It wasn’t normal. It went far beyond off-kilter brain chemistry, sinuses, or even the immobilizing cranial thud of a bad hangover. In fact, I was pretty sure that even a deeply sickening, hangover-induced headache might have felt better right about now.

Like a fool in denial, however, I still kept trying to convince myself that it was nothing more than lack of sleep and eyestrain brought about by the numerous hours I’d been spending in front of my computer. The cold truth was, I knew better. The constant ache was just as ethereal in nature as the recurring nightmare, and it was another prime indicator that something unpleasant was going to happen. I just didn’t know what or when, and no one on the other side was talking.

I shook my head gently, regretted the action, and then wondered for a moment at my own thoughts. Whenever they were talking, I wanted nothing more than for them to go away. But, when they fell silent, I practically begged them to say something, anything-especially at times such as this. It was a typical love-hate relationship between not so typical partners.

Of course, I often thought that what would make the most sense was for me to have never heard their tortured voices at all. To have never pierced the veil between the worlds, effectively becoming a conduit for the dead. It’s not like it had ever brought me anything but grief.

But, there was nothing I could do about that now. I’d tried shutting the imaginary door several times, but its latch was broken and it wouldn’t stay closed.