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He put a hand on my shoulder firmly, turning me towards him.
“What’s happening, Hans?” I whispered, my senses dawning.
Feeling, not thinking. Instincts.But no. No. It couldn’t be…
Hans leant in closer than ever. His lips were a ghost against my ear.
Which was fitting, wasn’t it? Given the words he was about to tell me…
Instincts. Instincts.
Feelings and whispers…
“George Miller is dead, Katherine. He died two nights ago. A terrible accident in his home. People will be so upset in here when they find out.”
My stare shot straight back to George as he took a seat at the other end of the bar from us. He waved and pointed me out to the woman at his side, both of them smiling happily.
It was insane.
George Miller was THERE, in crystal clear vision, but nobody else so much as caught sight of him, bustling around him like he didn’t exist.
“You can see him right there, can you?” Hans asked me, and I nodded.
“Yes, and the woman next to him.”
“Fantastic! His wife Margaret, I imagine. How lovely. Do they look happy?”
“Yeah, they look happy. They’re waving at me. George looks like he’s won the lottery.”
He did, as well. He looked like the happiest man in the world with his wife – Margaret – at his side.
“Excellent,” Hans whispered, and raised his glass to me. “Congratulations on your emerging skills. You will make an amazing ghost whisperer. Well done.”
“Yes, well done,” said Frederick, and raised his glass too.
A ghost whisperer.
I was going to be a ghost whisperer?
I didn’t know whether congratulations were truly in order, since I very nearly fainted out cold on the floor.
Chapter Eighteen
Itwasmyturnto take a bathroom break. I needed to get out of there. Fast.
“I’ll be right back,” I told Hans and Frederick, trying my best to seem like I was steady on my feet as I rushed away.
I don’t know how I made it to the bathroom, but I did. I shunted my way into a cubicle and dropped myself down on the toilet with the room spinning.
It couldn’t be true. There was no way I could be aghost whisperer, whatever that even meant.
Once again, though, it all came flooding back to me… the countless times I’d told Mum and Grandma about the people I’d seen across the street in myimaginationwearing vintage clothes. The countless times they’d told me I was daydreaming.
Stop lying!There’s nobody there!
I’d heard the same response so many times that I’d stopped saying anything at all, giving myself the same message that they had.Stop being a stupid little girl.
Finally, I’d stopped questioning it, stopped talking about it. Stopped believing in it myself.
