Sam takes me a little ways down river the next morning, claiming I need some time away from the house. Before now – when I was alive - a walk like this would have had me huffing and puffing, and probably sweating an embarrassing amount. Now it’s effortless, and we glide above the ground, covering miles in minutes, heading away from the houses. At last the river leads us to an open field, a stretch of earth without trees. The grass is so green, lush looking, and dotted with cheery yellow buttercups.

            “I come here sometimes, when I’m in dark mood,” Sam says. “It never fails to lift my spirits.” He reaches out for my hand, and my fingers twine with his. I glance up at him and catch him looking at me, his face is alight with happiness. My heart flutters wildly. I might as well admit it to myself. I’ve fallen for Sam.

            He leads me further into the field, and the tips of the long grass tickle my legs.“I can feel,” I gasp. “Sam, I can feel the grass!”

            He smiles. “It’s not just anger that makes you tangible. It’s any heightened emotion.” I duck my head, wondering if he can see my cheeks turning red. Sam steps closer, and we are suddenly standing toe to toe. I can feel the warmth of his body close to mine, and his presence fills me with heat, my body reacting to him. Ghost or not, he is more real than anything right now. In this moment we are more real then anything else out there.

            “The grass is very soft,” Sam murmurs, close to my ear and it sends tingles across my skin. I let go of his hand and sit down in the middle of the field, picking one of the nearby flowers from a patch of buttercups. I try to keep my voice from shaking. “Do you like butter?”

            Sam looks puzzled. “I guess so. Why?”

            I reach up and grab his hand, pulling him down beside me. “I’ll test you. Hold still.” I shuffle closer to, our knees touching, and hold the buttercup underneath his chin. He looks at me, amused. “Well, do I like butter?”

            I turn my head sideways and catch sight of the yellow reflection on his skin. “Yup, you were telling the truth.”

            Sam grins, snatching the flower from me. “My turn.”

            I try to hold still while he places the flower underneath my chin, but it tickles and I fidget, trying not to giggle nervously. Sam grins, placing his other hand on my neck, sending a delicious shiver through me. “Stop squirming around. How am I supposed to tell if you like butter?” he says.

            “Trust me,” I say. “The evidence is all right here.”

            His smile falters, and Sam tosses the flower to one side. “You shouldn’t joke about yourself that way. You’re beautiful.”

            My stomach flutters again, and I look away from him. His eyes are fixed on my face, and I look everywhere but him. “Breanne.” His voice commands my attention. I look at him again, very aware that his hand is still on the side of my neck, and he’s moved even closer to me. He’s still staring at me way too intently. “You’re so beautiful. I’ve watched you, waited for you, for seven years and every year you only got more beautiful. You just never thought so.” His face is inches away from mine, our mouths are a second apart, and part of me begs him silently to close the distance. I long for that connection. The other part of me is torn, not wanting the attachment to grow. I can’t be with him yet. I can’t go with him yet.

            Suddenly his lips are on mine, gently, just a brush that sends shivers down my spine. I let my hands wander, traveling up his body, smoothing over the fabric of his t-shirt to feel the hard muscles in his back. He kisses my neck, sending heat racing through me, and our mouths meet again as I tangle my fingers in his hair. He places firm hands on my waist and tips me backwards onto the grass, and I find myself on top of him, the length of our bodies pressed together so closely I swear I can feel his heart beat against mine. His kiss is deep and firm, and he presses his hand into the small of my back, as if he can somehow force us even closer together.

            After a minute of this, and altogether too soon, he places his hands on my hips and lifts me up. My chest is tight with longing, and I sigh, but he’s already backing away “Cross over with me. That way it can always be like this.”

            I frown. “Sam, I can’t. Not yet.”

         “Bree I’m worried,” Sam murmurs. He brushes his fingertips down my cheek, sending tingles after his touch. “There’s a…shadow over your face that wasn’t there before. It’s growing. I can’t lose you to your revenge. I can’t lose you to him.”

            “What?” I say, confused, “Caleb?”

            “He’s consuming you. You have to fight the anger, or you’ll become too attached to him.”

            “I’m not attached to him,” I say. “I hate him.”

            Sam looks sad. “Exactly.”

            I frown at him. “It will be fine, I’ll just make sure my parents are going to be okay. There has to be some way I can tell them it was him. Besides, how do you know all this? How do you know I might get…attached, or whatever?”

            “You’re investing a lot of emotion into him, a lot of your thoughts and effort.” Sam strokes my cheek again, and I feel my frown fade a little, relishing the feeling of his hand on my face. “How do you think I got myself tethered to you in the first place?” he says.“I invested all my emotion on you.”

            My voice is practically a whisper. “You still don’t regret it?”

           He smiles down at me. “Not for a second.”

            “I thought you’d be over this by now!” Caleb is pacing the kitchen tiles in his bare feet. He is wearing nothing but boxer shorts, and his blonde hair is still wet from the shower. He smells like too much cologne. Nakia sits at the kitchen table, warming her hands on a mug of tea and staring glumly at the messy kitchen. An untouched piece of toast sits on a plate at her left elbow.

 “Over it?” she says flatly, “You thought I’d just get over it? Well, I’m not like you.” Her eyes snap up, staring at him accusingly. “I can’t just get on with my life after seeing a friend murdered.”

            “She wasn’t a friend,” Caleb spits at her with an ugly sneer. “You hated her. She was a stuck up rich little bitch.” He stops pacing and bangs his fists down on the table, making Nakia flinch. “Don’t you remember all those things you told me? How she always had extra spending money and you never did. How you always went shopping and had to watch her try on tons of outfits that you could never afford. What about her house? Isn’t that enough to piss you off? You grew up in a rat hole littered with beer cans, and she lived in a palace and didn’t even seem to care!” An ugly sneer lifts the corner of his mouth. “All the jewelry she used to wear from mommy and daddy? All real, all of it! And the car she got for her birthday? What did you get for your birthday, Nakia?” He glares at her. “Nothing? I thought so.”

My face is burning and I bite my lip until it hurts. Is part of this somehow my fault? I hadn’t listened closely enough, hadn’t paid her enough attention. I should have seen how bad her home life was. I should have tried to help her in some way, but I never did. Maybe it was time to admit it, I’d been self absorbed. I just did whatever I wanted and said whatever I felt like saying.

            Nakia’s eyes drop back to her toast, her voice cracks. “I was just jealous.”

            “Well.” Caleb paces over and slams his hands down on the table again. “Now you don’t have to be. We can have all her money now! All we have to do is go take it! So why don’t you grow a pair and go over there and see how her parents are doing? Butter them up a bit and get in good with them.”

            Nakia shakes her head, refusing to look at him. She flinches when he bangs his fist down on the table top again. “You’re such a whiner! Fine, I’ll do it.”

            She looks incredulous. “Are you serious? Bree’s parents hate you.”

            Caleb shrugs. “I’ll just play the worried boyfriend.” He turns and walks down the hall into the bedroom, grabbing a collared shirt from the closet, muttering to himself as he gets dressed. The change in him has been incredible since the priest left. He really thinks it worked. He thinks I’m gone. He’s completely back to his cocky, asshole self. It’s tempting to work myself up and fly into a rage, to do something to him. To scare the shit out of him. But I can bide my time. Let him make the next move.

            I follow him out of his bedroom and through the kitchen again. He pauses at the back door. “I’ll be back in five minutes, and I’ll know exactly when their next little vacation is.”

            Nakia mumbles something into her toast, and I catch the word “disgusting”.

Luckily Caleb is already shutting the door behind him and doesn’t hear her. Looking back once at Nakia – who still stares dejectedly at her plate – I follow Caleb outside and down the porch steps.

            He picks his way through the woods, stepping carefully over tree braches and avoiding patches of mud like they might suck him in like quicksand. He’s clearly uncomfortable with being in the forest, which makes me smile. The forest is where I’m the most comfortable now, and seeing his discomfort makes it even better. He glances up, hearing the sound of the river in the distance and makes a wide path around it. The river holds too many ghosts for him now.  

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