A/N: Wow! Thanks so much for the wonderful response to my first chapter! I really hope I can live up to your expectations. It's very gratifying to see so many new readers too. Welcome!

I'm glad I'm keeping some of you guessing as to whether Angela is really haunting Jane or if she's all in his head. If Jane were really in this situation, I think he'd feel very tortured about having to question his own sanity. I mean, he can usually spy a nut job a mile away…

Chapter 2

Jane was blessedly alone when he walked into CBI Headquarters, his supernatural shadow having deserted him for the moment. He'd beaten the rest of the team back to HQ, but Van Pelt had been there all morning, manning the computer and phone and doing a lot of her usual waiting around. He met her in the break room while he was preparing his morning tea.

"Good morning, Grace," he said pleasantly, though he wasn't feeling particularly pleasant at the moment.

"Morning, Jane. The others coming?" She set down a white baker's box on the counter.

"Right behind me. Hey! Muffins!"

He extracted a beautiful blueberry specimen, grateful he'd gotten to them before Rigsby.

She grinned at him. "You're welcome."

"Have you checked around for any formal dances or events in the area last night?" Jane asked over a mouthful of muffin.

"Still working on that." She poured herself a cup of coffee. "Well, enjoy your breakfast."

Jane toasted her with his half-eaten muffin, swallowing. "Thanks, Grace."

He turned back to the electric teakettle, busying himself by getting out his favorite teacup and saucer.

"You know how many calories are in each one of those carb bombs?" asked Angela. "No wonder you're getting paunchy."

Jane froze, then closed his eyes against the painful realization that his subconscious was at it again, messing with his perception. He turned slowly to find her there, casually leaning against the center island. She cocked an eyebrow at his resigned expression.

"Oh, Patrick, I didn't think you'd need so much convincing about me."

"I'm convinced I've lost my ever-loving mind," he whispered back, glancing around nervously.

"Speaking of bombs," said Angela. "That Grace is a lovely girl. Too bad she could explode any day now."

Jane looked bewildered a moment at the sudden change of subject. He wasn't used to being taken off guard so easily. It made him skittish and unconfident, and for a man with his quick intellect and normally cool head, it was the worst feeling in the world.

"I've been watching her," he said, only a little defensively.

"You could be doing more than watching," she chided. "You could be helping her."

"She hasn't asked for my help—"

"Yes, she has. She asked if you ever talk to me. Then, instead of giving her any real insight, you put it all back on her."

Jane went the refrigerator and retrieved the milk, then poured it into his cup, hating the way his hand shook slightly.

"I'm not a social worker," he said. He wondered where all this was coming from. His own guilt? If this were really just his conscience and not a ghost, deep down, he must have been feeling guilty for giving Van Pelt the brush-off.

"She saw her fiancé's ghost you know," Angela reminded him. "I think it did her good, allowed her to put to rest some of her questions. You thought she'd just been hallucinating because of her accident."

"She was, just like I am now."

"I could do the same for you, if you'd let me. I know you have questions-"

He recoiled in horror. "No!" The questions he had concerning hers and Charlottes' last moments on earth were too painful to put a voice to, even though they'd tormented him every day since Red John slit their throats.

"No," he said again, more quietly this time, but with more finality. The ghost allowed him to let it go…for now.

Jane finished preparing his tea in silence and took it and his muffin into the empty bullpen and to his couch. He was perturbed to see Angela sitting comfortably in his usual place. She bounced on the worn leather.

"This is comfy. I can see why you spend so much time here." Her comment held a note of chastisement for what was beginning to be a running theme with her.

"I don't sleep much at night." He took the place beside her and brought the steaming tea to his lips.

"I know," she said softly. He could see her hand resting on his thigh, but he felt nothing except a faint chill passing through him. "Hopefully I'll be able to help you with that."

At that moment, Van Pelt returned to her desk and looked curiously at Jane, who seemed fascinated with his pant leg. His head moved quickly up and then right, then focused on Van Pelt. He forced a benign smile. The rest of the team was arriving, and Van Pelt had some good news for Lisbon.

"Hey, Boss. I've got a list of five formal events in Sacramento last night. Two charity balls, a sweet sixteen party, a wedding reception and a bah mitzvah."

"Hmm," replied Lisbon, her eyes sliding to a silent Jane. "Any ideas which one our Jane Doe might have attended?"

Jane tried to think clearly, but Angela's hand remained on his thigh, and he was in the presence of the woman his dead wife claimed was in love with him. It was so awkward and surreal in so many ways that he was having a difficult time concentrating.

"Uh…"

"Cat got your tongue?" asked his wife. He shot her a dirty look and turned in time to see Lisbon's brow furrowing again.

"Try the wedding reception," he finally managed.
"As good a place as any. You have names of the happy couple?" Lisbon asked Van Pelt.

"Yes." She brought up a page on her computer. "Maggie and John McCoy."

"Jane and I will try to talk to the workers at the reception, maybe see if we can get a wedding list, as well as talk to the families who hosted it. Cho, you and Rigsby start checking out those charity events."

"Sure thing, Boss," said Rigsby, going to stand by Van Pelt to wait for the printout of the party venues. She had also printed off pictures of the victim Rigsby had sent her from the crime scene.

"Jane," said Lisbon from the bullpen door. "You coming or what?"

"Yeah," he said absently, rising to his feet. He nodded to Grace, who was left with the job of plugging in the victim's picture into facial identification software.

Xxxxxxxxxx

Jane rode shotgun in the company SUV while he and Lisbon headed for the hotel where the McCoy wedding had been held. Jane glanced in the sun visor's vanity mirror and saw Angela sitting in the backseat, grinning.

"Seriously?" he muttered beneath his breath.

Angela's grin widened. "It's been a long time since I rode in a cop car. Although this one doesn't have vomit on the floorboard. You've moved up in life, Patty."

Jane smiled in spite of himself, memories flooding his mind of their occasional scrapes with the law as carnie teenagers.

"Seriously what?" asked Lisbon.

He paused a beat, then: "Don't you ever get tired of murder investigations Lisbon?"

"Every damn time; call it an occupational hazard. Why? Are you not feeling up to this one? You've been acting a little…off this morning."

"She's really concerned about you," commented Angela.

"You're a good friend for all your concern, Teresa," he said for the ghost's benefit. He sighed. "I don't know. Today, I do feel off, for want of a better description. But tell me, have I seemed…strange lately?"

"No more than usual. But you've had a lot going on emotionally the past few months. Red John's reappearance. The FBI investigation. Your memory loss. Erica Flynn. I wouldn't blame you if you were feeling drained. Why don't you take some time off?"

"See?" intoned Angela. He caught a glimpse of her raised eyebrow in the mirror.

"And what would you do without me?" he asked Lisbon.

"Oh, I think we'd manage." Her lips twitched.

"You should take a vacation, Patrick," said Angela. "Go to the beach. You love the beach."

"No," Jane said through clenched teeth, replying to Angela, but in effect answering Lisbon.

"Don't be so grumpy," Lisbon said. "It was just a suggestion."

"You know, it's funny how she lumped Erica Flynn in with that list of your recent emotional upheavals," said Angela from behind them. "It was just a kiss, although you obviously were into it. I seriously question your choice of women, but I understand it. She's beautiful and she excited you both intellectually and physically. It only goes to show you need that in your life, Patrick."

Jane's eyes flew to the mirror, and he felt the familiar stab of guilt.

She saw that? Wait, this isn't really Angela, Jane.

He ran a nervous hand through his hair. This was getting to be too much.

"Of course I saw it. Don't feel guilty on my account, though." She sighed, shaking her head. "But that's not the point at all, Patrick. The point is, Teresa was jealous. You recognized it the whole time that Flynn woman was around, and yet you haven't given it much thought since."

"Jane," Lisbon was saying. He was staring into the mirror, appearing to be studying himself intently.

"Jane," she repeated. She reached over and jostled his arm a little. "We're here."

Jane seemed suddenly to wake up, startled to see they were parked in front of a hotel, the engine of the car off, Lisbon's brow furrowed once again in apprehension.

"Oh," he said. He reached automatically for the door handle, as the valet came to open his door. Lisbon's eyes were still upon him as she flashed the attendant her badge and she followed Jane inside the building. She was really starting to worry about him.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

The manager of the hotel was helpful enough, giving them the contact information for the hosts of the wedding reception. A few of the wait staff who had also worked the night before recognized the picture of the victim, so Lisbon and Jane went into the ballroom where hotel employees were putting the room to rights. Angela's ghost stood nearby, watching how well Jane and Lisbon worked together- interviewing, probing the minds of the witnesses. Jane tried his best not to look at Angela and concentrate on the case, but he was constantly aware that she stood just on the fringes of his peripheral vision, observing their interactions closely.

Lisbon pulled out her phone to give Cho an update, but couldn't get reception.

"Dammit. I'll be right back," she said to Jane. He watched her head out the door of the ballroom as if she were leaving him alone in a pit of vipers. He wished he smoked or took prescription drugs—anything to calm his frayed nerves.

"I'm not that bad, am I?" asked Angela in amusement. He avoided looking at her in the hopes she might disappear.

"I need a drink," said Patrick Jane for the first time in years.

"Take a right into the lobby and the lounge is across from the fountain," supplied a passing hotel employee helpfully, carrying an armload of folding chairs.

"Uh, thanks," said Jane.

The lounge was relatively empty, understandable because it was ten o'clock in the morning. He took a place at the bar and ordered whiskey, downing the shot and asking for another before he realized that once again, Angela was sitting beside him.

"Patrick," she chided, "this isn't the way to deal with things."

"Go away for good and I'll stop," he mumbled, so as to not draw undue attention to the crazy guy talking to himself at the bar.

"I can't until you believe in me and really listen to what I'm telling you."

Jane saw that the bartender was busy in the back, so he risked turning to the figure beside him. "You want me to believe in you? Well here's what got to happen. Either I get some sort of tangible proof that you actually exist, or my next step is to check myself in to a mental facility. It's not like I haven't done it before…"

"What kind of proof?" she asked. "What would it take to make you trust your own senses?"

"I don't know—do something that others can sense too, so I know you're really present. And not something that I'll automatically write off as a coincidence, either, or something that I can explain away as something I created all in my head."

"I can't make others see or hear me, if that's what you want," she said. "I'm only here for you."

Jane shrugged and downed his second shot. He glanced at the clock over the bar. "You have exactly five minutes, or I'm finding the nearest padded cell."

The ghost apparently saw that he was serious, for she suddenly closed her eyes and seemed lost in her own ghostly thoughts. At that moment, Lisbon entered the lounge, making a beeline for the bar.

"There you are," she said testily. "What's the big idea, drinking at ten in the morning? What the hell is going on with you, Jane?"

Before Jane could reply, he saw Angela look briefly toward the heavens and wink at him knowingly.

A second later, the earth began to quake.

A/N: So will he believe in her now? Tune in for the next chapter to find out. I'd love to hear your thoughts on this chapter. Thanks for reading.