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had any clue about who hit me that I’d tell you?”
    I’m taken back. “How did you know that’s why I even wanted it?”
    He huffs out a long breath. “I know how your mind works. Holden’s here, and you saw him today. He hasn’t moved on yet.” His eyes level me. “He can’t accept that it just happened, that there’s no ulterior motive. Sometimes bad shit just happens, Sam.”
    “Right.” I shake my head, thinking that maybe I’m more transparent than Tyler. “But . . . he’s your brother. He just wants to help you. The way I do.” I step closer, wishing I could hold his hand, comfort him. “Don’t you want whoever did this to be caught? Maybe there’s something in there that you can’t connect, but someone looking in from the outside can. Something off, a link. Please. Just let me try.”
    He turns his back to me and drops his head.
    “Tyler . . .”
    “I don’t know where it is.”
    A chill creeps over me. “How can you not know?”
    He drives a hand through his hair, his shoulders tense. “I’m starting to . . . forget things.”
    Panic grabs my chest, squeezing. My gaze flicks around the room, as if I can find an answer in the dark.
    “Is this why you’ve been coming to me more often?” I ask. I’m afraid to voice my real fear. That he’s starting to fade, becoming like the other ghosts I’ve read up on. I don’t think I can bear to watch him wander aimlessly, a lost soul.
    My heart constricts as he turns toward me, his face pinched in worry. “When I’m with you, things are more vivid. I remember almost everything. My life. Who I am. Who I was . . .” He trails off.
    I swallow. “Where do you go when you’re not with me?”
    He shrugs. “Someplace dark. Full of shadows. Somehow, time doesn’t exist. I’m there for only a short while, and when I find you again, so much time has passed.” He looks at the floor. His shoe scuffs the carpet, making no mark. “And I remember less.”
    Suddenly my head is light, my breaths coming too quickly. The room closing in. How can I be so selfish? With a shake of my head, I summon the nerve to go and grab one of my books.
    Where the Internet was filled with accounts and speculations and ridiculous theories, it was in a small bookstore that I found the information I needed. I drop to my knees and pull out the collection of books from under my bed.
    Pushing the pile over, I fan them out, and grab the one with a worn black cover and faded white lettering. The binding creaks as I open it, and the musty smell of old books hits my nose. Scrolling my finger down the table of contents, I find the chapter I’m looking for.
    With a deep breath, I flip to the section labeled Intelligent Spirits .
    I only skimmed the chapter before, not wanting to think about or know Tyler’s possible future. He’s nothing like other ghosts. He surpasses all other accounts of hauntings (I hate that word; makes what is happening sound creepy and not at all like what we are together). He’s Tyler. Just Tyler. Not an impression, or something left behind after a traumatic event. And so I never wanted to know any more than that. It was enough to know that he was really here, and that I wasn’t crazy.
    “Sam?” Tyler’s voice pulls me out of my reading. I look up as he kneels beside me. “Whatever it is, it doesn’t matter. Nothing can take me away from you.”
    An aching lump forms in my throat, and I swallow, trying to push all the grief and fear into the pit of my stomach. My eyes fall back to the book. The moon peeks through the curtains, washing the page in pale light. And when I read the very thing I fear, my hands tremble.
    A specter can only continue to manifest itself as long as it has strong ties to the place, object, or person it’s haunting. Most are spotted one to four days after their death, but soon cross over into the “light.” Those who choose to stay on the earth plane, for whatever reason, be it refusal to accept their death, fear of leaving