Page 7 of The Imaginary Friend's Obsession

“Can he see through the glass?” I ask, my throat tight.

“Right now it’s transparent, yes.”

I take a shuddery breath and nod. “Can he hear me?”

Ezra steps up to the control panel.

“Once I hit the intercom button, he’ll be able to,” Ezra says. “Are you ready?”

I nod. Ezra flashes anokaysign.

Now that the time has come, I’m not sure what to say. I lean closer to the window, struggling to form words. “Dorian?” I ask, my voice cracking. “It’s me, Daisy. I know it’s been a very long time, but I… I’m here.”

I search the room on the other side of the window, but there’s nothing. I swallow a lump in my throat and fight back the tears pricking my eyes.

“Please, talk to me,” I say, desperation leaking into my tone. “Show yourself. Give me a sign. Anything…”

Show me that you’re real.

As I stand there, hand pressed against the glass, I wonder if it’s already too late. I don’t realize I’m trembling until Ezra touches my shoulder. I suck in a breath, wipe my eyes, and turn to him. “Is he gone?”

Ezra holds up a small device. It looks almost like a radiation detector, but with glowing lights that are currently shifting between green and yellow and back again.

“This is an EMF reader,” Ezra says. “It monitors electromagnetic fields. Most hauntings give off energy fluctuations. It’s reacting now, so he’s responding to your presence, but…”

As I lean in to look, the EMF reader spikes to orange. I step back, and it recedes.

Ezra is focused on the viewing window. “I’m not seeing any activity, but he’s definitely reacting.” He taps a display on the desk. “Temperature is dropping, too, which is another classic sign of a spirit’s presence. He’s there. He heard you.”

I bite my lip, fighting frustration. “I don’t understand why he won’t appear to me, then.”

Ezra looks up at me. “Are you saying you used to be able toseehim?”

I glance away, face heating. I was determined not to say too much, especially not anything that would make me seem different or weird, but it seems I’ve already blown it. “Um…”

“He might be too weak to manifest right now,” Ezra says, instead of pressing further.

Or he hates me. Or he was never real in the first place—

I gulp back the threat of further tears and force myself to nod. “Is there anything I can do to help?”

“Yes, actually, there might be.” Ezra stares into the cell, arms folded across his chest. “Spirits often lose themselves—and eventually fade entirely—when they’re forgotten. But it strengthens them to be acknowledged. To hear their names and things about their life. If you spend time with Dorian, talk to him, share what you remember, maybe there’s a way for you to remind him who he is.”

The thought of diving into our shared past, our secrets,that night, makes me sick to my stomach. I stare down at my shoes, unable to form a response. My heart saysyes, but the rest of me is so, so afraid.

Ezra says quietly, “I’m not going to force you to do anything you don’t want to do, Daisy. If you want to go, you’re free to go. I’ll erase your name from our files, and no one from the MRF will ever bother you again. I swear it.” I look up at him, startled. His expression is open and earnest, begging me to trust him, but I don’t know if I can.

Especially not if he intends to dredge up the past that I’ve tried so hard to forget. It will be an immense risk, uncovering all that I’ve hidden. For a terrifying moment, I imagine myself trapped in a cell just like the one on the other side of the glass. Padded walls and a straitjacket. Electrodes strapped to my head and needles in my veins. I shiver. I lived through my stint in the mental hospital, but there are worse—and more permanent—fates.

And yet if Ezra is correct, this is my only chance to make things right.

“Maybe it’s time for him to pass on,” Ezra continues. “I wanted to give you a chance to say goodbye, but if you think that’s what’s best—”

“No,” I burst out. The reaction is immediate, visceral—every fiber of my being screams against the notion. I slowly lift my eyes to meet Ezra’s. “I want to try to talk to him. Where do we start?”

He studies me and dips his chin in a nod. “With the beginning, I suppose.”

* * *

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