Kurt's arms fell away from her waist as she took one step and then another down the trail towards the source of the luminescence. The strange light itself seemed to encourage her, pulsating with each step she took. Even before she rounded the corner she could already feel the sadness projected by the spirit encroaching on her own emotions. Stopping, she squeezed her eyes closed, dug her fingernails into her palms, and breathed deeply in an attempt to block out whatever was causing the external emotional stimulation and concentrate only on her own feelings. At the moment, those feelings were largely a mishmash of attraction, fear, and curiosity. They would figure this out, for her client, and for themselves.

She opened her eyes again, feeling more prepared to handle whatever was around the bend. By this time, Kurt had caught up with her and she reached over and took his hand. "Now or never," she said, looking over at him.

"Now," he confirmed with a quick nod.

With that, they walked hand in hand around the bend to confront the source of the light.

They discovered the apparition floating six inches above the ground in the middle of the trail and they came to a halt when they were about a dozen feet away. It appeared in the same indescribable state of contradiction as before, seeming to ripple in and out of solidity, even reality itself, constantly in motion, even as it stayed in one place. The bullet wound at its left temple slowly leaked black blood down its cheek. It gestured at them, beckoned them closer and tried to speak, but no sound emerged.

"I'm going to look around for projection equipment," Kurt said sotto voce.

Diane nodded. She didn't think he would find any. Whatever this was, there was too much of an emotional component involved for it to be mere fakery. But she knew Kurt wouldn't be entirely convinced until he checked things out for himself.

"I'm going to try to communicate with it," she replied. He nodded and slowly backed away, disappearing into the surrounding trees. The ghost paid him no mind, just continuing waving its arms and mouthing unintelligible words.

Diane took a step toward it, tilting her head to one side and just observing. Now that she was closer, she could see that Its eyes weren't really focussed on her but instead seemed to wobble around in all directions. She couldn't be sure if it actually knew she was there or whether it just behaved this way whether it had company or not. Lip reading was not a skill she possessed in the best of times, and this certainly was not the ideal circumstances under which to learn. Her subject's lips didn't seem move quite the way a living person's would, but rather seemed to slither around whatever words it was saying, moving in and out of solidity as well as in ways meant to form the words it no longer was able to produce audibly.

"It's okay, Mr. Patterson," she said, in what she hoped was a soothing tone. "I'm trying to help you. Speak more slowly, please."

At the sound of her voice, the spirit finally seemed able to focus on her. When it looked directly at her, and the sorrow in the depths of its silver-grey eyes nearly knocked her off balance, slamming against her mind like a physical blow. Much the same as the last time they were together, its desolation started to overcome it, tears leaking from its eyes and cascading down its ruined face.

"No, no, don't cry," she implored it. The last time it started to cry, it used up all its energy and eventually disappeared. "You have to stay calm and speak carefully so I can understand you."

It was probably pointless, trying to communicate with a spirit who may or may not even understand her, but she had to try. She could feel its overwhelming sadness begin to seep past her defenses, forcing its way into her consciousness. She screwed her eyes closed and tried to block it out. She couldn't let it get to her. Dimly, she was aware that her phone was buzzing against her hip, but she ignored it.

Kurt returned to her side just as she opened her eyes. "Didn't find anything," he said quietly. "No projectors, no wires, no one hiding in the bushes controlling the…" he trailed off, waving his hand in the spirit's direction, unwilling to say the appropriate words to classify it.

She nodded; it was only what she expected. Whatever was happening here, it wasn't fraudulent. Unfortunately, it was all too real. A plot to frighten them would be easier to deal with.

"Try to read its lips," she said, grabbing Kurt's hand and pulling him over to stand beside her.

He peered closer at the apparition, squinting into the ever increasing darkness. After a moment, he stepped back, wiping his eyes with the back of his hand. His voice was rough when he spoke, and Diane knew the emotions the spirit projected were taking their toll on him as well.

"I think I can make out a J sound," he said, shaking his head. "But that's all, and I'm not even sure of that much."

His phone began to ring, and he seemed grateful for the opportunity to step away.

"McVeigh," she heard him say from behind her, as she resumed her attempts to read the spirit's lips. It was still crying, and getting smaller and more transparent by the second as its overwhelming emotion stole the energy it needed to maintain any semblance of corporeality.

"There, there," she said, not knowing what to say to comfort a distraught ghost. "Don't cry. Keep trying." Now that Kurt had mentioned a J sound, she could see it too. "Juh, something juh. We're getting somewhere; keep trying."

The apparition continued mouthing the same unknown words over and over, its tears freely flowing, but she couldn't make out anything else. "Juh, juh," she repeated helplessly.

"Roger," Kurt said from behind her.

Diane whirled around, her jaw dropping. Roger?

"Roger MacPhee. Is that who shot you?" Kurt asked it.

The ghost's crying stopped. Lowering its hands to its sides, it nodded, staring directly at Kurt, its constant unnatural motion slowing and allowing it to focus on the ballistics expert. A small smile alleviated some of the gruesomeness of its appearance. It nodded again.

"Roger MacPhee? John's former father-in-law?" Diane asked. "Where are you getting this, Kurt?"

Kurt held up his phone. "That was Cary. He saw us leaving your office together, so he called me when he couldn't get you."

Diane vaguely remembered feeling her cell phone vibrate a few minutes earlier.

"And he said Roger MacPhee was the killer?" She still didn't understand. Where was this coming from? MacPhee hadn't even been a suspect.

Kurt shook his head. "Not quite. He said your investigator found mention of a meeting between MacPhee and Patterson in Patterson's agenda. It was supposed to have taken place the day before the murder. Cary said they were curious because it had never come up before in any conversations they had with the man."

"Well, did they ask him about it?" Diane asked.

"That's just it," Kurt said. "They couldn't reach him by phone, so they went to his apartment. Diane, the place has been cleaned out. He's gone."

"But why?" She turned back to the ghost. "Why would he shoot you?"

The ghost was no longer listening. While Kurt and Diane had been talking, it had been growing and was now back to the size it had been before it started crying. It had regained at least the illusion of corporeality and its strange appearance of constant motion was gone. Most startling of all, the bullet hole in its left temple was nowhere to be seen. John Patterson now appeared as though he were a character in a black and white movie, brought to life in front of them.

He no longer seemed aware of them, and was instead staring off through the trees at something only he could see, a small smile gracing his once again handsome face.

As they watched, the smile became a grin and he started walking away from them, leaving the trail and venturing off into the dense woods.

After a few minutes they could no longer see him at all, but the raw emotion he left behind washed over them in joyous waves.