Archive of Our Own ^beta

Melinda frowned as she walked around the room, ensuring the office was empty. No sign of Rick. She sighed, hands on her hips. She'd wanted to ask him to look in one of his many books in the hopes of discovering what the latest spirit to visit her was trying to communicate.

A student, tall and dark-haired, stuck his head around the door. “You looking for Professor Payne?”

“Yes.” She was hoping the student might say Rick was just finishing class and would be along shortly, but she was soon disappointed.

“He’s off sick,” the student said. “Food poisoning or something.”

“Oh. That's too bad. Thank you.” The way Rick ate she shouldn’t be surprised.

It seemed she’d have to manage this one on her own and, back at the store, some determined searching did eventually help her figure out what the spirit wanted.

With the spirit crossed over before even before lunch, Melinda felt pleased with herself. She went for a walk, intending to get a sandwich to take back to the store. Pulling out her cellphone, she dialled Rick’s number and got his voicemail.

“Hi, Rick. It's Melinda Gordon .I stopped by your office and I heard you’re home sick. Let me know if there’s anything I can do. Hope you feel better soon.”

The rest of the day was spent at the store, selling items, talking to Delia as they dusted some of the ornaments and glassware, and, always on the lookout for more stock, finding a newspaper advert for an auction and replying to an email about a house clearance.
Jim was already home when Melinda arrived, preparing food. She complimented him on the delicious aroma as she entered the house and as he moved in for a hug she obeyed his apron’s instruction to Kiss The Cook.

“Ten minutes and it’ll be on the table,” he said, giving her another kiss before letting her go.

Soon they were enjoying the meal, sharing stories about their day.

“Oh, and I crossed over that spirit,” Melinda said, as Jim began to clear away the plates.

“Really? The one speaking the ancient language?”

“Yes. Rick wasn't around to help, but I figured it out. Me and the power of the internet,” Melinda said. “I’m pretty sure my machine translated words and my terrible pronunciation were excruciating but it got the job done.”

“More than one way to skin a cat,” Jim said. He frowned, adding, “That’s a horrible phrase.”

“Mmm,” Melinda agreed. She took a sip of wine. “I’m just going to call Rick again. One of his students said he was home with food poisoning.”

Jim raised an eyebrow. “His culinary adventures were bound to catch up with him eventually.”

Melinda laughed as she got to her feet. "I won't be so unkind as to tell him that."

“Do tell him to drink lots of fluids,” Jim said. “If he can’t even keep water down, try sucking ice cubes. It’s important not to get dehydrated.”

Melinda paced the lounge as the phone rang and she again got his voicemail. “Hi, Rick. Melinda again. Just checking in. Stay hydrated; if you can’t drink water then suck an ice cube. Jim’s advice, not mine. Rest up. I’ll call you tomorrow. ‘Night.”

She sat down, and was deep in thought when Jim came to sit beside her.

“You want to watch a DVD?”

“Sure,” she said. Rick was probably just sleeping, the best thing he could do.

She and Jim debated for a couple of minutes before choosing a movie and then they snuggled up together on the sofa, enjoying a rare night of ghost-free tranquillity.

Melinda was at the store early the next day, taking delivery of some chairs and tables from a restaurant in the next county. The new owners were renovating to something more modern, which meant Melinda had got a good deal on their late 19th century style furniture and would probably make a decent profit from the right buyers.

Delia helped her get some of the pieces down to the basement, while they managed to place two tables with chairs in the store to generate interest.

“Time for coffee?” Delia asked hopefully when they’d done.

“I’m buying,” Melinda said. She headed out to Village Java, and on the way, tried Rick again. Still no answer. She didn’t leave a message.

"Are you okay?" Delia asked as Melinda stared into her nearly empty coffee cup a few minutes later.

"Yes." Melinda tipped her head. "Could you mind the store while I take an early lunch?"

“Of course,” Delia said. “You meeting Jim?”

“No. I just want to check up on Rick,” Melinda said. "He's not answering his phone." It was unlike him to dodge her calls and she was starting to worry about him being sick and alone.

Melinda hammered on the door. “Rick! Rick, it's Melinda Gordon."

She’d been knocking for several minutes. She was on the verge of calling Jim and asking him to come and help break down the door when she heard movement inside. "Rick?"

“What?” Rick’s voice was muffled through the door.

“Rick! Please open the door,” Melinda begged. “Are you okay?”

“Fine. Go away.”

Melinda glared at the door. If concern hadn’t worked, an appeal to his ego might. “I need your help,” she shouted.

There was silence. The door opened a sliver. She couldn't see inside though she could hear Rick better now.

"With what?”

She leaned in. “A spirit. I can’t yell about it on your doorstep. Let me come in.”

He hesitated. A motorcycle went down the street, and a dog walker reined in their poodle as it wanted to go and greet Melinda. The street was empty again before Rick let go of the door, letting it swing open as he headed back inside.

Melinda went in, closing the door behind her and following as Rick, in bare feet and a bathrobe, shuffled to the kitchen.

“Do you want coffee?" he asked, without looking at her. He reached the sink. "Only there’s no coffee, I haven’t made any.”

“No,” she said.

He turned to face her and she had to bite back a gasp. He was pale, with dark shadows beneath his eyes, stubble on the usually clean-shaven cheeks, and a dullness in the eyes usually sparkling with wit. He looked exhausted, as if he hadn't slept for a week. He leaned back against the sink. A crumpled t-shirt could be seen beneath the robe, the edge of his boxer shorts visible where the robe fell open below the hastily tied belt.

“What do you want?" he asked. "Something about a ghost?”

She shook her head. “It was. But I handled it.”

He blinked a few times. “In the time it took to open the door and walk to the kitchen?”

“I handled it yesterday," she admitted. "I came here because I was worried about you."

“I’m fine.”

“You don’t look fine," she said gently. "One of your students said you had food poisoning.”

“Really? You shouldn’t listen to gossip.”

Melinda frowned. “So, not food poisoning?”

“I told the office I had a migraine, you’d think they’d at least get their story straight.” Rick went to the fridge. “Do you want some orange juice?”

“No. You have a migraine?”

Rick sighed. “If I say yes, will you leave me alone?” He sniffed the orange juice carton. “I think the juice is off.”

Melinda stalked over, took the carton from his hand. She sniffed, scowled, and poured the juice down the sink.

“What is going on?” she asked.

He shrugged. “I’m hungover.”

“For two days?” She glanced at the beer bottles on the table. “And from two beers?”

Rick became petulant. “I don’t have to answer to you. I’m going back to bed.” He shoved past her, stomping his way upstairs.

Melinda disposed of the carton, put the bottles in the recycling bin, and washed a mug and plate that were sitting on the side, giving Rick time to calm down.

She took out her phone. “Hey, Delia.”

“Hey. How’s your friend?”

“Not great,” Melinda said. “I’m going to stay for a while."

"Maybe make him some soup," Delia suggested, apparently having forgotten about Melinda's lack of culinary expertise.

"Ah, I could maybe heat up some soup."

Delia laughed. “Okay. You’re a good friend. Don’t worry, I can stay and close the store tonight.”

“Thank you.” Melinda hung up. Was she a good friend? Or did she bring terror and death to everyone’s lives?

She stared out of the window and felt a chill run through her. There was a sensation like a weight pushing down on her. She didn’t want to lose Rick like she had Andrea. But maybe she would, maybe she was meant to be alone. Tears welled up and she had to push them away. It took her a minute to pull herself together enough that she could deal with Rick.

When she went upstairs he was sprawled facedown across the bed. She leaned against the doorframe.

“Talk to me.”

“Are you still here?” he said, voice muffled against the covers.

Melinda moved to sit on the bed. She reached out and put one hand on his shoulder. “It doesn’t matter if you’ve got a migraine, or a hangover, or anything else. I just need to know you’re okay.”

He turned his head to squint at her. “I said I’m fine.”

“That’s a lie.”

“Lie is such a dirty word. An untruth. A fabrication. An…I don’t know.”

Melinda wasn’t used to him running out of words. She moved her hand to stroke at his hair. “Did something happen? Or…maybe the anniversary of your wife’s death?”

“It wasn’t even like this when Katherine died."

"No?"

Rick swallowed hard. "I was angry, and I was upset and I buried it, deep, deep down and I threw myself into my work. Ironic, I guess, given how she used to get mad about how much I worked. But I worked and I ate and I drank and I worked some more, and then I let it out in pieces,” he said. “I’d break a plate or I’d drive out somewhere remote and, like, primal scream, or I’d, I’d cry in the shower.”

Melinda lowered her gaze but kept stroking his hair in the hopes it was comforting. She wanted to cry right now. She couldn’t bear the grief.

“But this. It’s like something’s sucked all the joy out of my life. I'm hurting and I'm angry and it's like nothing matters. Not even work. And I’ve always been able to shelter in my work.”

“It sounds like depression,” Melinda offered. Tears began to flow. “You can get through this. I can’t…I can’t…”

She was crying too much to continue, fought for breath as the sobs tore the air from her chest. Rick was roused from his melancholy, sitting up and holding her shoulders.

“Melinda, no. Don’t cry. I’m not worth it.”

She shook her head. “Of course you are.” She wrapped her arms around him and he embraced her.

For a minute they held on tight, anchoring each other against the storm of pain.

Then it was as if someone had flicked a switch and turned on a light. The oppressive weight was gone. She could breathe freely. She leaned back and wiped at her face.

“What was that?” Rick asked, tone hushed, confused.

“I’m not sure. Do you feel any better?”

He nodded cautiously. He stared down at himself. “I guess so, but ah, I really need a shower.”

She laughed. “You really do. Go. I’ll make coffee.”

When she heard the water running she went back downstairs. She found a tissue and carefully wiped at her eyes. She made coffee, as promised, the familiar scent a comfort.

Fifteen minutes later Rick came downstairs, hair damp and clean-shaven. He was fully dressed though more casually, in jeans and a loose sweatshirt, than the suit she was accustomed to.

“Hey,” he said, awkwardly.

“Hey. You want coffee?”

“Maybe half a cup?”

She poured it for him and they sat at the dining table. He held the mug in both hands as if the warmth was grounding.

“Thank you,” he said. “Not just for the coffee. For coming to see me.”

“I was worried,” she said. “And with good reason. You still feeling okay?”

He shrugged. “I’m a little tired and honestly, still a little sad. But not for any particular reason.”

Melinda tipped her head. “I felt something similar. Like a weight pushing down on me, causing negative thoughts, making me sad.”

“You think it’s supernatural?”

“Maybe. Can you think of anything that might have triggered this, whatever it is? New people, somewhere you’ve been, artefacts you’ve come across?”

Rick took a sip of coffee. "I may have gone to an open-mic at that fancy coffeehouse across town the other night. And, er, met one of the performers after. Gone to a bar with her, had a couple of drinks."

"Sounds nice so far," Melinda said encouragingly. "What was her name?"

"She told me it was Morena," Rick said. "I had my doubts about that but hey, she was attractive and we were just having some fun."

"And?" Melinda prompted.

"Morena took me back to her place. I wasn't sure I should go but…" Rick shrugged. "She was interesting. She had a good singing voice and a great sense of humour. Her songs were sort of Weird Al Yankovic, you know; existing songs with new, wacky lyrics. She did a cover of The Sound of Silence mocking the ubiquity of cellphones."
That song, Melinda knew, was one of Rick's favourites. He'd referred to it as a "big make out" song for him during his adolescence. That Morena had also mocked society's technological obsession had been a bonus, given Rick's annoyance at the way his students allegedly spent more time on their phones than listening to his lectures.

"She sounds great," Melinda said.

"Yeah." Rick took a swig of coffee and was silent for a moment. "So, we were sitting on the sofa and talking. Morena leants over and we kissed. It was nice."

Just nice? And, more importantly was he going to go into detail as things got steamy? Melinda frowned, not wanting to interrupt but worried she may have to.

Rick put down the mug. "And then, I don’t know. I thought about Katherine and I felt guilty. And yes," he said, before Melinda could interject, "I know it's been long enough not to feel that way. But this wasn't the usual feeling I still sometimes have. It was different, somehow. More intense."

This may have been the start of things. "What did you do?"

"Made my apologies and left," Rick said. "I felt like a fool and I felt sorry about being so abrupt with Morena but I had to get out of there. I came home and I had a couple of beers. And I just kept feeling that I didn't deserve Morena. Or anyone. Or any shred of happiness…"

He tailed off. Melinda moved her chair closer to him and put her hand over his on the table.

"You don't really believe that?" she asked softly.

He gave her a sad smile. "Not always."

But sometimes then? Melinda bit at her lip.

Rick shook his head. "I'm glad you're here," he said with sudden honesty. "But I’m starting to feel embarrassed about you seeing me in such a state, and I think maybe you're regretting ever meeting me and you’d rather I wasn’t in your life."

Melinda shook her head fervently. “No, that’s not true. You know that, right? If anything I worry about what I've brought into your life. Remember the whole 'you come to me with some interesting questions and now I'm on the wrong end of an Incan death threat' thing?"

She was gratified when her poor imitation of Rick made him laugh.

"I was already involved with the occult," he said. "I'll take my share of the blame. But this? I don't know, I can't tell where these thoughts and feelings are coming from. I know they're not healthy thoughts and I know, for the most part, they're not true. But it was hard to remind myself of that."

Melinda squeezed at his hand. "It attacked me too, whatever this was," she said. "I know how awful it felt. But when we hugged, that moment of connection, that moment of," she gestured, "of, intimacy, drove it away. It wants us to feel alone. That's how we fight back, until we find a way to defeat it."

Rick gave her a long, appraising look. "Intimacy?" he said at last.

He was much more back to his usual self to pick on that particular word. Melinda rolled her eyes. "I was going to say love," she told him.

He gazed at her. "You were?"

Melinda got to her feet. "Of course I love you. The way I love Delia, and Ned. I'm a very loving person."

"I've noticed."

"Come on, before either of us get melancholy again," Melinda said. "Let's track down this Morena and see if she can shed any light on what's happening."

Melinda drove to Morena's building, finding a parking space just behind the apartment block.

"She might not be home," Rick said," but she did say she has a varied schedule. She always keeps Tuesday evenings free for performing. I don't know what she does on Thursdays."

"What does she do for work?" Melinda asked, locking her car.

"She's a yoga instructor."

Melinda raised an eyebrow. "Oh." She was expecting some innuendo and Rick followed through.

"Before the guilt kicked in I was looking forward to seeing how flexible she was "

Of course he had been. Melinda shook her head and took Rick's arm, steering him toward the front entrance. "What number?"

"3C."

They took the elevator and found 3C at the end of a bland but clean corridor. Melinda thought she could hear choral singing coming from inside, and knocked.

"Just a sec," a muffled voice came and a moment later the door was opened.

Morena was a little taller than Melinda, fair-skinned, with medium length blonde hair tied up in a ponytail. She was wearing a figure hugging magenta t-shirt and black loose-fitting pants. She gave them a warm smile, her lips a fetching shade of strawberry. Her name had conjured up a darker complexion and, somehow, someone enigmatic or aloof, but this woman was like a warm ray of sunshine.

"Morena?" Melinda asked, to be sure.

"Yes. Hey, Rick!" Morena's smile faltered a moment. "You left in such a hurry and you didn't call. Is everything okay?"

He shook his head. "Not really."

"Can we come in for a moment?" Melinda asked. "It's important."

Melinda checked her watch. "I have a class this afternoon. I can give you 20 minutes or so."

They followed her into her apartment. It was tidy and contemporary in style. A yoga mat was rolled up in one corner, near a framed print of a Buddhist temple wreathed in mist atop a mountain. Two bookcases sat against one wall, one full of books on health, exercise, and spirituality, while the other was filled with CDs, DVDs, and ornaments. There was an incense burner on a sideboard near the window, along with a Tibetan singing bowl. The floor was wooden laminate with a single rug under a glass coffee table; a futon sat behind the table, with two chairs at either end, leaving an open space for yoga practice between the table and the door.

Morena turned off the stereo which was on a shelf near the door, ending the gentle chanting. "Can I get you something to drink? I have some lemon infused water."

"Sure," Melinda said. She and Rick sat down on a white futon while Morena bounced off to the kitchen. She returned with a tray holding a pitcher of water with lemon slices floating in it, and three glasses, and placed it carefully on the coffee table.

"So, what's going on?" Morena asked as she filled the glasses. She sat down in an armchair which was at the side of the table. She gave Rick a worried glance before she asked Melinda, "You're not his wife are you?"

Melinda blinked a few times. "No! Absolutely not."

Morena let out a long sigh of relief. "Thank God." She turned to Rick. "I mean, I asked about the wedding ring and you said she wasn't in the picture any more."

Rick nodded. "I should have been specific. My wife is dead."

Morena stared at him. At last she said, "I'm sorry."

He nodded, took a sip of water.

Melinda sat forward, certain of the answer before she asked. "Have you lost anyone? Husband? Boyfriend?"

Morena looked away. "Who are you anyway?"

"My name is Melinda Gordon. Rick is my friend and sometimes we work together on cases where there's a spirit that can't move on."

Morena shook her head and took a gulp of water. "You mean ghosts?"

"Yes. It's my gift, to see earthbound spirits and help them go into the Light."

Rick coughed, drawing the attention of both women. "Bit of lemon rind," he choked out, swallowing hard. Melinda frowned, relieved once she was sure she wasn't going to have to thump him on the back.

Morena got to her feet and paced the room. "I don't believe in ghosts," she said. "Or I didn't. When you left the other night, you were feeling upset, weren't you?"

"I went home feeling like life was pretty pointless," Rick admitted.

"I'm sorry," Morena said, closing her eyes briefly. "It was him, wasn't it?"

"Who, Morena?" Melinda asked gently.

She went to the sideboard and took a framed photo from a drawer. "Erik. My boyfriend. Or he was." She rubbed her thumb across the glass before she handed it to Melinda.

Erik was, in the photo, in his late twenties, Caucasian, slight, with high cheekbones. There was an intensity to his gaze that was compelling but it was offset by the sadness in his deep brown eyes.

Melinda passed the photo to Rick, who shrugged and put it on the coffee table.

"What happened to Erik?" Melinda asked.

Morena's lower lip trembled. "He killed himself."

"I'm sorry," Melinda said. "That must have been hard on you."

She nodded and began to pace the room. "I feel so guilty. We'd had some problems but we were working through them and I knew he'd been depressed. He had some abandonment issues because he never knew his father and his mother…" Morena shrugged. "Let's just say he spent most of his adolescence in foster care."

The root of the feelings of worthlessness, no doubt.

"None of that is your fault," Rick told her.

Morena nodded. "I know. But I promised him I would always be there if he needed someone. Even if we broke up. All he had to do was call me. And the one time he needed me…"

She began sobbing. Melinda got to her feet and led Morena to the futon, sat her down next to Rick. She crouched in front of Morena. "What happened?"

"It was so stupid," Morena wept. "I dropped my phone in the bath! He called me and texted me, but I didn't get his messages. He died because I wasn't there for him. He died thinking I didn't care!"

Rick exchanged a look with Melinda. He reached out and put one arm around Morena's shoulder. Melinda found a box of tissues on a windowsill and dabbed at her own eyes before she presented the box to Morena.

After a minute or so Morena recovered enough to talk further.

"It was almost a year before I even thought about dating again," she said. "I met this guy, Joey, through one of my regular yoga students. He's the one who got me into performing. It was a few months before I brought him back here, but I was finally ready. I made dinner."

Morena fell silent, reliving her past. Melinda moved to sit on the armchair.

"I'm sure you're a good cook," Rick said, and Morena laughed.

"I make a mean lasagne," she said. "So that's what I cooked. I'd sorted out some sides; fresh breadsticks, roasted tomatoes, olive oil. I purchased a dessert I knew Joey liked and a couple of bottles of really good wine."

Rick let out a long sigh. "I haven't eaten since those pretzels on Tuesday night."

Melinda gave him a look. "Go on, Morena."

"Joey shows up with flowers and it's perfect," Morena said. "We eat and we drink and I've got some music playing. We're sitting here, on the futon, like I am now." She gave Rick a sad smile. "And Joey leans in to kiss me and he suddenly stops."

"Stops?" Melinda asked.

"He sits back as if I'd slapped him. He looks around and asks if I'm chilly. I wasn't. He looks at me and all I see is this look of such disappointment." Morena dabbed at her eyes again. "Like I'd hurt him. It reminded me of Erik, though I didn't think much of that at the time. Joey says he has to go and he leaves. I was devastated."

The first date since Erik's death. It must have been traumatic.

"I'm sorry," Melinda said. "Did you call Joey?"

"Yes. The next day I called and said if I'd done something wrong I apologised. Joey said he just didn't feel he could see me again. He said it felt wrong but he couldn't or wouldn't explain why."

Rick frowned. "You accepted that?"

Morena shrugged. "I didn't see any other choice. I was hurt, but what could I do? It was a few more months before I went on another date. I went out with someone and we didn't click, I went out with a guitarist and I wasn't feeling it. Then I started seeing a barista, Frank." Morena's tone became bitter as she went on. "We had a few dinners together but soon he started to seem down. At last he said he needed to break up with me, that he was depressed and needed to work on himself." That last she added air quotes to.

Melinda raised an eyebrow at Morena's disparaging tone. "It sounded like an excuse?"

Morena nodded. "It did, but I guess it wasn't. I'd got to know one of his colleagues, Sandie, and I ran into her a few weeks later. Sandie said Frank had been increasingly miserable and she'd been worried about him. After he broke up with me, he took some vacation days and went to see some friends in Portland. He came back happy; a new man. And I started to think, maybe it's me. I stopped dating and I stopped performing."

Melinda topped up her water glass while Morena took a moment to gather herself.

"Every man you met ended up miserable," Rick mused. "It must have seemed that way."

Morena nodded. "I ran into Joey again. He was engaged now and he said he felt bad about what had happened. He and his fiancée invited me to dinner with a couple of beat poets. I went along and everything was fine. I started performing again."

It clearly made her happy and Melinda nodded encouragingly, glad Morena had been able to start song writing again.

"I even went on a couple of dates," Morena said. "So long as I didn't get serious about anyone it seemed fine. But the second I got too close, whoever I was seeing would start to get depressed. The last time it happened even I felt a chill and it was like I was being watched. Vaughn, the guy I'd brought home freaked out when Erik's photo flew off the sideboard and right across the room. I don’t blame him. I was freaked out too. I put the photo in the drawer and I yelled, 'Erik, if this is you, stop it!' but I felt ridiculous. I don't really believe in the spirit world."

Rick gave a sharp laugh. "You may want to reconsider."

"I am reconsidering. I'm sorry, Rick," she said. "We only had one date. Half a date really. I guess bringing you back here upset Erik. I'll break up with you here and now and it won't happen anymore."

Melinda shook her head. "I'm not so sure. Spirits have, for reasons Rick and I are looking into, getting stronger in this area. Erik going from a cold presence to throwing his photo shows he's gaining power, and attacking Rick, going so far as to follow him home after just one half-a-date, shows he's angrier than ever. We need to put a stop to it before he goes too far."

"How?"

Melinda stood, closed her eyes, took a deep breath. She opened them and picked up the photo. "Erik. If you're here, we need to talk."

There was nothing, no chill, no sense of dread. It was anticlimactic.

"I have an idea," Rick said. He leaned over and cupped Morena's face in one hand, gave her a questioning look.

Morena trembled but she nodded. "Yes."

Rick kissed her, Morena returning the kiss.

The temperature in the room dropped. Melinda felt a wave of anger. How dare Rick kiss this woman! Then a sense of sadness, of regret. She couldn't breathe.

"Melinda!" Rick had released Morena and come to see what was wrong.

Melinda's hands were around her throat and she was gasping for air.

Rick wrapped his arms around her and pulled her close. The sadness dissipated as it had before and Melinda found herself taking deep breaths.

"You okay?" Rick asked, unwilling to let go.

"Yes." She pulled away slowly, gave him a smile of thanks. Her gaze fell on a figure standing by the window. Erik.

Rick stared at the place Melinda was looking at. "Is he there?"

"Yes." Melinda took a step forward. "Erik, I'm Melinda Gordon. Please don't hurt me again. I just want to talk."

Erik glared at her, puzzled. "You see me?"

"I see you," she agreed.

Morena scrambled to her feet and came to stand at Rick's side. "I don't see or hear him."

"That's Melinda's gift," Rick said quietly. "She sees what we don't."

"You've been hurting Morena's boyfriends," Melinda said. "You make them feel your despair."

Erik nodded. "She promised to be there for me. And she wasn't. So why should she be happy? Why should they get to feel her love?"

"Morena wanted to be there for you," Melinda said. "She dropped her phone in the bath. She wasn't ignoring you. She loved you."

Erik shook his head. "It's not true."

"It is true."

Morena nodded fervently. "I'm sorry, Erik. The phone slipped out of my hand. It was so stupid. The one time you needed me and I didn't know it! I'm so sorry."

Erik walked through the futon and stood in front of Morena. She shivered as he raised a ghostly hand and brushed it against her cheek, able to feel his touch.

"You were the only one who made me feel less alone," Erik said.

Melinda relayed this to Morena.

"I know," Morena said sadly. "That's why I'd never have left you. Even if we weren't going to be together, I always wanted us to be friends. I miss you so much."

Fresh tears ran down her cheeks.

"You don't have to punish her," Melinda told Erik. "She already blames herself."

Erik looked at the floor. "I didn't think we were getting back together," he said. "That's what made me tie a noose in the first place. I remember now. I was going to say goodbye. I don't think I intended for you to stop me."

"I might have," Morena wept as Melinda told her what Erik had said. "I would have tried to talk you out of it. Though only holding you truly helped. Erik, I always wanted you in my life."

"I didn't deserve you!" Erik's face crumpled.

Melinda recalled how holding Rick had helped, the way Morena and Erik had held each other. She also remembered how Rick had expressed his unworthiness; I'm not worth it. She wondered if Rick did feel that way, if his doubts had made him more vulnerable to Erik's influence.

"He says he didn't deserve you," Melinda said, choked up.

"That's a lie. He deserved more than I could give. He deserved to be truly happy!" Morena shook her head.

Erik embraced her and Morena gasped "Erik!"

"I'm sorry," he said and then stared over at the door. "What is that?"

"He's sorry," Melinda said to Morena. "Erik, do you see the Light?"

He nodded. "It's beautiful. It feels…peaceful."

"It is. You belong there now. Let Morena live her life," Melinda said.

Erik nodded. "Tell her I want her to be happy."

Then he walked into the Light and was gone.

Rick was quiet as Melinda began to drive home. Morena had taken his phone number and said she'd call when she'd had chance to process everything that had happened. She'd promised him lasagne, even if it was just a thank you to a friend.

"Are you all right?" Melinda asked.

"Yes. I'm just thinking of how tragic that was." He sighed. "I am truly grateful you came to see me and that you didn't take no for an answer."

She pulled up at a red light. "I'll always try and look out for you," she said. "I care, you know that?"

"Sure."

"No," she said firmly. "I know Erik was haunting you but when you said you didn't deserve my tears? That hurt. That scared me. You shouldn't feel so worthless."

Rick was uncharacteristically silent for a moment. At last he said, "You might see that self-deprecation as a necessary foil to my arrogance and self-aggrandizing."

She sighed as the light turned green. "I know who you are," she said. "I know you're not as shallow as you pretend and I know how you try to keep people at a distance. You don't have to pretend with me. And you can always reach out to me."

He nodded. "Okay," he said huskily.

Not wanting to set herself up for failure as Morena unwittingly had, Melinda said, "But promise me, if you need me and I'm not there for whatever reason, you'll reach out to someone else."

Rick scoffed at the idea, which concerned her. Was he really this alone, behind the bravado and the myriad colleagues? Had he lost one of his only true friends when Martin Schaer died?

"You have anyone in mind?" Rick asked at last.

Melinda thought for only a second. "You know Delia's a really good listener and she gives great hugs."

He laughed. "I like Delia. Okay, I promise."

Melinda smiled as she took a right turn. "Back to your place?"

"Can we stop for food first? I'm starving."

That was more like Rick.

"Absolutely," Melinda said. Something better than reheated soup, she thought, and headed for a restaurant she knew Rick would like.

She'd talk to Delia later and offer to buy her dinner for all the covering she'd done for Melinda. She'd also have to tell her that she'd volunteered Delia to be someone Rick could talk to. She knew Delia, who understood grief, wouldn't mind. If she'd been in the car with them Delia would immediately have offered.

She was lucky, to have so many people in her life she loved and trusted, who loved and trusted her. Melinda blinked hard as her eyes welled up, this time with tears of joy.

"You all right?" Rick asked as she parked up and rubbed gently at her eyes with one knuckle.

"Just thinking how lucky I am." She got out of the car and, as they headed for the restaurant entrance, took his hand and gave it a squeeze. She promised herself to never underestimate the power of touch, the importance of telling people she loved them, and how vital it was to ensure no-one ever felt unworthy,