"I don't know who that man was, but you have to tell me all about...," I say as I step inside the apartment, my words cut off by a man dressed entirely in black standing beside the leather couch. A cape skirts down to his ankles and his head is covered with a mask and helmet. I immediately stop in my tracks, afraid to press any closer to the reaper who awaits me.

John snickers from behind me.

The reaper does not move, so I take a deep breath and notice ornaments still in their boxes, toy spacecrafts on the couch and tinsel heaped onto the floor, a few silver strands scattered across the charcoal tile. I inch forward, but do not take my eyes off the reaper.

It isn't until I cross into the living room that little green spikes venturing out of the reaper's cape come into view... The reaper is, in fact, a Christmas tree designed to look like Darth Vader.

John gives a throaty laugh. "You thought it was a reaper, didn't you?"

I whip around to answer him. "No, I didn't."

He smiles, perhaps for the first time ever, and the dark circles around his eyes seem to lighten. He tilts his chin downward. He totally doesn't believe me.

I walk toward the tree to study the cape, duchess satin from its stiff appearance. "Okay, maybe I did, but who makes a Darth Vader Christmas tree?"

"A true Star Wars fan? Someone who wants to annoy his mother when she comes over tomorrow night?"

That would probably do it. Or at least it would annoy my mom.

"I thought you lived with your mom."

He reaches for one of the spaceships and places it on a branch toward the top, about where Darth Vader's heart would be. "Everyone thinks that. She has her own place on the second floor, but she's almost always here. A waste of my money since I pay for both our places."

"That's really nice of you."

"Thanks. She's been hounding me to put up a tree since Thanksgiving, and so here I am, appeasing her when I really only want to sleep."

I wait quietly, considering the best way to proceed with my questions, as he places the toys onto the branches. The final product is spectacular and one certain to please a fan. It's also guaranteed to get a rise out of his mom if she's at all religious.

"You're here for a reason, and it wasn't to watch me decorate the tree," John says as he stuffs the toy packaging into a plastic bin.

I hover to his desk, where three black chess pawns, about eight inches tall, grace the top shelf. The pawns each have a face carved into them. The faces are macabre, their expressions twisted into a grimace, their soulless eyes frozen in desperation, as though they were captured once all remnants of hope had been drained from their body.

Another pawn —this one without the intricate carving— sits next to his laptop, beside a picture of his mom and he with a teen girl. I lean in to take a better look at the picture.

"Don't touch it!" John screams.

I stop moving, but I am close enough to glimpse the picture. The girl has the same dark hair and eyes and pasty skin as John. "You have a sister?"

A frown crosses his face and he whitens. "She died in a boating accident over the summer."

I now recall the news reports. Three teens dead. Father and daughter found alive in the Gulf two days after the boat capsized. One body unaccounted for. Dad arrested for operating a motor vehicle while intoxicated.

"I'm so sorry for your loss, but you're still able to talk to her, right?"

He looks away. "Not every death results in a ghost. The worst part is they never found her body. I always figured Hayli would say goodbye. She knew my talent, but I've gotten zilch from her."

"That's awful, and to have no closure whatsoever...." I can't imagine the pain of holding out hope that she was alive, only to have it fade as each day passed. And for John to have his abilities and not be able to use them when it came to his sister, it must be pure torture.

"I'd rather not talk about her anymore. Can we get this over with so I can go to bed? I have to work tomorrow." He pushes his plastic glasses up his ski-ramp nose and sits on the couch.

"You know Margaret is dead, right?"

"How could I not with all the racket you two were making earlier? Do you know how she died?"

"I think she was strangled...with Lanie's scarf."

"Wow."

I let it sink in that he could have stopped this, if only he'd gone to the police when I asked him to a couple days ago. "And you saw Lanie in the apartment?"

He removes his glasses, wipes away a smudge with his long-sleeved t-shirt, and nods.

"Why didn't you out her to Gr...Officer Smith?"

He sets his glasses on the end table. "I don't think she did it."

"She's my best friend and I'm not 100% sure she's innocent. I want to believe she couldn't have killed her, but she was missing for a couple of hours."

John seems to carefully consider his words. "She came to my apartment about twenty minutes before I saw you, said she saw Adam and didn't want to talk to him. I let her inside to wait and she suggested the Darth Vader idea for the Christmas tree. I left to see if Adam was still around and ran into the cop. Thought she'd stay here while I was looking for him. I don't think there was enough time for her to kill Margaret, unless she did so prior to coming to me."

At least she has a partial alibi. Unfortunately, it places her near the crime scene around when the murder occurred.

"Do you know what time Margaret died?"

"I don't. It was when I heard her screaming that clued me in, and that was while I was walking past her apartment with the cop." He seems lost in thought.

"How long was Lanie with you?"

"It was probably twenty minutes. It couldn't have been much longer."

Twenty minutes doesn't clear Lanie, especially if Margaret didn't die quickly or if the timeline is off. Hopefully between the autopsy report and her time with John, she will have an alibi.

"Oliver says it's true you can summon a reaper and you got rid of Billy Mays that way."

John shrugs his shoulders. "It was my only way to mute him."

"Have you called one for me or Jose?"

"I considered it, especially on Jose," he yawns, "but I haven't summoned one yet and probably won't. I have more serious things to worry about."

"Like what?"

His attention flicks toward his desk. The laptop is open and there is a smattering of papers around it. "I need to finish one of my apps tomorrow and I have to work on a presentation for a game I'm hoping Nintendo will option for their console release next year. And I haven't started my Christmas shopping yet."

I do the math, trying to figure out the date. I can see why ghosts lose track of time. I died late on the eighteenth and right now it is early on Wednesday, the twenty-third. I haven't been dead for even five days, yet already it seems like forever.

"You only have two more days to shop! I would have thought someone as tech savvy as you would've used online shopping."

"I'm a procrastinator when it comes to Christmas, but I've had chunks of my time taken because of the investigation. I'm sure the police will want to speak with me tomorrow, too." He yawns and rubs his eyes.

Hint taken.

"There's a Pandora shop at the mall. Your mom will love one of their bracelets. Buy some charms to go with it. Coach is also having a sale. If you arrive early enough, you should have a good pick of the merchandise. Good night."

"Thank you," he says, as I'm about to step through the door. "Those are some good ideas. Umm..." he pauses, seeming to deliberate how to proceed. "Could you keep quiet to Margaret about me? I'd rather not have to deal with her right now."

"You and me both. She won't hear it from me."

And on that note, I pass through the door. Arnie is still hunched over his phone, now playing a battle game instead of texting. The elevator dings and two medics round the corner with a stretcher. Arnie scrambles out of the way as Grant ushers them inside the apartment. Margaret hovers beside Grant's ear like she is trying to whisper sweet nothings to him while he gives the night watchman permission to leave.

Unsure of where to go and not wanting to share the elevator with Arnie, I linger in the hallway and close my eyes to process the day's events.

I am no closer to discovering my murderer and unless there's some hard evidence that proves Lanie is not Margaret's killer, she will probably be incarcerated before Christmas. I don't know how to help her. The feeling that things are only becoming bleaker settles in my stomach.

I open my eyes and immediately jolt backward at the tower of black that lurks before me. Olive skin and amber eyes come into focus as his hand encircles my wrist.

"You need to come with me," Derek says.

The dark —no, black— clothes...

He was speaking to John earlier...

And the fact that he can see me, touch me, capture me.

I shrink, expand, and try everything to escape his iron grip. My shrieks go unheard, and my flight is hindered by his brute strength. With one last trick, I will myself into my cocoon.

But it is not yellow that greets me; it is black.

Darkness descends upon me as the reaper drags me away.