"I'm sorry to hear that," Bulmer said. "But we need to get him in out of the rain."

Hooking an arm under Tiller's, Michael tried to help the guy to his feet. Tiller fought him off, pushing Bulmer away as well. "No!" Tiller shouted. "I can't leave!"

"Why?" Bulmer asked. "You'll be more comfortable back in one of the tents."

"My dad," Tiller said.

Bulmer hesitated. "We'll talk about your dad."

"My dad," Tiller tried again, "my dad doesn't want me to leave!"

"Your dad wouldn't want you to stand around out here," Bulmer stated.

"Then tell him!" Tiller straightened and pointed into the darkness ahead of them. "Tell him!"

At first Michael didn't see anything. Then, gradually, an ethereal shape seemed to materialize from the darkness just beyond the touch of the flashlight beam.

The figure was vaguely man-shaped, then more details became clearer. The man looked like he'd been covered from head to toe in some kind of silver shimmer, like an image from a black-and-white film that had been computer-generated onto color film the way Michael had seen in some commercials. He was tall and broad, with a cruel face, tiny eyes, and a wide, hard mouth.

The only thing that didn't fit was the short length of rope dangling from the noose around the guy's neck.

"Do you see it?" Michael asked. He had to strain to speak.

"See what?" Junior called down.

Michael gestured with the flashlight, noticing how the beam shone through the garish figure and played over the rocks and cacti on the other side. "The ghost."

"Don't see nothing," Flynn said.

Michael wanted to turn to Flynn and demanded to know how he couldn't see the ghost. Instead Michael kept the flashlight beam focused on the sinister image. For the first time, he caught the silvery glints of rain passing through the ghost.

"I don't either," Bulmer commented. "Give me a hand, Guerin. I want to get Tiller out of the rain. Maybe back to Roswell tonight."