Page 97 of Hot Ghost Summer

“Theo.” His stern tone trickles down my spine. I love when he says my name like that. “We need to talk.”

I trade the theatrics for a pout. “Alright, fun police, we’ll talk. But can a man not have a minute t’ revel in the fact he’s no longer possessed by a psychotic farmer who wants t’ shoot massive holes in people?”

The corner of Hollis’s mouth twitches with mirth, and he hides it behind his fist. I pretend not to notice.

Theo: one. Hollis: nil.

Stepping around him, I plonk onto the sofa and busy myself by poking my fingers into a large hole in the cushion caused by a ghostly bullet. It’s sobering. My gaze latches onto the splintered wreckage of the dining chair.

“I’m surprised the neighbours didn’t come round t’ complain about the noise. That survived, though,” I add, indicating his laptop with a nod. “I’m glad. I know how important it is t’ you.”

Hollis crouches in front of me, with pale blue eyes and an unreadable expression. “It is. But today, I found something far more important.”

The bridge of my nose scrunches with confusion. “You did?”

He nods, then clears his throat. “I need to just… speak. And you’re going to listen. No interrupting. You can ask questions when I’m done.”

My leg bounces—he sounds serious.

“There’s not a single documented case of someone surviving a revenant possession. I know, because I spent hours last night searching.”

I beam at him, pride puffing up my chest. Maybe I can get that made into a badge or printed on a mug?

He gives a small shake of his head. “There still isn’t.”

“But… I’m…”

Hollis’s hands, cooling, settle firmly over mine.

“You are,” he answers my unspoken question. “But you needed some help. Revenants only ever take over corpses, because to possess someone living requires them to tear out the soul.”

I open my mouth, but no sound escapes.

“When I returned from dealing with Bowen’s bones, you were already unconscious, and I…” He pauses, and I feed on his nervousness. “I didn’t know what to do to help you, Theo. You were breathing, but only just, and the more time that passed without you waking up, the worse the chance became that you ever would.”

He offers me a taut, fragile smile that doesn’t meet his eyes, and a trickle of cold sweat snakes down my spine. I recognise the mask for what it is, because last week I’d worn it to cover that same sinking helplessness after watching Hollis’s body turn to ash.

“But I got lucky, because someone with far more knowledge than me knew exactly what I needed to do to save you. You see…” He squeezes my hands, but I don’t know if that’s for my reassurance or his. “When Bowen was expelled, he left behind a gaping hole in your soul, and the only way you could survive is if someone filled it. From the inside.”

“Someone…?”

“Me, Theo. I did it. To save your life, I repaired the hole in your soul… with mine.”

In stunned silence, I tuck my chin as if I might see through my skin. “So, you’re sort o’ possessing me? But also sort o’ not? Because this feels very different from when Jim Bowen did it. I mean, for a start, I can move and speak however I want. Wait.” I snap my gaze back to his ghostly polar-white one. “Can you still go int’ the laptop and do your work?”

Hollis quizzically tilts his head, then gives a curt nod. “I can.”

I slide my hands from under Hollis’s and rub them up and down my thighs. “Good. Good.” Dropping back against the soft cushions, I blow out a long breath. “You already hate me enough, so I don’t want t’ cost you that too.”

He looks at me over the gold rim of his glasses. “I don’t hate you, Theo. What happened to me wasn’t your fault—I know that now, and I was wrong to blame you. It was Bowen. His abilities as a revenant triggered the LPA Synchrotron. There was no way you could have known. Hell, even I didn’t know that was possible until yesterday.”

He… doesn’t hate me? Emboldened, I sneak my hands back into his palms.

“It’s okay if you’re not okay with this,” he continues. “If you’re done with ghosts, Theo, I’d understand. And my ancestors, those who told me this was all possible, are still around, and I’m sure they could—”

“Could what? Why wouldn’t I be okay with being alive?” I flip his hands over and unironically trace my finger along his lifeline. “So, it was Jim Bowen who killed you? Who almost killed me? And who definitely killed the vandals who were trying t’ steal Brigid. I know that because I saw him do it. But you’ve dealt with him? You said he was expelled? Does that mean you killed him back?”

“Who are the vandals?” he asks, ignoring my more important questions. “Those men whose bodies I found at Plot Forty-Seven? They stole Brigid? Your pet cow, Brigid?”