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Sabine Drew had never wanted to be on TV or pointed at by strangers on the street. She didn’t enjoy reporters calling so often that she and her mother were forced to contemplate changing their phone numbers and locking the gates to their home. Most of all, she had no desire to answer questions about the events that had led to the arrest of Lester Boulier, but the detective, Ronnie Pascal, had been forced to reveal her involvement in the case. Even though he’d done his best to obfuscate and withhold, he’d still shared more with the media than Sabine would have preferred.

And it wasn’t only reporters and TV crews who had beaten a path to her door after Edie Brook’s body was found. No, the oddballs arrived too, and the religious lunatics, the crazies who were convinced she had a personal hotline to God. A few had grown angry when she denied it, as though she were electing to hide matters of import that she had a divine obligation to share, while others whispered it was not from God that her gifts came, and the living had no business consorting with the dead.

But they weren’t even the worst, not by a long shot. The sad and the desperate contacted her, some of them traveling hundreds of miles to plead for help. The poorest came by bus, their clothes wrinkled and bearing the marks of ablutions at rest stops and gas stations, their sustenance carried in vacuum flasks and Tupperware containers now empty after hard journeys. They brought with them photos, mementos, items of jewelry, single shoes, locks of hair—even, in one case, a glass eye, perhaps in the hope that she might be able to turn her gaze to the next world and identify its owner by an empty socket. They wished to be told that all was well, that they were remembered, loved, forgiven, and awaited. They sought the location of wills, cashboxes, and keys to safe deposit boxes. They asked why, where, with whom, by whom, and of whom. Their need was endless.

And then there were the ones who sought the missing, who were uncertain as to whether they should be searching among the living or the dead: husbands, wives, siblings, parents, and children who had vanished without explanation. Those left behind sought closure, an end to their own suffering and nightmares of the ongoing agonies of their loved ones. Those who had lost children endured greater depths of torment, being additionally burdened with guilt at their failure to protect them.

In the beginning, Sabine tried to assist as many as she could, but most went away disappointed. She couldn’t make them understand that seeking answers from the dead was as hard as obtaining them from the living—harder, indeed, because the former far outnumbered the latter, and spoke in a different tongue. Even Verona Walters had become less intelligible to Sabine in the final moments before her body was revealed, and all communication between them ceased forever. Also, by questing, Sabine drew attention; when the dead saw her light and felt her presence, they were drawn like moths. If she foraged among them, she had to do so without revealing too much of herself. It was like exploring a deep darkness with the aid of a flashlight that could only be used intermittently.

But now and again, she had successes: a sighting, however partial; a reply, however imperfectly understood. There was never closure, because closure was a myth, but the sum of unhappiness was marginally decreased and the agony of unknowing lessened. Yet the cost to Sabine was considerable. She struggled to eat and sleep. Her mouth festered with ulcers. Her hair began to fall out. Finally, she collapsed and was taken, first to the local clinic, then to Millinocket Regional, but even there she was not safe. Patients and visitors came to her, as well as apologetic doctors and nurses. She woke one night to find a man with pancreatic cancer kneeling by her bedside. He had placed her hand on his head and was praying for her to heal him. He was still thanking her for what she could not do as the orderlies ushered him gently away.

After she was discharged, she put an end to the visits and the calls. A remote-locking system replaced the old gates, and a fence was erected around the yard. For a while, the more persistent still succeeded in overcoming these obstacles, but the local police were always available to escort them from the property, with a stern lecture about the consequences of trespassing.

But Sabine continued to aid investigators when she could. They contacted her circumspectly, some embarrassed at being forced to resort to such a measure, although she did not judge them for their discomfiture. To the police, as with the general public, she could not always be of much use, but again, there were small triumphs, little victories. Each involved a child. Children were easier to locate because their light shone brighter. Quietly, Sabine began to gain a reputation among law enforcement. One thing could be said of her: she did not lie.

And then came Edie Brook.