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were jammed tight, and my grip was weak.
      My strength faltered, and again I hit the floor. I grabbed the shelves and yanked.
      Nothing.
      Kate's lids buckled under the weight of narcotic slumber. The rest of her wasn't far behind. I mustered all my failing strength, pulling the shelves as hard as I could. Then the world went dark, and Kate was gone.
     
    I was back in the Friedlander body, sitting in the recliner and holding a towel full of ice to the knot on my head, when Kate finally came to. She'd been out for nearly a day. I'd left her lying on the couch, her head turned aside in case she wasn't done throwing up. She hadn't been. For a while I thought this headache was for nothing – she'd grown sicker and paler with every passing hour. Around midnight, though, she'd turned a corner. She'd stopped throwing up, and a little color returned to her cheeks.
      Now, her eyes fluttered open. Kate looked around a moment, confused. I saw a flicker of remembrance as her gaze met mine.
      "What…" she rasped. "What happened? "
      "You took some pills," I replied. "You tried to check out. Just lie still a bit – you're going to be OK."
      "Pills," Kate repeated, casting her gaze toward the open bathroom door. "Of course."
      "How'd you know you'd find them there? The pills, I mean."
      "I didn't – I just got lucky. But every bathroom's got a mirror. Figured I'd slit my wrists and just fade to black. I guess I wasn't quite as lucky as I thought." Her face was clouded with suspicion. "What the hell did you do to me?"
      "I did what I had to. You could have died , Kate."
      "I wish I were dead."
      "Yeah, well, I'm glad you're not."
      She snorted. "You're glad? You were so scared of me, you tied me to a chair."
      "You tied up now?"
      Kate lifted her head. The effort caused her to wince. "No," she replied. "But I ought to be. I'm not to be trusted. I killed my family." A single tear slid down her cheek.
      "No, Kate," I said. "I don't think you did."
      "I don't understand. You said they saw–"
      "I don't doubt what they saw. I just don't think it was you that killed them."
      "You're not making any sense."
      I flashed her a wan smile. "Maybe not," I replied. "Or maybe you and me just have different ideas about what makes sense."
      She clenched shut her eyes and pinched the bridge of her nose between thumb and forefinger. "My head is killing me," Kate said. "If you plan on talking around in circles all day, I'm going to need a couple aspirin."
      "I think you've had enough pills for one day."
      "Then how about you start talking straight?"
      "Believe me, Kate – you're better off not knowing."
      She let out a barking, humorless laugh. "Better off? You think I'm better off? My family is dead. I would be too, if I'd had my way. But you went and stopped me – God knows how, but you did. Now I'm holed up in some shitty apartment, a fugitive from justice, and I feel like I'm going out of my head. So to hell with what you think. I need answers, Jonah. I need the truth."
      I looked at her a long, appraising moment. Kate looked back, angry and expectant. To hell with it, I thought. "For starters," I said, "my name isn't Jonah."
      And then I told her. What I was. Why I came. I expected shock, anger, disbelief. But she just listened, without comment, without interruption. It wasn't till I finished that the questions came.
      "So in the hospital, that was you?"
      "Yes."
      "You'd come to collect my soul."
      I repeated, "Yes."
      "I thought I'd dreamt it. I remember a sudden pain – pain and fear – and then this, this light …" Her hands found her chest. "But I haven't any mark. Any scar."
      "The invasion isn't physical."
      "So why didn't you take me?"
      "I just… couldn't ," I replied. "When I make a collection, there's this moment – this beautiful, terrible moment when my hand closes around the soul, and I see everything. Experience everything. A