Dead Romantic by Ruth Saberton

either the doctors have missed something pretty major on my brain scan or I’m going crazy. There’s no other logical explanation. I’m seeing visions of a dead rock star with whom I’m having imaginary arguments in my own sitting room. I mean, does that sound normal? If it hadn’t been for the huge pinch marks on my arm I would have assumed I’d just fallen asleep and dreamed the whole episode.
    My hallucinations of Alex Thorne had freaked me out so much that I’d been incapable of making further progress with my notes for the job application; nor had I felt able to re-examine my emailed scans of Aamon to see whether there was any truth in Alex’s revelation. Or was it my own revelation, conveyed in a dream? My thoughts had been like tangled fishing twine, and no matter how hard I’d tried I just couldn’t unravel them to make any sense of it all. Just as I’d followed one lead it had snagged and knotted itself up into another. Alex was merely a figment of my mind, I’d lectured myself sternly as I’d brewed some tea to warm myself up; the details I’d thought he’d told me I must have heard somewhere previously, that was all. The accident had just caused the part of my mind that processed memory and time to act a little differently. I’d cheered up significantly at this thought – until a small voice that I couldn’t quite ignore pointed out that I’d been given the all-clear by my consultant. Besides, I knew that I’d never heard of Thorne before.
    Still icy cold, I’d paced around the flat trying desperately to find an explanation. At one point I’d even raided Susie’s pile of Fate and Destiny magazines just in case the articles on angels and guides and psychics could shed any light on the problem. Luckily I came to my senses halfway through an interview with the infamous Lilac Delaney, who was discussing how she’d first discovered her psychic gifts. No bumps on the head or dead rock stars for her; apparently she had always been able to see dead people, in true Sixth Sense style.
    “It’s my calling to help loved ones on the other side come through to share their messages of hope,” she’d gushed. “Even pets that have passed over have something to say.”
    As Lilac had continued to communicate the innermost thoughts of a dear departed moggy, I’d put the magazine down in disgust, convinced that even reading it was sufficient evidence that I was losing my mind. Frustrated, I’d taken myself off to bed. I must admit I undressed as fast as I could, unable to shake the thought that Alex was lurking in the shadows hoping to catch a glimpse of my bra and pants. Honestly, the whole thing was ludicrous; there was no way I could carry on like this. If I was cracking up then I’d better find out why, and fast, before I started chatting to Elvis or something. It was always better to know the facts. If Mum had shown a doctor her lump sooner rather than spending weeks in denial, things might have been very different...
    So, bearing all these factors in mind, when I woke up this morning the first thing I did was make an appointment to see my GP.
    “There has to be a logical reason,” I whisper to myself. “There has to be.”
    “Keep telling yourself that if you want,” says an amused voice that’s starting to become annoyingly familiar. “I’ve already told you the truth. You really can see me. No pills will make me go away”
    Glancing to my left I groan out loud, causing several patients to look over in alarm. Alex Thorne is lolling in the chair next to me. His dark hair flops over his eyes but I can tell he’s grinning at me.
    “Go away,” I hiss – or rather, I try to, but I don’t want to look like a total lunatic addressing thin air. Quite a few other people are looking at me in a rather worried fashion now. I can’t say I blame them. I’m looking at me in a rather worried fashion too.
    “How can I if I don’t exist?” says Alex reasonably.
    It’s a good point – not that