8:12 P.M.

           IwatchKimandAdamdisappeardownthehall.ImeantofollowthembutI’mgluedtothelinoleum,unabletomovemyphantomlegs.It’sonlyaftertheydisappeararoundacornerthatIrousemyselfandtrailafterthem,butthey’vealreadygoneinsidetheelevator.

           BynowI’vefiguredoutthatIdon’thaveanysupernaturalabilities.Ican’tfloatthroughwallsordivedownstairwells.IcanonlydothethingsI’dbeabledoinreallife,exceptthatapparentlywhatIdoinmyworldisinvisibletoeveryoneelse.AtleastthatseemstobethecasebecausenoonelookstwicewhenIopendoorsorhittheelevatorbutton.Icantouchthings,evenmanipulatedoorhandlesandthelike,butIcan’treallyfeelanythingoranybody.It’slikeI’mexperiencingeverythingthroughafish-bowl.Itdoesn’treallymakesensetome,butthenagain,nothingthat’shappeningtodaymakesmuchsense.

           IassumethatKimandAdamareheadedtothewaitingroomtojointhevigil,butwhenIgetthere,myfamilyisnotthere.There’sastackofcoatsandsweatersonthechairsandIrecognizemycousinHeather’sbrightorangedownjacket.Shelivesinthecountryandlikestohikeinthewoods,soshesaysthattheneoncolorsarenecessarytokeepdrunkhuntersfrommistakingherforabear.

           Ilookattheclockonthewall.Itcouldbedinnertime.Iwanderbackdownthehallstothecafeteria,whichhasthesamefried-food,boiled-vegetablestenchascafeteriaseverywhere.Unappetizingsmellaside,it’sfullofpeople.