It was a week before Christmas, and Emma sat on the sofa, staring at their beautiful tree. Everything felt so surreal, like she had finally cracked and now lived in her own alternate reality where ghosts were real, she was normal, and Christmas was a happy time of year. Holidays with the Murdocks meant strategic events, press photo ops, and putting on an elaborate show for the public. Emma had come to hate this season, seeing all the moments she had dreamed of as a kid used only for PR stunts. But this year, Emma had a new home, in a strange town, playing house with the spirit of a dead man, and she had never been happier.

For the last couple of days, she had convinced Wyatt to stay upstairs as she worked on his Christmas gift in the basement. The surprise she had planned made her nervous. Emma hadn't chosen a personal gift since she was a little girl, and that hadn't gone very well. During her marriage, presents were predictable, an envelope of cash or chosen from a registry and mailed. They certainly weren't thought out or put together by hand.

The sun would set soon, and she found herself awash with nerves and unpleasant memories. Wyatt had been up in the guest bedroom, pulling up the terrible red Berber carpet the last owners had put in over the hardwood. They had no plans for that room, like much of the space in the house, but he still wanted things to look a certain way. It was up there that he felt a shift in the energy around them. He always did when someone new was nearby.

Teleporting to the driveway out by the highway, he saw a familiar car pulling in and instantly popped back into the room to grab the tablet. He ran downstairs where he found his beautiful little bird, stretched out across the sofa, and he prayed this interaction wouldn't upset her.

'My brother is pulling up the drive. Say nothing about me. It would hurt him... Better if he has moved on.'

"Your brother! What is he doing here?"

'I have no idea. I won't leave you, but please, don't mention me. His grief was ugly and long. I don't want to cause him any more pain.'

"Okay. Just don't leave me."

'I promise.'

Emma stood just as a knock came at the door. She jumped into the air almost knocking the tablet from Wyatt's hand before he set it on the rustic coffee table. She rushed over, adjusting her sweater where it had slid off one shoulder. Emma thought about grabbing her scarf and wrapping it around her neck, but that would be weird, right?

"It's Wyatt's family. He loves him. Everything's fine. He doesn't know I know Wyatt. I don't know Wyatt... his brother. I don't know his brother," she muttered, her hand hovering over the doorknob.

When the knock came again, she watched the lever for the deadbolt turn, and she knew Wyatt was with her. He hated that she felt so nervous, but he also loved her little private pep talks. Giving her a second more, he reached out and turned the handle, pulling the door open.

"Hi, I'm sorry to just show up like this. My name is Taylor, Taylor Scott."

"Um, hi. Emma."

"Nice to meet you, Emma. I realize you don't know me, but I swear I don't mean any harm. Would you mind if I came in? There's something I would like to talk with you about."

"Isn't that what all serial killers would say?" she squeaked.

"Oh, little bird," Wyatt chuckled. "My brother wouldn't harm a fly, but I do love your twisted little mind."

Taylor spluttered and huffed, his eyes going huge at the insinuation. "I, um, well, honestly I hadn't thought like that. I don't happen to be a serial killer."

"Why don't I join you on the patio, Mr. Scott," Emma said, reaching for her scarf after all.

"It's freezing out here," he scoffed.

"We could set a time to meet in town, during the day, in public," Emma suggested, pulling on her long coat.

"What have you heard about me? Did someone say something?"

"What? No. I don't know you. I don't invite strangers into my home, not even delivery people."

"Oh, right. Of course. That's smart. It's just, my brother bought this house almost seven years ago, and well, um, he died nearly two years later, and people say he's still here."

"Still here?" she said, stepping out and pulling the door behind her.

Taylor gave her a skeptical look that said he didn't buy her innocent act. "You haven't heard or seen anything strange in the house?"

"There's a pipe that rattles when I use the hot water in the kitchen." Emma was terrible at lying, so it was better to tell misleading truths.

"Not what I was referring to," Tayler groused, his lips pulling tight.

"The house is beautiful. Nothing looks strange to me."

"You're hiding something," Taylor snapped, shoving Emma to the side, forcing his way in and leaving a trail of bourbon cologne behind him.

"Hey! Hey!" she yelled from the patio. "You can't just barge into my home. Get out of there."

"Wyatt!" Taylor yelled, running up the stairs. "Wyatt! I know you're still here. Show yourself, make a sound, something. Wyatt!"

Was his brother drunk? This was overly belligerent even for Tay. What in the hell was going on with him? Emma refused to enter her own home with a crazed man inside. Wyatt completely understood and popped into the kitchen to get her cast iron skillet. Taylor was running through the house, so Wyatt carried the heavy cookware back to Emma.

She was touched that he would bring her something that could harm his own brother, which she had no plan of doing, but the man did seem unhinged.

"Where is he?" Taylor asked, returning with a dejected look on his face. Seeing the watery sheen in his eyes, Emma's shoulders finally relaxed.

"I don't know," she said honestly. He could be to their left or right or standing directly between them.

"But he's always been here. You're the only person who's ever stayed. I... I just figured, it's crazy, but I thought maybe he contacted you, let you be here." Taylor looked a bit calmer, pushing his hand through the same dark brown strands he and Wyatt shared, though his were immaculately trimmed and typically styled. Right now, the man was a bit of a mess.

"Would you like a cup of tea?" Emma asked, compassion trumping her fear.

"Can you do that from the patio?" he teased with that charming smirk Wyatt knew all too well.

To avoid grabbing Emma's skillet and whacking him in the head with it, Wyatt popped into the kitchen and quickly hid his mask in a bottom cabinet. That was not a question his little bird needed right now. Inside, Emma closed the door behind them, her nerves ratcheting the moment she heard the click that shut her in with a stranger. She walked stiffly ahead of Taylor, rushing over to put the kettle on the stove.

"Please, have a seat." She gestured to the table, but Tay walked right behind her and leaned on the kitchen island. Wyatt's eyes sharpened. He would wreck Taylor's emotional state if he got any closer to his little bird, brother or not.

"I saw you have two stockings. Husband? Child?"

"Symmetrical design," she offered, and he chuckled.

"All alone then?"

Neither Emma nor Wyatt liked how Taylor said those three words, a hint of rapacious delight in his tone. This right here was why he had stopped following his brother around. Wyatt had thought uncovering his little brother's secrets would be amusing, but unfortunately, Taylor was surprisingly licentious with the opposite sex. However, he usually kept it to late nights in dive bars and strip clubs, not that any woman deserved bad sexual behavior.

Emma wasn't alone, but there was no way to tell him that, so she focused on the task at hand.

"I've got earl grey or mint."

"Earl grey, milk and sugar. So, what is a sweet little thing like you doing in a big ole house in the middle of nowhere all by yourself?"

"I live five minutes from town."

"No boyfriend? Lover?"

"If these questions are meant to put me at ease, you're failing."

"Apologies," he laughed, clearly misunderstanding the definition of the word. "Not often we get hot, single women just dropping into Shelter Cove. Why haven't I seen you at Dockside?"

"Where?"

"The only bar worth going to. We should go. I'll buy you whatever you want. Let me guess, vodka martini, dirty," he said with a wink that had Emma fighting the roll of her eyes.

"What the hell, Tay," Wyatt grumbled. He was ready to deck his own brother or nut punch him. His words and actions were completely unacceptable, and he wanted him away from Emma. How had Tay gotten so fucked up?

"No and no. I don't really drink."

"That just means you're young and innocent. I'll have to get you one of everything until you pick your poison."

"Not so young. And not interested in poison," Emma stated, taking the mugs to the table.

Taylor followed, grabbing the chair at the end, but before she could move to the opposite side, he kicked out the seat right next to him. Emma slowly lowered herself into it, trying to hide the tremble in her hands by gripping her own mug.

"Tell me about yourself," Taylor grinned, his eyes climbing up from her ankles, making Emma regret the black leggings she wore.

"You first," she countered.

"I'm single. Rich. And interested," he said, reaching over to toy with the sleeve of her sweater. Wyatt was about to grab the first heavy thing he could and smash that hand, but she pulled away.

"No offense, but I've had those three things before, and they did nothing for me."

"Divorcee. I like. Friends with exceptional benefits?"

"Other than barging in strange houses and making inappropriate suggestions, what is it that you do, Mr. Scott?"

"Taylor, please. I'm a financial consultant. I can make your wildest dreams come true."

"My dreams have already come true, but thank you," she said with a timid smile that caused different reactions in the two brothers. Wyatt knew exactly what that look meant, and it made him fall for her a little more. Taylor saw it as a time to pounce.

"In a mostly empty house, all alone, with no man, at Christmas. I think we can do better than that, Emma," he purred, reaching out to slide his hand over hers. "Dinner. If you're not interested after I buy you a meal and plead my case for being the man you need, if only for a night, then I won't bother you again."

Emma slowly scooted her chair back and stood, a shiver chasing down her spine.

"I would like you to leave."

"I haven't finished my tea," he said, with a charming smile.

"Take it. Just leave. Please."

"Emma," he cooed, standing and stepping towards her.

She darted around the island, and Taylor's eyes flared with mischief. He wouldn't. Would he?

"Are we playing tag, baby girl?" he chuckled.

"Get out of my house," Emma said, her voice shaking.

"Come on, Emma. I'm just teasing you. Sit back down with me. I'll behave."

Wyatt couldn't take this. He popped to the front of the house, opened the door, and slammed it closed as hard as he could. Emma screeched in the kitchen, but he was back at her side before the sound ended.

"Expecting someone?" Taylor asked with a nervous grin.

She stood there shaking her head, her body locked in place, and her mind trying to process the man's odd behavior.

"He is here. Thank fuck. I knew it. You're living with him, aren't you?" he asked, throwing his head back with a laugh.

"Get out," she stammered.

"Oh Wyatt," he singsonged. "Come out, come out, wherever you are."

Wyatt picked up Tay's forgotten tea on the table and threw the drink at his brother's back. Taylor roared, spinning around, his eyes darting about with fear and anger. What the hell was his problem?

"Okay, I may have deserved that. My apologies, Emma. I would never hurt you, but my brother here just can't resist playing the hero. I knew you hadn't left, though you had me worried there for a moment. Can't believe you made me work so hard to draw you out, man. But I am fucking relieved you're still here.

"You got a cute little plaything now, huh? Does she know you're stalking around here like an old perv? Glad you're doing so well, brother," he said jovially, slowly spinning with his arms wide. "So what makes you so special, huh Emma? Besides the fact that you're cute as fuck and single."

"Wh-what do you mean?"

"Why you? Are you a medium or a psychic?"

"No."

"Can you talk to him?"

"I don't think he's deaf. Anyone can talk to him."

"That's not what I meant, and you know it," Taylor glowered, his disposition like a yo-yo bouncing from rude to threatening.

"He's a ghost. I can't see him, hear him, touch him," Emma stammered, hoping this would appease the crazed man.

"I know you communicate. Why else let you stay? Does he know who killed him?"

"The realtor said the place was haunted. Sometimes when I wake up or finish work, I'll find repairs have been done around the house. If he wants to fix things, I'm happy to let him. That's all I can tell you."

"I want to know who killed him," Taylor ground out.

"I can understand that. He was your brother, but I'm sorry, I have no idea."

"So what? This is all about seeing a hot piece of ass? You that bored, brother? A single girl buys the house, and she's the one you let stay?"

Wyatt picked up the cast iron skillet off the stove behind Emma, making her jump with a startled gasp.

"Whoa. Guess you really can't see him," Taylor smirked. "Though you seem pretty comfortable with floating objects."

Taylor's eyes were wide and fixed on the heavy skillet that was coming his way.

"I think he wants you to leave," Emma said, her voice surprisingly calm. Wyatt had that effect on her. Despite his obvious limitations, Emma felt safe when he was with her.

"Message received, brother. And here I was just checking in. If he tells you anything or you want to hang out with an actual man, here's how to reach me," Taylor said, keeping his eye on the skillet while tossing a business card over to Emma.

Looking composed and oddly more sober, he slid his coat on over the damp dress shirt he wore and calmly walked back through the house. Making a point, he stepped out the front door, leaving it open to the cold air. Emma slid to the floor, pulling her knees up to her chest, and focused on taking deep breaths. Wyatt had followed his brother and shut the door behind him before grabbing the knit throw off the couch, along with the tablet. Back in the kitchen, he wrapped the blanket around Emma's trembling shoulders.

'I am so sorry. I think he was drunk. I didn't know. My death changed him. Not an excuse though.'

"It's not your fault. He's a jerk, but I think he was worried about you."

'Doesn't make it okay. Are you alright? What can I do?'

"I'm fine just startled. Wish you could hold me," she mumbled.

Wyatt couldn't do that, but he could pull the blanket tighter around her shoulders and bring the mug of tea she had left on the table.

"Why couldn't we have found each other six years ago?" Emma sighed.

"Sorry, little bird. I wasn't ready for you, yet."

That was the first night in weeks Emma didn't make dinner. She didn't go for a run or curl up with a book either. Taylor's interruption made her want to grasp onto the new feelings Wyatt was waking inside her. As there was a rather large Christmas project still to finish downstairs, she excused herself.

Wyatt worried about Emma until he heard the faint sound of orchestral Christmas music through the thick wood door of the storage room. She had made him promise to stay out, so he did, but that didn't keep him from checking in with a knock every half hour or so. By three in the morning, Emma's typical bedtime, he was nervously pacing the length of the basement, but when she finally stepped out, there was a tired smile on her face that put him at ease.

Emma's gaze landed on him, well his clothes, and that smile grew a bit more, but her eyes were heavy, ready for sleep.

"Come on, big man," she said, waving him over. "Let's go to bed."

Wyatt pinched the cuff of her sweater, the same spot his brother had fingered earlier, and pulled her up two flights of stairs. Emma peeled off her leggings, pulled the sweater over her head, and crashed on the bed, asleep before she even pulled the covers up. He tucked her in, made a fire to keep her nightmares at bay, and laid down next to her, hovering a kiss over her forehead.

"What have you done to me, little bird?" he asked, tracing every line and contour of her face. Wyatt had never wanted to be seen and felt more than he did right now, if only for a moment.

The next day Emma decided two things. One, she was going to research Wyatt Scott and find out exactly what happened to him. Two, she was going to give him the best Christmas he had ever had.

⚞❖⚟

Following her morning routine, Emma shut herself in the office and typed his name, plus 'death' in the search bar. When she added 'Shelter Cove,' she bit back a gasp at the first headline. 'Local Man Murdered.' She already knew that, but there was something about seeing it in black and white.

Emma pulled up all the old newspapers and news coverage she could find and was suspicious when she read that Taylor had been at work at the time. Shelter Cove's local finance guru was devastated. He was the reason she was looking into this. Wyatt had seen the outline of a man with dark hair, not a great description, but it fit. And after last night's altercation, she wasn't so sure Taylor was as harmless as his big brother believed him to be. But she also knew Wyatt had said he was hurting, and just because he was an ass didn't mean he was a murderer. Maybe he really did just want to know his brother was still here and acted like a grade-A jerk to draw him out. If she had a sibling who was murdered, not knowing who did it would probably drive her a little mad too.

Then there was Michael Landers, a suspect because of his relations with Mr. Scott's ex-wife Lisa Scott, and Emma realized the tall, dark-haired man in the photo was Wyatt's former best friend. It was clear most people believed Mike was the one who killed Wyatt, but other than motive, no evidence was found to tie him to the murder.

They had planned to go fishing that day, so he knew where Wyatt would be, but at the estimated time of death, Mike had been on the commercial side of the marina, working on one of his father's boats. The crew said he never left, but there was speculation that they may have covered for him. This rang true with Wyatt's thoughts as well. During one of their late-night chats by the fire, they contemplated as to why his spirit was still here. Obviously, Emma thought it was to find out who killed him, but Wyatt disagreed. He was certain Mike did it, unable to marry his best friend's ex-wife without guilt. Mike was never good with guilt. It's why his betrayal with Lisa had hit so hard to begin with. Wyatt believed he would be here until justice was served.

Emma was impressed with Shelter Cove's journalism. It was far more thorough and documented than most of what she had seen in the city. The local paper did its job in conducting their own interviews with the people involved, going as far as tracking down Lisa Scott in Seattle for a statement. Emma scowled as she watched the woman's interview. She looked as fake as her remorse sounded, yet maybe Emma would act the same if someone told her Todd was gone. But Todd was no Wyatt.

She read through the statements given by the lead investigator, a Detective Cameron Lacey, and the police chief, but the last report she found stated the case was left unsolved. In the end, police theorized that it was the wrong time and place, a squatter in the marina, a passerby, or someone who may have intended to steal the boat, but the keys were found in Wyatt's pocket.

Emma was never interested in watching or listening to true crime shows, but their final assumption was simply not enough for her. Maybe because she cared for her dead housemate, but she knew in her gut his murder was personal. It seemed Detective Lacey had felt the same way, but the case had gone cold.

She needed to know more, so she put in requests for all available public criminal records. Then Emma made an appointment for after the new year with the National Archives in Seattle to dig through the court documents. Doing what she did best, Emma created a spreadsheet with a tab for every name involved in the case including all suspects, reporters, the owner of the marina, officers, and so forth. She then added in every bit of information she could find and pasted all the internet links in their respective tabs. Along with names, places, and some research into head wounds, drowning, and how someone might die in similar circumstances, she added her thoughts on motive, as well as the limited information Wyatt had given her. The best clues she had, which the authorities didn't, were an exact time of death and a vague description of the attacker.

When Emma had looked at the online obituary, tears poured down her cheeks as she stared at the smiling man in the photo. Wyatt was clearly very happy. She skimmed through a few social posts from friends until she came across a color photo, dated a week before he died. He was the complete opposite of Todd, rough around the edges, a tower of rippling muscle, and completely down to earth. The kind of man that could take a punch as easily as a joke. Someone who liked to laugh.

"Not a blonde," she whispered, tracing his photo with her finger.

He had a dark scruffy beard, clipped tight along his jaw and matching dark brown hair, a couple months past the last trim with little curls and flips at the ends. His eyes captivated her. They were kind, the type a woman didn't mind looking her up and down, a rich mahogany, several shades lighter than his hair, making them shine.

His arm was thrown around Taylor's shoulders, and Emma noticed he was a few inches taller than his younger brother. Wyatt was a touch broader as well, with more bulk. The photo was for his online obituary. Whoever wrote it said he was a logger by trade but a photographer at heart. He loved people, and they loved him.

Knowing the killer was never punished was something that niggled under Emma's skin. Wyatt was too good. He didn't deserve to be left like this. Anger like she had never felt before surged inside her, enough to make her hands shake with dispelled rage. She wanted to find the person who hurt him and... and well, do something. But what?

And what if she was right? What if that was why he was still here? What if solving his murder allowed him to move on? Keeping him for herself was selfish, and while that was exactly what she wanted, it wouldn't stop her from doing what she could to uncover this truth. If editing had taught her anything, it was how to be thorough, research everything, and stay organized. That's exactly how she would do this too.