Doing a quick mental review of every halfway-serious romantic relationship she had ever had, Charlie saw that her analysis was right on the money: she set herself up for failure every time by choosing to fall for an unavailable male.

And here she was, doing it again in spades: on the one hand there was Tony, who seemed to be ideal boyfriend/lover/husband material; while on the other, there was Garland, who, for so many reasons she wasn’t even going to take the time to mentally list them, was anything but.

So which one was she desperately attracted to?

Garland, naturally.

Why? Because he was the ultimate unavailable male.

Diagnosis: You are one screwed-up chick.

Diagnosis of the diagnosis: Very professional.

Thoroughly out of patience with herself, Charlie got into bed, turned off the light, closed her eyes, lay there in the dark, and waited for exhaustion to kick in. She found herself listening for the TV. Opening her eyes in annoyance, she searched the shadows for the faintest shimmer that might indicate a ghostly presence. Shutting them again, she tossed, she turned, she cursed under her breath.

Then she got up.

Where is he?

She walked through the apartment, turning on lights as she went, and much as she hated herself for doing it, even tried very softly calling his name.

Nothing.

Remembering what he had said about being yanked back to her by the sound of running water, she tried calling his name while turning on the kitchen faucet.

Nothing.

Finally she tried calling not Garland, but Michael, while turning on the kitchen faucet.

Still nothing.

You are nuts.

She stomped back to bed. But even as she threw herself on the mattress and started to yank the covers over her head, a terrible thought had her sitting bolt upright again.

What if he’s here, but I can’t see him any longer?

Holly’s spirit had visited her, but she hadn’t been able to see it. She only had been able to see Holly in her dreams.

The spirits she saw were the recently violently departed.

Garland’s death wasn’t all that recent. He was getting close to the time when the Great Beyond tended to claim its own. He was getting close to the time when she probably wasn’t going to be able to see him anymore.

Her heart lurched. Her stomach twisted into a knot. Her palms went damp.

Charlie hated to even try to put a name to the emotion she was experiencing, but finally she did: panic.

Panic at the thought that, even if she had managed to bind him to the earth, even if he avoided being swept away into Spookville, soon she might never see Garland again.

She was shaken at how deep was her sense of loss.

How could I have let this happen? she asked herself, appalled.

Charlie got out of bed, roamed the apartment, ate some ice cream, watched some TV, and finally, when there was still no sign of him, got out her laptop and called up his file.

Need a reminder of why you shouldn’t be falling for this guy?

It was all there, exactly as she remembered: unmarried, no known children, next of kin Jasmine Lipsitz, no relationship specified; eight years as a marine, honorable discharge, military record otherwise inaccessible; in civilian life, work as a mechanic, owned his own garage at the time of his arrest; an adult criminal record that consisted of a public intoxication charge, an assault and battery that was the result of a bar brawl, and seven hideous murders of young women.

Their pictures were part of the file.

Charlie couldn’t do more than glance at them. The faces sickened her. They made her go cold all over, made her shiver. She had to turn off her laptop.

How can I feel anything except loathing for their murderer?

You really think I’d do something like that to a woman? Charlie could almost hear Garland saying it. She could picture the revulsion in his face as he had looked down at Bayley Evans’ mutilated body.

He was a charismatic psychopath whose charm was his stock in trade. He was convincing, compelling, and calculating. A stone-cold killer. A monster who lured women to their deaths with his good looks.

Or else he was not.

The evidence of his guilt was overwhelming. It was all there in his file, ranging from the circumstantial to that absolute clincher, DNA. She would have to be the biggest fool on the planet to disregard it all.

I’ve done a lot of bad things, Doc. But I didn’t do that.

What was he going to do, admit it? Charlie demanded of herself with asperity. Of course he would deny everything. That’s what psychopaths do.

The thing was, she just couldn’t picture him killing those women.

But the sad truth was, that was probably because she didn’t want to.

Because she liked him. No, get real: because she burned for him.

If she never saw him again, she would be sorry for the rest of her life.

Where is he?

There was no answer to that. There was no answer to anything where he was concerned.

Eventually, Charlie fell asleep on the couch.

She was dreaming that she was fleeing desperately through a terrifying purple fog, when she saw Holly in that awful pink prom dress running ahead of her.

“Holly!” Charlie screamed, trying to catch up, but Holly, after a quick glance over her shoulder, disappeared into the mist.

“Holly, wait!”

Charlie sprinted after her, but the purple mist started to rise and swirl, disorienting her, wrapping her in creeping tendrils of cold and damp.

Where am I?

“Holly!” she cried again, heart racing as she caught glimpses of things barely hidden. Something was chasing her, she could hear it behind her, hear its labored breathing and echoing footsteps. Glancing over her shoulder, she saw—Dear God, what was it? Something so horrible that she screamed. Then, still screaming, racing away as fast as she could, she ran headlong into something solid in the fog.

CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

“I’ve got you. Hold tight.” It was Garland, Charlie realized. She caught just a glimpse of his hard eyes and taut jaw as he grabbed her and pulled her against him. Her arms wrapped around his waist like she never meant to let go. Shuddering, she buried her face in his chest as whatever was chasing her let out a monstrous roar and Garland said urgently, “It’s your dream. Think of somewhere you want to be, quick.”

His strong arms held her close as the mist swirled and rose and parted, and then was gone. Almost afraid to look, Charlie lifted her head warily and registered a whole lot of dark.

“It’s all right. We’re out of there,” Garland said. Looking around again, Charlie saw to her surprise that they were in her house in Big Stone Gap—somewhere you want to be—and they were safe.

It was only then that she realized that her heart was pounding and her pulse was racing and she was breathing like she’d been running from a monster that had been chasing her through a fog. Why? Oh, because she had been.

That had been a dream, though, she was pretty sure. This wasn’t.

This time there was no mistake. The floorboards beneath her bare feet were smooth wood. The cool breath of the air-conditioning whispered over her skin. Outside it was raining hard. Storming. She could hear the drumming of the deluge hitting her metal roof, hear the rumble of thunder, smell the indefinable scent of the rain. Bright flashes of lightning streaking across the sky glowed through the windows, illuminating the entry hall to the point where Charlie could at least see where they were, which was right inside her front door.

Garland’s arms around her were muscular and hard. When she had rested her cheek against his chest, it had been warm and unyielding. Every inch of his big body felt as substantial against hers as any living, breathing human male’s. And she knew that was almost certainly because she’d gone running after Holly again, done the astral-projection thing again, and Garland had found her and now here they were.