"You look lost," the nurse said. "The stairs are that way."

She pointed in the direction we had been moving.

"My friend," I said. "He . . . he was down the hall. He" -I was not ready to say the word, but this was no time to look for another way to phrase it-"died. Just a few minutes ago. But I think he's here."

She folded her hands by her waist and said nothing.

"Did you hear me?" I said. "My friend. His name is Stephen. He's tall, he's got dark brown hair, he's . . ."

Someone stopped for a second to watch me talk to an empty space in the middle of the hall. Thorpe wheeled around a bit and ended up standing next to the nurse. Someone else bumped us and told us to move to the side.

"My friend," I said again. "Did you see him?"

"The stairs are this way." She indicated the direction once again.

I was in no mood to deal with this ghost. Not now. I put my hand in front of her face.

"Listen to me. This . . ." I pointed to the ceiling to indicate the general chaos. "I did this. If I touch you, you go away. Now, tell me if you saw my friend."

Thorpe's brow wrinkled, but the nurse didn't change expression. She didn't so much as glance at my hand.

"I am here for the dying," she said. "You don't belong here. You will go."

"I'll leave when you tell me-"

"You'll leave now," she said. "You do not belong here."

Everything about her went kind of blurry-like I was seeing her through a fuzzy lens. She was color and an expanding area of light, something terrible and strong. I backed up quickly, and Thorpe took a few steps toward me to try to follow this strange dance. I didn't know if I had anything to fear from her. I didn't know if I could destroy her, but I had no intention of doing that. This was her hospital, and she seemed to understand something about me that I didn't know. I dropped my hand and felt all will ebbing away from me.