Page 104 of Florescentia

It was a portrait. A young woman, dark hair and eyes, small, pointy features, and a youthful appearance. My finger swept over the image, brushing against the cheek.

“It shows you who you are speaking to. To prevent any dishonest entities,” Altair explained, leaning forward to see the portrait. “Speak to her.”

“Hello?” The soft voice again, like a whimper.

“H-hello,” I stammered. “Hello, Allison.”

“It is so strange here,” she cried, “let me out or let me be!”

“Allison, you must listen.” I paused, looking to Altair for help.

He gestured for me to go on.

“You need to . . .”

Altair made a hand gesture, like to pass.

“Pass through . . .”

He quickly made a shape with his hands like opening a door.

“A door? A door. Pass through a . . . door.”

“A door?”

I raised my hands at Altair in frustration.

He just waved at me to keep going.

If I remembered the halfway sort of realm correctly, it would be similar to wherever she’d been when she went to the Otherside. A home, a garden, a street. So to pass beyond the Otherside, I would assume you would do so like another door.

“Where are you now?” I leaned close to the blackness.

“It is my home—well, it looks like it, but it isn’t all at once,” she said, her voice wavering.

“You need to find a door,” I explained.

“They won’t open! I tried!” she sobbed, the strain in her voice so worn, so tired. “The front, back, even the windows!”

Altair leaned close. “Allison?”

“Who is that?” she yelled. “Where are you all coming from! I want to go home!”

“Allison, is there a door you didn’t open yet?” He waited for a reply. There was dead air. “Or perhaps a door you’re too afraid to open?”

“There is one,” she said, her voice still shaking. “Please don’t make me.”

“Allison, you have to.” His voice was level, even soothing, despite its dangerous nature. “After all, there is someone waiting for you, dear. Don’t let her wait too long.”

There was no more noise, but possibly rummaging. It was like being on the telephone, but with the dead. I sat back to watch, to listen.

“Did you find your door?” he asked, following his question, but it was clear he knew more about the situation than I.

“I’m at her door,” she said quietly.

“Well, you can’t walk through without opening it.”

“She’s there?” Her voice was so broken, so soft. “Promise me?”