My house comes into sight over the next hill, and his face lights up with greed. When I look at the house I feel familiarity, and a pang of loss. My parents are in there. I’m about to go in there to see them, but they won’t see or hear me. Obviously when Caleb looks at my house he see’s an opportunity for money staring him in the face, because he walks a little faster, and his fists are balled at his sides. He’s excited and determined.

            I drift up the long driveway after him, watching him ready himself mentally at the front door, smoothing his hands over the front of his shirt – whether to get rid of wrinkles or sweaty palms, I don’t know – then he reaches out and jams his finger into the buzzer. The doorbell bongs inside the house, a cheerful double chime that Mom had insisted on instead of the traditional bing bong sound. Muffled voices, footsteps on the other side. The door is yanked open, and my Dad stands there staring at Caleb. My stomach flips alarmingly when I see him.

            My father looks like he hasn’t slept in a week, even though it’s only been a few days since I last saw him. His eyes are shadowed by huge purplish circles, and he hasn’t shaved. His normally immaculate clothing is a mess, there’s a stain on the front of his dress shirt and the tails are untucked. When he sees who is standing at his door a shadow crosses his face, and he says guardedly, “Caleb.”

            A transformation comes over Caleb, another mask. He is suddenly the worried boyfriend, concerned and upset. “Hi Mr. Morgan.” He hesitates, shuffling his feet, hands in his pockets. “Look, I know you’ve never liked me…”

            There is no protest from my father, he just stands there waiting for Caleb to continue. Caleb clears his throat and rubs the back of his neck, looking nervous. “I…I’m – the police came the other day, but they didn’t tell us much. Just asked us questions. I was wondering if you guys had heard anything?” Now he looks desperate. I clench my teeth angrily. He’s acting this out too well. What if Dad buys it?

            Dad pauses. Instead of getting angry like I hoped he would, he just looks tired. He steps back from the door, allowing Caleb to come inside. “You might as well come in.”

            They sit across from each other. Mom and Dad are on the love seat, holding hands, looking strained and tired. Caleb sits in the easy chair in front of them, doing his best to look eager and concerned and all the other things a boyfriend of a missing girl is supposed to look like. “Is there any news?” He says eagerly, “I phoned the number they gave me, but they wouldn’t say anything to me. They said I’d have to ask you guys.”

Another lie. I hover behind my parents and glare daggers at Caleb, placing my hand over Mom’s shoulder. I can’t touch her, I’ll just go through, but at least I can pretend to comfort her. For me.

            Dad says wearily, “They have a lead. Apparently Bree’s credit card was used somewhere in Toronto.”

            My mouth drops open. Caleb’s eyes go wide. There’s not a hint of triumph on his face. He’s a good actor. I feel like screaming. When did he get a chance to use my credit card? I’ve been with him nearly every day, and I know Nakia would never agree to it. Something comes to me, something Caleb’s mother said to him before he left. The memory of her voice repeats in my head, “I’ll do what you asked me to. I’ll go tomorrow even. But I better not ever hear about this sort of thing again.” So that was it. His mother had flown to Toronto with the sole purpose of using my credit card to make it look as if I were alive and had run away. She really was evil.

            “So she’s…in Toronto.” Caleb grips the couch cushion next to him. “That’s great! That means she’s okay, right? What did she buy?”

            “Food,” Mom says, but she doesn’t look happy. Both her and Dad have grim looks on their faces, and I feel fiercely proud of them. They clearly don’t buy it.

            “Why would she be there?” Caleb says.

            Dad looks unhappy. “The police suspect her biological father.”

            Caleb’s eyes light up. Clearly this is going better then he’d hoped. I study my parents faces, stomach sinking. They can’t possibly think it’s my real dad, can they? This was going to mess up the police investigation. Throw the scent off Caleb.

            He says, “So he kidnapped her maybe?”

            “We told them it wasn’t likely,” Mom says. Her voice wavers, but her expression is resolute. “But it could be…”

            “We’re flying to Toronto next week,” Dad announces, his fingers grip the arm of the couch so tightly they’re starting to pale around the cuticles and I see him study Caleb’s face closely as he says the words. There is hardly a reaction, just a slight flicker of something and then it’s gone. “You’re going to go look for her?” he says.

            Dad nods silently, still staring. “Yes, we can’t just sit here and do nothing.”

            “The police are investigating,” Mom says, “both here and Toronto, but we want to do something to help. She might not go to the police, or…they might not want to deal with police.”

            No, I clench my fists at my sides and try to beam the thought straight into their heads, don’t go to Toronto! He’s right in front of you!

            Caleb looks startled. “Like…kidnappers?”

            No. I lean in closer to my parents faces, wishing I could communicate this to them. I’m not kidnapped, I’m dead! He killed me. He’s sitting right there! My hands curl into fists, and I can’t help it, I let out a scream of rage. Neither of my parents look up, but Caleb’s eyes widen suddenly, and his face goes chalk white. “What was that?” he says.

            “What?” Dad looks annoyed at the sudden change of topic. “What was what?”

            “Do you have the TV on in the next room?” Caleb says, both desperate and hopeful.

            “No,” Mom says, and the look on Caleb’s face makes me wickedly gleeful. He knows it’s me. He knows I’m here.

            He stands up abruptly. “I’ve…I have to go. I..left the oven on.” He ends weakly, and Dad arches an eyebrow, but he’s already out of the living room and walking – almost running – down the hallway to the front door. I let him go, staying with my parents for a little while longer. I try to work up the rage I need to make things happen. To make the lights flicker, to make me it so they can see me. I need to be able to tell them what happened. To tell them that Caleb is the one that hurt them and he’s planning to do it again when they’re in Toronto. He really will take everything from them. But when I look at their faces – Dad’s exhausted and pale, and Mom’s tear stained - my anger drains away and leaves me cold. I am helpless.

            Mom stays seated, head in her hands, but after awhile Dad gets up and starts pacing. Again and again he peers out the window into the darkness, as if he can see into the forest despite how dark it is. The last time he stops he bangs his fist on the counter abruptly, making Mom jump.

            She looks up at him, eyes red and dull. “I’m going to bed.”

            He glances up, startled. Like he’d been somewhere else for a minute, “What? Oh yes, go…I’ll be up a minute.”

            She leaves, and he stands there staring out into the darkness. He’s totally still, except for a muscle that twitches and jumps in his jaw. The minutes stretch out until I can’t stand to watch his silent anger anymore. When I leave he’s still there, like a sentry standing guard through the night.

            Caleb is in a rage, screaming at his mother on the phone. From what I gather at the tail end of the conversation, she’s refusing to help him anymore. If the priest wasn’t able to cast the ghost out, then he doesn’t deserve to be helped. My opinion of her warms a little – but only a little. It’s extremely satisfying to listen to Caleb go from extreme anger, screaming at her for not helping him, to pure terror. When he hangs up the phone he slumps onto the couch, looking around the living room like he’s expecting me to pop up and shout “boo!” any minute. Maybe he is expecting that. His hands are shaking, and his face is still drained of blood. He looks sickly and tired. Nothing like the blonde god-like creature I had first seen him as when we started dating. It occurs to me that I am slowly breaking him, and I can’t keep the fierce smile from my lips.

            “What’s wrong with you?” Nakia pauses in the doorway, looking dismayed to see Caleb there. She holds a sandwich in one hand and a can of soda in the other. It makes me long after food.  I miss food. No, I miss the act of eating. The flavor of chocolate cake that melts in your mouth, or the tangy spice of spaghetti and meatballs, the sharp taste of a good wine. I wonder if there will be food on the other side when Sam and I cross over. What kind of afterlife wouldn’t have chocolate cake? Only hell.

My musings come to an end when Caleb stands up and starts pacing the living room. His feet make rhythmic thumping sounds on the hardwood.

            “She’s back…no, it’s back. The ghost. The priest got rid of it for awhile, and then it came back. I heard it when I was over at their house. A scream. It sounded muffled and far away, but it was her voice. It’s voice.” He looks pained and confused. There’s a new and dangerous light in his eyes. He’s on the verge of losing it.

            I am not an it. I glare at him as he continues to walk the length of the room, turn and stomp back, turn and stomp back. Nakia bites into her sandwich and watches him. Her face is strangely blank. Is she going to pretend she doesn’t know what he’s talking about?

            “This is so stupid. There isn’t supposed to be any such thing as ghosts!”

            “Maybe you’re just crazy,” Nakia says coolly, and he snaps around to look at her, eyes wide, “Yeah, maybe I am. Maybe it’s just that…PDS thing that Larry talked about.”

            Nakia snorts. “It’s called PTSD. And it wouldn’t last this long. You’re probably permanently crazy.”

            I grin as Caleb’s face loses all color again. “I’m not crazy!” He shakes his head, stops his pacing, “You know what, its fine. The job is next week, and then I’m out of here. I’ll move somewhere else.”