The Departed

mental balance if she could have found a reason to be mad at him about finding her a place. A lousy place, a miserable place, a dirty place…any of those things would have given her a reason to be irritated.
    But he’d found her a fairy-tale cottage.
    Her heart melted a little and she pushed off the doorjamb, pausing long enough to lock it and check the security system. He’d made notes about the password and she set it before moving inside and studying the little place.
    He’d been right about the furniture—there wasn’t much. But what there was—if she wasn’t mistaken, it was new. The couch and the chair in the living room were new. The two-seater table in the kitchen looked pretty damn new. Up the narrow, twisty little staircase, she inspected the bed and it looked new as well.
    Sighing, she sat on the edge of the bed and rubbed her hands over her face. “You make it so damn hard to be irritated with you, Taylor,” she groused.
    At least he made it hard for her to be irritated with him.
    Everybody else didn’t seem to have a problem at all getting irritated, staying irritated. Everybody else could tell the bastard to take a flying leap. Dez, though, she wanted to be the one to take the flying leap—right square at him. Take a leap and never let him go. Unless it was to strangle him when he did stupid shit that involved pushing her away.
    He cared about her. She knew he did. Hell, if he didn’t , he wouldn’t be so intent on pushing her away. He’d probably be just fine with fucking her until he was bored with her. “At least I’d have something then,” she muttered. Brooding, she lay on the bed and snagged the edge of the quilt, pulling it up over her body.
    She knew she should go downstairs and eat, knew she should get undressed and shower.
    But she was so tired, she ached. And the exhaustion pulled at her, dragging her under. Even as she slipped closer to dreams, she was dimly aware of how cold the room had gotten.
    By then, though, she was already too far gone.
    And when she opened her eyes, she was no longer alone.
    She’d connected with the departed in her dreams before. It wasn’t often. But sometimes it seemed they could reach her better when she slept. Maybe her shields were just too solid when she was awake.
    Maybe she was more receptive in her dreams.
    She didn’t know.
    She just knew she was dreaming…and she knew the girl in front of her was no longer alive. Something about the style of her clothes, the cut of her hair made her think it had been a few years since this girl’s death.
    Forcing herself to smile, she sat up and met the girl’s blue eyes.
    She looked like she would have in life—not the pale, washed-out reflection of most ghosts, but normal. Blonde hair, so pale it was almost silvery. Big blue eyes. And when she smiled, Dez imagined she’d have dimples. She stared at Dez solemnly, her face sad.
    “Hi, there,” Dez said quietly.
    The girl just stared.
    Dez sighed and leaned forward, resting her elbows on her knees. Jeez, if she was going to show up in her dreams, couldn’t the girl at least talk to her? If not, then she’d rather have hot and nasty dreams about Taylor. At least then she could get off. But she kept the frustration hidden and just gave the girl another reassuring smile. “You can talk to me, you know. I can hear you. And I’ll try to help. But I can’t until you start talking to me.”
    The girl looked down. “I…I’m not supposed to talk to people I don’t know.”
    “Well, then. I guess we should fix that. I’m Dez. What’s your name?”
    “Dez…” The girl frowned. “I’m…” Her frown deepened and she shook her head. “I don’t remember.”
    She started to cry. Dez came off the bed and, instinctively, she went to hug the girl, but even as she drew close, the girl’s seemingly solid form wavered and fell apart. She wasn’t solid enough to touch. “Sweetheart, it’s okay. You’ll remember sooner or later.”
    She hoped. How awful it was not to remember even that .
    The girl just shook her head and continued to cry. And as Dez watched, she faded away completely.
    In the very next breath, Dez woke up. But the lingering cold told her she wasn’t entirely alone. Drawing her knees to her chest, she grabbed the blanket and wrapped it around herself, staring into the room. She hadn’t turned off the lights, but she wished she had.
    Ghosts might not care about light or the lack of it, but a dim room would have made it easier