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him, dangling inches before his face. His first reaction was to scream.  
    But no, he was eight now. It was time to stop being a baby.  
    Besides, she looked so sad, so lost. So he asked, “Are you lonely?”
    The old woman’s face softened, and without moving her lips, he heard her say, “My son said he will see me on Tuesday.”
    The question, the answer, both forged a connection that allowed him to see into her soul, to read her living past, and to know that her body was decaying in her living room chair, waiting for her son’s monthly visit.  
    It had terrified and fascinated him at the same time. In an instant, he knew her name and where she lived and he anxiously told his father the next day. She was local, and his father said the best thing to do was read the paper each day and see if he was right. In the meantime, if she appeared again, Eddie needed to tell her she was dead, and encourage her to move on. She would have to wait some time to see her son again.  
    Her death was noted in a very small column in the regional section of the paper three days later. And when she came to him, again hovering over his bed, he did as his father had told him. She nodded, and faded away.
    His life had never been the same since.  
    Eddie read the first chapter while sitting on the floor with his back against the easy chair’s leg rest. Taking steady, slow breaths, he put the book down and assumed the lotus position.  
    He took his time, giving attention to the areas of stress in his body and releasing the tension, all the while breathing naturally, counting each breath to both focus and clear his mind of unwanted distractions. He continued until he lost count, the breaths taking over completely, bringing him into a deeper state of mind.  
    Feeling the nothing and everything that filled his earthbound vessel, he remained still, only his stomach moving in and out with each breath, his back and neck straight and hands atop one another in his lap. If there were noises outside, he didn’t notice them. He was where he needed to be.  
    Eddie nudged his mind to concentrate on the energy of the being that had first reached out to him six months ago. The contact then had been all too brief and fragile as gossamer thread. With great effort, he’d worked daily on strengthening the signal, each interaction fortifying the ethereal bond between them.  
    The need to find the girl was overwhelming. Everything in his psi-enhanced consciousness screamed that she needed his help. So did the spirit of the man that had found him in the transom between life and death.
    He thought moving to New York would supercharge the signal, a means of hardwiring himself into the direct life source of his netherworld contact. He knew this particular spirit was torn between two entry points in the plane of the living, and communication was never easy. But he had guessed correctly that being here would improve their connection.  
    His breathing slowed as his heartbeat calmed, until they were on a one-to-one basis—a beat, flushing blood through his semi-dormant system, followed by a short breath, with long periods of stillness between each. To the casual observer, he would look the part of the upright corpse. His skin paled and not a single muscle so much as twitched.  
    It was a full hour before anything happened. Eddie’s conscious mind drifted in a sea of nihility, his hold on the here and now tethered by the thinnest of filaments. And then, unknown to even him, his lips began to move in whispered conversation. Disjointed words flowed from his lips, his physical body a dozen steps behind the flurry of activity occurring in his meditative mind.  
    His soft ramblings were the only sound in the apartment, weighed with the eerie undertones of a living haunt. It wasn’t until his shoulders slumped forward that he ceased speaking, slowly lowering his head into his hands so he could rub away the arctic chill that had enveloped his head. He rested a