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amongst
themselves. She let the sound rise like a wave cresting on the ocean, waiting
for that perfect white cap before she suddenly opened her eyes, staring out at
them.
    There were a few audible inhalations then silence.
    “He’s gone now, Pirette. He wanted to stay with you, but he
had to move on. It was already using so much of his spiritual energy to remain
behind and give you this last message. Tom made a mistake. One he would regret
for the rest of his life and beyond. That regret, and his love for you, is so
strong that it’s keeping him from his afterlife. Can you forgive him? Will you
let him go and reach his final resting place?”
    Pirette was nodding.
    “He needs to hear the words. Can you say them?” Minerva
smiled warmly and gestured for the show’s host and producer, her friend Rachel,
to hand Pirette the microphone.
    Pirette cleared her throat, heaving back happy sobs. “I
forgive you, Tom. I love you.”
    The audience burst into riotous applause.
    “Pirette?” Minerva interrupted.
    “Yes?” Pirette eagerly leaned forward, tilting her
scarf-wrapped head. Minerva smiled at her. These were her favorite guests. They
wouldn’t get her rich, but those seeking comfort from lost relatives gave her
steady work that paid the bills, and it warmed her heart every time to know
she’d helped with their grief even a little bit. Surely the deception was in
the name of good? At least this time?
    Would she want someone to lie to her about Bram?
    “He is moving safely to the other side now. His face is
filled with joy. I see the light now—it’s enveloping him. Pirette, it’s time to
say your final goodbye and wish him peace on his journey.”
    Rachel held the microphone out to Pirette again and the
woman stuttered through her tears, “G-goodbye Thomas. I love you.”
    The woman beside her leaned forward and spoke. “We both love
you. So much.”
    As she spoke the words, the studio lights faded, slowly,
almost imperceptibly—Minerva’s crew was experienced and knew their cues down
cold.
    She watched the faces of the audience members, some
peaceful, with eyes closed, some weeping openly, a few still skeptical. Many
stared at Pirette or the empty spot in front of Minerva where the ghosts
supposedly stood.
    The man with glasses watched Minerva. He wasn’t clapping. He
was in the sixth row now, no longer at the back. When had he moved?
    The audience continued to applaud. The noise bounced off the
walls, filling the studio. Minerva’s head throbbed with the echo.
    The man in the sixth row had something in his hands. She
couldn’t see what it was…but then, as the cameras moved and the lighting angle
changed, she saw a deep-red wetness covering his hands, coating the sharpened
nails of his pale fingers. It shone in the light.
    Was it blood?
    How the hell had a man gotten past security covered in
blood?
    She aimed for her mark but her feet wouldn’t move. Her knees
buckled and she stumbled, looking down at the stage below her.
    When she raised her eyes again the seat in the sixth row was
empty.
    Minerva swiveled to look for him, staggering in her heels.
Where had he gone? Every instinct in her body screamed that something was
wrong. Icicles stabbed at her gut, warning her. And then she saw him, between
the cameras at stage left, nearly hidden in the blind spot between the stage
lights. He was holding something in his hands, something more than blood. It
looked slick and dark. About the size of a fist. Applause thundered and Minerva
felt her heartbeat rattle in her chest.
    The thing in his hands moved in time with her
heartbeat. It glistened, red-black and moist. The beat of her pulse grew
louder.
    The man was holding a human heart.
    She tried to gesture at Rachel to call security, but the
host was comforting Pirette, holding out the mic, seeking more response. The
stage lights flickered off glass in front of the stage—the man’s spectacles,
right beneath her. He reached up to her and in the yellow light