Her fingers dug into my arm, holding on too tightly – so tightly I wanted to ask her to let go, but I didn’t. I couldn’t breathe, couldn’t speak; I ought to have been relieved the stranger was female, but I wasn’t. The craziest person I knew was a woman; a woman had shut me down here in the dark; kidnapped me and Emma; shot a man in the head. A woman I had known for most of my life had rejected me, turned on me, locked me in a black hole in the ground. If Mother could treat me like that, what could this woman do to me?

‘I see things. Lights. In the corners. Lights in the corners,’ she sounded rushed, like she had to get the words out or they would choke her.

‘Then blackness. Nothing else. Just a tunnel. Are you really here? Are you?’

Her hand clenched, squeezed tighter, dug in to my skin and she began to shake my arm. My heart felt like it was going to explode out of my chest. I tried to pull my arm out of her grasp, but she clung on, grabbing at my chest, my face, my hair.

‘Are you real? Speak! Speak to me!’

‘Stop!’ I blurted as she shook harder.

Abruptly, taking me by surprise, her hands stilled. One hand still gripped my arm while the other lay flat against my cheek.

‘Say something,’ she whispered.

I hesitated, took a breath. ‘Let go of me.’

I waited, tense, readying myself for another attack. Her breaths were ragged, louder than mine. A bark of laughter escaped her lips and spittle landed on my cheek. She patted my chest then removed her hand from my pounding heart. Her other hand loosened on my arm, but remained in contact with my skin. With one hot finger, she stroked my arm. I longed to move out of reach but feared what she might do if I moved suddenly.

‘Are you really real?’ she breathed.

‘Yes.’ The sounds I’d heard from the house. They came from here. From her. I hadn’t imagined them.

‘Hah! Prove it.’

‘What?’ I said. ‘How? I’m already talking to you, aren’t I? And you can feel me, can’t you? You can probably even smell me.’

She didn’t say anything for a long time – just breathed against my cheek and stroked my arm, drawing a figure of eight on my skin with her finger. It was creepy and weird but kind of soothing at the same time. I listened to her breaths grow steadier and felt my own heartbeat slowing.

After a while, she stopped stroking me and removed her hand from my skin. Her breathing quietened and for a few seconds, I thought she was dead.

‘Miss?’ I said. ‘Are you OK?’