Disclaimer- Well I can play with them even if I can't own them.

A/N - This story just won't let me go so just be patient and thank you for your reviews. I don't know how much more there might be, so I won't even hazard a guess. Enjoy folks and as always thanks to jtbwriter for her beta work and to GoddessofSnark for the great fic and the chuckles on email. Enough of me on to the story.

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Well at least now I know this guy's name is Dr. Macy. The woman talking to him called him that when she came in the room. She seems out of place here, not all tense and unhappy like this Dr. Macy. She's a lot more like me, happier but with an edge. She's standing beside me now, writing something on a form and she just called him Garret.

Hi Garret, nice to meet you. My name is Jennifer Louise, dumb name right? My friends call me Jen or Lou and my dad called me Jennylou, but please don't call me that; I always hated it.

I really wish I could talk to you, I know from listening to your conversation you don't know my name and that's even scarier than the knife thing. Sorry for eavesdropping by the way, but you are kind of talking overtop of me and I really can't plug my ears, you know.

Please find out my name, I don't want to be here alone without anyone who cares knowing where I am. Dad will be so worried when I don't call tomorrow. I always call him on Saturdays. I wish this was Saturday and I was on the phone with him right now; we'd sit and talk about the weather here and at home and he'd tell some silly convoluted story about his fishing buddy, Frank.

I really could care less about good ole Frank, but I need to hear my dad's voice flowing over me talking about mundane stuff right now. Letting me know that it's going to be okay and this is just a bad dream; I'm not a ghost or anything. Hey you know I guess I am a ghost and wouldn't you know it, no Whoopi Goldberg around to tell people what I'm saying.

I'm scared here guys. It's cold and frightening and lonely. Lonely because you can't hear me and why won't someone touch me, hold my hand or stroke my hair the way my mom did when I had a nightmare. Please hold my hand. I am so afraid of this whole dead thing. I'm twenty-seven and it's all I can do not to start screaming, 'I want my mommy!' . How's that for pathetic, but I don't care how pitiful I sound right now; just hold my hand please.

Hey I think I just communicated cause Garret just took my hand. Not like he needs to do something, but just holding it like a friend; now he's humming that song. Oh wow, I got through to someone. I'm not a failure at this death stuff after all. Somebody heard me.

Thank you, Garret, thank you. I think I'm ready for you to go on with the knife part. I'm not so scared now that I have a friend here with me.