“You’re not real,” Claire told the ghost. “You’re something my mind made up to deal with all this, and the fact that I can see and hear you means I’m still suffering from some sort of hysteria.”
“Regardless of what you think I am, you promised. Even if I come from your mind, don’t you think it’s worth it to listen to me? Maybe I can solve both our problems.”
Just my luck, the figments of my imagination argue with me.
Claire sat and propped herself up with the two thin pillows. The ghost, who sat on the side of the bed, appeared solid, and Claire knew if she touched it, it would be cold.
“Fine,” Claire said. “Go ahead.”
“Aren’t you going to ask me nice questions like you do with the boys in the hospital?”
“See? You knowing how I work only proves that you’re a product of my mind.”
“Or
