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didn’t watch any decent shows when you were alive, it’s too late to start now.”
    “What show is that from?”
    “ Supernatural . It’s pretty good. They hunt ghosts and monsters and shit.”
    He tilted his head again in what I was already starting to recognize as his thinking stance. “They hunt ghosts? Let’s watch it.”
    I blinked at him. “Are you serious?”
    “Yeah, as a heart attack,” he said, then went to the bed and sat down facing the TV.
    “Or as a lethal dose of junk,” I muttered, then picked up the remote. “It’s probably not even on, anyway. And the hotel TVs don’t have internet access.”
    “Just find it on pay-per-view.” He flipped his hand like he was saying “any time you’re ready. Slowly McTakesforever.”
    “Um, no,” I said. “Richard will kill me if I use pay-per-view in a guest room.”
    “Then charge it to me.” He smiled like this was the greatest plan ever. “You still have my credit card information on file, don’t you?”
    “Yeah,” I said. “But. You’re. Dead. I’m pretty sure they cancel your credit cards when you’re dead.”
    “Oh.” He paused and looked lost for a second.
    And there was no way I was going to deal with a crying ghost if I could possibly help it, so I smiled super brightly and patted his ghost hand as best I could without being able to feel it. “Well, let’s just try the ring thing. Maybe you’ll go to heaven and then God can get you Netflix access or something.”
    “Or I’ll go to hell,” he grumbled.
    “Then you can watch Rock of Love ,” I said. “Surely they play that one in hell on repeat.”
    He laughed. “I like you, Tyler.”
    I rolled my eyes. “Just because you’re stuck with me right now.”
    “Well, yeah,” he admitted. “But you seem all right.”
    “‘All right’? I can live with that.” I gave him a half smile. “So . . . are you ready?”
    “Yeah.” He stood up. “If I disappear, can you put the ring back on before you just get rid of it? See if I come back when it’s on your hand again?”
    “Sure. But if you don’t . . . well, it was good to meet you.”
    “Same here.” He took another deep breath.
    I watched him for a few seconds, then slipped the ring off of my finger.

Chris Raiden was a tall guy. Not freakishly tall, but easily six feet. A little taller than me. He had dark hair, almost black, and dark-brown eyes. He was slender with decently muscular arms, and he liked to wear tight T-shirts on stage to show off his biceps. He was the sort of guy who was attractive enough on his own, but fame suited him well. However, the most unusual thing about Chris Raiden was that he was still there.
    I looked at the ring in my hand, then put it down on the bed beside me so that I wasn’t touching it at all. He stood there in front of me with his eyes squeezed shut.
    “Any day now,” he said after a moment.
    “I already did it,” I told him. “And you’re still here.”
    He opened one eye and peered at me. “I didn’t disappear?”
    “Nope. Not even a flicker.” I pointed at the ring on the bed.
    “Well,” he said, opening his other eye. “That explains a lot.”
    I raised an eyebrow. “What exactly does it explain?”
    “I have no idea,” he admitted. “But if we knew what the hell was going on here, I have a feeling it would explain a lot.”
    “That’s extremely helpful,” I said sarcastically. “But it doesn’t help the situation.”
    “What’s the situation exactly?” He started pacing again.
    “That apparently you’re just, you know, here . And you’re not seeming to go anywhere.” I leaned back onto the bed and held myself up by my elbows. “Still no light to go toward?”
    His eyes slid out of focus, and he gazed off into the corner of the room for a few seconds. “Nothing. I get the feeling that I can’t leave. Or at least that if I tried, something bad would happen.”
    “Something bad like what? An explosion? Tearing open the fabric of space and