By the time we arrive back at the hotel, it's creeping up to one in the morning. No one text me after Jamie did, so I'm assuming they're all asleep. Either that, or they think I'm way more dedicated to my uni work than I actually am. The Tracker never reappeared. I was initially unnerved, but then remembered how I was seeing those things for months before anything bad ever actually happened to me at uni. Besides, I can just banish it if it does try to return.

Annabel explained the Tracker scenario to Lucy on the walk back, and pressed her about what she remembered while we were searching for her phone, but Lucy didn't say much. She probably needs a bit of time. She disappears once we reach the hotel lobby, so I figure it's best to leave her to it. I doubt what she remembered was too pleasant. I left my laptop with reception before I left, so stop by the desk to pick it up. It's the same lady, so she hands it to me easily enough, but gazes at me as if I'm wearing a dead puppy on my head as she does so. I'm too exhausted to question it.

I don't expect to find Tom or Jamie awake when I get to our room, so when I walk in to see two sets of eyes staring back at me, I almost jump out of my skin. Tom is eating, obviously, but what he's eating is beyond me. It looks like he's spooned a pile of baked beans in between two slices of bread, with lettuce.

"What in God's name happened to you?" Jamie scoffs.

"Huh?"

"Your arms," he replies as if I'm the stupidest person he's ever had the pleasure of coming across.

"Mate, is that shit on your hands?" Tom frowns.

I'm half tempted to point out that what he's eating looks like shit, but lose the thought when I look down at my arms. They're covered in scratches, some bloodied, and my hands are splattered with mud stains. How didn't I notice? I knew I was distracted walking home, but Jesus. Then all of a sudden, I remember Lucy's phone. I completely forgot I had it. I was so thrown off by the Tracker and my ridiculous reaction to it that I forgot why I was even there in the first place.

Without any explanation, I reach into my pocket to grab it, and throw it on my side of the double bed Jamie's sprawled his uni textbooks over.

"Felix?" Jamie asks. "Do I need to call Ava? Or maybe a psychiatric ward?"

"No, it's fine, don't worry," I mumble as I shuffle through the bedside cabinet for my phone charger. It should be the same fit. "A psych ward might be a shout though," I mutter to myself.

"What?" Tom asks from the end of the bed. He's still eating his sandwich.

"I found Lucy's phone," I say, figuring I probably should explain at some point.

"Who?" Tom again.

"The dead girl who's been following us since Aberdeen, you arse."

"Oh, yeah. That was mean, you're usually the nice one," Tom replies, and there's a look of genuine sadness on his face. He shoves the remainder of his sandwich into his mouth, which perks him back up. "I don't get it, doesn't she have her phone with her?" he asks, his mouth full.

I ignore the question as I'm too busy shuffling through my bag, and manage to locate my phone charger in one of its side pockets. I stand up and move around the bed to look for a socket, until I spot one near the window in the corner of the room.

"How would a ghost carry a phone, you moron?" Jamie snaps.

"How would I know?" Tom scoffs back.

"Where did you find it?" Jamie asks, turning back to me, clearly bored of arguing with Tom. "Buried ten feet underground inside a hole full of knives, judging by the state of you."

"Creative," I mutter again. "Ah, perfect!" I exclaim as Lucy's phone lights up once I plug it into my charger. It won't turn on properly yet. Probably needs some juice in it first. I stand up and turn back to Tom and Jamie. "This field somewhere. Well, forest, I guess. We tracked it online, and she remembered bits and pieces when we got there."

"I'm assuming you didn't tell anyone that you went out gallivanting," Jamie comments, to which I shrug. "Ava will be ecstatic about that. Good luck telling her tomorrow."

As Jamie turns back to his textbooks on the bed, I briefly debate with myself about whether or not I should mention the Tracker. Tom would only freak out, and Jamie would insist we wake Ava or something equally dramatic, so I decide against it. I'm too tired to have to think about it right now, let alone engage in an in-depth analysis of it with Ava.

I kick my shoes off, wander over to mine and Jamie's bed, shove a load of his papers out the way, which he yells at me for, and jump under the sheets without even bothering to change out of my clothes. I should probably wash my hands or something, but I can't even be bothered to do that. Within minutes, I'm already drifting to sleep. To think, I was sure I wouldn't be able to catch a wink tonight.

That night, for the first time ever, I remember.

It's a dream. I know I went to sleep, and I know real life is Jamie and Tom in a cramped Scottish hotel room, so I know it's a dream. I'm in a garden. The sun is warm on my skin, so it must be summer. It's not a big garden, but not especially small either. There's a tree at the end of it with a rope dangling from one of its branches, and a slab of wood tied at the bottom of it.

I'm sitting on a patio with my legs stretched out in front of me, and I've got a doll in one hand while an action figure lies on the concrete in front of me. I'm younger here than in my visions. I feel smaller. There are people everywhere. I don't recognise any as I scan the crowd, and I wonder if this even has anything to do with my real life when I spot a face I know.

I see my dad, and his gaze isn't empty. Then I see my mum beside him, her arm around his waist, and she's laughing, not crying. I see Annabel, and she's alive. Annabel is alive. It takes me a double take to recognise her because I've only ever seen her dressed in her velvet jumper and jeans, and here, she's wearing dungarees. She's younger too.

While my parents stand chatting to the faces I don't recognise, Annabel sits on the grass with her legs crossed, laughing with a girl I don't recognise. They look around the same age. Then I realise the girl she's speaking to isn't just a girl, she's a ghost. Annabel is speaking to a ghost. I know how stupid it makes me, but I've never thought about the fact that Annabel had abilities when she was alive. Of course she did. That's the point in this whole family thing. It's not just me. It never used to be just me.

"Felix!" she calls from across the patio. She waves manically. "Hey, Felix! Come here!"

Her voice sounds different. I don't want to go, not yet. I want to fully take this in first, but I don't have a choice. As if I'm trapped in a body I can't control, I obey Annabel's request. I drop my toys, jump up, and totter over to my big sister. Then I realise I am trapped in a body I can't control, and maybe this isn't just a basic dream.

I stop once I reach Annabel, who grabs my hand and yanks me down to sit on the grass with her. She looks bigger than I'm used to, but younger, and it's jarring. I keep forgetting I'm not the size of a nineteen-year-old in this world.

"Look!" Annie squeals to her friend sitting opposite us, then turns to me. "Tell Darcy what she's wearing."

She's Irish. She has an Irish accent. That's how her voice is different. I want to ask her what's happening, where we are, how old we are, who these people are, and I want to warn her. I want to scream and tell everyone here that something horrible is going to happen. But I can't. The child version of myself I'm stuck inside just stares blankly at his sister.

Annabel rolls her eyes. "C'mon! Don't worry, I won't tell Dad. Pinky promise." She holds out her pinky finger.

"But there's people here," I hear myself mumble, and it hits me that this is the first time I've ever heard a younger version of myself speak. I don't know what I was expecting, but God, my voice is high. "Daddy says I--"

"Yeah, but I say don't worry."

Her pinky finger is still dangling in front of my face, and after some hesitation, I link mine with it. A grin explodes onto Annabel's face. I do as she says, and describe what the red-haired girl opposite us is wearing, right down to the colour of her socks. As I speak without having any control over the words I'm saying, nineteen-year-old me is astounded. I have the accent too. This is crazy. This is actually crazy.

Once I'm done describing, Darcy is gobsmacked, and I look at Annabel to see her beaming with the kind of pride someone shows their baby after walking its first steps.

Slowly, Darcy nods. "Yeah. Yeah... maybe you're right."

With that, she vanishes.