It seemed stupid, just stupid to have a fight or the undercurrent of one over something as ridiculous as ghosts. Still, she brooded over it another moment, on the verge of stupidity. Then she huffed out a breath. “Look,“ she began. After a pause, he sat back. “I’m looking.“ “What I’m getting at is… shit. Shit.“ She paced to his window, to the doorway, turned around again. Rules of marriage – and hell, one of the benefits of it, she admitted – were that she could say to him what she might even find hard to say to herself. “I have to live with so many of them.“ There was anger in her over it, and a kind of grief she could never fully explain. “They don’t always go away when you close the case, never go away if you leave a crack in it. I got a freaking army of dead in my head.“ “Whom you’ve defended,“ he reminded her. “Stood over, stood for.“ “Yeah, well, that doesn’t mean they’re going to say Thanks, pal,’ then shuffle off the mortal whatever.“ “That would be coil – and they’ve already done the shuffle before you get there.“ “Exactly.
