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you’re here, your emotions naturally dim.”
    â€œExcuse me?”
    â€œThis space anesthetizes you.” He gestures at my surroundings, and I take in the foggy landscape, noticing that there are soft spots of light here and there that move across the bleakness, and it seems like they could cast a warmth over the gray background, if only they’d stay still.
    â€œIt’s so . . . blank,” I say.
    â€œIt’s designed to help you detach from life.” His words are practiced, flat, like he’s said them a thousand times, and he’s not meeting my eyes now. Was it easy for him?
    â€œI don’t want to detach from anything!” I shout, more tears coming now. I can’t give up what I had without a fight.
    â€œAnger isn’t useful.” Thatcher shakes his head like he’s as confused as Ryan by my reaction—or maybe feeling threatened by it.
    â€œNot useful ?” I scoff.
    â€œIt won’t help you haunt. It can hurt you.”
    â€œSo can denial.” My voice, cold and hard, echoes around us. The irony doesn’t escape me: I’m doing exactly what I’m accusing him of—denying that this gray place is my reality.
    Thatcher flinches slightly, almost imperceptibly. I don’t know if he’s reacting to my words or my tone. His face becomes an unreadable mask. “Do you remember your life?”
    I focus on the bright spots that move across the surface of the mist. A flash of images races through my mind—Mama’s pearl nails, Daddy’s big brass laugh, my yellow tufted rug, Carson blowing bubbles in the yard, Nick in front of me in science . . .
    â€œOf course I remember it,” I whisper.
    His forehead wrinkles with concern. “That’s unusual but not impossible to deal with.”
    â€œWell, that’s a relief. I wouldn’t want to be impossible to deal with.” If I weren’t already dead, I’d die from the pain.
    Sarah kneels in front of me but keeps her distance. “You’re going to be okay. We know it’s overwhelming at first. That’s why you’re given a Guide.”
    â€œBut there’s been a mistake, right?” I ask hopefully. “You’re going to send me home.”
    â€œNo mistake,” she says gently, cautiously, as though she’s afraid of setting off another emotional rampage.
    I drop my head forward, confused, disbelieving, and the mist swirls around me quickly.
    â€œSo what do you think?” asks Ryan. He glances first at Sarah and then at Thatcher. “She seems extremely emotional. She shouldn’t be so emotional.”
    Not be emotional? How can anyone not grieve when they’ve lost everything?
    â€œI’ll take her,” says Sarah, her tone light and energetic. “It’s my turn in the rotation, so . . .” She gestures for me to stand, but before I do, Thatcher says, “No.”
    He glances at Sarah hastily. “I mean, I’ll take her.”
    â€œI don’t mind,” says Sarah. “You just finished with that boating accident guy and you probably need a break—”
    â€œI said I’ll take her,” Thatcher repeats decisively.
    Sarah shrugs and stands up, stepping back from me.
    â€œTake me where?” I ask.
    â€œWell, if you’ve got this, Thatcher . . . ,” says Ryan, turning to go.
    â€œGood luck!” says Sarah as she spins around to follow him. Then she glances back over her shoulder at me. “Don’t worry, you’ll do fine. Thatcher’s a really skilled Guide—he’s been here longer than any of us.”
    She smiles before disappearing into the mist with Ryan.
    I give my attention to Thatcher, who’s staring right at me. He’s clenching his strong, defined jaw, his arms folded over his broad chest. If I concentrate, I can see beneath his shimmering robe to faded jeans and a tight black T-shirt that