"Hi Melissa!" Kate said, dangerously cheerful. She wore a loose-fitted hospital gown, a ghostly image in the dark. Her muscles must have atrophied because she shuffled like an old woman as Sean led her slowly to the kitchen table, where she struggled to sit. Sean left without so much as looking at me. I could see Kate's hands shaking as she held onto the back of the chair to shift herself around to face me. "So . . . how are things?" Atrophy or no, she still had enough energy to be a snarky bitch. My worst nightmare, back from the dead. I climbed out of bed and wandered over to the table, exhausted from dreams of Brian cackling at me with a knife stuck in his bloody, puss-filled eye socket. I didn't want to talk to her, but I hoped sitting close would inspire her to keep her voice down. Flora was still sleeping. "Looks like you made it," I said dryly. The seat was cold on my bare legs. I should have grabbed a robe.
