Miss Fortune

Chapter Five

"Look, I know you can hear me. I know you can hear and see me, so just knock it off and talk to me already, will you? I'm not kidding, man. This is important!"

Thorin continued to ignore the familiar voice as he clicked through television stations. If he continued to ignore Frerin, maybe he'd go away. If not, Thorin was pretty sure he'd end up on Cuthbert's sofa, explaining how he must have cracked, because now he was seeing ghosts. More to the point, the ghost of his dead brother. And not only that, but the ghost of his dead brother talked to him. Well, yelled at him, more or less.

Too bad there was nothing decent on. The Rangers had gotten knocked out of the playoffs in the first round weeks ago and he didn't give a damn about the Capitols, so—

Something yanked the remote from his grasp and the screen went black. "Stop it, goddamn it! You know I'm here. Why are you being so fucking stubborn?"

Thorin fought not to notice the icy tingle now prickling the skin of his right arm from elbow to fingertip. Trying to remain nonchalant, he climbed out of bed and padded across the bare floor toward the door. "It's just my imagination."

"Oh, for Chrissakes, you know it isn't!" A rush of icy wind blew by him and the door slammed shut. "I need your help, Thorin. Come on. Are you really going to turn your back on your kid brother?"

The swirling silvery-white mist began to take form, stepping in front of Thorin as he turned to go back to the bed.

"You're not really here. You're just my imagination, a long day, and not nearly enough sleep." Thorin muttered, fighting to keep his eyes focused on the tall, still sightly frosted vodka bottle on his bedside table. "And maybe a little too much of this. I just need to sleep it off. That's all. A good night's sleep and—"

"Christ, Thorin—do you think I don't know? Do you think I don't know that you've been hitting this like a lunatic?" The bottle bobbed before his eyes. "You're killing yourself, man. Do you hear me? Killing yourself. Pretty soon, you'll be over here with me and while the angels won't stand a chance, Mom and Pop and Dís are going to be wrecked."

A heavy sigh made the room that much colder and Thorin sucked in a sharp breath as a sudden chill rippled through his chest. He turned away, forcing his eyes to focus on the wall behind his bed now. On the window. The faint gleam of light through the trees behind his apartment building. A neighborhood of houses backed his complex. New houses. Big houses on postage stamp sized properties. Anything to take his mind off what happened right before his eyes.

For all the good it did.

"Hey, T," a hint of laughter crept into Frerin's voice, "let me tell you about a girl I met today. You'd like her. She's a cute little number. Not really my type, but I can see the two of you getting it on at least once. Come on, Thorin. Aren't you even just a little curious who she is? C'mon, man, just look at me."

Thorin squeezed his eyes shut. Jesus H. Christ on a pogo stick, let me just wake up already. "Go away."

"Aha!" Frerin's voice rang with triumph. "Come on, Thorin. You know it's me. Even Nana thinks she sees me from time to time."

"Nana's ninety-five."

"Yeah and she's sharp as a tack. We've always said that." Another chill burned along the middle of Thorin's chest and he knew if he looked, he'd see Frerin's hand planted there. "And you know. I see you flinching, man. Knock it off already and open your goddamn eyes. It's okay, Thorin. It's me. It's Frerin."

"Frerin's gone," Thorin said, his voice heavy with sadness. "And I don't believe in this afterlife crap. Not one bit."

"Sure you do. You work with Grandma Prescott all the time. You're talking to a fucking ghost, Thorin. Look—"