over, and that’s why I had to leave to get Beth. I can’t cast out spirits, but she can. She’s got a stronger

gift than me.”

Matt grunted. “This is nuts! Shit, if I hadn’t seen those two guys fighting, and then Fizz stepping

out of his own body, I wouldn’t believe this crap for a second. Tell me you saw those two other guys?”

Sheila nodded, looking down at the mug in her hands. “The spirit who’d jumped into Fizz’s body

was a young man, wearing a suit. He’d obviously suffered some trauma when he died, as his skin was

bloody and bruised.”

Ryan flinched at the images that invaded his memory.

“And the second guy?” Matt asked.

“The older man,” Sheila said. “In uniform.”

“He was the one who threw the axe,” Ryan said quietly. Matt and Sheila looked at him. “When you

were trapped in the pigeon loft, Matt. I tried to hit the door, but the axe bounced clean off. That man

caught it, and he threw the axe at the door, and it opened. I think he was trying to help us.”

“I think so, too,” Sheila said. “See? There are some nice people after all.” She sipped her tea and

muttered, “There’s hope for spirits yet.”

“Sheila? Can I have a shot of whiskey?” Matt pushed his mug of tea away. “I need something

stronger than this.”

“Of course.” Sheila stood up. “I’ll just grab a glass.”

Ryan put his mug down too. He leaned over on the arm of the couch, pillowing his head in his arms.

He’d had enough talking. He didn’t want to talk or think any more, but he couldn’t close his eyes

either. Whenever he did, those awful images came back to him. He tried to focus on something else,

something good. He remembered what Ginger had said, the moment before he passed out: It’s you.

What did that mean? Could it possibly mean what Ryan thought – hoped – it meant? What would

Ginger say when he woke up? Something like, hey, you punched my cousin, then you tried to kiss me

while I was on the verge of passing out...

Ryan winced at the thought. Maybe if he was lucky, Ginger wouldn’t remember that bit.

* * *

The figures crept in, dark and menacing. The knowledge of what was about to happen forced Ryan

to wake up, away from the clawing hands and leering faces. He stared, gasping for breath, at an

unfamiliar ceiling. He was safe here, there were no men trying to attack him. He was safe. Awareness

washed over him. This was Sheila’s house. Matt’s not so gentle snore rumbled from nearby, where

he’d fallen asleep in a chair. Ryan lay still for several moments, trying to get his breathing under

control. He stared at Sheila’s bookshelf, at her DVD collection, eyes darting over the various titles in a

bid to ignore the images still lingering in his waking mind.

He needed to talk to Beth.

Ryan pulled himself up to sitting. His body was achy, but only from sleeping in an awkward

position on the couch. He caught sight of Beth’s wooden pendant on the coffee table, and his fingers

reached out to grasp it. Curiously, the wood heated in his hand. Ryan held onto it, willing the memory

of the dream to wash away. The images were still in his mind, but the panic ebbed a little.

Ryan lay down, and tried to go back to sleep. Thirty seconds later, he’d made up his mind that he

couldn’t sleep, didn’t want to, and he had to get up. He put the pendant around his neck, tucking it

inside his t-shirt. The lump of wood protruded from the material on his chest, but Ryan didn’t care. He

didn’t understand what it was, but there was something about the pendant that reassured him, calmed

him.

After using Sheila’s bathroom, he stood at the sink washing his hands. Ryan caught his reflection in

the mirror. Avoiding his own eyes, he inspected the scratches on his face. They were three faint pink

lines. He had no comprehension how such small marks could have opened up and bled, but that’s what

they’d done. He knew Ginger and Ash had seen it, too.

Ginger.

Ryan had to get to the hospital. He quietly let himself out of Sheila’s house. The clock on the wall

had said 06.13AM. Probably no buses around this end of the suburbs, but it wasn’t that far to the

hospital. Pretty much everywhere in Brighton was within walking distance.

As he got to Sheila’s front gate, Ryan realised he didn’t have a jacket. Well, it was too late to go

and borrow one, he’d shut himself out. He didn’t want to wake her or Matt; he couldn’t face talking to

anyone right now. The chill morning air whipped through his thin clothes, making the hairs on his bare

arms stand up straight. Ryan walked briskly, hugging his arms to him. He’d soon warm up with the

walk.

He reached Brighton General hospital via the back entrance, where the ambulances parked. Having

known a shortcut through a park, Ryan had made it there in fifteen minutes. The big white clock on the

wall inside said 06.28AM. He glanced at the lady behind a wooden panel reception desk, and tried to

slip past her. She called to him, and Ryan had to go up to the desk. He attempted to explain himself,

hoping she wasn’t going to turn him out until visiting hours. He didn’t even know what visiting hours

were on a Sunday.

The lady, a middle aged black woman, tilted her face down to look over pebbly thick glasses. “You

were one of the boys they brought in last night?”

“Um...” Ryan wasn’t sure whether to admit it or not, but she nodded her head at him.

“Yes, I remember your hair. Did they send you home?”

“Er, yes, but I...I’m sorry, I really want to see my friends. I don’t have my jacket, and –”

She waved her hand to shush him. “Go on.” She nodded her head to the side, indicating the left hall.

“Down that way, they’re on Blue ward. Tell Amy on front desk that Joanna sent you.”

“Oh. Um, thank you. I will. Thank you.” Ryan hurried away before she could change her mind. He

trod down the hospital’s eerily quiet hallway, following the signs above in various colours, pointing to

different wards. Ryan had been to this hospital a couple of times; once to see his grandfather before he

died, and once to see Dee after a skateboarding accident. They had both been in different wards, not

blue.

The hallways were deserted, and Ryan was deep in worried thoughts when an old man wheeling a

drip rounded a corner, startling Ryan and himself. Ryan apologised, and the old man muttered before

moving off, wheeling his drip alongside him. Ryan’s heart pounded. He’d never felt so jumpy.

Soon, he found himself at the last sign for blue ward, and an un-manned front desk. He looked

around, wondering whether it would be better to wait, or sneak in. After what felt like ages of time

passed by with no one appearing, Ryan couldn’t wait any longer. He stepped through the open door

onto the ward. He’d been expecting it to be dark, but the blinds were tilted open. Grey morning light

shone through the windows, on the rows of beds and sleeping bodies inside them.

All just the same as when he’d left them.

Ryan saw nurses crowded at the opposite end of the ward, three of them. Two were holding sponges

and paper towels, one was writing on a clipboard. They stood near Fizz’s bed. Ryan waited, unsure

what to do. When the nurses noticed him, the ones holding the sponges told the third one. She put

down the clipboard at the end of Fizz’s bed, and strode over to him. Ryan supposed this would be

Amy. She had a very stern look about her, but then, she had been working a night shift.

Before she could reprimand him, Ryan said, “Joanna sent me along. I just wanted to see my

friends.”

Amy agreed. She looked like she had other matters to attend to. “Did you use the hand sanitizer?”