The musty damp smell assaults me. My nose crinkles in disgust. I hate anything that stinks. I religiously clean my room and invest in air fresheners. When I was little, we lived in a rundown apartment on the ground floor of a decrepit old building in New Orleans. Whenever it rained, we got flooded. The place would stink like stagnant water and mold for days. It made me sick to my stomach on a daily basis. It's a smell I never forgot and that's what I smell now.

My eyes blink open and there's very little light in the room, only the slightly-cracked-open hallway door. At least the headache has eased up a bit. The smell is killing me though. It's gathering at the back of my throat and I want to gag. It's so bad, my eyes start to water. I reach out, looking for the switch to the lights above my hospital bed. The minute I turn them on, I can see what is causing the smell.

Sitting in the chair beside the bed is a girl about my age. Blonde hair, matted with blood, hangs limply down her back. Her jeans and tee-shirt are caked with mud and splattered with blood. She smells of dirt and stale standing water and she's blindfolded.

Fear claws its way up my spine, fast and hard. I keep expecting the pain to come back, but it's just a dull ache now. I'm afraid to move, afraid she'll do something. My hand searches for the nurse's button, but I freeze when she turns her head in my direction. What's she gonna do?

"Am I dead?"

"I... guess, maybe, I don't know," I whisper. And I didn't know. She still has color in her cheeks and her complexion isn't pasty or waxy. She doesn't really look like a ghost, but I get that same cold feeling from her I get from the others.

"I'm scared."

No kidding, I almost snort aloud. It's something I'm getting used to myself.

"I thought when you died you were supposed to see this bright light and then you'd go to Heaven. I didn't see it. Does that mean I'm going to hell?"

Do I look like Dr. Phil? I have no clue.

"No one else can see me," she says. "I'm cold, so cold."

"Where are you?"

"I... I... don't know."

"What's your name?"

"Mary," she says. "I just wanted to go see Jimmy so I snuck out of the house. My mom worked a fourteen hour shift, so I knew she'd sleep all night. Jimmy and I got in this huge fight and I needed to tell him I was sorry. He only lives a few minutes down the block and I took my bike instead of the car so I wouldn't wake Mom. I remember it started to rain and then I saw headlights coming when I turned the corner. I tried to get out of the way, but it all just happened so fast I couldn't stop."

Aw man, she died in a hit and run? That sucks. No, wait. Why does she have a blindfold on if she got hit by a car? It makes no sense.

"Why are you blindfolded?" I ask her softly, my finger firmly attached to the nurse button. She seems nonviolent so far, but I'm not taking any chances.

"I woke up and tried to open my eyes," she tells me. "I couldn't. I couldn't move at all. I think I'm sitting up, but I can't be sure. I'm scared. He hurts me."

She got nabbed by a killer, maybe even the same one who got Sally. Then again maybe not.  Time to find out.

"How did you find me?"

"I'm not sure. They were talking about you..."

"They?" I interrupt her.

"I can hear them talking softly, whispering. They leave me when he comes. They said you could see them and I don't know, I just thought about you and... and here I am. I don't know how."

Well dang. She just thought about me and poof, here she is? So very, very not good. Mirror Boy can just pop in whenever he wants to? The fear, which had been subsiding hits me full force and before I can stop myself, I hit the page button. The beeping on the monitor goes a bit crazy the more I think about that mutilated ghost. My heartbeat is going into overdrive and it makes me a little dizzy.

The hallway door pushes open and the night nurse hurries in. She takes one look at my monitor and then my face and hurries right back out. I have no clue what it must look like, but I feel very bug-eyed and my breathing is a bit labored. Shock. I think I'm in shock.

I blink rapidly and look again at the chair where the girl sat not more than five seconds ago. She's gone. That doesn't mean I'm safe though. She or Mirror Boy could pop in whenever they want to. How are they finding me? How do any of them find me?

The nurse comes back and shoots something into my IV. Ten seconds later, I'm drowning in darkness, scared and fighting to stay awake. It's a battle I can't win.

The next time I open my eyes, sunlight streams through the windows. I furtively search the room, but don't see any ghosts. Okay, good. I'm a little shocked that I haven't seen more of the little buggers. Hospitals are a breeding ground for them, but I've only seen the one girl. Not that I'm complaining, but I don't know why they're leaving me alone.

Ghosts are just one reason I hate hospitals. My first experience with hospitals traumatized me beyond repair. I woke up hooked to more machines and tubes than I could count. I remember it hurt to take a breath. They said one of my lungs had been hit when Mom took the knife to me. Anyway, I associate hospitals with that awful day. It's not something I think about, but being here, surrounded and hooked up to machines, the memories of that...that attack really haunt me today.

Five. I'd been five freaking years old and my mother tried her best to kill me. And not just kill me – she'd done it in a way that caused lots and lots of pain. There are hundreds of ways to kill a person with little to no pain. Trust me, I checked. I don't know why she did it. Typically, a woman kills by way of poison or overdoses. But not my mom. She went into the kitchen, found the biggest butcher knife she could get her hands on and proceeded to plunge it into my little body not once, not twice, but eight times. The doctors said it was a miracle I'd survived. If it hadn't been for the nosy woman next door, I wouldn't have. She'd heard me screaming and called the cops. I was lucky that there happened to be a patrol car close and an ambulance even closer.

It was a cop that told me my mom was dead and I'd survived her attempt to kill me. I'd been devastated and all he'd done was stand there like it was nothing for a parent to try and kill their child. To me, it had been something. It shattered me. I was alone. No one had come to hold my hand or tell me it was okay, that it had been a mistake. I'd spent several weeks in the hospital before being shipped off to my first foster home. To me, hospitals and cops are a glaring reminder of the worst day of my life.

Speak of the devil and so shall he appear...

In walks Officer Dan and in street clothes no less. He was more cop-ish in his blues, but he looks so normal in regular jeans and a tee-shirt. What's he up to? The bag he's carrying is giving off heavenly aromas that has my mouth watering and distracts me. I'm starving. I eye his Starbucks cup with just a little envy. I can't afford the darned things, but their caramel macchiato is my secret passion. It makes my taste buds understand the word lust. Ohmygosh, if that's what he has, I am going to tackle him, wires and all.

Mrs. Olson comes in right behind him, looking worried. As startled as I am to see Officer Dan, I'm downright shocked to see Mrs. O.  She's wearing the same clothes she had on last night and I can't stop the question from stumbling out. "Did you stay last night?"

"Of course I stayed, Mattie," came her tired reply. "You were sick and needed me. I wasn't leaving you here by yourself."

Wow.  No one has ever done that for me before. Mrs. Olson spent all night here with me? Because she thought I needed her? I felt so bad for yelling earlier.

"I'm sorry I didn't believe you about Sally," Mrs. O tells me. "I should have listened to you."

Well duh, but I'm still feeling all warm and tingly from her caring enough to stay, so I keep my smart reply to myself.

"I'm sorry too," I say instead. "I shouldn't have accused you of being a bad parent." There, I apologized.

A smile breaks out across her face and she smoothes hair away from my forehead. "That's okay, Mattie. You were just worried. I forgive you. Now I have to call and check on the kids." She turns to Officer Dan, the warning clear on her face. "Do not upset her."

He nods and takes the same seat he'd been in last night. Breakfast rolls in on a cart and I make a face at the runny eggs and toast on my tray. The only salvageable item is the orange juice. I give him a nasty look when he bites into his steamy pastry. My stomach growls and I scowl. He laughs at me and takes a sip of that wonderful coffee.

"What, you decided to torture me today?" I snarl, eyeing his goodies with severe envy. He has yet to say a word. What's he doing here anyway?

"Possibly."

He says it so dead-pan. How do cops do that? Develop a voice with no emotion? It's wrong, that's what it is. And evil.

"Then you can just march yourself right back out of here."

"I thought you might like to know what's going on with Sally's case."

Well that is the one thing guaranteed to make me keep a zip tie on my notoriously smart mouth. I need to know what's going on with Sally. He won't meet my eyes and my small spark of hope plummets. They weren't going to look for her, not really.

"Runaway, right?" I ask sourly. "She's just another foster brat that ran away because she couldn't appreciate what she had."

He sighs heavily. It sounds odd coming from him. No one his age should know how to make that kind of sound.

"Yeah," he nods. "That's the official report. Your friend has a history of running away from her foster homes. The Olsons are her third one this year."

"Well, thanks for nothing, Officer Dan." My voice drips with sarcasm.

"You said last night..."

"I don't remember what I said last night," I cut him off. No way do I need him asking me questions that might make me look crazier than I already do. "The joy of drugs, ya know?" At least I hope it was drugs that made my lips loose.

"You said she was shot," he continues stubbornly.

"Did I?"

"Why did you say that, Mattie?" His eyes burn into mine, daring me to lie to him. Which I happily do.

"No clue."

"Since you have no clue, then I guess she's gonna get classified as another bratty foster kid who ran away. Happens every day." He stands and gathers his things.

Dang it. He called my bluff. "Wait. Did you check to see where Mr. Olson was?"

"I did this morning. He went into work a little after seven last night and left when your foster mother called him to stay with the kids so she could come to the hospital with you."

He'd been gone before I left for the party. Well, there went that idea. "Did you look in her room?"

"Yeah, why?"

"Was her purse still there? The money she hides in a box under her clothes folded on the top shelf in her closet still safely hidden away? Did it look like she'd taken any clothes with her when she left? I'll bet if you bother to look, the only thing that'll be missing is her nightshirt."

He frowns.  "We gave it a once over."

"My, aren't you the top of the class, Officer Dan." That earns me a glare. "I'm just sixteen and not a cop and even I know to do more than just peek."

The glare turns even hotter. Not my fault he goofed up.

"Alright, smartass, how did you know she was missing?"

Oh, not nice turning the tables there. Sneaky and lippy. "I already told you..."

"Yeah, I know," he cuts me off. "You just had a feeling." He put a bit of his own sarcasm on the word. "That's not gonna cut it, Mattie. If you want me to help you, you have to be straight with me."

I glare back. "How old are you, anyway? You can't be much older than me."

He laughs. "I'm old enough to be a cop."

"Now who's not being straight with me?"

"I'm twenty," he says, a twinkle back in his eyes. "I'm working as a cop while I get my degree in forensic science at UNC."

"Forensic science and you didn't give Sally's room more than a look?" I laugh harshly which earns me yet another look meant to quell me into silence. He so does not know me.

"Look, I'm trying to help you, but I can't if you don't stop being a brat yourself and tell me the truth. If you really want to help Sally, then you'll stop acting like a two year old in time-out."

Now that's uncalled for, but it does shut me up for a minute.

"Why?" I ask. "She's already been written off, so why do you care?"

"Because I believe you, Mattie." He sits back down. "When we saw you last night, you were scared, more scared than I've ever seen anyone. I don't know why, but I think it has something to do with Sally."

I stay quiet. Officer Dan is going to make a good cop. Terrified out of my mind summed up what I felt last night.

"Look, I get you don't trust anyone. I'm not sure I would either if I grew up in foster care, but you have to trust someone sometime. I want to help you, but you have to give me a little leap of faith here. Tell me why you think she was shot."

"Trust you?" I snort. "You come in here dressed all normal and what, I'm just supposed to bond with you? Trust is earned, Officer Dan, and I don't know you."

He frowns. "I don't know what to tell you, Mattie, except that I'm the only person willing to listen to you, to believe you. You have to trust somebody sometime."

I sigh. He's right, I don't trust people. Why should I? No one ever did me any favors. The earnest light shining out of this big old puppy-dog eyes of his makes me pause. I almost feel like I can trust him. The big question is do I tell him? Will it make him stop believing something's wrong and chalk Sally up to the mass of runaways instead? I don't know.

"You won't believe me," I say at last.

"Why won't I believe you?"

"Because it's crazy." I see dead people... yup, crazy doesn't even begin to describe what he'll think.

 "Why don't you try me and find out? It can't hurt. She's already been reported as a potential runaway. Nothing you say can hurt Sally right now, it can only help her."

Well, he did have a point there. All he'd do is go away thinking I need to be locked up in the nut house.

"Okay, Officer Dan, I'll tell you." I swallow thickly, not sure why I'm telling him anything. My tongue seems to get loose around him and I don't understand it, but I'm willing to try if it means helping Sally. Like he said, I have to trust somebody sometime and why not a person in a position to help me? Here goes.

"Do you believe in ghosts?"