Ryan stared at Ginger, his hands itching to touch the man in front of him. He couldn’t even feel bad

about the scratch now, if this was what it had given him. Ginger frowned slightly, eyes focussed on

Ryan’s cheek. “Let’s have another look. If this doesn’t stop bleeding we’ll have to get you up to A&E,

too.”

“I’m sure it’s fine,” Ryan breathed. Being this close but not touching was killing him. Ryan wanted

to press his body against Ginger’s the way Fizz had been pressing against him earlier. That brief

physical contact had flipped a switch inside him, and he needed to touch. Ryan felt the heat coming

off Ginger, could even smell the different scents on him, knew what each of them were. The slightly

peppery aftershave, the sweet, synthetic smell of hair dye and shampoo, and underneath all that, the

delicate musk of sweat that went straight to Ryan’s head. He remembered the way Fizz had nuzzled at

his neck, and it took all his willpower to stay still, to not move forward and do the same to Ginger

now.

His face was so close, Ryan could almost pretend he was about to get kissed. His heart thudded as

the bandanna was lifted away, inch by inch. Ginger stared at Ryan’s cheek, frowning.

“Is it bad?” Ryan asked.

“I don’t get it. Take a look for yourself.”

Ryan didn’t want to move, but if Ginger wanted him to look, he supposed he should. Biting his lip

from sudden nerves, Ryan turned and faced the mirror. He prepared himself to see something horrible;

deep scratches, bloody gashes, the works. But when he saw none of that, he blinked in surprise, and

moved closer to the mirror.

“What the –?” Ryan frowned at his reflection, at the cheek which had been scratched. There was no

blood. There were barely even any scratches. He could just make out three faint, pink lines across his

cheek. That was all.

Ryan leaned into the mirror as he stared. “I don’t get it. It stung loads. Where’s all the blood gone?”

He looked at his hand. That too, was devoid of any bloody evidence.

“I don’t know,” Ginger said. “There’s nothing on here either.”

Ryan half turned, glancing at the bandanna Ginger held out for him to see. The clean bandanna with

no blood on it. This made no sense, he thought. No sense at all. He turned back to the mirror to

examine his face again. Was he going mad? But Ginger had seen the blood too, right?

Ryan’s eyes found Ginger’s in the mirror. “What does –” The words stuck in his throat as Ryan

noticed another figure in the mirror, standing behind Ginger. Ryan’s eyes widened in alarm.

It was a man, a stranger.

Had one of the punters wandered in from downstairs? He was clearly older than both of them, with

short hair that still managed to look scruffy, wearing a dark green military jacket. His eyes were fixed

on Ryan, his face calm. Ryan saw all this in one panicked moment, before he whirled around to

confront him. Staring past Ginger’s shoulder, he was confused to see no one there. Ryan looked back

at the mirror. He examined that same spot, but whoever had been there was now gone.

What the hell?

“What’s up?” Ginger asked. “Is it Ash?” He leaned out of the bathroom, resting a hand on the door

frame as he looked down the hall. “Ash?” he called out. “You found it yet?”

“Yeah,” Ash called back. “Got it.” In another moment, Ash reappeared, carrying the box with First

Aid written across it.

“Thanks.” Ginger took the box, placed it on the closed toilet seat, and opened it up. Ryan watched

him absently, his mind churning away. What the hell was going on? He’d just seen a man in the

mirror, a man he hadn’t recognised. No one else had seen him, and he’d vanished into thin air. Who

the hell was he?

Ginger tilted Ryan’s face up, gently dabbing at his cheek with cold, wet cotton wool. It stung, and

Ryan flinched from the pain.

“Sorry. It’s just TCP.”

Ryan tried to focus his thoughts. “Daniel, remember when I first moved in here, and we had that

party?”

Ginger’s hazel eyes locked with his. “Mm.”

“What was it Sheila’s friend said, about the ghosts?”

“Who, Beth?” Ginger snorted. “Beth is a hippy who smokes too much weed, Ryan. I told you to

ignore her.”

“But she said something about there being ghosts here, right?” Ryan insisted. “She told me every

time I walked into a room, I should say hello to them, to get them on side. Don’t you remember?”

“I try not to listen to Beth if I can help it.” Ginger stepped away, throwing the cotton wool into the

bin. Ryan’s cheek burned from the healing lotion, its tingle seemed to travel along his neck and down

his spine. Thinking of Beth made him remember something else.

“Daniel,” he said quietly. “Sheila’s downstairs.”

Ginger’s face snapped up. “Is she?”

“Do you think...maybe we could ask her to come up here?”

Sheila, Ginger’s friend, was a nurse. When she was on shift, she worked at Brighton General

Hospital. Ryan could have kicked himself for not realising earlier, when he’d seen her in the bar.

“Right. I’ll go find her.” Ginger shot out of the room. “You two stay there!” His footsteps

thundered down the stairs, and the staff door banged open.

“Huh? Sheila?” Ash asked.

“Sheila, with red hair,” Ryan explained. “She’s a nurse.”

“Oh. Right, right.” Ash moved into the bathroom. “Hey, your scratch doesn’t look all that bad

actually.”

Ryan opened his mouth to speak, but words failed him. ‘Yes’ seemed somewhat banal at this point.

He and Ash moved back into the hall. After a few awkward moments of silence, Ash gazed towards

the pigeon loft, shifting on the spot. “I, um, I might just go check on him.”

Ryan gripped Ash’s arm. “Sheila’s a nurse, okay? Let’s wait for her.”

“Yeah, sure, but I should go check Fizz is all right.”

“Ash, let’s just wait. We can –”

Their discussion ended when the staff door opened again. Ginger’s voice drifted up, hurriedly

explaining what had happened.

“Hang on, hang on,” a woman’s voice, Sheila, said. “What did you say he’s taken?”

“His prescription pills,” Ginger said, as they climbed the stairs. “I called a helpline, but they kept

saying just take him to A&E.”

“But he’s conscious?” Sheila asked.

“Yes,” Ginger said.

“Well, that’s a relief!” They reached the top of the stairs, and Sheila briefly glanced at Ryan and

Ash. “Hey, guys. Now, where is he?”

Ginger led the way into the pigeon loft. Ryan allowed Sheila to go in before him, then Ash, who

was clearly worried. Just as Ryan was about to follow them, he caught movement from the corner of

his eye. Someone on the edge of his vision. He turned to look, assuming it would be one of the other

staff...

But no one was there.

The floorboards creaked softly, like someone trod on them. There was still no one in sight. Ryan

remembered that image of the strange man in the mirror, and it spurred him to hurry after the others.

When he got to Fizz’s room, Sheila was already crouched near Fizz. He wanted to say, be careful, but

Fizz seemed...different. He sat there quietly, gazing at Sheila with what could only be described as an

amused smile on his face.

“Can I check your pulse, love?” Sheila asked, holding out her hand.

“Of course,” Fizz replied, voice calm and silky smooth.

Ryan thought yet again how different from Fizz’s normal tone it was. He wondered if Ginger had

had the time to explain to Sheila about his eyes, too.

Sheila checked Fizz over, explaining what she was doing as she did it. Her voice was soothing, the

care in her manner instantly recognisable. She checked Fizz’s pulse, the glands at his throat, looked