Laura and Peter’s eyes drifted from Diana to me in a split second. From the sad look in their eyes I could tell that they had witnessed, to an extent, the panic attacks, and that they felt sorry for me. I didn’t want that. I didn’t want to be someone to be felt sorry for.
A sudden anger mixed with irritation arose in me, and I just didn’t want to sit on the floor again, I just didn’t want to sit in the same room with them; I needed some air—damn the suspicions it might raise. If worse comes to worse, I resolved to tell them all about it, all about my near experience with the afterlife.
My hand shaking started again, but I was having none of it. I bit my lips hard till it drew blood, till my hands stopped shaking. I soughed deeply, gingerly getting on my feet, and making the walk that led
