And let me say that again with emphasis. Mornings suck. Not so much mornings at Mom's house. Those I wake up to the smells of bacon, eggs, b.u.t.tery biscuits (mmmmmmm), fresh-squeezed orange juice and coffee.

Just mornings in general--especially the ones where I'm not at the hospital and expected to do something I really didn't want to do. I did not want to look for Shadow People, mean people or even imaginary people. So I lay there in the bed with the missing-head-Mary and the over-stuffed bear in the chair with the pillow over my head.

You know how hard it is to try and ignore bacon and eggs? Unless you're a vegetarian, it's next to impossible.

Especially when your friend/manager/magical MacGyver shows up with hot chocolate.

"Oh, come on, Zoe," she finally said after I kept the pillow tight over my head. "The restaurant doesn't open for another four hours. If you don't get in there now you'll miss your opportunity."

No.

"Chicken s.h.i.t."

Bock. Bock.

"Zo-eeeeeeeee."

Wow. She whines better than me.

"Wow--she's not so tough looking from this angle."

Blink.

Wait. Hold the phone. That wasn't Rhonda's voice. That was a man's voice.

MAN!! In my room!!

I spun around on the bed--and let me tell you, John Woo would have been proud 'cause I nearly came up off the bed in slow motion as I turned--and landed with my elbows behind me to see Dags McConnell standing just behind Rhonda.

I was suddenly very glad I'd gone to sleep in my plaid loungers and not commando. I mean--a few seconds ago I'd had my bare a.s.s in Rhonda's face with my head buried, ostridge style.

Wait--is that how you spell that?

Looks weird.

Rhonda had her arms crossed over her chest. She also had her hair back in a pony-tail and wore dark jeans (duh) and a black sweater with a high collar. Looked kinda fuzzy and soft.

I reached out to touch it.

She pulled back--and not from anger--but from actual fear.

We both realized what had just happened at the same time and looked at each other. She'd been afraid I would suck on her soul again--and all I'd wanted was to touch the fuzzy.

"Zoe--I--"

I shook my head and waved my hand, hoping she caught the It's all right I meant in the gesture. Man, being voiceless sucked. Because at that moment Mr. Bartender-man was over near the big bear and bent over it, his hand reaching out to my dry-erase board I'd propped there before turning in.

I pointed to him and glared at Rhonda with my eyebrows up. Why is he here? I demanded with my eyes.

"Nona," Rhonda said.

Okay. That explained a whole lot. Well--not really. I knitted by eyebrows together and made the very obvious, universal gesture for what the h.e.l.l for?

Mr. Bartender-man was back at the bed. "Your mom left a message on my voice-mail. She was apologizing for you--for what happened--"

I pursed my lips at him. Rhonda moved past him and grabbed my board. She tossed it at me and I caught it one-handed. Not on purpose, but it looked cool. I scribbled on it.

APOLOGIZE 4 WHAT? UR THE PERV.

He looked down. His hair wasn't in a pony-tail today and was loose about his shoulders. He was dressed in a black leather pea-coat and jeans, a silver bracelet on his left wrist. "I explained to her that it wasn't your fault. We didn't exactly have the stall locked."

"Did you realize who you were s.h.a.gging in the bathroom?" Rhonda piped up.

"I knew about her grandfather, yeah. But that's what I'm paid to do--dig up intel on what I refer to as the unconventional conventional."

Rhonda and I looked at each other and she looked back at him with the biggest, dumbest grin I'd ever seen on her face. Oh good grief. Was that a crush I saw coming? "We thought you were a bartender and part-time orderly."

"That too," he looked at me. "I honestly thought you were dead. That's a very--unusual--ability you have there. You always had it?"

Erase. Scribble. LONG STORY. NEVERMIND.

Rhonda spoke up. "Have you always had the ability to see spirits? I mean, you saw Zoe at the bar that day, right?"

He looked at me and then back to Rhonda. I wasn't sure if he was excited or frightened. His eyes looked darker though--I could have sworn they were gray? "I saw her the moment she came in. I also knew Daniel couldn't see her. He comes in once or twice a week, has a coffee or a beer. We talk. Normal stuff, really. I was working at the bar because of a report of ghosts," he smiled. "I thought Zoe was that ghost until I realized she was paying close attention to the cop. And then I realized she came in with him."

I erased and scribbled. WHY R U AT HOSPITAL?

"I was hired to keep an eye on the Chief of Surgery, Dr. Allard Bonville."

I erased my board and scribbled. BY WHO?

"You mean whom?"

Scribble. a.s.s WIPE.

He smiled, undeterred. And then he shrugged. "I don't know. I get all my freelance work through a secured site I set up a few months back when I moved here from Savannah."

Rhonda looked back at me again and then took a step toward him. "You set up a secured ftp for jobs? How did you do that? Did you use standard applications or was this something you wrote on your own? How do your clients contact you--or how do they pay you?"

He grinned. "Well, first off I don't use FTP, I use MTP, which is Managed File Transfers. I first learned about it through a company called Communication Commerce, and then I learned they were part of a larger conglomerate and I like bailed as fast as I could. But I set up my own secured server using the MTP transfers and then I have my own secure bulletin board."

It was about that minute my brain tuned out. It was pretty sure it wouldn't understand any of what was said, much of it becoming the standard Charlie Brown adult speak of "wonk, wonk, wonk-wonk" and well-- But I did watch them for a few seconds. They were almost exactly the same height, their hair was close in color, though Rhonda's had the matt-black look of a spray painted car. His was shiny and healthy. They were both kinda gothy-emo-techno-babbly.

Hum. Was she crushing?

Not if I could help it. Did not want my best friend involved with some bathroom-stall-romance-guy. Even if he could see ghosts.

Grrrr.

No one noticed as I slipped out of bed and headed to the bathroom. I turned the hot on full-blast and turned to face some pale, strange woman in the mirror.

Gee-zus. I had really let myself go. It was one thing if Daniel saw me like this--I mean--he'd already seen me at some of my worst moments. Even with my teeth un-brushed.

But some strange man with a ponytail had seen me like this.

h.e.l.l--the whole hospital had.

Now I was feeling oogie about me. My hair looked absolutely like black straw. Even the d.a.m.ned white stripe that wouldn't go away looked like old lady's hair. My skin was blotchy, and not the smooth olive tone I was used to seeing.

Half moons hung beneath my eyes. I could see my cheek-bones. And maybe three months ago I would have liked the obvious drop in weight--but not at that moment. I leaned into the mirror and looked closely at myself.

It was like-- Well, it was like I was loosing some vital nutrient. Kinda like a plant looks when it doesn't get sun or water.

Water. Shower maybe?

Mental Note: need spa treatment. Check cash flow.

After the shower I looked more like a big wet piece of straw. Wrapped in a bathrobe (the big blue fuzzy one I'd bought myself a few weeks ago), I peeked into my bedroom. Rhonda and Dags weren't there.

Hunh.

I moved to the edge of the stairs and listened. I could hear mom, Rhonda, Dags and-- Holy moly. Mrs. Jemmy Shultz was downstairs too. They were having a pow-wow without me!

My stomach took that moment to growl.

Loudly.

"Zoe--stop playing spook and get down here and eat!" Mom yelled up at me.

It really sucks that even at my age my mom can STILL embarra.s.s me. I toweled my hair, braided it, and dressed casually in a black long-sleeve tee-shirt with Kevin Barry's logo (they have the best Irish Coffee evah on River Street in Savannah) on the back and a pair of comfy jeans.

Once down the stairs with my board I saw that everyone was huddled around one of the tables in the tea-shop, the Great Big Book of Everything in the center. Tim and Steve were even there.

Mom motioned me to a chair beside her and had a plate all ready. Coffee. Creamer and whip cream already in and on top. Yummy. Whipped cream. And then she handed me my testing kit.

Smart a.s.s.

As I opened the zippered pouch the conversation continued.

"--a.s.signed to the same floor," Dags said. "Which is also part of the reason I was being nice to Nancy because she has a bit of influence on scheduling--because of her grandfather. I've known the detective for some time. So even while I was spying on Nancy's grandfather, I've been periodically checking in on Detective Frasier."

Dags sipped his coffee. "But I would like to know exactly how he got into the condition he's in. I suspect it's due to unnatural circ.u.mstances."

Ah! Ninety-three. That was a decent morning sugar count. I shoved the read-out in mom's face. That's when I realized everyone was looking at me. I did the equivalent to a voiced-person's "What?"

I held my arms out, elbow bent and shrugged. Eyebrows high on my forehead. I hate my forehead. Too high.

"Zoe," Mom grabbed my wrist, the one with the monitor stuck in her face and read the display down her nose. Then she smiled at me and nodded. "That's nice, but I think it's time you shared the circ.u.mstances of Daniel's injuries with Dags."

I lowered my hand with a pout. I thought it was a good enough score to at least warrant an attagirl or something. I turned my morning irritation on Bartender-Boy. Can you hear me? I actually threw my thoughts at him like a dart at a corkboard.

And I was completely upset with myself when the boy actually fell backward off his chair. I stood up. So did mom. Rhonda was up and on the floor with him.

He didn't get up right away and I had that sinking feeling I'd just done something awful again. I was feeling like the kid who couldn't get anything right, not even walking through a house carefully. One miss-step and I knocked over the Ming vase.

"Zoe!" Rhonda's tone was upset. "What the h.e.l.l did you do? His nose is bleeding!"

Huh? I was around the table and standing next to an observant Jemmy Schultz. She had on a blue housedress today, with white stockings and matching blue slippers.

Dags on the other hand lay on his side, his pony-tail splayed out about his head, his eyes closed and blood oozing from his nose.

Son. Of. A. b.i.t.c.h.

"Zoe," Mom's voice was a little more calming, but I could tell she was still irritated. "I didn't see you go OOB. What happened?"

"You threw your thoughts at him," Tim said in a very soft voice. He was visible near the counter that looked into the tea-shop's kitchen. "That's new."

I--I didn't mean too. I knew Tim and Steve could hear me, but no one else. I looked about for my board, and reading my thoughts, Jemmy reached across the table and retrieved it for me. Guilt was an all too palpable thing at the moment--because in truth I had meant to throw my thoughts at him.

But who knew they'd skewer him like a shish kabob???

I DIDN'T THINK THEY WOULD HIT.

Mom and Rhonda skimmed my board then both of them gave me identical faces. Ack. Was that rehea.r.s.ed?

Jemmy was abruptly in the kitchen, grabbing a clean cloth, loading it with cold water and then returning to where Dags was down. I stood dumbfounded.

It just seemed to me that men were constantly getting hurt around me. And I was the cause of this. I thought of Daniel, and realized he was all-alone in the hospital.

We were all here.

Rhonda had propped Dags' head up on her lap and was now dabbing at his nose with the wet rag. It looked like a sweet moment. Too bad I was the bully on the playground that whacked him.

Then he stirred, and moaned and looked up to see Rhonda, and totally turned seven shades of red. I put a hand over my mouth to avoid laughing--I was gonna say hysterically--but how can you laugh like that when you don't make noises?

s.h.i.t.

"Uh--" Dags said.

"Oh--" Rhonda said.

Both of them disengaged.

But when Dags tried to sit up, he grabbed his head with his hands. His nose wasn't bleeding anymore, but the rim of it was dark with dried blood. Rhonda did an awful job cleaning it. And there was blood on his collar.

"You okay, sugar?" Jemmy was bending over and I moved out of the way of her caboose.

I'm sorry, I'm sorry oh I am so sorry-- "All right, all right," Dags muttered in a strained voice. "I can hear you. Just--use your verbal jujitsu somewhere else. Okay? I'm not the enemy here."