“I didn’t mean to call you a moron,” said Mikey. “I’m sorry.” But the Ogre didn’t seem the least bit bothered, and that just made Mikey feel worse about it. “Just make sure you stay away from that . . . that thing that captured us. Trust me—you don’t want to know what happens if he touches you.”

Mikey shivered, which made his afterglow flicker like a failing lightbulb. To be extinguished. To not . . . be . . .

In life, people feared it. In Everlost, souls denied the possibility—but it was always in the back of Mikey’s mind, lurking among thoughts of hell and the distant memory of pain. Mikey feared the light because he wasn’t ready to be judged, if indeed he would be. However, that was a fear he knew he would overcome when he was ready. . . . But the fear of not existing at all? He doubted he’d ever get over that.

A few hours later, after it got dark, the scar wraith returned with a broken flashlight that cast its beam only in Everlost. He shined it in their eyes. “Third degree,” he said. “Age-old technique of interrogation.” Then he sat down in the chair with a bucket of chicken, and ate it in front of them. “Hungry are ya? It’s like my grandma always used to say . . .” Then he went on eating without finishing the thought. The way he talked, one was never quite sure when he was done, because nothing he ever said was entirely complete. His words kind of trailed off, leaving a person waiting for more. It made Mikey just want to slap him—but he knew that slapping a scar wraith was not a good idea. He’d be extinguished in an instant.

Mikey was thankful that it was living-world chicken, because he couldn’t smell it, and even if the wraith threw it to him, he wouldn’t be able to eat it, or even catch it—it would pass right through him like everything else in the living world. Still, watching him eat it all right down to the bone was a little bit torturous. Third degree, indeed.

“Are you going to tell me what’s going on?” the wraith said, his mouth full of food. “Because if you don’t . . .”

Mikey wasn’t sure if anything he could say would win their freedom, but staying silent on principle would definitely not help the situation. The wraith took another bite of chicken and washed it down with whiskey straight from the bottle. It made Mikey wonder if the man’s liver had also crossed.

“There was a train,” Mikey said.

The wraith leaned forward, the rocking chair reaching its limit. “Go on.”

“It was heading west. We were chasing it.”

“Why?”

“To rescue someone.”

“Do you expect me to believe that?”

“Why would I lie?”