Chapter Eight

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AN: There really was an Arlen, Georgia, but there's no record of it after 1915. There's not much about it before, either-I'm guessing they either merged or abandoned the place for some reason (probably the former, though). They should bring it back and rake in the money of fangirl tourists.

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Recognition. Good. Last night she'd been convinced he was someone else.

"How are you feeling?"

"Fuzzy." She blinked a few times. "My throat hurts."

"Then be quiet."


"You never could shut up for two minutes, could you?"

"Be nice to me, I'm sick."

Yeah. He was aware of that, thanks.

"What about a drink?"

She grimaced and shook her head.

 "Where's my Mum?"

"She's on the phone, but I can go get her."

"S'fine." He was tempted to go and get her anyway, but he was a little more curious about 'the man in the corner'. "Time s'it?"

"Around four."

She shrugged and pulled the blankets up over her head.


She hadn't mentioned anything yet. Maybe that was over with. Only one way to find out...

"Is your...friend...still here?"



"What's he doing?"

"He doesn't blink." she mumbled. "All he does is stand there."

"I see."

She didn't say anything after that.

Dude, you've got a hitchhiking ghost!

No such thing.

Shows how much you know.

Why can't we see him, then?

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