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“Okay, he can play.” Tristan shrugged and sounded dismissive.
“You don’t like him, do you? Is this because of the eviction notice? You never say his name.”
“I don’t give a fuck about him. He’s been boring for however long he’s been here. Until you arrived,” he added, and his mouth turned down.
“What do you mean?”
“Shit, he’s coming to check on you. Lie down and pretend to be asleep.” Tristan stood up and glanced at the bedside light, which switched off without any help from me.
I scrambled into bed and huddled under the duvet, but my heart was racing, blood pumping through my veins with a heady excitement. There was no way I looked serene enough to be asleep.
He likes me. The beautiful dead boy likes ME!
I shut my eyes and hoped for the best.
Dylan knocked, and the door creaked open a little. Was he peeking at me? The door creaked some more as he entered quietly and I opened my eyes a fraction and, through my lashes, saw him standing over me as I pretended to sleep. He leaned down and gently swept a strand of hair off my face.
“You’re not fooling anyone, you know,” he whispered.
I giggled and opened my eyes.
Tristan watched us from the end of the bed, his mouth in a grim line.
“You look like you’re up to no good.” Dylan smiled. “Like you have a boy in your room or something.”
He chuckled as I froze. Tristan laughed loudly. Dylan frowned.
“Don’t tell me you do have a boy in your room.” He had the gall to glance around.
“Yes, he’s hiding under my bed,” I snapped.
Dylan raised an eyebrow and chuckled once more.
“Good night, Emily. Sleep well.” He brushed his knuckles against my cheek, then closed the door behind him as he left.
“The son of a bitch is getting quite perceptive in his old age,” Tristan said dryly as he came to sit on the edge of the bed beside me.
“He’s not old, he’s just a little older than you. And don’t call him that!” Sitting up, I dragged my dad’s T-shirt over my knees and hugged them.
Tristan glanced at the bedside light and it switched on.
“I envy him,” he murmured.
“How do you do that?” I asked, ignoring his statement.
“Do what?”
“Switch the light on.”
“Oh that, easy.” He waved his hand, and it turned off again. “I can move things, if I think about them.” The light blinked on again.
“Is that how you were able to push me onto the bed yesterday, and the medicine bottles onto the floor the other day?”
“Was that just yesterday? I thought that was days ago. My concept of time is not what it was.”
“Can all ghosts move things?”
Tristan shrugged. “I’m not supposed to tell you this. It’s against the rules.”
