The rain of glass settled after whooshing into the room like a mighty storm had assaulted them. The only sound now was their labored breathing. Paul lifted his weight from Reese and she cautiously sat up, leaning against the sofa next to him.

“What the hell was that all about?” Reese said barely above a whisper, afraid she would invoke another ghostly temper tantrum.

Paul rubbed the back of his neck and plucked at a small embedded shard of glass. In the dim light it was difficult to inspect for wounds, but Reese leaned forward, pushing Paul’s head down. Blood soaked his shirt collar. She didn’t feel any injuries on her own body and mentally thanked Paul for his quick reaction to protect her. But she kept her thoughts silent, feeling ever so slightly discombobulated by his show of chivalry. She liked it but wasn’t sure what it meant. She wasn’t accustomed to it.

She flipped his head back and a small river of blood traveled along his neck down to his chest.

“You’re cut. Come on, let’s go to the kitchen so I can clean you up.” She tried to sound nonchalant, but her heart was pounding at the prospect of him removing his shirt. There was no use in trying to convince herself her excitement was due to lack of regular sexual relationships. Paul was a fine specimen of a man. Even if she had a regular partner, he would still be turning her on.

She tugged at his arm to stand and despite the fact that he was the injured party, he helped her up. Her face grazed his shirt and she could smell the faint scent of fading cologne, a delicious musk that made her think of cozy fireplaces and red wine in the dead of winter.

Get it together there, girl, she commanded.

In the kitchen, she turned on the overhead light and led him to a chair. She leaned over him, nuzzling close to inspect the cuts on the base of his skull and neck. They were superficial nicks but still needed cleaning. She picked at the small fragments of glass, discarding them to the table top and swabbed at the blood with dampened paper towels. He reached around and tried to pry the towels from her grasp.

She pulled her hand away from his groping fingers. “Just sit there will you?” Like a good student, he clasped his hands together in his lap and bent his head forward. She continued to mop at the little streams of blood, careful not to reach around to the front of his neck and chest. She was pretty sure she would lose all control if she did. She grabbed fresh paper towels and dabbed again. She needed to get the antiseptic wash, but was feeling rather chicken shit about going to the upstairs bathroom all alone and no way in hell was she going to ask Paul to accompany her upstairs.

“I don’t think it’s too bad,” she said as the blood began to congeal. “Your shirt is going to need attention though.” She inspected the wounds again and was satisfied they were done spilling blood. “Hold this.” She stopped dabbing and waited for his reach. His hand found the wad of towels and took over the job of nurse.

Reese sat in the other chair, crisscrossed her legs and propped her elbows on the table top and her chin on her knuckles. “So what the hell was that all about?” She didn’t hide the fact that the source of the gale force cascading glass was non-worldly. What would be the point?

Paul sighed and twisted his head to scrutinize her reaction. “Anything like that ever happen to you before?”

She grimaced. “Hell, no,” she lied more easily than she thought possible. She unfurled from her squatting position and in a stoop, looked through the kitchen cutout to the living room. “Do you think it’s over?”

“Probably.” Paul reached out and tugged at Reese to resume her sitting position. They faced one another. His expression was grave and Reese expected him to disclose a ghastly prediction. Instead he said, “Do you know what caused that to happen?”

She considered his somber mood and decided not to be a jerk in her response, though the temptation to be sarcastic was bubbling over. “I’m not that experienced in these matters, but I would say, there’s a spirit out there pissed at you or me.”

He watched Reese for a few seconds, perhaps to gage her level of honesty. He slowly nodded.

“Do you know why?” Reese ventured to ask.

He shook his head and then said, “Not sure. I have some thoughts on it though. And it certainly has to do with me talking to you about your brother.”

Reese swallowed a growing lump in her throat. “Do you think it’s his murderer?”

Paul squeezed his eyes closed and crossed his brows. He moved his hand away from the back of his neck. Reese pried the towels from his tightened fingers. After a few seconds, Paul exhaled heavily through his nostrils and opened his eyes. “No. It’s not his killer.”

“What did you just do?” Reese asked, genuinely curious.

“Asked my spirit guides to help me understand who that was.”

She nodded although she wasn’t really sure what he was talking about. She was more concerned with the sound of the trees and bushes rustling outside the broken doors. “Do you hear that?”

“Yes, but it’s just the wind. Nothing to be afraid of. The storm is moving up the coast. We’re supposed to get slammed.” Paul reached across the table and clasped her hands over the paper towel.

“Are you sure? Maybe it’s the angry spirit coming back.”

“No. Even spirits have to re-charge. Any form of energy has to rejuvenate. We need sleep and vitamins and exercise when we’ve used up our energy. Spirits use up a lot of energy when they interact on this side. And that little stunt took a lot of energy.”

Reese considered his words. It made some sort of sense with Luke, especially when she thought of his first show of outrage. He had vanished after throwing the lamp. And sometimes he just disappeared, like he couldn’t be around all the time. “What did you mean when you said Luke might be in trouble?”

Paul took the towels away from Reese and inspected the small dots of red blotting the paper. He balled them up and indicated he was looking for the trash. Reese took the mess back from him and scraped the glass from the table into her palm. She then threw it all away in the small barrel under the sink before returning to her chair, this time crossing her ankles under the table.

Paul looked down at the table and drew invisible circles with one of his fingertips. Reese waited.

“Do you believe in ghosts? I mean before this happened. Did you believe in ghosts? Or do you think I’m crazy?”

“I don’t think you’re crazy.”

“So is that a yes you believe in ghosts? Because there’s really no point in discussing this if you’re just going to think I’m crazy and making it all up.”

“I don’t think you are crazy and making it up. It’s a hard thing to discuss.”

“True, but I do it for a living and it’s hard to explain, because people expect you to have all the answers and to be able to spout out specifics like a spirit just handed you all this information. But it doesn’t work like that.”

“I believe you.”

“Why? Why do you believe me?”

“That wasn’t a wind gust that blew out the glass.”

Paul watched Reese’s face for a few seconds. “Do you believe I spoke to Luke all those years ago?”

Without missing a beat, she answered, “I think it’s possible.”

“Don’t you want to know what he said?”

This time she looked away for a split second. “I don’t know.”

Paul sighed. “The spirit that did all of this. He doesn’t want me to talk.”

“You know it’s a he?”

“I do. That much I know. It’s the spirit of a deceased male. I don’t know why he doesn’t want me to talk. I just feel the resistance.”

Reese wondered if she should mention the apparition she had seen when Claire Yates crossed over. She looked down at Paul’s finger still making little patterns on the table top. It moved in the same pattern over and over again. She cocked her head to see better.

“What are you writing?” She asked.

He looked down at his tracing finger, but he didn’t stop. “A name.”

“What name?” Reese asked although she could see clearly just as if he had a pen and paper in front of him.

“It doesn’t make sense. It’s a female name. It can’t be the name of the deceased who was just here.”

“What name?” She repeated, anxious to hear him confirm what she was witnessing.

“Heather. Does that mean anything to you?”