turning to point at the globe, then at the door. He was talking again too, but there were too many words for Jason to try to lip-read. Ben gestured to the globe, then the room around him, finally put both hands up as if to touch the doorframe, although his hands seemed to sink half an inch into the wood. Jason thought back to when they’d met, and how Ben had stayed inside the guest room.
“Only the room the globe is in?” Jason guessed.
Ben nodded.
“Wow.”
Ben nodded again.
“How long were you in that room over the garage?”
This time, he was able to read the answer on Ben’s lips. I’m not sure. He said something else. Jason had to have him repeat it before he was able to figure out Ben’s question. What year is it now?
It hadn’t even occurred to Jason that Ben wouldn’t know what year it was. Ben’s image flickered when Jason told him, his shoulders slumping a bit. He frowned toward the garage, then held up fingers. Three. Four. He wobbled his hand back and forth uncertainly. Jason lip-read, Maybe five.
“Months? Or years?”
Years.
“Five years in the guesthouse?”
Ben nodded.
Had he been alone all that time? Jason wanted to ask, but the enormity of it stopped him. It was a heavy question. It led into Ben’s past, and although Jason was dying to know more, he was painfully aware of how stilted their communication was.
There had to be a better way to converse.
Once again, Ben moved aside to allow Jason into the dining room. Jason picked up the globe, noting the excitement on Ben’s face. The minute he passed through the doorway into the hallway, Ben disappeared. When Jason reached the living room, Ben flickered back into existence. Jason frowned, suddenly doubting. He stared down at the snow globe, wondering. Could it be some kind of hoax after all? Was the globe somehow creating Ben’s image? But no. If that were the case—if the globe worked like a movie projector—Ben’s image would be thrown across the room to splash into existence against the closest solid object. He wouldn’t be simply standing in the middle of the room.
Ben spun around, trying to take in the entire room in all its pink-flowered glory at once. He stopped on his second turn, his wide eyes staring at Jason’s 52-inch flat-screen television. Ben approached it, his hands held out in front of him as if in awe. He turned to Jason. His lips formed the question, TV?
“You know about television?”
Ben nodded, bouncing on his toes in excitement. He leaned forward and used his hands to shape a square about knee-high, then stood up to indicate the big screen in front of him.
“Yeah, they’ve gotten bigger.”
Ben began talking again, his hands flying, his eyes bright. He talked and talked, occasionally indicating the television, seemingly telling a story, and Jason moved closer. He found himself transfixed by Ben’s energy. By his fluttering hands. By his full lips. By the utter joy that seemed to pour off of him, almost more tangible than Ben himself. He seemed full of happiness and enthusiasm, and Jason could have used healthy doses of both.
“I wish I could hear you,” he said, interrupting Ben’s flow of words.
Ben stopped, all his wild movements coming to a halt, all of him settling into a sudden stillness, his hands clasped in front of him, looking like a lost little boy. He was a couple of inches shorter than Jason, and he met Jason’s gaze with such solemn sincerity, it took Jason’s breath away. His answer was easy to predict.
Me too.
“The sheriff couldn’t see you.”
Ben shook his head. Said a word that might have been, Nobody.
Jason hoped he’d read that word wrong. “How many have been able to see you? Before me, I mean?”
Ben held his hand up in a circle. Zero. But then he seemed to reconsider. He held up one finger.
“Only one person besides me?”
Ben frowned, shaking his head, waving his hands in a futile, dismissive gesture, clearly frustrated by his inability to say
“Only the room the globe is in?” Jason guessed.
Ben nodded.
“Wow.”
Ben nodded again.
“How long were you in that room over the garage?”
This time, he was able to read the answer on Ben’s lips. I’m not sure. He said something else. Jason had to have him repeat it before he was able to figure out Ben’s question. What year is it now?
It hadn’t even occurred to Jason that Ben wouldn’t know what year it was. Ben’s image flickered when Jason told him, his shoulders slumping a bit. He frowned toward the garage, then held up fingers. Three. Four. He wobbled his hand back and forth uncertainly. Jason lip-read, Maybe five.
“Months? Or years?”
Years.
“Five years in the guesthouse?”
Ben nodded.
Had he been alone all that time? Jason wanted to ask, but the enormity of it stopped him. It was a heavy question. It led into Ben’s past, and although Jason was dying to know more, he was painfully aware of how stilted their communication was.
There had to be a better way to converse.
Once again, Ben moved aside to allow Jason into the dining room. Jason picked up the globe, noting the excitement on Ben’s face. The minute he passed through the doorway into the hallway, Ben disappeared. When Jason reached the living room, Ben flickered back into existence. Jason frowned, suddenly doubting. He stared down at the snow globe, wondering. Could it be some kind of hoax after all? Was the globe somehow creating Ben’s image? But no. If that were the case—if the globe worked like a movie projector—Ben’s image would be thrown across the room to splash into existence against the closest solid object. He wouldn’t be simply standing in the middle of the room.
Ben spun around, trying to take in the entire room in all its pink-flowered glory at once. He stopped on his second turn, his wide eyes staring at Jason’s 52-inch flat-screen television. Ben approached it, his hands held out in front of him as if in awe. He turned to Jason. His lips formed the question, TV?
“You know about television?”
Ben nodded, bouncing on his toes in excitement. He leaned forward and used his hands to shape a square about knee-high, then stood up to indicate the big screen in front of him.
“Yeah, they’ve gotten bigger.”
Ben began talking again, his hands flying, his eyes bright. He talked and talked, occasionally indicating the television, seemingly telling a story, and Jason moved closer. He found himself transfixed by Ben’s energy. By his fluttering hands. By his full lips. By the utter joy that seemed to pour off of him, almost more tangible than Ben himself. He seemed full of happiness and enthusiasm, and Jason could have used healthy doses of both.
“I wish I could hear you,” he said, interrupting Ben’s flow of words.
Ben stopped, all his wild movements coming to a halt, all of him settling into a sudden stillness, his hands clasped in front of him, looking like a lost little boy. He was a couple of inches shorter than Jason, and he met Jason’s gaze with such solemn sincerity, it took Jason’s breath away. His answer was easy to predict.
Me too.
“The sheriff couldn’t see you.”
Ben shook his head. Said a word that might have been, Nobody.
Jason hoped he’d read that word wrong. “How many have been able to see you? Before me, I mean?”
Ben held his hand up in a circle. Zero. But then he seemed to reconsider. He held up one finger.
“Only one person besides me?”
Ben frowned, shaking his head, waving his hands in a futile, dismissive gesture, clearly frustrated by his inability to say
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