Free Tonya Hurley_Ghostgirl_03 by Lovesick Page B

go to her brain,” Wendy Thomas suggested, prompting nods of agreement from Pam and Prue. “She’s insane.”

“Darcy was right,” Wendy Thomas said, staring in disdain and disbelief at the scene unfolding in front of her. “Time for a friendectomy.”

Chapter 8 Pictures of You

Send me the pillow

The one that you dream on.

—The Smiths

I second that emulsion.

Sometimes it’s the things that are all around us that are hardest to see, especially love. Like dust particles suspended in a ray of sunshine, love remains invisible to us until it is illuminated. When our hearts can’t see clearly, love creates a Tyndall effect of its own, helping us to shine a light on what is always there, even in our darkest times.

Charlotte found herself on a sidewalk in front of an industrial-looking building. It could have been an office tower, an apartment building, or a prison, from the looks of it, and if she didn’t know better, she would have sworn she was still on the afterlife compound. There were huge differences here, however, like traffic, leafy trees, lawns, and people. Lots of young people. And a sign that said “State College.”

The building in front of her was where she belonged—where Damen belonged. She walked through the double glass doors and into the lobby, where she noticed a register of students and room assignments. Charlotte picked out Damen’s name right away, as if it was highlighted, and tried to ignore the crush of kids passing around and through her on their way to class, or on their way to skip class.

Charlotte waited at the elevator for someone to push the Up button and rode up to his floor, just to get the hang of it all again. It hadn’t been all that long since her trip back to rescue Petula, but she was rusty. It was definitely taking her a minute to get her “life legs” under her. When the doors opened, Charlotte walked down the gray indoor/outdoor carpeted hallway to Damen’s room and literally poked her head through his door, looking for signs of life. No one was around, which was just as well. She needed a minute to gather herself. Charlotte walked over to the window and looked down onto the square.

She looked around Damen’s room and headed for his desk. There were some textbooks piled up on the floor, a few trophies, a guitar and amp, two unmade twin-size beds, a ratty couch, stained coffee table, and of course, some state-of-the-art electronics—a black surround-sound speaker system that dangled from the beige walls, a DVD player, a silver-edged flat-screen TV, and the latest computer and all the peripheral toys to go with it.

This was a guy’s room all right, not really that different from Damen’s room back home, as she recalled from her single visit there. Apart from a poster or two the only color in the room was a few pictures she noticed above his desk, thumb-tacked to his cork bulletin board. She leaned in closer to get a better look.

“What’s he doing with pictures of another girl?” Charlotte thought as she studied the photo.

She gasped when she realized it wasn’t a stranger at all, but Scarlet. The girl in the picture was styled and groomed so perfectly, looked so grown-up.

As she turned from the desk, the next thing that caught her eye was Damen’s unmade bed and the unexpected writing on the wall above it. Charlotte walked over to it, studying every slant, tracing each stroke like an amateur graphologist. It was Scarlet’s—there was no mistaking it—and the sentiment was beautiful, but Charlotte could see trouble in it too. Something was wrong.

Charlotte returned to the picture and took an even closer look. It was definitely from a recent event, New Year’s Eve, maybe. Damen was smiling, Scarlet too, but the way he was holding her so tightly, and the way she was leaning away, ever so slightly, spoke volumes. Still, Charlotte checked herself; maybe she was looking for problems where there weren’t any. An unfortunate side effect of her reverse