Chapter 4

The dinner was a nightmare.

I sat at the large mahogany table, a ghost at a feast. Drew had insisted. "We need to talk," he'd said. "About your future."

My future was seven days of being a spirit, and then nothing.

Molly played the perfect hostess. She was all smiles and warmth, but her eyes were cold. She treated me like a broken doll, a problem to be managed.

"Gabby, darling, you look so pale," she said, placing a serving of roasted chicken on my plate. "You must eat. Get your strength back."

I couldn't. I was a spirit. Human food was poison to me now. The metaphysical guide had warned me.

But Drew was watching, his expression impatient. Molly was watching, her smile a little too bright. I had to pretend.

I picked up my fork. My hand felt heavy, disconnected from my body. I cut a small piece of chicken and lifted it to my lips.

The moment it touched my tongue, a searing pain shot through me. It was like swallowing fire. My whole being recoiled. I choked, spitting the food out onto the fine linen napkin.

"Gabby!" Drew' s voice was sharp, filled with angry embarrassment. "What is wrong with you? Show some respect. Molly went to a lot of trouble to make this meal."

"It's alright, Drew," Molly said, her voice dripping with false sympathy. She placed a perfectly manicured hand on his arm. "She' s been through a lot. She' s probably just not herself."

She looked at me, and for a second, the mask slipped. I saw the triumph in her eyes. She was enjoying this. Enjoying my pain, my isolation.

"I'm sorry," I whispered, the words tasting like ash. "I'm not hungry."

I pushed my chair back and fled the room, leaving them alone at the table. I could hear Drew' s heavy sigh, followed by Molly's soft, comforting murmurs.

I was an intruder in my own home, a ghost at my own wake. And the man I had died for was scolding me for not being a better guest.

The pain in my spectral body was nothing compared to the agony in my soul.