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Hollis lay out flat. Everything hurt.

He’d lost all of Yulia’s stuff under the house, barely managed to get his phone and wallet. His shoulder was bruised enough that he thought it might be bleeding, his lungs burned from all of Walt’s shouting. Throat still ached from whatever that spirit did, his skull pounded with what was sure to be a terrible migraine, and his ears were still ringing.

It took far too long for him to notice that he was alone.

Walt.

Hollis looked at the collapsed building.

“Walt,” he said, out loud this time.

He forced himself to sit up.

He couldn’t even scream because he’d done enough of that already. It was too dusty to pick out water droplets in the bright midday sun. He didn’t know what to do. He tried not to think about how Yulia’s solution had worked. How if he’d gone to Yulia and her pa to begin with, he and Walt could have been separated months ago. He could have placed Walt in this house with the rest of the ghosts and gone home like nothing happened.

Hollis didn’t think about that. He couldn’t.

Rose Town was finally quiet, and it was cold.

Hollis covered his face with his hands.