Page 104 of Dead Vengeance

“They’re everywhere,” I explain. “All the time. There’s an old woman standing at the window right now, looking in. She’s missing half her face, and she’s just watching us.”

The colour drains from Liam’s complexion and his head turns slightly.

“Don’t look.”

He swallows, focusing back on me. “Which window?”

“I don’t want to say and draw attention to the fact I can see her. I’m hoping she’ll go on her way.”

His hand shakes a little as he quietly lifts the tea to his lips, eyes steadfast on the coffee table now.

“I spend a lot of time trying to pretend I can’t see them. Because if they notice I can, it’s a world of trouble, more often than not. Of all different kinds.”

“Do they follow you?” He speaks low and careful, like she, or another ghost, might be able to hear.

“They do. Not that they always can. It’s one reason I drive a lot. Easier to outrun them. I can help some of them. And I try to, but…”

I let out a long breath, wondering how much I should tell him. But he’s here, and he’s receptive, so I may as well give this my best shot.

“There’s a very harried idea that you can just have a little chat and help someone move on. It’s on all the ghost shows, right? And sometimes you can. But often, it’s far more complicated than that. If they could just move on, most would. Some choose not to. Some don’t even have the capacity to understand what’s happened to them. And others…” Some spark of the trauma I’m forever pushing down snakes its way up my throat. I swallow against it. “It gets to be a lot. There’s only one of me. And there are so, so, so many of them.”

He places his cup down on the table and shuffles forward to the edge of his seat. “Do you know any others? Like you?”

“No.” My chest gets tight saying it. Always. Every time I think too hard about it.

“That’s a lot,” he says simply. And I nod. What other words can you use to describe that? A lot. It’s a lot, but it’s not as though I have a choice.

He speaks tentatively, softly. “I know it’s not the same thing, but with my mum…” He glances up shyly. “I live with my mum. Still. Because… It’s not because I don’t want to move out. I can’t. Because she can’t be alone. Because I don’t know what she’ll do.”

My heart clenches at the confession. No wonder he didn’t want to take me inside the other night. He’s been keeping a secret too, but maybe an even darker one. “Because of your brother?”

“Yeah. She’s never recovered. And she goes through these phases where I can’t leave the house. Not for long. She needs me for everything. She won’t eat. She’ll let herself waste away. She can’t wash. She’ll barely take herself to the bathroom. And I don’t trust that I can leave her for long because…”

His mouth hardens. He doesn’t need to say it. I know exactly what he means. He must know I know, because he changes tack slightly. “I wanted to go to uni. I wanted to have a career. But I had to make a choice. Stay with her, or maybe… maybe lose her. And she’s all the family I have left, you know?”

He’s speaking casually, but the emotion is thick behind it. I can feel the way he’s trying to let it all roll off of him, as though it isn’t crushing him. “I’m just saying that because… it’s not that I know you well, or that I know what you’re going through. I feel like I can’t understand a billionth of the pressure you must be under. But… being a carer, of a sort, which I guess you are… it gets hard.” He presses his fingers together until they turn white. “If you’re the one helping someone. Or lots of someones, in your case. And there’s no one else to help you.”

How beautifully, easily, he’s just put the whole thing into words.

“Liam…” The word slips out, and he smiles, but blinks away the tears in his eyes. I think he must be a perfect mirror to me, because his image has gone hazy with the moisture in mine. “Do you mind if I sit with you?”

He laughs. “I don’t mind at all.”

I’m on the sofa next to him in a heartbeat, my leg pressed against his, both of us facing towards the coffee table to make this feel at all normal, at all casual. “I didn’t know you were dealing with that.”

“How do you think I ended up in ExorSquad?” he half jokes. “England’s finest.”

“I think you are,” I tell him. “I think you’re doing better than just about anyone else could in this situation.”

“I don’t mind the work.” A slight smile softens his face. “And I don’t mind the client.” He presses his knee harder against mine, and, desperate for his touch, I lean my arm into his. Then, like magic, his head tilts, gradually, until it comes to rest on my shoulder.

The relief that sweeps over me is so strong it’s almost exhausting.

Is this it? Does he really understand? Have I told this man who I am and… he’s vaguely okay with this?

“I could never hold down a job either,” I rush out, desperate for more of this connection that’s firming up between us, that feels like it’s holding us together. “More places are haunted than you’d think. With quiet ghosts. The normals never notice them.”

“‘The normals,’” he laughs.