1.1

With both an aching chest and head, I fought against the heavy eyelids blocking my vision as I took in greedy, burning gulps of air.

Am I not dead?

Feeling a plush duvet on top of me, I could only weakly push it aside, trying to take in the new surroundings in the pitch black.

Despite the exhaustion trying to lull me back to sleep, I could sense that not only was another person breathing beside me, but somebody dead was also watching me.

Why wasn't I the dead person watching?

My hand reached for my temple, finding not a single wound no matter how many times my hands ran through slightly denser, longer hair than I was used to.

Confused and recognizing the slow, rhythmic sounds of the other living person showing they were sleeping, I whispered into the dark room, "Identify yourself."

Instead of a vague shadow or figure of a person, if I didn't know any better, I could have sworn the elder woman who stood at the foot of the bed was alive.

"Dianna, honey, I just saw you die," her round face looked me up and down, resting her cold, lifeless eyes on my chest, which was now exposed as I sat up.

Following her gaze, I noticed I was scantily dressed in a pitiful excuse of a strapless silk nightie with a built-in bra. The fabric on my chest clung to my skin uncomfortably, feeling warm and sticky. There was no mistaking the disgusting, metallic scent in the air. It was so strong I could practically taste it. So much blood.

My hands now ran awkwardly over my chest, trying to find evidence of a wound amongst all the blood, only finding a small hole in the bra cup, above my heart.

With a finger prodding through to touch completely intact flesh, my confusion only increased.

I had been shot in the head, but now there was evidence of a gunshot to the chest. A chest, that embarrassingly felt a little heavier than what I was used to.

Why was I in a bed, a bed of all places? With a stranger and a ghost that somehow looked as clear as day and knew my name.

"Am I hallucinating?" There was a theory she had read in a journal once, that we have one long vivid dream before fully dying. Was this it?

"No Honey, you're as real as I am," she tutted, leaning on the wooden footboard, "though oddly, you're perfectly alive, unlike me. How did you do it? I saw that man shoot you, right in the chest…"

Playing with the hole in the nightie, I frowned, "you saw who killed me? You saw Charlie?"

"Was that his name? Did you know he was coming for you? Then why did you drink that champagne like a fool? I told you that sister of yours was acting suspicious again."

"Who?" I was a single child, in fact, I didn't even have parents, or anybody else. I only had one non-biological family member. As Charlie had said about Sasha before, it was apt for him. Eric's soul was long gone, leaving her completely alone.

"None of this is making any sense, who are you?" I looked at the ghost, trying to study her closely now my eyes had adjusted well to the absent light.

She was of medium height, dark skin tone, and was a bit stocky. She wore a nurse's uniform that resembled something out of the world war two history books. Her ebony hair was meticulously permed up and even glasses were hanging around her neck attached by a chain.

"Well Honey, now I'm offended," she narrowed her eyes, trying to size me up, "you can't remember me?"

Feeling the growing hostility alongside the cold, I bit my lip, throwing her a pitiful expression, "I don't know what's happening, I thought I died. I know my name is Dianna, but everything else…"

Buying into my crocodile tears, the chill in the room began to rise back to more comfortable temperatures.

"You have amnesia? Just what did that foul bitch put in your drink?" She cursed a few times in a different language, then turned her attention back to my chest.

"You're not the first medium I've met, but you're certainly the first one I've seen able to conquer death," she chuckled, seeming at least pleased that I had done so.

"What about the person beside me?" I asked in a hushed whisper, feeling all the more conscious of them since their breathing seemed to speed up.

"Beats me, Honey, you were dumped in this room by your sister's idiotic friend… Then this man came in later, drunk as a skunk, passing out without even noticing you under the damn covers. Careless. Pair of you, both stupid children. It's a miracle either of you are still breathing."

As she continued to berate me, I could only wish to go back to being an only child. Some sister.

"Why?"

"Something to do with the evidence on your mobile phone of her cheating with your fiance. While you were unconscious, she used your thumb to log into it and deleted a bunch of stuff. She tried to get into your emails after that, but luckily you were smart enough to encrypt them or it would all be gone, then leaving that bastard would become even trickier for you."

She glanced over at an armchair covered in clothes near a small fireplace. Now I could see the furniture here more clearly, I couldn't help but think that the decor in the large room resembled art deco, a popular style in this ghost's era, but not in mine.

Was all of this real? Or a reality she was showing me in a dream? Am I awake? No, this was all one long death dream, wasn't it?

Not to mention a mobile phone? Wasn't that the big brick-like telephones rich people used to call each other?

Dr. Evrett had let me use his once, it weighed a ton.

The ghost's words may as well be spoken in a totally different language. Nothing made sense.

Thinking over it some more, I suddenly twisted to examine the man lying beside me. She said I had a cheating fiance, which she clearly knew, yet she said the guy beside me was a stranger… So who the hell was in the bed with me?

"Was he shot too?"

"They shot him first, in the head, but it missed. The bullet is inside his pillow case and there's only a graze on his temple when I checked. But you missy, you woke up and hollered so loud, they shot you and ran before they could shoot him again. It went straight through your chest! You were dead. I was waiting here to help you afterward, but now that you're alive and talking to me, I feel rather redundant"

"That's very kind of you," I could only mumble, fumbling on the sticky, damp sheet behind me and finding the small bloody bullet to confirm her story.

Amazed, I held it in front of my face, examining it, despite my one and only experience with a gun being the one Charlie used to kill me.

Yes, I was dead. This body, though it shared the same name, felt different, so different and odd and cold. However, it felt real, everything felt as real as when I was alive. So was this a dream or… am I possessing her? If so, where was I now?

"Honey, he's waking up," she reminded me before fading from my sight.

Messy, jet-black hair covered most of his pale face, but the more I focused, the less unfamiliar his facial features became.

"Eric?" I subconsciously called out, finding myself edging closer, eager to check over his wound. "Are you hurt? Are you in any pain?"

Silver, predatory eyes flashed open in the dark, startling me to move backward.

Barely making it a few inches, his large hand grabbed my forearm and tossed me to lie back on the sticky mess. He moved so fast, I was unable to resist as he pressed me under his large frame and brought a gun to my temple. The very same spot Charlie had used to end my life.

"Who are you?"

Hearing his voice, I was no longer able to feel fear for a completely different reason than before.

"Eric," I wrapped my arms around him, burying my head into his chest, too overcome with joy to give a shit about anything else.

Ten years. He had been dead for just over ten, long, lonely years.

Now he was right in front of me, living, breathing, talking, but also pulling a gun on me. Since when had my peace-loving Eric ever used a gun?

Initially, he flinched at my contact, but when my hands moved to touch his head, searching for a wound, he frowned.

When I withdrew my hand, pacified there was only a minor graze to his temple, I let out a sigh of relief and let my aching muscles finally sink into the plush mattress beneath me. It was softer than any bed I'd been on before.

There were four very loud, sharp knocks at the door, then the gun was finally removed from my temple and slid under the pillow beneath my head.

"Get in the shower," he pushed up from the bed and grabbed a shirt from the floor beside the bed, buttoning it up as the door knocked again.

"This is the London police, open up."

Startled, I scrambled to my feet, finding my legs a little shorter and my whole body awkward to maneuver in, especially under all this stress.

"Are you injured?" He finally asked, finishing with his shirt buttons and pulling up a pair of slacks.

"Now you ask," I grumbled, poking the hole in my chest again subconsciously, "no, but there's a lot of blood…"

"Okay, grab a shower and play along later," he waved his hand at me, pointing to an open door, and strode towards the door the police knocked at.

He moved so fast, I barely made it to the bathroom door in time to turn on the light before he reached the entrance of the room.

Though he had made it to the door, it wasn't until my eyes adjusted in the stupidly bright light to figure out the large, fancy shower and ran the water, that I heard him actually open the door.

"Officers?"

"Sorry to disturb you so early in the morning Mr. Knight, but we've received a report from a concerned guest about a disturbance in your hotel suite?"

Straining my ears to listen as best as I could, I aggressively scrubbed the blood from my chest furiously in the cold water.

Cold was always better for getting out a blood stain, hopefully, it worked the same on my skin.

Unlike my healthy tan and muscles, this body was so pale and weak. Even if the hair was longer than mine, reaching further than my chest, it was still the same sandy blonde at least.

I could only take some comfort in the similarities, no matter how small.