Amy nodded, sniffing back tears. “Ryan and I had become really close, that’s all, and to think that no one knows what happened to him, to think his body is just lying somewhere and no one knows where . . . it’s really heartbreaking.” She fell back into her mother’s arms, deep into the comfort and warmth of her embrace. “Oh, Mom. I still can’t believe that you’re really here, that any of this is actually happening.”

“Neither can I, sweetheart. To see you, to be holding you again—this isn’t something I thought would happen for a very long time.”

“But why wait so long? Why didn’t you try to reach out to me as soon as I got stuck in here?” Amy’s voice was almost lost behind the sound of rain and thunder; the storm, never-ending in its fury, continued to rage outside.

“I did try. The moment you arrived, I found my way inside this lighthouse, switched on the lamp, and I pointed the beam at the hotel. My hope was that you might see it.”

“Why couldn’t you just come to my room and knock on my door?”

“Because this lighthouse is the only place I’m allowed to be. I can’t go outside. Come, I’ll show you.” She led Amy to the other side of the room, to a door providing access to the circular platform. She opened the door and tried to stick her arm outside, but doing this caused her arm to completely disappear. It happened right before Amy’s very eyes. It was as though her mother was pushing her hand through a wall of nothingness—first her skin turned translucent, then one half of her limb, from her fingertips to her elbow, evaporated into thin air. A plume of twinkling dust was all that remained.

“Mom! ”

“It’s okay, Amy. It doesn’t hurt.”

“But, Mom! Your arm! ” Amy grabbed her mother and pulled her back. As she did so, the dust flickered, became bright and ember-like, then sparkled and magically coalesced back into flesh. Inch by inch, her mother’s arm rematerialized.

“What the hell?” Amy screamed. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine.”

“But your arm! It vanished! I saw it!”

“What you saw is exactly what happens when an outsider—­someone unknown to Ryan, someone he’s never met before—tries to infiltrate the town. I wasn’t brought in here like you were, and because I occupy no place in Ryan’s memory, his spirit isn’t able to recognize my presence.”

“But that doesn’t make sense because you are here,” Amy said as she continued to inspect her mother’s arm, pushing and prodding the skin. “You’re here with me right now.”

“Here in this lighthouse, yes, but this place is different from anywhere else in Seabrook. The town has a fear of this building, a fear that stretches back many years.”