“You know all this psychic medium shit is just hocus pocus, don’t you?” Luke stood or hovered or whatever it is spirits do, just passed Reese’s entrance threshold. His arms were crossed over his chest like a defiant child. But as she often wondered, he was still a child at heart, wasn’t he? Dead just a couple months shy of turning thirteen. Oh, he looked like an adult but acted like a child. He morphed into an adult facade after Reese pointed out how freaky it was to look at her twin never aging as she seemed to bullet fly into adulthood. Neither could explain how he did it, but Reese was very grateful for his show of kindness.

Reese caught her breath from having been startled and shouldered by her dead twin. She could just as easily breeze through him but somehow that seemed wrong, rude perhaps. She made her way to the tiny eat-in kitchen, immaculate, more because she seldom used it rather than because she was a neat nut.

“Are you serious, Luke? Look at you. How can you say being a medium is hocus pocus?”

He followed her into the kitchen and sat in one of the dinette chairs. He had learned a long time ago that although he didn’t need to sit, it comforted his sister to act like he was alive. “I’m not a medium. I’m a spirit.”

 “Yea, a spirit communicating with a living, breathing human. If I can, why can’t someone else?”

“No one else has ever tried to communicate with me. Besides, I’m only talking about this psychic medium. I think he’s full of shit.”

“Should we test him?” Reese teased, immediately regretting her words. The thought of anyone knowing about her super hush-hush secret unnerved her.

Luke pouted, literally pouted. “I don’t think it’s funny. I don’t trust him.”

“You don’t know him. Besides, he’s not coming to me as a medium. He’s coming for life coaching.” Reese filled a glass with tap water and chugged it until it was gone.

Luke watched this display of human need, guzzling water to quench a thirst. Curious how more than twenty-five years had passed since he had sipped on water and yet he could recall the joy of it in more detail now than he ever recognized while he was alive. Perhaps when he passed on to the next life, his longing for flesh and blood would disappear.

“Yes, life coaching.,” Luke said, barely over a whisper. “The great Paul Malloy needs life coaching. Don’t you think that’s a bit odd?”

Reese eyed her brother. She had wondered before if he could read her mind and found herself wondering yet again. As twins, they had been attuned to each other’s feelings and whereabouts quite intensely, but didn’t death separate that connection?

“No, I don’t,” she finally responded. She put the glass into the sink and headed for the stairs. “I’ll talk to you later,” she called as she darted to her bedroom already shifting her thoughts to her dismal closet

“You know,” Luke hollered up the stairs, “you’re more of a medium than he is!”

Reese ignored her brother. Dead or alive, he was still her brother and they continued to act like siblings after all these years and despite the gap between the living and the dead.

Reese flipped through the meager items in her closet. On more than one occasion she tried to maintain some sense of order, hanging blouses with blouses, skirts with skirts and so on, but apparently it took more effort than she had to give to the project. So despite the scant articles of clothing, it took her a couple of minutes to find her favorite jeans. No matter how deep the laundry pile got, those jeans went from wear to wash without a second’s hesitation in the hamper. She grumbled as she searched for just the right top, but settled for the least wrinkled white two-piece sweater set. She yanked her heavy black motorcycle boots from the closet floor but threw them back in after a cursory glance. She didn’t want to scare the guy. She opted for her one nice pair of dress boots.

“That’ll do,” she mumbled, making a mental concession that she would have to drive to her studio office rather than walk the nearly half mile in heels.  Shower time, a little more coffee, maybe a visit with Chip the chipmunk if he was lurking, and then the initial intake appointment with her newest client.

It wasn’t until she pulled out of her driveway when she realized her brother had a good sense about all kinds of things. He was the one who directed her to Andrew Caine, the raping Asshole. Luke was the company in RC and Company, Reese’s business. And she never made a move until she was certain Luke was certain. Maybe he was trying to tell her something about Paul Malloy. She hesitated at the end of her short street for a second and then performed a U-turn back to the townhouse.

She rushed in, calling Luke’s name even before the door was closed behind her. “Luke, where are you? I want to know why you think Malloy’s a fake.” She waited for a response. None came. “Luke?” Still nothing. Luke wasn’t like a genie she could just conjure at her whim. He apparently had his own schedule to keep and never divulged to his sister where he went or what he did when he wasn’t with her.  “Pain in the ass,” she grumbled as she slammed the door behind her, never feeling the cold patch of air she blew through as she stormed toward her car. Never feeling the long fingers reaching, clinging, grasping.