No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording or by information storage and retrieval system without written permission from author, except for inclusion of brief quotations in review. Printed in the United States of America NOVEMEBER (two weeks later) I never believed in ghosts—not until Leya was murdered. Now, I’m convinced she is nearby, an apparition waiting to connect. There is so much I want to say that I never said. So, I’m going to write because Leya loved writing. She once told me “You can reach anyone with your words, Lance.” and so my blog will be the words, the portal, the gateway where we can reunite. My name is Lancelot Bryce. My parents were major King Arthur fanatics. I’ve gone my whole life, fifteen-years, being called Sir Lancelot. It’s ironic. My name doesn’t fit me. After all, I was born a preemie and weighed about 3 pounds. My immune system sucks. I’ve had all kinds of illnesses no one even gets like whooping cough.
