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He cocked his head to one side and looked confused for a moment. “Tristan. My name’s Tristan Fairfax. And I live here. Or… I used to…” His voice trailed off.

“What are you doing here?” My voice wouldn’t function beyond a whisper.

“What does it look like?” he said. “Watching you. Talking to you.” Suddenly, he looked utterly bewildered.

I rubbed my face with both of my hands, desperate to understand. I must be missing something obvious, but it was difficult to keep a grip on reality. Is he a dream? Am I still asleep? Is this madness?

Yes. That’s it. I’m definitely insane.

My delusion had gone too far and the tablet opt-out was becoming more and more appealing. My only option was to ignore him and then maybe he’d go away. Glancing down at the medicines, I tried to corral my scattered wits. The tablets I needed start with a Z.

The boy continued to glare at me, his mouth a grim line. “You haven’t answered my question. What are you doing?” He studied the various medicines on the counter and ran his hair through his tousled hair. The chestnut highlights glinted gold in the early morning sun, and his unruly fringe flopped back into his eyes. He looked frustrated or annoyed. Possibly both.

I ignored him. Wasn’t that what one was supposed to do when hearing voices? My mind would eventually get bored of him and he’d disappear.

Besides, what I did was none of his business.

He sighed, his frustration more obvious. “Okay, I didn’t want to do this again. It was such a painful experience last time. But if you won’t tell me—”

He vanished, and it took my mind a second to register his absence, then just as quickly, he was back and glowering at me, his face etched in horror. All the medicine bottles and packets flew off the kitchen island, scattering loudly in all directions onto the limestone floor and across the worktop behind me. A couple of them smashed as they hit the floor. My mouth dropped open in shock as I tried to register what had happened.

But, but… he didn’t touch them.

“Fucking hell! Don’t. Even. Think. It!” he shouted, each word staccato. “Do you have any idea what you’d be giving up? Where you’d end up?” He was livid, becoming angrier and angrier. He jabbed a long finger at me. “You’re so young, so lovely—you have so much to live for. It would crucify him, as well, and he’s been so fucking lonely.” The fragrance swirled around me, becoming stronger, more concentrated—it was intoxicating and confusing. “It’s tough when people die; trust me, I know. But the pain will get better. Just give it time. You need to learn some patience. For fuck’s sake… Patience, Emily.” His green eyes bore into mine, his expression raw.

“What’s going on in here?”

Dylan strode fully dressed into the kitchen, staring at me warily. He stooped down to pick up one of the packets from the floor, puzzled. He surveyed the medicines scattered everywhere.

“What happened?”

I looked from Dylan to the boy—Tristan. Both of them were staring at me.

“What are you looking at?” Dylan asked, his voice betraying his alarm.

“He can’t see or hear me, Emily. Only you can,” Tristan murmured, calmer now.

I turned to Dylan. “You can’t see him? The young man standing over there?” I tilted my head toward Tristan.

Dylan’s face fell, though his eyes flickered in the direction I’d indicated.

“No, Emily, there’s no one there,” he said finally. “Do you see someone?”

I stared at Dylan and chewed at my lower lip.

I. AM. INSANE.

I nodded once.

Tristan grimaced. “Shit!” he hissed. “I’ll make this easier for you, Emily. But I’ll be back. I need to talk to you. Don’t do anything stupid.” His eyes narrowed, then he vanished.

I gawked at the space he’d left behind, then turned to Dylan, who, in turn, was gawking at me, his eyes wide, his face pale.

“He’s gone,” I whispered.

“Who’s gone?”

“The young man.”