Suddenly it made sense. The lack of conversation, the distance between them. The silent treatment. “But I can’t be,” Kylee said, her knees giving out. “I can’t be dead.”

Her mom fled the room. Numbness filled Kylee’s chest, and then the crushing weight descended on her like it had the night before. She took a shaky breath, trying to throw off the coldness creeping up her fingers.

Her hand ached where the metal of the ring touched her skin. It took all the strength Kylee had to bring it in front of her. The stone glowed a blackish-white, if that were possible. Her hand felt like she’d stuck it in ice. Her vision clouded. Kylee sucked in a breath, struggling to keep calm.

“If it starts to turn black, come back and see me. Bring him with you.”

That’s what Madame Humphrey had said in her store when she gave Kylee the ring. Go back to the store with Price.

Price. How long had he known about this? How much more did he know? Determination steeled her, and the ring emitted a reddish glow. The fog cleared, and Kylee pushed herself to her feet, stumbling out of the house.

Price sat on the porch swing, the light high on the brick wall shining on him as he kicked off the ground. Bugs buzzed around the light, their sound competing with the crickets chirping in the bushes and the creaking of the swing.

“Hey,” he said over the cacophony of noises, as if he’d been waiting for her. Maybe he had.

“Hi,” Kylee murmured, joining him. She was too drained to say anything else. The episode with her mom had taken her strength.

They rocked in silence for several minutes before she spoke. “How long have you known?”

He stopped rocking and stared off into the night. Then he cleared his throat. “Michael told me the first day we moved in. Said you were missing but assumed dead. You know. That kind of thing.”

“So you knew before we met,” Kylee said, trying to digest the implications.

“I knew when I saw you. That you were her, anyway.”

“Ah.” She nodded, remembering his behavior that first day.

“But I thought maybe they were wrong. That you never died. I mean, you were real. I touched you. So I came up with this conspiracy theory that your parents had a big insurance policy out on you, so they faked your death.” He gave a short laugh. “I had myself convinced you weren’t dead. I even went to the library after school and looked up everything I could find on you.”

“And then?” Kylee whispered.

He shrugged. “Too many things didn’t add up.” He faced her, his expression somber. “And I knew I was fooling myself.”

Kylee shook her head. “But I sleep. I eat. I feel.” She held her hands out in front of her, turned them over. “I feel so alive.”

“I don’t have any answers, Kylee. But dead people don’t hang around with the living. I was afraid once you found out . . . you'd be gone.”

Kylee let his words sink in, remembering the desperation in his touch, the intensity of his kisses. “Can I see the articles? The ones you read?”

“Yeah.” He pushed off the swing and offered her his hand. “Most are available online. A few of them we’ll have to go to the library to find, use the newspaper subscription.”

She hesitated. “You still want to touch me?”

He took her hand in his. “You are alive to me.”

Kylee tried to smile, but Price couldn’t change reality. Her life was over. Literally.

She read through the articles three times, trying to let them sink in. The first one was the standard “missing teen” announcement. The next one was the police and journalists interviewing her weeping, sobbing parents (even Bill), and then a break in the case a week later when the cadaver dog found a bloodied cloth in the woods. This led to a warrant and a full search of the house, which revealed a collection of knives, apparently used for self-infliction.

But no body. Interest died down. The comments beneath the last article indicated a general consensus of sorrow for a confused teen who was most likely dead. Possibly by her own hand.

Everything had changed. The feel of the computer keyboard beneath her fingertips seemed fake, somehow. Not because the keyboard was fake, but because she was.

She settled back in the chair and shook her head. “It doesn’t make sense.”

Price gave a small laugh from where he hovered behind her shoulder. “Which part of this? You being dead? Or you being here talking to me?”

“All of it, I guess,” Kylee murmured, her eyes scanning the first article again. She paused on the smiling photo of herself. It was older, maybe from the seventh grade. The smile seemed genuine, but her eyes didn’t sparkle. She looked down at her arm and traced the jagged scar running from her wrist to her elbow. She didn’t remember doing that. She must have, though. She remembered making one very similar to it only a week or so ago, and if she were still alive, she knew that one could have killed her. When had she lost the will to live?

“What did people say when you asked about me?”

“No one wants to talk about you. It’s like they feel like they should’ve done something. Did you have a best friend, anyone you were close to?”

She nodded. “Jessica. Jessica White.” She twisted in her chair to look up at him. “Do you think I did this? Did I kill myself?”

He gave a slow blink, slow enough that Kylee sensed the pain behind his answer. “Maybe.”

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“Why can’t I remember?”

Price shrugged. “Maybe you blocked it?”

“Here’s what I remember.” She leaned forward, earnest in her desire to make him see. “Bill. Kicking me. Hurting me. And he had a knife.”

“Maybe that was before you killed yourself?” Price said, but Kylee heard the doubt in his voice.

She shook her head. “I never wanted to die.”

“I don’t know, Kylee.” He shifted his weight and shoved his hands into his pockets. “Maybe you twisted the memory in your mind.”

She furrowed her brow. “Do dead people do that?”

“I don’t know. Could be it was so awful. I don’t understand it either.” He turned her arm over and ran his fingers over her white scars.

Her skin tickled where he touched it, and she forced herself to hold still. “I didn’t do that one.”

“But you did cut yourself.”

She may as well admit it; they both knew he knew. “Yes.” The word came out in a whisper, and shame warmed the back of her neck. “Sometimes.”

“Why?”

“Cutting myself was a release. It was something I could control. Gave me something else to focus on.”

“Maybe you killed yourself on accident?”

“I don’t see how . . .” She trailed off, thinking of the last time she’d cut herself more than she meant to. “I guess it could’ve happened.”

Price sank onto his bed and dropped his head, studying his interlocked fingers. “I’m so sorry, Kylee.”

“Nothing about this is your fault.”

“If I’d been here . . . if I’d met you a year earlier. . . .”

“We can’t change any of that.” She watched him, wanting to be close to him like she had been a few hours ago. Her body warmed as she remembered the way he’d held her, how he’d touched her. But to what end? Talk about a dead relationship. “The question is, where do we go from here?”

He stood up, rubbing his palms on his pants. “That is the question.”

The house rumbled as the garage door started to open.

“Sounds like your dad and sister are home from the movies,” Kylee murmured.

“Yeah.”

She shoved off the roller chair, catching her balance on the desk. “Um, okay.” She glanced at Price and looked away. The awkwardness between them was palpable. “I need to think about this. Try to remember. I’m gonna head.”

“You could stay,” Price said, his eyebrows arching. A muscle in his cheek twitched.

She shook her head. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“Where will you go?”

Kylee shrugged. “Home. I’m not gonna sleep in the cemetery, if that’s what you thought.”

“Don’t go,” he said, his voice rising in pitch.

“I have to.” Kylee wrapped her arms around her chest and hugged herself.

“What if you don’t come back?” he said.

“That’s kind of the point, isn’t it? I shouldn’t be here.” She knew it was a cruel thing to say, but she wasn't feeling very generous with her sympathy.

“But you are here. You have a place with me.”

She forced out a laugh, though it came out cold and harsh. “You can’t have a pet ghost.”

Price didn’t answer, and her words lay heavy in the space between them.

“Yeah, okay,” he said, offering a shrug. He didn’t meet her eyes.

“Well. I’ll see you around, then.”

He didn’t say anything when she let herself out of the room. The growing distance made her heart ache. Was he going to let her walk away? She knew it had to happen, but it wasn’t what she wanted.

“Wait.” Suddenly he was at her side, taking her elbow, pulling her back into his room. “Don’t go. I don’t care, Kylee. I just want you.”

The relief she felt that he came after her was replaced by determination. “I have to go.”

He crushed her to him and pressed his lips to her jaw. “No, you don’t. What if I don’t see you again?”

She squeezed her eyes shut. “You have to let me go.” She put her hands on his arms and tugged at them.

He released her. He shoved his hands in his pocket and took two steps backward. “Okay, then,” he said, his tone a bit brusque. Hurt. “Good night.”

She backed out the door and down the stairs, then let herself out of the house, not caring if anyone noticed the door opening and closing.

She’d hurt him, and it made her want to cry. The hundred-yard walk from Price’s house to hers lasted several months in Kylee’s heart. She reached for the screen door and paused. She was a ghost, right? Shouldn’t she be able to walk through things? She pushed her hand into the door and grunted.

“Ow.” You don’t have nerves, she told herself. You can’t feel pain. She pressed her fingers up against the doorframe. Solid.

“Oh, whatever,” she grumbled. The door squealed in protest as she yanked it open.

Bill still sat in the La-Z-boy in front of the TV, his beer belly hanging out over his thighs. His eyes were closed but his mouth was open, a soft snore escaping it. Kylee did a quick search for her mom and found her also in the living room, sleeping on the couch. Maybe the whole shirt-thing in the bedroom had freaked her out enough to not go back in.

Kylee retreated to her room, her throat aching with unshed tears. For weeks she had been dead and hadn’t known it. Guess that shows you how pathetic my life was before, she thought, climbing into bed and pulling the covers up to her chin.

She traced the cottony blankets beneath her fingers, reminding herself her hands weren’t real. Her body was rotting somewhere nearby, being eaten by worms and maggots. She shuddered and closed her eyes. Could she connect with herself? Could she reenter her actual body and feel what it was like to be dead?

A freezing sensation started in the tips of her fingers and toes and crept up her body. Kylee stiffened, terrified by the unpleasant feeling. And then she couldn’t move. Her whole body was paralyzed. She gasped for breath, but her lungs wouldn’t expand. Her mouth wouldn’t open.

She’d felt this way before. Several times, actually. Death. It was death she was feeling.

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