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What! No! “But—”
“And it is my fault,” he interrupted, his voice husky with what sounded like regret. “If anything happened to you…” He stopped and squeezed my hand once more. “Thank God for your ghost friend.”
Yes. Thank God for Tristan.
“And you want to send him away,” I muttered.
Dylan made a face. “Let’s say, right now, I’m torn. I’m going to get security cameras installed around the house. I think that will give me some peace of mind. And I have no idea what you’re going to tell the police when you give them your statement.”
“Do I have to give one?”
“I don’t know. I’ll find out.”
“No one would believe the truth.”
“I barely believe the truth,” Dylan murmured.
The truth was that Tristan had saved me from Webster and exhausted himself in the process. I hoped he was okay and safe wherever he’d gone to rest. Or recharge. Or rejuvenate—whatever he did to materialize again. I had to ask him where he went to do that. Perhaps I would see him tonight. Maybe I’d see him in my dreams. My pulse quickened at the thought.
“I think I should go to bed.”
Dylan glanced at his watch. “Yes. It’s after ten.” He released my hand. “I’m shattered, too, after last night’s events and today’s. I don’t think I’ve ever fallen asleep down here before, even after a long shift at work.” He gave me an apologetic smile as he rose to his feet and stretched. “Did you enjoy the film? I fell asleep before the end.”
“Yes, but that doesn’t make me a child,” I said sulkily, sounding exactly like one. “It was like meeting an old friend.”
Dylan grinned down at me. “Emily, let it go,” he sang, and I smiled. I liked playful Dylan. “Last day of freedom tomorrow before you start school,” he added. “Will you be able to sleep?”
“I think so.” I stood up and stretched.
“No nightmares?”
“Only good dreams, I hope.”
He gave me a quizzical look as if trying to read me, and I wondered if my hopeful expression had given the game away.
“Okay. Good night.” He leaned forward and kissed my forehead.
“Good night, Dylan.”
As I sat at my dressing table, I gazed at myself in the mirror. Today had been rough, and I’d had some pretty rough days recently. Was the universe going to throw anything else at me? I stared up at the ceiling and whispered, “Enough already!” I wondered what sins I had committed in another life to deserve all that had befallen me.
I let out a long sigh. Had I been changed by this most recent experience with the vile Webster? The same blue eyes stared back at me. I closed them and put my head in my hands. “Now would be a good time to visit,” I said out loud. But nothing happened. No smell appeared. No “Hello, Beauchamp.”
I hoped Tristan was okay.
Tristan’s dead, Emily.
I turned and looked at my bed. Unbidden, a vision of Webster leaning over me while I was asleep appeared in my mind. I couldn’t remember ever being that frightened, and I’d been in a major car crash that killed my parents.
Not that I remembered that.
Emily. No. Don’t go there.
Why hadn’t I fought back? And the simple answer was I didn’t know how. Perhaps if I knew, I wouldn’t have been paralyzed with fear. Maybe I should take self-defense classes. I knew both Dylan and Tristan would approve. Perhaps they would do them at school.
School!
How would I face school?
