My phone buzzed, and I peeked over to where it rattled on the nightstand in my dark room. Reluctantly, I stretched my arm out from the warmth of the covers and pressed accept to stop the sound. "Hello?"

"Dude! What happened last night?" Nolan asked as his storm door squeaked closed and the tweeting of birds told me he'd stepped out on his front stoop. "Was I more stoned than I thought, or did weird shit go down?"

I rolled my eyes. "Didn't Lauren make you quit?"

"Nah. I just can't smoke around her. She's afraid she'll get a contact high and go all paranoid again."

"It probably wouldn't kill you to quit, anyway."

"Guess we'll never know." Nolan chuckled, then there was the flick of a lighter and a long inhale.

I sat up and leaned against the cold, metal headboard. "What time is it?"

"Almost six," he rasped without exhaling. "I couldn't sleep."

"Well, I could until an idiot woke me up."

He blew out a slow breath. "I'm serious, man. Was that real? I spent half the night telling myself it didn't happen."

"Which part? The house freaking out on us, or you knocking Lauren down?"

Nolan let out a loud huff. "Shit, dude, she's going to kill me. She won't even answer her phone."

"She was pretty pissed." I grinned, remembering Lauren's furious expression when she punched Nolan. She was usually sweet, but I'd hate to be on her bad side.

"What should I do? Flowers, maybe?"

"I'm not sure since I've never had to apologize for pushing a girl over." I almost felt guilty, but giving him a hard time was too much fun.

"Screw you, man. That shit's not helpful."

I snickered. "Sorry. I have no suggestions on how to fix this."

"Whatever. Is that place haunted, or what?"

I weighed my response, careful not to encourage a return trip. "Something was weird. Why? Are you planning to go again?"

"Hell no. I'm not even telling anyone we were there. I'll never live this crap down."

Relief filled me with his answer as a knock sounded at the door. "Come in."

"You're up early," Dad said loud enough for Nolan to hear before noticing I was on the phone.

Nolan coughed. "Tell Marc I said what's up."

"Nolan says hi, Dad."

"Hey, kiddo." Dad waved and turned to the shelves that held my track trophies and a few framed pictures.

He glanced over them, running a finger over one he'd taken of Mom and me. I was riding my bike without training wheels for the first time, and she stood behind me, waving her arms in the air in celebration.

Dad and I had worked on it all day, but I was too nervous. When Mom got home, she held the back of my seat and ran with me until I asked her to let go. I could still hear her voice cheering me on when I looked at that photo.

Shaking the thought from my brain, I told Nolan, "Later, dude. Good luck with Lauren."

He sighed. "Thanks. Later."

I hung up and faced Dad. "You're working Saturday again?"

"Yep." The bed dipped under his weight as he sat on the edge, bringing the scent of soap and mint with him. "So, how was your date? Did you guys have fun?"

"We did. I'm supposed to call Emily this afternoon."

"That's terrific. Enjoy the weekend because real life starts on Monday."

"Like I'd forget," I said, stifling a yawn. He knew I'd been counting down to working with him for weeks.

"Are you sure this is what you want? All your friends are going to college. Your grades are great; you could apply for the winter semester."

"I'm positive. I'd rather get paid to apprentice than pay to take classes."

"It's because I've made plumbing seem so glamorous, isn't it?" Dad smiled. "Not everyone pulls off the covered-in-dirt-from-crawling-under-a-house look like me, though. You should keep that in mind."

Chuckling, I shook my head. He was only joking, but the moms at track practice loved checking Dad out. There were lots of whispered comments about how Marc could work on their pipes. I'd cringe and try to avoid their section of the stands while Dad remained oblivious.

I patted my abs, then held my chin, grinning. "Please, with my six-pack and this profile, I can pull off anything."

"Oh man, the crap's getting deep in here. I'm leaving before it gets on my boots." Dad cracked up as he walked out the door. "See ya later, son."

Working with Dad would be great. It'd been just the two of us since Mom's disappearance when I was eight. We were used to dealing with each other, and we'd always been close, but something shifted this year. He treated me more like a friend than a kid. It was nice, and I wouldn't mess it up.

It wasn't even seven, but thoughts of last night wouldn't let me relax. I got dressed and slid behind the wheel of my truck—a blue 73' F100 I saved a whole year to buy. Dad matched the money I had to spend on it, and his buddy sold it to me for less than it was worth because it needed some work.

I handled most of the repairs myself and Dad helped with the more time consuming stuff, like cleaning the transmission. Every time the engine roared to life, I beamed.

Thirty minutes later, I pulled into the same spot where Nolan parked the night before. The house was different during the day—still rundown, but more depressing than creepy.

I hopped from the truck, took a steadying breath of pine-scented air, and strode toward the porch. It was unnaturally quiet outside, as though the squirrels and birds sensed this place was unusual and avoided it, but I felt the opposite—the same pull from the night before drew me closer.

In the daylight, the condition of the furniture in the yard gave the impression it had dropped from the sky and busted on impact. Bits with rusted nails were poking up to be stepped on. We were lucky none of us needed a tetanus shot after running through all of it.

Wood creaked under my feet as I crossed the porch and entered the house. I stood in the doorway, tense and silent. When nothing happened, I almost laughed. What had I expected?

On the first floor, the kitchen was the same as we'd left it, and there was no ghost in sight. I raked my fingers through my hair and wondered again if I was going crazy.

I retraced my steps through the vacant living room toward the exit. If I quit messing around, I could wash the truck before calling Emily to invite her to lunch.

As my boot hit the porch, a deep voice behind me said, "You were leaving without even saying hello?"

I spun around to gawk at the man from last night. "You're real."

He stepped closer. "Sort of."

This was insane; I should've freaked out, but I wasn't afraid. There was no flickering today; I could see him clearly. "You're a ghost?"

He tilted his head as though considering. "Sort of."

"Are you stuck here?"

He nodded once, but said nothing. He just watched me, evaluating my reactions, so I did my best to remain impassive. "You wanted to talk. Is there something I can help with?"

The ghost raised an eyebrow. "Sort of."

My jaw clenched. "You asked me to come, and I'm here. Can you say anything besides sort of? Telling me what you want might be helpful."

He smirked at my irritation. "Your girl called you Bash. What kind of name is that?"

"It's short for Sebastian." I released a breath slowly. It must've been a while since he'd had a conversation, and it wouldn't hurt me to be more understanding about it. "What's your name?"

"Owen."

"Alright, Owen, why am I here?"

He gestured to the kitchen table. "Sit, and we'll talk."

I focused on him while lowering into a dusty chair. Owen sat across from me. His movements were slow and deliberate, but natural, not at all like a ghost on TV or the disappearing man I'd seen the night before.

Neither of us said anything. We just stared at each other. Owen scratched the back of his neck and shifted in his seat.

A layer of stubble the same dark shade as his short hair covered his jaw. He wore the same white shirt and jeans as yesterday. Without a flashlight aimed at him, he appeared solid, and his eyes were a vivid green. Tall and built, he was somebody you wouldn't want to tick off.

I fought the urge to reach over and see if my hand would slip through the way Emily's did. The ghost might not appreciate being poked at though, so I didn't move.

"The last time someone checked me out this long, I got laid. Don't go getting any ideas; you're not my type." Owen winked.

A surprised bark of laughter escaped me. A ghost that made jokes—I could handle that. "Don't worry; you're not my type either." I straightened in my seat. "Why am I here?"

"A few reasons. First, you saw me. Second, you're observant, and have quick reflexes. Third, you kept your cool and didn't piss yourself yesterday."

"How would you know that?"

"That you didn't piss yourself?" Owen smiled.

I scoffed. "No. That I'm observant and have quick reflexes."

"Well, you noticed details instead of jumping to conclusions. And when I chucked the cat at you, you were quick to block your girl. Good reflexes."

My mouth popped open. "You threw it at us? What the hell?"

"I wanted to know if your first reaction was fight or flight. You didn't hide." Owen shrugged, unrepentant.

"You almost hurt Emily!"

He put his palms up in surrender. "Mellow out. It was a cat, not a knife, and she was attached to you the whole time you were here. What was I supposed to do?"

I rubbed my forehead and tried shaking off the disbelief. "I still don't understand why I'm here."

"You look strong. Do you play sports?"

"No, I work out, and I run." I crossed my arms. "I thought I wasn't your type."

"I'm not aiming for a date. I need a body."

My brow furrowed, and I leaned forward. "Come again?"

"I need a body." Owen cocked his head to the side. "With some training, yours would do."

"Thanks," I deadpanned. "So, you think I'll just give you my body? What does that even mean? You want to possess me?"

"Not exactly. I think it'll be more like sharing."

"You think? Awesome. And why would I do this?"

"Because you're a decent person, and it's the right thing to do." One side of his mouth lifted.

"The right thing for who?"

"Everyone."

I ran my hands over my face and dragged in a slow breath, unsure if he was deliberately evasive or lacked communication skills. "Okay, man, I need a straightforward answer. What do you want from me?"

"I want you to help me stop the mimics from killing anyone else."

"What's a mimic?"

"The CliffsNotes version is they're beings that pass as human, but they're not, and we don't know where they came from." He stopped talking and waited for me to speak.

I blinked at the bizarre description. "Okay. If they look like people, how do you know they're not people?" I rested my arms on the striped placemat in front of me, and shivered. The temperature dropped the closer I was to Owen.

"Well, they're different in a few ways. It'll be easier to accept if I show you." He stood and left the kitchen with strangely graceful movements—his feet seemed to glide above the ground.

"Come on. The interesting stuff is in the basement."

"Of course it is," I mumbled.

Owen passed through the doorway the cat hurtled from last night. I paused while he drifted down the wooden staircase without a sound, then turned my gaze outside.

The air was balmy, sunlight filtered through the trees, and leaves rustled with a gentle breeze; it'd be a perfect day to take care of the truck as I'd planned.

Leaving would be easy. None of what Owen said made sense, and whatever it was, it wasn't my problem. Emily was expecting my call, and we might be able to go out later. Yet the idea of walking away didn't feel right.

Owen stopped at the bottom of the staircase. "I thought that you coming back meant you were brave enough to handle this. If you're considering leaving before I can even show you what's happening, I guess I had you pegged wrong."

The condescending tone was annoying, but he was right. "I'll listen to what you have to say. Don't try to guilt me, though. I don't like it."

"Deal." Owen gestured toward the basement. "Come on, lots to learn."

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