Melinda lost the toss to make the mid-morning coffee run the next morning. She entered the coffee shop to find the big, brooding city detective in the corner, reading a newspaper as he drank his coffee and picked at his breakfast. He wasn't quite as alone as he thought he was. In addition to the ghost sitting across from him, Melinda noticed the mist she'd seen the night before, hovering behind him. It was the same roiling red and orange it had been in the bar when Wallace was present. She'd never seen anything like it, but something told her it was related to the spirit world.

She approached cautiously, leaning over to the level of his face. "Hi," she said with a smile and a wave. "Remember me?"

He lowered the paper and looked at her, his expression tired and still tinged with sorrow. His eyes were bloodshot and he was clearly hungover. He studied her face, then nodded. "From the antiques store."

She wasn't surprised he didn't remember seeing her the night before. "Yes. I'm Melinda. And you're Robert, right?"

He looked at her with suspicion, his eyes narrowed, until she explained, "I saw your ID yesterday, when you paid for your 'apology'."

"Apology...?" His confusion cleared as he remembered their conversation from the day before. "Oh...yeah, my apology. Do you remember all your customers?"

"No, not all of them. Just the impressive ones."

His expression turned curious and he motioned toward the empty chair that wasn't really empty. Melinda gave the ghost a quick glare as she moved to sit down. Wallace vanished and Melinda sat in the chair as he said, "How am I impressive?"

"First of all, I love that painting you bought," she said with a smile. "I found it at an estate sale and it's always been one of my favorites."

His mouth formed a ghost of a smile. "What else?"

"I don't know. There's just something about you. You seems so...sad."

He looked down at his coffee. "I've had a difficult year," he explained without going into detail. Calling the last year difficult was an understatement. It had torn him apart and shattered his soul. He had lost everything in his life he had to lose, and though he'd gotten back his badge, he was still working to recover both his equilibrium and his partner's trust.

Melinda glanced past him, at the mist that hovered nearby. With Wallace gone, it no longer roiled, and its color was once again calm blue and green. It seemed to mirror Goren's emotional state, sedate blue-green when he was calm and angry red-orange when he was agitated. She wondered what its connection to him could be.

She knew she had to discuss his ghost with him, but the timing was still not right. Perhaps later in the day, once his hangover had abated, would offer a better opportunity.

He seemed distant, and she took that as a cue to be on her way. "I should be getting back to the shop. Let me know if there's anything I can do for you."

He nodded briefly, but she knew he would not take her up on her offer. If she was going to help him, it would be of her own accord and not because he asked for her help.

She rose and said, "Please, be careful."

He watched her walk to the counter, order and pay for two cups of coffee. Be careful? This was Grandview, not New York City. What could possibly happen here?

Before leaving the coffee shop, she looked back at Goren, relieved to see that he was still alone. The mist hovering nearby remained calm, and she found that reassuring as well. He was watching her, and she gave him a smile and a wave before stepping through the door. He waved back and then returned to his paper.

Delia handed several bills and a few coins to a customer, who left with her purchase. Melinda smiled at the customer as she passed her, and she set the coffee on the counter. "Do you mind if I run a quick errand?"

"No, of course not. A ghost errand?"

"Kind of. Do you remember the man who was in here yesterday? The one who bought that painting I like so much?"

"And that sweet Hummel I found in Tarrytown? I remember him. He was very quiet."

She nodded. "He's troubled."

Delia looked concerned. "Troubled as in spooks and spectres?"

"That's part of it. He's suffered some emotional blows over the last year that have left him reeling. He's trying to recover, but he can't get past his pain. His ghost isn't helping matters any, and I haven't figured out how she's connected to him. I'll be back in a little while. Thanks, Delia."

She left the shop and drove to Rockland University. When she arrived at Rick Payne's office, he was eating his lunch. His face broke into a smile when she came into the office. "Hi, Melinda."

"Got a minute?"

"For you, I have two minutes. What's up?"

She sat down and said, "I've run into something I haven't seen before."

He was interested. "Really? Do tell."

"A man came into the shop yesterday. A woman was with him."

"Let me guess—a woman he doesn't know is with him."

She nodded. "Yes, but there's something else. There's a mist of some kind near him."

"A mist, huh? Can you see anyone in the mist?"

She shook her head. "No. It's too dense."

"Do you think it's related to the ghost?"

"I don't think so. I think it has more to do with him. When the ghost is near him, he tends to get agitated and so does this mist. It looks like the weather map of a storm, all red and orange, and it churns like a hurricane."

"What is it like otherwise?"

"When the ghost isn't around, it's a lot calmer, kind of a bluish-green."

"That's very interesting. Red is a very angry color, while blue and green are calm and sedate. Blue symbolizes trust, dependability and commitment. It's a cooling color but it can also symbolize depression. Green has a similar calming effect, and it counters the depressive or sad connotations of blue. Green is the color of life and balance, and it indicates safety, but it can also mean jealousy and envy." He got up and began to look through his bookcases. "I have a book here somewhere... Red and orange, on the other hand, indicate energy. Red is often used to symbolize love but it can also mean anger and danger. Orange symbolizes creativity and change. They are very vibrant, stimulating colors. You mentioned weather radar. Blue and green indicate rain but they bring forth images of gently falling rain, nourishing the planet and giving it life. Red and orange are associated with storms and bring images of torrential rain and wind and anger from the heavens."

"He can't see the mist, so I think its color has more to do with emotion than visual effect."

He pulled a book from a shelf. "Ah, here it is. The Symbology of Color—anthropological meaning in the colors of the rainbow." He handed the book to Melinda and said, "What do you know about chakras?"

Melinda looked amused. "Uh—nothing."

"The chakras are based in Indian mysticism and healing—India Indian, not Native American Indian. The word chakra means wheel in Sanskrit. Each one is a center of energy and has an Indian name; I won't embarrass myself by trying to pronounce them. There are seven sacred chakras, each one associated with a different color of the visible spectrum and a different area of the body and the spirit. They run in an ascending line from the base of the spine to the top of the head. The first two chakras—root and sacral—are red and orange. The next one—the power chakra—is yellow. The last four—heart, throat, brow and crown—are green, blue, indigo and violet. Physical health is tied to the health of each chakra. When your chakras are open and in balance, you are healthy, physically and, more importantly, spiritually and emotionally. A lot of the things we associate with the New Age movement, like crystals, meditation and aromatherapy, are tied in with chakras. It's funny how we apply the term New Age to something that's older than Christianity."

"Is this important to what's happening with Robert?"

"It could be. Tell me about his invisible friend."

"I don't know much about her, but I don't think they were friends. She's very malicious, very angry, and very possessive."

"Malicious, angry and possessive? That's not a good combination. What about him? What do you know about him?"

"He's a police detective from the city. He's had two recent deaths in the family—his mother last year and his brother last month, and the ghost is not his mother. His partner is a woman, and he's very close to her, which his ghost doesn't like at all. She seems to be jealous of her."

He sat at his desk and took a bite of his sandwich. "Jealous? Was she an ex?"

"I don't think so. I think she may have been a criminal he was after at some point."

"And now she's haunting him? Because he arrested her?"

She shook her head. "She said he never caught her."

"And criminals always tell the truth, right?"

"Ever the cynic, professor," she said with a smile. "See what you can come up with about what this mist could be."

He returned her smile and nodded. "I'll let you know what I find."

Melinda locked up her shop at closing time and walked toward her car. In the center of the square, seated on a bench, she saw Goren, hunched forward with his elbows resting on his knees, studying his hands. Wallace was nowhere to be seen, but the mist hovered near him, calm and mostly blue.

He stood up and walked down the path away from her. His eyes were downcast, his hands buried in his pockets. Melinda followed him, picking up her pace so she could catch up to him. This might be her best opportunity to talk to him about his ghost. As she walked, she heard a chilling voice behind her. "I told you he's mine and I am taking him."

She spun around, but there was no one behind her. By the time she turned back around, Goren had stopped at the curb, glancing up and down the street. He hesitated to wait for an approaching truck to pass. Wallace suddenly appeared behind him, shoving him forward into the path of the truck.

Melinda screamed, "No!"

The mist moved forward quickly and deliberately, engulfing Goren and somehow countering his forward momentum. As the truck clipped him, he spun and went down, hitting his shoulder and head against the curb. Melinda ran to him, meeting the driver of the truck by Goren's still form. "I felt it when I hit him, but I never saw him!" the driver asserted, concerned and panicked.

From across the square, Jim and his buddy Tim ran toward them, arriving at Melinda's side before the ambulance left the station driveway. "What happened?" Jim asked as he began to examine Goren.

"He should have seen me," the driver insisted. "I wasn't speeding. I swear, I never saw him."

Jim glanced up at Melinda, who had tears in her eyes. It didn't take long for the paramedics to prepare Goren for transport and load him into the ambulance for the five minute ride to the hospital.

Melinda was delayed by the police, but as soon as she was done giving her statement, she hurried to the hospital and met Jim in the emergency room. "How is he?"

"They're working on him. What really happened out there, Melinda?"

"The ghost...she pushed him in front of the truck. But that mist I told you about...it was near him in the square before she appeared. When she shoved him, I think it saved him."

"That explains why he wasn't hurt as badly as I expected."

"Is he going to be okay?"

"I think so," he answered, kissing her cheek. "I'll let you know when I find out anything for sure."

"I'll wait for you."

He nodded and went back into the emergency room.

About an hour and a half later, Eames entered the emergency room and approached the desk. "Excuse me, I'm looking for Robert Goren. I was called when he was brought in."

"Are you family?"

"The closest thing to family he has. My name is Alexandra Eames." She held out a piece of paper. "I have medical proxy for him."

"Wait here, please."

Melinda watched Eames for a moment before she approached her. Her concern was very obvious. "Excuse me. I overheard you asking for Robert Goren. Are you his partner?"

Eames turned, looking at her with suspicion. "Who are you?"

"My name is Melinda Gordon. I own a shop on the square. He came into my shop the other day."

Eames remained suspicious. "And?"

Melinda's expression turned sympathetic. "And I've tried reaching out to him, but he's not so easy to reach."

"How much luck have you had?"

"Not much," Melinda admitted.

Neither have I, Eames thought, hesitating before she asked, in a guarded tone, "How is he doing? I've tried calling him since he left town, but he hasn't answered." She paused for a moment, finally admitting, "I'm worried about him."

Melinda didn't understand why he would ignore her calls. His entire demeanor changed when he talked about his partner; she was important to him. Then she recalled the ghost's venom toward this woman. "You shouldn't blame him. There is a good explanation for that."

Eames glared at her, completely misunderstanding her. She studied Melissa more intently. She didn't seem Goren's type, but so many things about her private, recently taciturn partner surprised her of late. What surprised her even more was the sudden surge of jealousy that swelled into her chest. She chased it away with anger, at herself for feeling that way and at him for being the cause of it. She was also angry with Melinda for being involved with him, and thus being the source of the jealousy she resented feeling.

Melinda watched the emotions that played across Eames' face, realizing she misunderstood what she said. "It's not what you think," Melinda said.

"Oh? What isn't what I think?"

"My husband, Jim, was one of the paramedics who treated him after he was hit this evening. When I met him in my shop, I...felt for him. He seemed...so sad."

Eames gave her an apologetic look. "I'm sorry. Things have been turbulent for us recently. I can be...emotional where he is concerned."

Melinda smiled. "I think he is the same way about you."

Eames looked surprised, but before she could respond, the clerk returned. "Ms. Eames? Come with me, please."

She hesitated for a half second before motioning to Melinda, who followed her into the ER. They met Jim and a doctor just outside the trauma room where Goren lay unconscious. Melinda introduced her husband, who in turn introduced them to the doctor. Eames asked, "How is my partner?"

"He's very fortunate. We closed a laceration in his forehead with four stitches, and he has a concussion, three fractured ribs and extensive bruising on his right side where he was hit. We want to keep him overnight for observation. He'll go upstairs as soon as we have a room ready, if you'll give us consent to admit him."

She nodded. "Whatever he needs. Is he going to be okay?"

"Yes. He'll be fine."

"Can I see him?"

"Of course. He's just beginning to come around. We gave him a dose of pain medicine in his IV; we can give him more if he needs it."

He pushed the door open for her, and Melinda and Jim followed her into the room. Eames stepped up to the bedside where Goren groaned and began to shift. She laid her hand gently on his chest as he became restless. In the past, her light touch had always had a calming effect on him, but when her hand came into contact with his skin, he became more restless. "Bobby," she said softly.

At the sound of her voice, his restless tossing ceased and he relaxed. Groaning, he slowly opened his eyes. "Eames...?"

She tried to smile but she wasn't successful."I can't let you out of my sight, can I?"

He laid his hand over hers. "Wh-what happened?"

"You were hit by a truck," she said. As he tried to recall the event, she added, "At least this one was only an hour drive upstate."

A shadow fell across his eyes and he looked around the room, spotting Melinda and Jim standing near the door. Melinda saw the walls go up as Goren shut down. Whatever it was his partner had meant, it had an intensely negative effect on him. She glanced around the room, but the ghost was not there, although the mist, still somewhat agitated, hovered nearby.

Slowly, Goren sat up, grunting softly at the pain that seemed to radiate everywhere. Jim stepped forward. "You should rest. You have a concussion and a couple of rib fractures."

"Do you know what happened?"

"Just that you were hit by a truck on the square, but Melinda was nearby."

Goren looked at Melinda. "What did you see?"

Much more than I wanted to see, Melinda thought. Aloud, however, she said, "I just closed up the shop, and I saw you on the square. I was approaching from behind you because I wanted to talk to you, so I didn't see exactly what happened. Maybe you tripped?"

"What was his BAC?" Eames asked, looking at Jim.

The scales of Goren's anger tipped at that question and cleared his mind. He slid off the stretcher, a little unsteady, but he recovered quickly. "I don't need this," he growled softly, working hard to keep his anger in check.

He struggled into his pants as Eames tried to protest. He ignored her and grabbed his shoes from a nearby chair. As he was pulling on his shoes, the door opened and a nurse came into the room. "What's going on? Why are you up? We haven't gotten you a room yet."

"A room? I never consented to stay."

"Miss Eames has medical proxy for you and she..."

"She..." he interrupted. "...has no authority to make decisions for me unless I am incapacitated, which I am not."

"Bobby..." Eames began.

He shook his head and waved a hand dismissively. "It's not open for discussion," he snapped.

"You were hit by a truck. You really need to stay..." the nurse insisted.

Goren yanked the IV out of his arm and glared at the nurse, daring her to stop him. "No. I don't," he insisted.

"At the very least, let me get you a prescription..."

"No, thank you," he growled, not even listening to her any more.

He pulled on his shirt, grabbed the clipboard from the nurse and signed it. Then he looked at Melinda, Jim and Eames, his expression changing noticeably when he focused on his partner, and he left the cubicle. Melinda had a lot of practice interpreting the expressions of people who grieved, and his expression was complicated, much as he was. She saw grief in his eyes, tainted by sorrow, regret and something much more profound. He was on the verge of giving up, of surrendering to the forces that would do him harm, and she had no doubt that his ghost was the driving force behind it. He was beginning to question his sanity, though she had no way of knowing how significant that was. The mist left the room when Goren did.

The nurse spoke up. "Someone should stay with him, monitor him for signs of concussion. He should be woken every couple of hours for at least the first twelve hours."

Jim nodded. "I can stay with him," he offered.

"No," Eames said. "He'll never consent to that. I'll stay with him. He's my partner and my responsibility, and, ultimately, he won't say no to me." She walked toward the door, stopping as she opened it. She looked back at the couple who stood near the bed. "But thank you for the offer, and for watching out for him."

She left the room, followed by the nurse. Jim said, "How fast did you say the truck was going?"

"About the speed limit, 25 or 30 miles an hour."

"And his head hit the curb?"

She nodded. "Yes."

"If he was hit at that speed, I would expect his head injury to be worse than it is."

"The mist saved him-it must have protected him in the fall, too." Melinda looked at the sheets on the bed, stained with blood, then she looked at Jim. "She cares about him more than he knows."

Her attention was diverted by a derisive noise from near the IV pump on the other side of the bed. She looked toward Wallace, who wore an expression of contempt. "She doesn't care about him."

Melinda was beginning to understand this ghost, now that she'd met Eames. "No. It's not that she doesn't care about him. It's that you don't want her to, because if she didn't care, he would be emotionally isolated, open and susceptible to your venom. But he's not, because he's loved...by her. That's why you hate her...because he loves her...and not you. And since she does return his affection, whether they know it or not, he's protected from you by her love."

"No!" Wallace growled in fury.

Beside her, the IV pump exploded in a shower of sparks and flame, and she was gone.

Jim looked at Melinda. "Have you warned him about her?"

"No, not yet."

He look at the smoking equipment. "Now may be the time. Come on."

They hurried out of the hospital.