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“You’re late.”
Gale froze mid-step. The familiarity of that voice made his heart pound so hard his ears throbbed. He slid his hands to his waist and rested his unsteady fingers on the grip of his gun.
“I can hear you,” the ghost repeated. “Come on, hurry up — I’ve been waiting ages.”
Maybe he had indeed died and simply hadn’t noticed. Maybe everything around him was just a threshold, some kind of stage for a final sentence. It was the only plausible explanation. The dead did not speak in the world of the living.
It was only when he reached the last flight of stairs that he finally saw her.
A familiar, dream-like pair of shocked eyes stared right back at him from the other side of the hall. The woman stepped back a few paces and pressed a hand to her chest as her back hit the wall behind her. Gale felt once again as though a crater had opened beneath his feet and dragged him into a very distant past.
Blue eyes like the sky, blond hair like the sun:
It was Madge Undersee.
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