Disclaimer: Melinda, Jim, and the concept of Ghost Whisperer are property of CBS. OLTL, John, and Natalie are property of ABC/Disney. I own no rights, nor do I want to.

A/N: I'm not sure where this story came from—I picked it up on the side of the road today on the way to work and it just kinda told itself to me throughout the day, and then obviously followed me back home and hounded me until it was written. LOL!

If you don't watch Ghost Whisperer—it's ok, I pretty much explain the concept in the beginning. I see this this story being two chapters—I'll write the second one tomorrow when I get home.

Oh, and as you can tell—John did die in the car wreck in this story—it wouldn't be a crossover if he didn't.

Until next time—Ya'll are the best—PCGirl.

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"Why don't you just go on home? My shift will be over soon--," said Jim as he stood in front of his wife, as she leaned back against his Ambulance, an arm propped her over head.

"I don't mind," smiled Melinda.

"Go home—I'll be home soon, I promise," he said as he gave her a kiss and watched as she opened her eyes again and stared back at him.

"Ok, but don't be too long," she giggled as she turned to walk away, the sun just barely peaking over the buildings that made up their town's little square. As she turned she heard the static from Jim's radio and a man's voice coming through the other end.

Can anyone hear me? My name is...Lieutenant…from…Pennsylvania. I've been in a pile up on Interstate…just outside of Atlantic City. I need medical assistance immediately…at least 15 cars are at the site…engulfing fire is eminent. I repeat…medical assistance needed on Interstate…

Melinda froze at the words playing over the radio—as she looked at Jim she knew he heard none of it—that once again an earth bound spirit was trying to reach out to her.

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"Any luck?" asked Jim as he walked into the kitchen to see his wife typing in information on her lap top.

"Not yet—but I think I'm getting somewhere."

"This could have been twenty years ago, Melinda—don't make yourself sick over it," he said as he laid his EMT jacket over the chair next to hers and sat down.

"I think it's recent—there, I found something," she said as she opened the link that took her to a story written for a newspaper called The Llanview Banner titled Hero Killed in Pileup that told the story of Lieutenant John McBain dying in one of the worst pileups in recent years. A big rig crossed the line and hit him head on—he was on his way to make peace with his father's murder and then coming back to Llanview to ask for his girlfriend's hand in marriage.

"That's him—I have to help him," she said as she looked at her husband.

"How? Where are you going to look?"

"The scene of the accident—they usually stay there—trying to figure out what's happened," she said as she jumped up and grabbed her purse.

"You're going tonight? It's going to be after midnight by the time we get there."

"I need to Jim—I have to help him," she said as she continued out the front door and he grabbed his jacket once again and followed her out.

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Melinda stepped out of the passenger side of her vehicle and onto the side of the road—seeing the remnants of road side memorials to those that had died in the crash. She walked over and her hand graced the edge of a bear that was attached to a balloon string—the balloon having deflated and disappeared since it was first placed there.

"Nobody visits as often as in the beginning—I guess they've learned to move on," spoke a voice behind her.

As Melinda turned she saw him standing there, he was wearing a black suit with a white dress shirt—his hair was dark brown, but his eyes were as blue as the ocean, "At some point you have to—or you'll be no more alive than they are."

John's head turned to look at her, at the realization that she heard him and what it meant, "You can hear me?"

"I can see you too—John McBain, right?" she asked as she tilted her head to the side to wait for an answer, but she knew the answer—had seen his picture in the article she'd read before coming out here.

"How? How did you know?"

"I heard you—through my husband's radio—you were requesting assistance—I'm finally here—what is it you need?"

"I need you to talk to her—tell her everything I never could say."

"Her?"

"My fiancée—her name is Natalie. It kills me to think what she's going through—she thinks everyone she loves leaves her—but it wasn't my choice. You have to tell her that."

"I will—just tell me where she is."

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Melinda took a look back at Jim who was sitting in the car waiting for her—it was mid-morning so the June day had barely started. She'd gone to the main house first—lying to the maid that answered by saying she was an old friend from AC. The woman had told her Natalie was now living in the Carriage House.

As she knocked on the door she was greeted by a young male, early twenties, with blonde hair, "Can I help you?" he asked gruffly.

"Is Natalie here?"

"Yeah," he said as he looked back into the house. "Who are you?"

"I'm sort of a friend of John's—he wanted me to give her a message."

"She's busy," he said as Melinda heard Natalie's voice in the background.

"Rex who is it?" she asked as she came to the door holding a baby wrapped in a blue blanket.

"My name is Melinda Gordon—you don't know me, but John—he gave me a message," she said giving a sympathetic smile.

Natalie looked at her—she looked harmless, but she was still wary about talking about him to anyone—even her family, "What did he say?" she asked out of curiosity.

"He says he's sorry—it wasn't his choice to leave you. And that he loves you—he wants you to be happy again."

"Why are you speaking in the present tense?"

"Because he's still here on earth—he hasn't crossed over, and won't until he gets through to you. Those were his words."

"John always got through to me," said Natalie quietly as Rex pushed her out of the doorway and pushed himself and Melinda both on the front porch together.

"Listen, I don't know who you are, but I'm tired of wackos coming around here and trying to mess with my sister's head. It's been almost nine months now—she has his child to hold onto now, so she doesn't need psychics and scam artists coming around here to tell her he's still alive."

"I'm—that's not what I am," she said as he turned back into the house.

"I don't care—just stay away from my sister," he yelled as he slammed the door in her face.