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For 112 years, John has existed in a grayscale purgatory, watching the living flicker by in a world he can never touch. His only companion? A Bengal tiger who understands silence better than words. But everything changes when a woman named Clementine meets his gaze—and truly sees him.
When Clementine falls onto the tracks of an oncoming train, John knows he can't save her. He’s just a ghost, after all. Except… he can touch her. And when he does, he transforms—flesh, blood, and breath returning as if he never died at all.
Clementine holds a secret: a powerful tuning fork that can raise the dead. And now, a ruthless doomsday crime syndicate known as the Ghouls Gang is hunting her, determined to wield the artifact for their own twisted agenda. As John and Clementine race to uncover the truth behind the fork’s power, they must face the terrifying question—why was he brought back? And what happens if the dead refuse to stay buried?
With time running out and an unnatural army on the rise, John and Clementine’s only chance at survival may be a love that defies death itself.
CHAPTER 1
“Where did you find that?” John asked, turning to the white bangle tiger next to him.
The tiger lifted its massive furry head and put a paw protectively over the plastic baby doll in front of him. He yawned and stared at John, then resumed his cuddling.
John shrugged. “Suit yourself.”
It was a busy day at the Gare Du Nord train station. John and the tiger sat at their usual perch underneath the concrete steps that led up and into the Paris streets. His eyes roamed lazily around the station as he scratched at the dark stubble of a beard he’d been trying to grow out for the past one hundred and twelve years. He really wished he had died a shaved man.
A woman walked in their direction, her gait erratic, stopping and starting as her head turned in every direction, watching the surrounding people with pinched eyebrows and frowning lips. She skidded toward them in brown leather boots and a green canvas jacket, a messenger bag strapped across her chest. She gripped the strap rigidly; he could almost see her knuckles white under the strain of her hold.
What an odd woman. John stood up. He wanted a closer look. Maybe if he could see her eyes a little better, he could understand the fear that seemed to grip the young woman. Besides, he thought, stretching in his faded blue jeans and checkered shirt. What else did he have to do that day?
John straightened the hat on his head and took a step toward her.
The woman’s eyes shot to his, then turned to the tiger. John stopped. The woman stumbled, her mouth falling open. She pointed a shaky finger at him and shook her head.
John looked behind him. No one was there. He looked at the tiger. He turned back to the woman. “Can you see us?”
“Get away from me,” she stammered, taking a step backwards.
John took his hat off, trying to remember his manners. He waved a hand in front of his face. “I don’t mean to disturb you, ma’am, but, you see, people can’t usually see us.’ He took a step toward her.
The woman took another step back. “I-is that a tiger?” Her head spun around her. “There’s a tiger in the train station,” she squeaked, grabbing the closest person to her. “Do you see the tiger?”
“Crazy American Tourist,” the man said, pulling his suit lapels from her hands and pushing past her.
John kneaded the hat in his hands and gave the woman his best smile. “My name’s John, and that’s-“ he threw a thumb over his shoulder. “That’s Bailey. We just sort of keep each other company.”
He watched the woman’s lips sound out the tiger’s name.
John held up a hand. “Don’t ask about the name. Trust me. He gets pretty sensitive about it."
The woman continued to retreat away from him.
“Say, you feeling alright? You look a little pale.”
“Why can’t anyone see you? Is this a joke? Did he send you? Are you going to kill me?”
John held up his hands to calm her. “No one sent me, ma’am. You’re completely safe.” He laughed nervously. “From me and Baily, at least.”
“Get away from me,” the woman whispered. She spun around, ready to bolt, not realizing she was on the edge of the platform.
“Wait!” John yelled, hand outstretched toward the woman.
It was too late. He watched in horror as she disappeared down onto the train tracks.
John moved through the crowd, muttering apologies no one could hear. He looked down at the tracks. The woman lay sprawled across the tracks, her eyes closed.
A train screeched in the distance. Someone screamed. The tracks vibrated.
“Ma’am?” John called to her, crouching down from the end of the platform. “Ma’am, now would be a good time to move.”
She stirred, easing her head from side to side.
John looked around himself and thrust a hand toward the tracks. “Isn’t anyone going to help this woman?”
People pointed, one person ran away. No one made any moves to help.
John shook his head, further convinced of humanity’s downward spiral. He slid off the platform and onto the tracks, unsure if he could even touch her. Something growled behind him.
John looked up. “You here to help or just gawk like the rest of these idiots?”
The tiger sat down.
“I’ll remember that,” the man said, turning back to the woman. “Ma’am? Ma’am, the train’s coming. Get up! Get up now!” He snapped his fingers in front of her face. She stirred but did not wake up. He leaned just above her, afraid his touch would go through her like smoke as it did with everyone else.
The train approached the station. The brakes screeched, sparks flying from underneath the machine. It wouldn’t have time enough to stop.
John took a deep breath, stretched out his fingers toward her shoulders, and grabbed on. If his heart could beat, it would have jumped. He felt solid matter underneath his fingertips, the softness of cotton, and small shoulders underneath.
I can’t believe it. John pushed the elation into the pit of his stomach and picked her up into his arms, shoving her back onto the platform. He took a fleeting glance back at the train that barreled down on him and pulled himself up, rolling onto the platform and over the soft body of the woman, feeling the rush of wind and the scream of brakes at his back.
John hadn’t realized he had squeezed his eyes shut until he opened them and found he had rolled on top of the woman.
Feet appeared around them. Voices rose.
“You are a hero, Mr. Cowboy!” he heard over his shoulder. He felt hands patting him on the back. John looked up. A crowd of people stared down at them. At him! They were staring at him!
Baily walked up casually, finding a spot that didn’t have feet in it. He yawned. No one seemed to notice.
The woman opened her eyes, her lips parted, as if searching for words to say.
“Hello,” John said stupidly.
“Hello John,” she said back.
He realized then the awkwardness of their situation, his now solid body sandwiching her to the ground. He moved to the side, and the woman sat up, a hand to her head.
People lifted them up by their armpits, smacking him on the back in congratulations before hurrying on to their own destinations.
John rubbed the back of his neck. “Will you be alright?”
She shook her head. “What are you?”
John shrugged. “I don’t think I know anymore.”
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