The cup moved slowly across the table.
"That's it!" Amy shrieked. "You've got it! Feel the cup! Be the cup!"
I was thrilled beyond belief. Perhaps this was the beginning, the first feeble steps of my journey towards being able to interact with the living. Dared I hope for more?
"Do you think we'll ever be able to materialise, like ghosts in horror stories?"
Amy shrugged. "I guess so but I've never been able to."
I gazed at her, deciding then to pursue an avenue of conversation I had been avoiding so far.
"Would you want to?" I asked.
She did not look up but replied, "I don't have anybody."
"Nobody?"
"No.
"Amy," I hesitated, "tell me what happened."
She shook her head. "I told you, I don't know."
I took her hand and spoke to her gently, "Tell me."
She looked up, her eyes filled with tears. "I think he killed me."
"Killed you?" I exclaimed. "Who? Kyle?"
She nodded. "When I was sleeping. I remember waking up and being unable to breathe, and struggling against an immense, smothering pressure over my face."
I felt a rage rise within me. "What a bastard. Where is he now?"
She pointed ... to my block of flats. Understanding suddenly flooded my mind: the noisy couple, the fight, Harry, the silence.
"Do you visit him?" I asked
Amy shook her head. "No, I'm too frightened."
"Frightened?" I replied. "Of what? He can't touch you any more."
"No," she said, "of what I might do to him."
