Kasey and I are stretched out in my bed. I’ve just finished explaining to her everything that happened today, and there was a lot to tell her. Between the conversation Aiden and I had in my old bedroom, to the way he responded to the revelation about Ralph and Melanie, to the way I responded to his response -

“Jamie,” Kasey finally says, cutting my rambling off. “It sounds like you like him.”

“I do like him!” I throw my arms up over my head, grab two fistfuls of my pillow. “There, okay? Happy now? I would have admitted it sooner if I knew you weren’t going to say-”

“I fucking told you not to like him!”

“Literally that. Exactly that. I knew you were going to say those exact words. It’s too fucking late, okay? I do. I absolutely can’t help it, believe me, I’ve tried. Do you think I want to like Aiden Callahan? I don’t have a chance in hell with him, do I look like Melanie to you? Obviously I wish I could flip this switch off, but I can’t, and also it’s getting worse every time he and I hang out - and I want you to meet him before you dive into the lecture because he’s not the way you remember him. Alright? He’s really thoughtful and patient and sweet, which I know sounds like the opposite of how he was when you knew him, but-”

“Jamie! Take a breath. Holy shit. I haven’t seen you like this about someone since - Okay. I’m just saying. You told me about Roger by sending me a text message with nothing but a fireman emoji and a winky face. When you guys split up you were like - slightly bummed out? At most?”

“What’s your point?”

“My point is, I’m not going to give you a lecture when you’re so clearly in agony already. Especially because I can tell that this is a real one.”

“A real one what?”

“Just - a real one,” she says.

“So you’re not mad at me?”

“No. I mean, this isn’t even your fault. It sounds like your heart made a decision and left your brain out of it entirely, which is very on-brand for you.”

“And you’re not about to give me shit for falling this hard for a straight guy?”

“Why are you so sure he’s straight?” Kasey asks, cuddling up closer to me.

“He went out with Melanie for like four years.”

“Hello, he could be bi, or pan. Do I need to give you a history lesson on this? I’m not doing anything else with my degree. Which famous bi should we talk about? Hans Christian Andersen? Peggy Guggenheim? Herman Melville? Simone de Beauvoir? Caligula?”

“Caligula, what the fuck? Nevermind, nevermind - I know all of that. I know Aiden could be bi or pan, obviously, but I just - have clear evidence that he’s into women, and none about whether he might - wait a second. What are we talking about? None of this matters, because I’m never gonna tell him how I feel. And he’s never going to figure it out, hopefully. I’m just going to ignore this whole - whatever’s going on with me, until it goes away.”

“Well, that sounds…” Kasey hesitates. “Healthy.”

“It’ll go away,” I repeat, more to myself than to her. There’s a moment of silence, and I turn my head to look at her. “Are you sure you’re not mad at me? You have mad face.”

“I have sad face. I’m not mad, I’m jealous.”

“What!” I stare at her, agog. “Jealous? Of who, me?”

“Yes! Obviously.” She sighs, then lays her head on my chest. “Who do I get to go insane over, hmm? The only one who can see me is you. Even if anyone could see me, I’m dead, so that poses a problem. I’ve been thinking about it a lot recently. You know where I was all day? Walking up and down that line from Aiden’s map. I went back and forth from the empty lot to that random street over and over again.”

“Why?” I ask, settling my hand in her hair.

“Because I feel warm when I’m on that line, and that’s the only thing I’ve been able to physically feel since I died.” She holds out an opaque hand, and I put mine into it. Her fingers fold over my own. “See this? Your hand touches mine. Somehow my fingers know what to do, and they react the way I want them to. But I don’t feel your hand, Jamie. I can’t feel anything, not like that. Nothing is physical for me. I thought maybe being a ghost would put me like - above all that stuff? But it doesn’t. I want to feel hot and cold, I want someone to touch me, I wanna make out, I want someone to lay me out and go slow and really-”

“Okay! Yeah, I get the picture!”

She groans in frustration and buries her face in my chest.

“What if I never get to again, for the rest of time? Jamie. What. If.”

“Well - maybe there are other ghosts? There have to be, right? You can’t be the only one.”

“I could be the only one. We don’t know. I haven’t seen any others roaming around Ketterbridge.”

“But there have to be others! Maybe Caligula’s ghost is still around.”

“That wouldn’t work, anyway. I’m out of his league.”

I fold my arms around her. I know she can’t feel me doing it. I wish she could.

“I’m sorry, Kasey. I know you’ve had to give up so much.” I give her a little squeeze. “But - just for the record, I’m really glad you’re here. I’ll be here for you, too. If you want I can go get your phone and we can pull up your last few Tinder matches. That’ll probably turn you off the whole concept of dating.”

“Oh, god. Tinder in Ketterbridge. Why did I ever think that was a good idea? There are like twenty profiles close enough to match with, and I think three of them belong to Ralph.”

“Exactly.”

“You know what’s weird? I liked being single when I was alive. I still like it now. But god, for there to not even be a possibility of someone, someday…”

“There’s always a possibility,” I tell her firmly. “So maybe Ketterbridge only has one ghost and it’s you. We’ll find you a way to get out, remember? We’re working on that. Then we can tramp around the whole world until we find another ghost. And he’ll be cute and sporty.”

“Like Aiden?” Kasey says, with a sly look my way, and I sigh deeply.

“Yes, damnit. Like Aiden.”

A flash of lightning draws my gaze to the windows.

“Whoa,” I murmur, nudging Kasey. “Did you see th-?”

The boom of thunder that follows is so loud that my teeth chatter. The glass rattles in the window panes. I reach for my phone and pull up the weather app: a row of stormcloud icons greets me. By the time I look up again, rain is thrumming against my windows. I release Kasey and crawl across my bed to look outside. On the street below, the trees are dancing wildly in the wind and downpour, and huge puddles are already starting to form where the sidewalk meets the pavement.

“I love the summer storms in Ketterbridge,” Kasey sighs, joining me at the window. “By the way - what did Aiden say about the photos you took of the map, again?”

“He literally told me I should try restarting my phone.”

“Well - did you?”

I give her a dirty glare, then concede and press the restart button. We wait, listening to the rain as it powers back up. I open the photos app and scroll to the right spot.

“That’s weird. All the photos I took that day are there now! Except - what the fuck. Except the ones of the map.” I hold up my phone to show Kasey; a shot of Ellen in her now-retired sheriff’s outfit, a picture of Aiden laughing and chasing after her.

“What the hell.” Kasey shakes her head. “What the fuck is Aiden’s deal?”

I’m starting to wonder if I’ll ever find out.

~~~~

Thump, thump thump...

I sit up in the gloom, still half-asleep. Kasey is gone, and I’m alone. I groggily fumble around for my phone. What time is it? The rain is still pouring down outside, and a flash of lightning turns everything in my apartment brilliantly bright for a split second. Did I imagine the thumping? It’s quiet now, aside from the storm.

I gasp and nearly fall out of bed as the thumping starts up again, even more urgently than before. I scramble to my feet and step out of my bedroom, my heart pounding. It sounds like someone knocking, so my instinct is to head towards the door, but I could swear it’s coming from the kitchen/living room. I edge around the corner, visions of burglars and murderers marching through my head. Standing in the doorway, I scan my eyes over the dark shape of my fridge, the dining table, the person huddled outside my window, the -

“What the fuck!” I crash back against the wall, clutching my chest. Someone is outside, perched on my fire escape, banging their fist against the glass. I have to call the police, I have to -

Lightning splits the sky outside again, illuminating the intruder.

“What - what -” I rush to the window and shove it open, letting in a gust of wind and raindrops. “Aiden! What the hell are you doing?”

If I couldn’t feel the rain on my hands, I’d think I was dreaming. I’ve had dreams about him, but they never start like this. Aiden scrambles over the windowsill and lands on his feet in my living room, gasping. He’s absolutely drenched from head to toe, wearing pajamas, no less: loose plaid pants, a long-sleeved t-shirt with his coat pulled over it. All of it soaked and rapidly forming a puddle on my floor. He slicks his wet hair out of his eyes, and I get a look at his face.

“Holy shit, what happened? Aiden?” I grab his arms to hold him still. “Hey, are you okay?”

I’ve never seen him look like this. He looks terrified. His eyes are rounded and wild; he’s out of breath like he ran here, which based on the state of his clothes actually seems possible.

“Jamie.” He’s looking straight into my eyes, but I can’t shake the feeling that he doesn’t see me. “Help me, you have to help me, I can’t - it’s too loud -”

“Aiden, are you drunk?”

“No, no, we don’t have time, we need to go, I need you to drive so I can listen.”

“Drive, what? Where? What time is it? Aiden? Oh my god-”

He slips right out of my hands and slumps back against the wall. He slides to the floor, his hand pressed over his heart. He’s breathing like he just finished a marathon, his broad chest heaving with the effort. I drop to a crouch in front of him, my hands dancing all around me, no idea what to do or what’s going on. He’s looking at me, but again, he’s not really looking at me - a blind man’s unseeing stare.

“We have to go right now,” he stammers, and he almost looks like he might cry. “I can hear it.”

“Aiden.” I hesitate, then reach out and take his face in my hands, slide my thumbs over the omnipresent layer of stubble. I tilt his face up, force him to look into my eyes. “Don’t listen to it.” Whatever it is. “Just listen to me, can you hear me? I’m right here. It’s Jamie.”

He reaches up and closes his fingers around my wrists. Even now, his touch sends sparks flying up and down my arms.

“Jamie,” he repeats. His breathing starts to slow, his darting gaze settling on my face. “Jamie.”

“Just focus on me.” I cup his face as gently as I can while holding him still. I take one hand from his cheek and press it against his chest instead, and his wild breath begins to even out. “You’re fine, you’re fine.”

He nods, and then - oh my god - turns and presses his face further into my hand. I feel the brush of his eyelashes, his lips against my palm. He closes his eyes tightly. I feel the frantic staccato of his heartbeat start to calm against the hand I have sprawled against his chest. He releases my wrists, and when he opens his eyes again, they find and settle on my face.

“Hey,” I try, tentatively. “Are you-?”

“Jamie.” He says it affirmatively.

“Yes. Hi.”

“I can - hear you.”

“I… can hear you too?”

He lets out a ragged, incredulous laugh, and before I know what he’s doing, he launches forward and flings both arms around my neck. I’m suddenly in a soaking wet, bone-crushingly tight hug, smashed against Aiden. He drops his forehead against the curve of my neck, and I can’t tell if the sound he makes against me is a sob or a laugh. I can barely breathe, but I fold my arms around him, too.

“Jamie,” he says into my neck. Shivers ripple out from the spot and run down my back. “Do you trust me?”

“Yes.”

“Do you really mean it, though?”

“Yes.”

He releases me from the hug and grabs my shoulders.

“Then I need you to trust me right now.”

“Okay…”

“We have to go. Will you please drive, please please please? We don’t have much time.”

“Time for what, what are we-?”

He presses his finger over my lips.

“Can you trust me?” he asks again. I swallow hard, almost ready to burst into hysterical laughter. Instead I ease back, get to my feet, and grab my car keys from their hook on the wall. My coat is still where I tossed it on the couch. I pull it on over my pajamas and fumble for my sneakers. Aiden staggers upright, holding the wall for support. “This is too soon,” he says, half to himself. “I’m not ready, I don’t-”

“Hey. It’s fine. Let’s go for a drive.”

Whatever, right? I’m not unfamiliar with symptoms of a panic attack - hello, have you met me? - and now that I’ve confirmed there’s no evidence of alcohol-involvement, I have to assume that’s what this is. It wouldn’t hurt to just drive around, even in this insane rain.

Aiden joins me at the door, and we rush for the stairs. I pick up my speed, hustling after him - he’s agitated and already a stairwell ahead of me. I’m wondering why the hell he came to my window instead of the door. A memory suddenly stirs in the back of my mind: Aiden, his first week back in town, out on the street with a map, and me stepping out to meet him. That’s my window. Right there. He doesn’t know my apartment number, but he does know which window is mine.

“Please, Jamie, come on - we have to move faster than this!”

He leaps the last five steps, a vivid reminder that he’s the sports-guy in this friendship, even in his current state. I almost fall down in my hurry, and Aiden catches me at the bottom of the stairs. Before I can blink, we’re out in the pouring rain, sprinting to my car. I gasp for breath when we’re both inside, wiping rain off of my face and shaking out my hands. Aiden straps into the passenger’s seat and leans his head back, breathing hard.

“Okay.” I stick the keys in the ignition. “Where are we going?”

“Fuck.” He opens his eyes, the fear back in his expression. “I don’t fucking know, I don’t know!”

“Hey! You said that I have to drive so you can listen, right?” I grip the steering wheel hard, trying to stay calm. “So let's just listen for a minute.” Whatever that means.

Aiden nods, closes his eyes. His huge hands are spread out on my dashboard, pressed down so hard that his fingertips are turning white. It looks like it hurts. I don’t know if it’s the late hour or the absurdity of the situation or the fact that touching him seemed to help upstairs, but - I reach over and pry his left hand free. Grasp it in my own. Squeeze it gently with a rhythmic pressure, the way my mom used to do for me when I needed to calm down. We sit for a few seconds without speaking. The drumbeat of the rain on the car roof is in my ears, the beat of Aiden’s pulse in my fingers.

He opens his eyes and looks at me, and I start, a little shocked. The deep blue of his eyes has somehow grown lighter, almost ice-blue.

“North,” he says.

I put the car into gear.