Tara wondered how her rose bushes were faring.

In the Before, she'd won multiple prizes for her rose bushes. In the After, she was chained to this damned graveyard, and the only roses in sight were fake, plastic ones brought by Jamie's relatives - the man who had been her neighbour and competitor for Best Roses of the Year in the Before, whom she was stuck guarding this damned cemetery with.

"Nice weather today, eh?" It was Jamie, of course, his stupid fedora the same as it had been in real life: with a slightly moth-eaten band and making all the women at Bingo swoon, like he was some pirate or vagabond.

"We're ghosts, Mr. White, we can't feel the sunshine - or snow, as it were. Hardly prime rose-pruning weather," Tara sniffed.

"A snob even in death, huh?" James White put a hand to his face, surveying the cemetery. Seeing as they were newcomers, they'd been put on watch until the next people died. Was it awful of him to wish that the next people would die faster so that he wouldn't have to be stuck with this uptight old bat?

She had walked away from him, thank God.

"I can hear you thinking!" Tara called across the snow-covered, barren field, as she made her way into the woods bordering the graveyard. Good, he thought; he wanted some respite from her. "There's no use in calling me old when you're two months older!"

"That's not what I was thinking!" He lied, shielding his eyes from the sun's reflection off of the glittering snow. What was it called - snow burn?

As he turned back towards the trees, he saw - nothing. Not even a hint of movement. Granted, ghosts didn't leave footprints, and could walk through solid things, but usually he could catch a glimpse of the bright red scarf she had worn in death.

"Tara?" James called, worried. If she disappeared, then he'd have to guard the graveyard by himself, and stay guarding it even when the next sucker entered. "Tara, you can't get very far! You know the magic will keep you from leaving."

Tara did know all of this. But she also knew that today, someone else would take the prize that she'd won for five years straight. And she had to see who.

She heard the rustling sound that ghosts made when they brushed past living things: the sound of dead leaves dancing, unwilling to accept their end.

It was Jaime. Of course. Why couldn't the blasted man just leave her alone?

"Jaime, go away," Tara ordered.

"It isn't Jaime." The voice was gravelly, inhuman, like the wind. "It is I, the watcher of this graveyard."

"I thought Mr. White and I were the watchers of the graveyard." Tara turned, accusingly, towards the voice, but found nothing. No one. If she'd had a working heart, it would have begun pounding.

"Jaime?" Nothing.

She would have loved to see him right now. Would have given anything for things to be as it had been, them side to side despite the fact that he told corny jokes and wore an ugly fedora and flirted with everyone. He'd become a comforting presence in her life, one of the constants other than her garden, giving her solace after Frank had passed.

"Your companion is not here," the voice said again. "You have not fulfilled what I have asked of you, and therefore, you must watch the graveyard for all of eternity if you do not follow my instructions."

Tara gulped. Eternity?

"What are the instructions?" Oh, why hadn't she just stayed in the graveyard?

:::

James wandered deeper into the woods. "Tara Alice Sullivan, come back! Rose bushes aren't worth facing the wrath of this graveyard." He realized how ridiculous that sounded, but frankly, he didn't care.

He'd grown fond of Tara, even if she was awfully unreasonable and boringly sensible. She was excellent - had been excellent? - at bingo as well as Scrabble, and they pruned their rose bushes at the same time each year, always trash talking about who would win that year's Roses of the Year prize. He'd let her win for the past five years after Frank had died, knowing she would need the comfort. She couldn't be in trouble.

"Tara, come on." He passed more trees. Was he going in circles?

Damn it, he just wanted to find her.

:::

"You must promise that you will cut all ties to the living world," the voice threatened ominously. "No more of this rose bush nonsense."

"Well, if you wanted me to cut all ties, then why did you place me with Frank as the guardians of the graveyard?" Tara argued.

If a disembodied voice could have shrugged, the ensuing pause would have been it. "You are tied together. Twin souls."

What on earth was this supernatural being talking about? "What do you mean? Because we're neighbours?"

"That, and - " a breeze, like a sigh. "Look at that tree next to you. That branch there, it was not originally part of the tree."

"No, it wasn't? I couldn't tell," Tara snarled. She could tell: the branch had been grafted on, and its bark was a different texture.

"Yes, but they have learned to grow together, to coexist. They have come to depend on each other for survival. That - that is you and him."

Then, going back to the subject, "The rose bushes will keep you apart - or bring the two of you together. Just ask him - and then never touch on this subject again."

"But why - ?" It was too late. Any paranormal presence had disappeared, and now she was alone.

No, not alone. She turned around, and saw James.

He was here. They were not alone.

She followed him back to the graveyard.