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hologram? Are there cameras somewhere?” He wanted to look around for some, but he didn’t dare take his eyes off the figure above him. “Who put you up to this?”
    The boy kept shaking his head, gesticulating with his hands, moving his lips.
    As horrified as he’d been, Jason’s alarm faded, made less urgent as the pain in his knee and ankle started to sink in. Was an interactive hologram somehow more plausible than a ghost? He didn’t think so. Whatever this was, he didn’t feel threatened. The apparition—or whatever the boy was—hadn’t moved from the doorway. He was still talking, gesticulating wildly, and Jason sighed and said, “I can’t hear you.”
    The boy stopped, blinking in shock, dumbstruck as the words sank in. He appeared to take a deep breath. Finally, his lips moved. Only two words, but between context and lip-reading, Jason understood. You can’t?
    Jason shook his head, rubbing at his sore ankle. “No.”
    The ghost slumped, crestfallen. He spoke slowly and deliberately, pointing at Jason and then at his own eyes, and then at himself. But you can see me?
    “Uh, yeah. I think we’ve established that.” Jason stood up, testing his weight on the twisted ankle. It didn’t feel great, but he was pretty sure he hadn’t done any real damage. He rubbed his bruised knee, still watching the boy at the top of the stairs, trying to make sense of it all.
    He’d always imagined ghosts to be white, but this one wasn’t. Yes, the boy’s skin was pale, but it was clearly a natural skin tone against his shirt. His pants were dark gray, his boots and waistcoat black. Jason searched the walls and the ceiling, still wondering if the boy was some type of projection, but he didn’t see any cameras. The technology for such an advanced hologram may have existed, but Jason doubted it came cheap. Even a tabloid chasing a sensational photo wouldn’t have the resources to put together such an elaborate hoax. And if they did, they sure wouldn’t waste it on JayWalk.
    The boy watched him, his eyes bright with hope. His lips moved, and he gestured behind him. Jason didn’t need to hear him to know he was being invited back into the guest room. It seemed absurd. Shouldn’t a ghost be trying to scare him? Yelling “Boo”? But no. Instead, he was inviting Jason inside, maybe for a nice spot of tea.
    Jason wasn’t entirely sure he hadn’t lost his damn mind.
    “I don’t know . . .”
    The boy held out his hand, looking heartbroken. Looking desperate. His lips formed one simple word. Please.
    What did Jason have to lose? His life? His sanity? His peace of mind? He hadn’t felt too sure about any of those things to begin with. Hollywood and the press had been his reality since the age of eight. Now, at twenty-nine, the idea of living alone with a ghost didn’t seem as bad as facing the tabloids at the newsstand every time he ran out of toilet paper.
    “Okay,” he said, and the boy’s delight was obvious.
    Jason climbed the stairs gingerly. His ankle already felt a bit better, but he didn’t want to make things worse. He stopped on the landing, studying the apparition in front of him. Through all of it, the boy had remained right inside the frame of the door. Now, he backed away, allowing Jason to walk through.
    The space was much as he’d imagined it—a double bed in one corner, with a nightstand and a dresser nearby. A powder-blue couch and a coffee table formed a small sitting area near the window. A desk sat against the far wall, with a single wooden chair tucked underneath. Shelves hung above it, dotted with knickknacks. A door in the corner presumably led to a bathroom.
    Two things Jason hadn’t expected: there wasn’t a single pink flower in sight, and there was absolutely no evidence of habitation. No laundry lying about. No wrinkle in the bedspread. No papers or cell phones or computers on the desk. Not even a glass of water on the nightstand. The room felt as utterly barren as a cheap hotel