Giving up on sleep, I took my phone and crept from the living room into the kitchen intending to get a glass of water. But once I stood in front of the sink and reached for the tap, I found myself staring into a beam of moonlight pouring in through the window. As I took a sip of water, I gazed out at the Simmonses’ wintry garden, unable to remember exactly where the rosebushes had originally been.

On my right, one of the cabinet doors creaked open, and I knew Jennie wouldn’t wait any longer for me to connect with her. While leaning against the counter, I popped my earbuds in my ears and listened.

“Mom is upset,” she finally said.

“Yeah, well. The house is gone. She has every right to be upset,” I said numbly. “What can you tell me about Mischa? Is she… with you?” I wasn’t sure what to think of the state of Mischa’s soul. She wasn’t alive; she wasn’t dead. Was she even aware that she was trapped in a mason jar?

“No. She’s probably in the same place as me, which is more like a situation than a place,” Jennie explained.

“The dark place.”

“Yes. But it’s not really dark. More just… empty. If she’s here, I can’t sense her. And she can’t sense me either. So we could both be here, but not be together.”

Something that hadn’t occurred to me previously crossed my mind, and I asked, “Jennie, are you in the dark place by choice? I mean, do you stay there so that you can talk with me?”

There was a long paused filled with radio static before she replied, “I can leave whenever I want.”

For eight long years, Jennie had had the option of leaving, presumably to enjoy eternal peace, whatever that may have meant for her. But according to Mrs. Robinson, Jennie had stayed in the dark place because she was worried about me. The idea of her being there by herself by choice, especially because she’d told me that she couldn’t predict the future and hadn’t ever known whether she’d be able to make contact with me, filled me with sorrow. She’d missed me as much as I’d missed her, and while I’d had no choice but to move on with life after her death—start a new school year every September, make new friends—she’d just been waiting. Now, I had to wonder, would she remain in the dark place until I joined her?

“So,” I said. “The priest who set this all in motion said a traditional exorcism won’t work. I don’t know if we can even trust that he’s not lying, but I’m all out of ideas. This honestly feels like”—I hesitated—“the end. Maybe we’ll be together again soon.”

After a pause, Jennie said, “We’re together now. I know you can’t understand, but even if you were on this side with me, we would be just like we are now. So it’s better for you to stay where you are, because you’re connected to so many people there.”