I laid down, switched off the light, and stared at my phone, hoping it wasn’t too late for a reply. But apparently it was. Because I was asleep before a response came through.

And anyway, she never sent one.

I was deep in a dream about photography—walking through a strange city with buildings that stretched so high they disappeared into the clouds. And every time I took a picture of one, it shivered and changed into something else.

A sound came from a building behind me—a soft song. I started to walk toward its open doors, but they closed. I would have to climb in a window—

And then I woke up.

My phone was ringing, blaring out the sounds of this beyond-cheesy old song called “That’s What Friends Are For”—Megan’s ringtone. I hadn’t heard it in for-ever.

I grabbed the phone and hit answer, glancing at the clock. It was past midnight.

“Megan?” I said. “Hello?”

“Lex. Marissa just texted me back.” Her voice shook with excitement. “That dress was Laina’s.”

Laina. The name sounded vaguely familiar, but I couldn’t place it.

“Laina Buchanan?” Megan said. When I didn’t react, she inhaled loudly. “Jared’s ex-girlfriend.”

I was still bleary-eyed and fuzzy-brained. Jared never talked about any ex-girlfriends. I just assumed he didn’t have any who meant anything to him.

“Lex, this is huge.” Megan finally got that I didn’t understand the subtext behind what she was saying. “Laina’s the girl who died.”

That did the trick. “What? Died? Did you say died?”

“Yeah. In a hiking accident, two years ago.”

I suddenly felt like I’d chugged an entire pot of coffee. “Are you at your computer?”

“Yeah.”

“Can you look up Laina Buchanan plus Henry-Gordon Funeral Home?”

Typing, then a decisive click. “Yep,” Megan said. “That’s where her services were held. Well, there and at the school. She went to Sacred Heart since kindergarten.”

“Okay,” I said, although nothing was okay.

“What are you going to do?” Megan asked.

“I don’t know. I have to talk to Jared, I guess.”

“When? Tomorrow? You have to do it as soon as possible.”

“Yeah,” I said. “Tomorrow.”

* * *

But I couldn’t wait until tomorrow, which is why, exactly twenty-eight minutes later, I was standing outside Jared’s bedroom window, tapping lightly on the glass. He hadn’t answered my texts or calls, so I’d decided to pay him a visit.

I saw movement inside, a shadow emerging from the bed, and Jared appeared at the window in a plain white T-shirt and boxers. His eyes went wide. Before he could open the window, I pointed toward the front of the house and started running for the front door.

“What are you doing here at this hour?” he asked as he opened it.

“We need to talk,” I said.

“At midnight? About what?”

We were both whispering. I led him into his bedroom and closed the door. He glanced at me, then went to his closet, opened the door just wide enough to stick his arm inside, and pulled out a robe. Then he closed it and…

Was I imagining things, or did he lock the closet?

“Talk about what?” he repeated, sitting down on the bed and switching his lamp on.

I took a huge bracing breath. “About Laina.”

Jared jerked back as if I’d burned him. He looked up at me, practically twitching. “What about her?”

“Why don’t you ever talk about her?” Not the most relevant question, in terms of conducting an investigation. But as his girlfriend, it was the first thing I wanted to know.

He shrugged. “What is there to say?”

“Well, for starters…how about, ‘I had a girlfriend and she died’?”

“Why?” he said. “So you could start looking at me like everyone else looks at me? Like I’m damaged? Like I’m a display in a museum?”

“Of course I wouldn’t look at you that way!” I said. “Jared—me, of all people—”

“No offense, Alexis, but I don’t think you’re as good at hiding your emotions as you think you are.”

I sat back, wounded. I hadn’t meant I would have those feelings and hide them. I meant that I, of all people, would understand why it sucks to be looked at like a sideshow freak.

Jared raised a hand to his mouth and started biting his thumbnail. “So that’s why you came over in the middle of the night? Because you just learned about Laina?”

“Yes,” I said. “But that’s not a hundred percent of it.”

He watched me, waiting.

And I realized—I’d backed myself into a corner. There was no way to take this further without explaining at least a little bit about ghosts.

“How did she die?” When I saw the look on his face, I said, “Please. Just tell me.”

Jared stared at the floor. “She died…beautifully. Just like she lived.”

I held my breath.

He looked up at me, seeing the alarm on my face. “I don’t mean it in some sick way. I mean, Laina was never the type of person to ask why me? She believed that there was a plan, that everything had a purpose. So once she knew she wasn’t going to make it, she was in a state of complete acceptance. She was…serene.”

His voice had gotten so quiet I had to strain to hear the last word—especially over the tumult of my own thoughts, which were saying No.

No, it was wrong. Just like Phil Corcoran’s death was wrong. The wrong kind of death to produce a vengeful ghost.

Jared continued, his eyes locked onto some invisible point on the floor. “She was staring up at the sky, and she couldn’t speak anymore, but she was praying. Her lips were moving. She never went anywhere without her Saint Barbara medal—protection against sudden death—so she was holding that in her hand. And the sun came out of the clouds and the shadow moved off of her face, and then—”

He stopped himself.

“And then…nothing,” he said. “She was gone.”

“You were there,” I said.

“Yes,” he said. “I was there. I was the one who found her.”

“Jared,” I said. “I need to tell you something. And it’s going to sound really strange, but you have to try to believe me.”

He gave me a wary glance.

“I think Laina’s a ghost. And I think she’s the one who’s been going after the girls who are missing.” I swallowed hard, not wanting to look up at his face until I’d gotten it all out. “I think she’s coming after me, too.”

My eyes flickered up to see his reaction.

But there was none.

“Jared?”

“Yeah, I heard you,” he said.

“I know how it sounds.”

“You know?” He spun toward me, eyes flashing. “You know how it sounds to have the love of your life slandered—and called a murderer?”

“It’s hard to explain,” I said. “She’s not herself. Ghosts are different. She’s angry or scared and—”

“Alexis,” he said, his teeth gritted, “you need to stop talking right now.”

I did.

His hands were curled into almost fists, and he raked them through his hair. His jaw clenched as if he were stifling a cry of physical pain.

“Please listen to me,” I whispered. “She’s hurting people.”

He seemed to slow his breathing down through sheer effort, and I watched—the way you’d watch a lion if you were trapped in its cage.

Finally he looked up at me. “I knew you had issues, Alexis, but I didn’t know it was this bad.”

The air went out of my lungs.

His voice was perfectly calm. “I don’t know if it’s jealousy, or…some sort of bitterness, or just…I don’t know, plain old-fashioned craziness. But I can’t sit here and listen to you talk this way. So I’m going to ask you to leave. Please.”

The weirdest part was, this was the Jared I knew. The Jared who could always coax or convince me to do things his way. This was the same tone he always used with me.

“I’ll go,” I said, standing up. He stood, too, and moved toward me like a sheepdog controlling a flock. I backed into the hall and walked to the foyer, my legs like jelly.

“I hope you stop and think,” he said quietly, when I was standing on the front porch. “And realize that you’re hurting people. And that you need help.”