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“Where do you live, Daddy?”

“I live here, with you”

“But you’re dead”

I said nothing I hated to be rehter

“Why don’t you go to heaven, Daddy?”

I thought about that I think about that a lot, actually I said, “Daddy still has work to do”

“What kind of work?”

“Good work”

“I miss you,” she said “I miss you soPeople at school say I’m a crybaby”

“You’re not a crybaby,” I said “You’re just sad” My heart broke all over again “It’s tiel”

“Okay, Daddy”

“I love you, sweetie”

“I love you, too, Daddy”

I drifted up from the small wooden chair and moved across the room the way I do—silently and easily—and at the far wall, I looked back at her Her aura had subsided, although some of it still flared here and there For her to relax—truly relax—I needed to leave her room entirely

And so I did Through the wall

To hell with doors

3

I was standing behind hi the newspaper fro

His name was Jerrold, and he was close to sixty and close to retirement He lived alone and seemed mostly happy He was addicted to Internet poker, but as far as I could tell, that was his only vice

Thank God

He turned the paper casually, snapping it taut, then reached for his steaar and crea sip I could smell the coffee—or at least a hint of it, just like I could sel My senses eak at best

As he set down the , some of the coffee sloshed over the rim and onto the back of his hand He yelped and shook his hand I could see that it had immediately reddened

Pain

I hadn’t known pain in quite a long ti at a friend’s house, cutting carpet, and nearly severed my arm off

I looked down at h nearly ihostly hint of it

Still cursing under his breath, Jerrold turned back to his paper So did I He scanned thewith him After all, he was my hands in this situation

He read through soeles news, mostly political stuff that would have bored lanced over at his coffee while he read, trying to remember what it tasted like I think I remembered

I think

Hot, roasted, bitter, and sweet I knew the words, but I was having a hard ti the actual flavor That scared me

Jerrold turned the page As he did so, soht his eye, too

A piano teacher had been murdered at St Luke’s, a convertedused as a Catholic church and school Lucy Randolph was eighty-six years old and just three days shy of celebrating her sixtieth anniversary with her husband