I listened as the crickets and cicadas filled the comfortable silence with their night rhythm, joined occasionally by the low belch of a frog. Swampland at its finest.

I cleared my throat. "Can I ask you something?"

He sighed. "I knew you'd ruin it."

"You can say no."

"If I were capable of saying no to you, we wouldn't have had a cream couch, Diet Coke in the fridge, or three annoying wind chimes." As though to underscore his point, the offending wind chimes tinkled in agreement.

I beamed. "You kept the wind chimes?"

He sounded a bit resigned when he continued. "What's your question?"

"Are you ever planning to tell me who Shane is?"

"Who told you about Shane?"

"You say his name sometimes. When you're dreaming."

He was silent so long I didn't know if he'd answer at all. I forced myself to be patient and stared at one of the deck railings. The flaking, peeling paint drew my eye. It really needed to be sealed again. "I didn't know," he said finally. "That I said his name that often."

"Let me guess. Rutabaga?"

He gave me a small smile, but he didn't say anything. Early on in our relationship, we'd come up with a term to respect one another's boundaries. Especially since he would follow me clear to another planet to have his say, and I would jetpack to another galaxy to avoid a confrontation. It was a safeword for when things got too intense. It wasn't saying no. It wasn't saying yes. It just meant no more for right now.

I don't know which of us was more surprised when he spoke again. Maybe because he knew he didn't have to. "He was my brother."

"Was?"

"He went missing over fifteen years ago."

I bit my lip. Leave it to me to bring up the most painful event in his life. I'm smart like that. A member of Mensa. The social outcast division.

"I'm so sorry. Why didn't you ever tell me?"

"Because it's in the past."

Not so much in the past judging by those dreams. And the way he was acting about Kelsea's disappearance. "What happened?"

"When the state took us from our parents, I got lucky with a good home. He didn't."

"Have you looked for him?" I almost slapped myself the moment I heard the words. "That was stupid. Of course you have. Why wouldn't a detective look for his own brother? But it's been so many years. Do you think he's even alive?" Another mental slap. "What I meant was-"

"Kendall." When I looked at him, really looked at him, I could tell he was amused at my bumbling, not annoyed. "It's okay. Yes, I've looked for him. Look for him, I guess. But there's really not much of a trail to follow. One night he walked out of his foster home, got in a car with someone who was waiting outside, and disappeared. The one kid who saw him leave didn't get a make or model. Hell, he barely got the color. Maybe dark blue or black. That's it." He looked a little bleak. "That's the end of the trail."

"But you have a theory."

He half smiled self-deprecatingly. "I always have a theory. I've thought about it fifteen thousand different ways. My brother didn't go out a lot. He barely had any friends at all, let alone secret friends who would pick him up in the middle of the night."

"Low-risk lifestyle," I murmured. "So he probably knew the person."

"Knew him well, I suspect." His jaw went tight as he paused. "No matter how many times I go over it in my mind, the only person I can see him going with is our father. It's the only thing that makes sense."

I sucked in a breath. "You think your father-"

"I don't know."

"But you think-"

"I don't know what I think," he snapped. He sent me an apologetic look and took a deep breath. "I don't like what I think."

"Did you ask him about it?"

"That's a stupid question."

"Well, do you have a stupid answer? What did he say?"

"He told me to go to hell. Among other things." He sighed. "And that he had no idea what happened to Shane. That I was an idiot to even question him. 'We're all we have left, Jamez,'" he mocked. "'No sense in us turning on each other.'"

It was like a key to the puzzle that was James. That was probably why he never talked about his father. Or Shane. And why he had such trouble letting people in. Believing that someone could actually love him. Probably why he went into cold cases. It helped him achieve closure for other families-almost like setting things right for him.

His sharp voice cut into my musing. "Don't fucking profile me."

I glanced at him sheepishly. "Sorry. Bad habit." He knew me well. Profiling was almost second nature. I couldn't help myself. After a pause, I asked, "Do you think he killed him?"

"I don't know. He says he wasn't there. And part of me does wonder if maybe I'm just eager to find a way to blame him. If he'd been a better father, maybe…" James' throat worked as he shook his head. "I don't know. Maybe I just don't want to believe he ran away. But he'd been unhappy for a very long time."

"Seems like there's a lot of that going around."

"Isn't everyone at least a little unhappy in their own way?"

I had no witty response to that. Mostly because it was true. Working in the field, seeing the things I saw...I sometimes got to see people on the worst unimagined day of their lives. The beginning of their own private hell. So hell to the motherfucking yeah, it was just one of those truths in life I couldn't dispute. Sometimes life sucked, and everyone was a little unhappy in their own way.

"You must hate them. Your parents, I mean." I certainly did. "You must hate them in a very real "I'd put a bullet in you if I thought I'd get away with it" kind of way."

He sent me a grim smile. "Not nearly as much as I should."

I watched as he levered himself out of his chair and stretched, and I enjoyed the sight of that long, lean body. The way his muscles pulled at the threadbare shirt. The brief glimpse of bare stomach as the shirt lifted a little. He caught me watched before I could avert my eyes, but other than a small smile, he didn't say anything. "You coming in?"

How many times had he asked me that question before? Nostalgia made my throat a little thick, and it was a moment before I could reply. "Not yet. I just want to sit here and enjoy this beer."

"I'll leave you to it then."

"You don't have to." God, what are you saying? "Go, that is." My mouth couldn't seem to stop moving in what was, admittedly, a terrible direction.

He stared at me for a moment, his gaze dark and unreadable. He knew exactly what I really meant. My skin was suddenly flush...a little embarrassed, but mostly aroused. I didn't know what I would do if he rejected me...even less what I would do if he took me up on it.

And then he came toward me with his inherent liquid grace, and I swallowed and wondered if I'd bitten off a little more than I could chew. That wasn't just desire on his face. There was anger there, too. Anger with me for leaving. Anger with me for trouncing all over our unspoken truce. Anger for even wanting me at all.

That was a lot of anger for someone to fuck you with.

And then it was too late to move, and his arms came down on either side of my chair, boxing me in. A sense of the familiar lulled me. The breathless expectation, the anticipation...even the smell of him turned me on-pine, beer, and faint traces of sweat and fresh air. It addled my brain. That's the only excuse I have. I reached up and knotted a hand in the open vee of his shirt. Using the fabric as leverage, I pulled him down until we were face to face. Skin to skin. Breathing each other's air.

I kissed him gently at first and pressed against slack lips. For a moment I was afraid he was going to push me away. That he wouldn't kiss me back. I sank my teeth into his bottom lip and pulled him in gently but forcefully. And then he groaned-a brief sound of surrender as he gave in. He took over the kiss, and his lips pulled at mine-sucking, biting, demanding entry.

Our tongues slid against each other, hot and hungry as we took turns exploring each other's mouths. I kissed him without reservation. Kissed him like it was the first time. Kissed him like I'd never left.

Only I had. And from the reserved way he kissed me back, he wasn't about to forget it anytime soon. Even through my haze, I could tell it wasn't...James. Wasn't us. It was like kissing a stranger, someone I'd met in a club earlier. Hot. Really fucking hot. But impersonal. He wasn't going to let me get close.

I let his shirt slip from my grasp and watched as he straightened. Our breathing was uneven. Choppy. He looked at me darkly. Quietly. There was no love in his face. And for the first time, I'm not even sure there was like.

"I'm not a doll," he finally said. "And I don't like sitting on a shelf until you're ready to play."

My gaze dropped from the contempt in his hazel eyes as heat climbed my cheeks. "I don't know what to say."

"That's a fucking first." He headed toward the house. "Goodnight."

XxX

You don't have to go?

Fuck. One day in, and I was already offering myself up like a hooker. Not even one of those Pretty Woman types. A cheap one who used a "pay by the hour" motel. I winced as James disappeared inside the house and the screen door slammed shut behind him. Was it too impolite to kill myself on his porch? Even if I did it neatly and quietly?

I really wasn't in the mood when Trevor drifted up the deck steps. I groaned. Humiliation was never complete without an audience. It was like buying a two piece chicken dinner without a biscuit. Still edible, but why?

"Tough break," Trevor said as he leaned against the crosscut railing and folded his arms. "You and Mr. Muscles going at it on the deck? Yeah. I'd pay money to see that. Too bad he wasn't interested."

"He was interested," I snapped before I could stop myself. "It's just...complicated."

"Isn't it always?" He should have looked ridiculous in his leather jacket in this kind of weather, but he managed to pull off skinny rocker chic. I was being stalked by the lead singer of a ghostly boy band.

He sent me a wink. "Don't worry about it. You're still hot. I'd hit it. Still can if you want."

"I'll pass on the ghost dick, thanks," I said dryly as I levered myself out of the chair. "Is there something I can help you with?"

"You know what I want you to do."

"Something that won't get me fired or sent to the loony bin? No?" I shook my head and headed toward the house. "Goodnight, Trevor."

He appeared in front of me before I could take another step. "I didn't come here to rehash the same old argument. I figured I could help you out. And maybe if I help you...you'll be willing to help me."

I tilted my head. I should walk right into the house and not look back. I should put on my pj's and fall into bed with a small-maybe medium-sized-tumbler of liquor. I should not go quid pro quo with a ghost. And yet I heard myself asking, "Whatcha got? The treasure of the Knights Templar? The heart necklace the old lady threw off the ship in Titanic? Lotto numbers?"

An exasperated sigh ghosted across the deck. "Not even close."

"Those weren't guesses, Trev. They were suggestions."

I dumped the rest of my beer over the railing, crossed the deck, and set the bottle in the recycling bin. I hooked an empty, forgotten mug with one finger to take it back to the kitchen and turned on the motion sensor bulb that James only used when we went inside. Otherwise it went off and on all night long.

"Read the directions," I'd lectured James as I thumbed through the small leaflet to find the right language. No matter how I unfolded it, the Japanese set kept popping up. "I don't need directions," James maintained around a mouthful of wood screws. And voila. We wound up with a retina-scorching, improperly mounted searchlight that had crossed the line from helpful to lighthouse-level intrusive.

I bit my lip. I had a ton of stories like that about this house. But I didn't live here anymore. I briefly wondered how long that would continue to surprise me. It took me a moment to realize Trevor was still talking.

"I have something better than that stuff," he said. "Something you've actually been looking for." He made a beckoning motion with his hand.

I gave him a look. Follow a ghost into darkness? "No offense, but the Grim Reaper's going to have to come and get me himself."

Trevor sighed heavily. "Wait here." He disappeared in the darkness, and before long he reappeared on the porch, towing a figure from the blackness to the light. A nervous looking girl in her late teens or early twenties. Dark hair hung in her face and down her back, long and thin with razor cut bangs.

I folded my arms. Even under the dim light of the porch, I could see it was another fucking ghost. "That's not a lost Picasso I can list on eBay," I said mildly as I rocked back on my heels.

"This is better," he insisted.

"Trevor," I said, tempering the anger in my voice. "Bringing me another ghost does not endear you to me. In fact, it kind of makes me want to build one of those machines from Ghostbusters."

"Just hear me out." He gave the girl a gentle push forward, into the light. "This is Kelsea."

Kelsea. The mug fell from my suddenly nerveless fingers, landed with a clank, and rolled across the deck. It felt like someone had slammed a fist into my gut, and suddenly I realized how much I'd wanted her to be alive.

But it was her. Now that I was really paying attention, there was no question. I'd seen her picture enough.

She was a tiny little thing. Couldn't be over a hundred pounds soaking wet. The jacket dwarfed her and made her look even smaller. Her skin was so alabaster and smooth, she could have been a statue. Her dark brown eyes watched me somberly. Waiting. As though to see what I would do.

"Kelsea?" I asked. For the first time I could remember, I was glad I could see her. Speak to her. Let her know that it was going to be okay. Even if I had no idea if it would be. "Are you all right?"

"I...I guess so."

"God, do I have some questions for you." I glanced around for my iPad and my notes and cursed when I came up empty. I didn't want to risk going inside and having her disappear. "Can you tell me where you are? And who did this to you? Where did you go after work on the day you disappeared?" I patted my pockets. I didn't even have my phone with me. "What's your passcode on your email account? I've been trying to crack that for days."

"My email?" She blinked at me rapidly. "Razzle dazzle...I'm sorry. Who are you again?"

"Kendall. Kendall Knight. I'm the agent assigned to your case."

"My case," she repeated. She reached up to her pale, smooth face and touched her jaw. Her cheek. Her nose. When she finally dropped her hand, there were bruises where they had been. Her nose was crooked and bloody, and I swallowed hard.

"What happened to you?" I asked. "Where'd you get those bruises?"

"Brock. He just used to get so mad," She said, her hands shaking.

"Did Brock kill you?"

"I went to his house after work. I-" She blinked at me, clearly startled. "I'm dead?"

I hesitated. I didn't want to scare her off. But I didn't think lying would be very beneficial either. "Yes," I said finally. "Or at least I think so. Did you know a man named John Travis?"

"Oh my God." Her voice was higher this time. "I'm dead?"

Oh boy. I'd gotten so used to Trevor that I'd forgotten that not all ghosts were quite as lucid. "I'm here to help you."

"Help me do what?"

I have no fucking idea. "To move on. To go toward the light," I guessed. Trevor snorted, and I glared. I'm guessing here. I tried again. "Can you tell me where you are?"

"You never told me I was dead." She whirled on Trevor.

"Just calm down," he said harshly.

Her mouth opened into a soundless scream, and a dark cloud of butterflies flew out and flapped mindlessly. The sound in the air was thick and sick as the soft beat of one light wing became the heavy flutter of many. I stumbled back into the corner and covered my face.

"Why?!" She screamed. "Why am I dead?!"

"You're scaring him," Trevor snapped. "If you keep that shit up, he's never going to help us." He grabbed her arm and towed her backward as she clawed at him. "I'll be back," he assured me.

I took in a shaky breath. Take your time.

I moved to the top step of the deck stairs and sat in silence. I stared out into the darkness. There was nowhere I could go to escape myself, and truthfully, I was tired of trying. By the time Trevor returned, I was still debating on how many pills it would take to forget this particular episode and if chasing them with beer was worth feeling fuzzy the next day.

As he leaned against the deck railing, Trevor seemed to sense my brooding mood. For once, he had nothing sarcastic to say. "Are you planning to talk to me ever again?" he asked.

"What do you want me to say?"

"Something about whatever's making you look at me like that."

"I'm just…" A hundred words raced through my mind. I picked the one that was the most appropriate and the least tiring. "Processing."

"Maybe it's time you actually learn your craft."

"My craft." I didn't need a mirror to know my eyebrows were just about in my hairline. "I don't have a craft."

He made a frustrated noise. "Of course you do. You're a bridge."

I closed my eyes and rubbed at them with the heels of my hands. I'd been far too busy thinking I was insane to be bothered with honing my craft. I'd never asked for any of it. And damned if I had any desire to increase my contact with ghosts. I wanted to be normal. I wanted them to leave me the fuck alone. I wanted peace of mind. I wanted to never have to speak to a ghost as long as I-

"Um...Kendall?"

I immediately opened my eyes, mostly because it was the first time Trevor hadn't bitchily referred to me by my last name. "Oh, God." I blinked and glanced around at the suddenly crowded deck. "What the hell did you do?"

"Me?" Trevor looked at me indignantly. "Uh-uh. This was all you."

At least thirty people crowded around me. Judging from some of their clothing choices, they weren't even from the same era. The only thing alike about them was the way they all peered curiously at me. I flapped my hands a little frantically. I didn't even know what I'd done to bring them out of the woodwork.

A grandmotherly type wearing some sort of caftan leaned in a little closer. Her eyes were soft with concern. "He looks a little gray."

"And pale," A tanned surfer-looking dude chimed in.

"Thanks," I muttered.

"Skinny," Trevor supplied.

The surfer nodded. "And a little sweaty."

"Thank you," I said loudly. See how you would look being the guest of honor at a surprise specter party. "You can all go now."

A dark haired woman in 80s disco wear propped a hand on her hip. "Look blondie. We've been waiting a long time for you to get your shit together." She used the other hand to fluff up her perfectly styled hair. "Now you call us here for no reason and you're the one who's annoyed?"

I sucked in a few deep breaths, expanding my lungs until they hurt. My therapist said that would help. Deep breaths out and cleansing air in. Think clean thoughts. Healthy thoughts.

My therapist was a liar. Or an optimist. Either way, the situation clearly needed pharmaceutical assistance. I fumbled in my pocket, hoping I'd brought my pill caddy with me. When I finally pulled out one fuzz covered pill from my pocket, I wanted to dance a little.

Before I could even contemplate doing my version of Gangnam Style right here on the deck, Trevor sighed gustily. "Those aren't good for you. Or for your state of mind. They serve as neural blocks. They'll just make you muddled and confused."

"They also make you go the hell away."

He didn't even look offended. "It's only temporary."

"Do you have another idea?"

"Yeah, I do. You need to learn real ways to block your channels."

"My channels?"

"Yes. Your channels," he said firmly. "There are certain things you can do to become less accessible to a different plane."

I stopped trying to pluck fuzz from the pill and popped it in my mouth. The horse-sized tablet threatened to choke me for a second before it finally went down as I swallowed it dry. Why some pills got to be the size of a Tic Tac and others the size of gumballs would just have to remain a mystery.

I felt better knowing that Trevor was going to disappear any minute. "This is my home," I murmured, ignoring the fact that it wasn't. Not anymore. "You can't just invade my home."

Trevor tsked sympathetically. "Once they understand you're not ignoring them indefinitely, they'll learn to respect your boundaries."

"Respect my boundaries," I repeated. "That's it? I can only temporarily block them? I can't just get rid of them and it's up to them to go away? How is that fair?"

"Life isn't fair, gorgeous."

Gorgeous? I blinked and took in the way he suddenly refused to meet my eyes. If he wasn't a ghost, he'd probably be...blushing? "You crushing on me, Casper?"

He ignored that. "All I know is that we're stuck here until we find a bridge to help us cross. A bridge like you. You're rare. Special. Or whatever." He cleared his throat. "The point is I'd get on board real quick. Because as long as there's an open bridge, you're going to be swimming in ghosts."

"That's not what I was hoping to hear." He started to get wispy, and I began to feel mellow. It wasn't the good-weed type of mellow. It was more of a "too much trouble to have facial expressions anymore" kind of mellow. I went with it anyway.

Beggars can't be choosers, after all.

XxX

I awoke with a soundless gasp and sat up in one smooth movement. I blinked in the darkness and tried to calm the heartbeat that thundered in my ears. I felt unsettled. Uneasy. I swiped a hand over my face, and it came away damp. That's what happened when you had a front-row seat to Angry Ghost Theatre.

I stared into the darkness, not sure what time it was. I'd fallen asleep out on the deck, firmly in the grasp of my medication. I was still in my trousers and undershirt, but apparently James took off my loafers and put me to bed. Guess he didn't hate me quite as much as he said he did. Although to be technical about it, he hadn't exactly said he hated me. He was just done with me.

I didn't know which was worse.

I trudged down the hallway to the bathroom and almost bumped into something. Something big. I stopped short and blinked blearily. I finally placed the wide-shouldered form in the hallway and muttered, "Sorry, Irish. Just a little sleepy is all."

When James didn't respond, I squinted at his still form-and then froze. I palmed the wall as I searched blindly for the light and flicked it on. We both squinted as it illuminated the hallway and a dark-haired man I'd never seen before stood in front of me. He smiled sheepishly.

I gingerly stuck out a hand and stared as it passed through him. Okay. So just another stalker ghost and not an intruder. I didn't know whether to be relieved or not. "Not tonight," I warned him firmly as I headed for the bathroom. I closed the door on his hopeful face and quickly used the facilities.

I didn't know if I'd ever get used to just seeing them like that. Anywhere. Everywhere. It was hell on my nerves. For the first time in a long while, I wanted to talk to Ryder, our departmental shrink. He might have been irritating as hell, but he certainly knew how to calm me down.

After I washed my hands, I stood at the mirror, gripped the counter, and stared at my own wide-eyed reflection. Tried not to let the anxiousness overtake me. I fished out my pill caddy from my pocket and flipped open the Friday lid, even though it was Tuesday. I don't know why I even bothered to put them in different day slots.

It only made me more aware of how quickly I went through a week's worth. Only…

I froze.

I wasn't crazy. The ghosts were real. And I was...what did Trevor call it? Some sort of bridge?

I flipped up the remainder of the pills, which sent them vibrating in their plastic beds. I didn't need them anymore. I held the caddy sideways over the toilet and debated if that conclusion was really true. One of the pills fell, clattered on the rim, and fell into the blue-tinged water.

Now for the rest. Do it, I commanded myself. But I remained frozen with indecision. My doctorate was in academia, not medicine, but I knew enough to know cold turkey was probably a bad idea.

I took just one and then closed the tiny lids and slipped the caddy back in my pocket. At least I wouldn't try to fish out the rapidly dissolving pull in the toilet bowl. That's how people wound up on Intervention.

The ghosts were real. I rubbed the tension knot on the back of my neck. The ghosts were real, and I wasn't batshit crazy.

Yet.

Done! So...yeah. As many of you guessed, Kelsea is dead. :(

I'd love to hear your thoughts on the chapter, as well as if you happened to have a favorite part/moment!

Again, I hope you all enjoyed and that you all are doing well! The next chapter of this will be up next week! I also want to thank everyone that read the first chapter of my new story Fix You! For those of you reading that, the next chapter will be up within the next few days.

Until then!

-Epically Obsessed