Too familiar indeed. And then they're inside, in a room Logan never really entered, barely even noticed. He notices the details now.

Trina is sitting with her hands on her knees, in the armchair next to the Christmas tree, staring at something on the far wall. Or maybe at nothing at all.

After a moment or ten, Virginie comes in with a mug in her hands. "Tea," she says, giving it to Trina, and sits down in the other chair.

Trina takes the mug, wraps her hands around it, but doesn't drink any of it. "Thank you. Eliza's . . .?"

"She is asleep," says Virginie.

"Visions of sugar plums," Trina says, sharp and dry.

"Excuse me?"

"Nothing. Don't worry about it," Trina says.

Another moment, and then Virginie says, "So that was your brother?"

"That was Logan, yes."

"And will he be visiting very often?"

Trina shakes her head. "No."

"Are you all right, Trina?"

"I'm . . . I'm fine. Thank you. You can go on ahead and call it a night, if you want. I'll lock up."

"Bonne nuit, then. Try not to stay up too late."

Only someone who knew Trina well would be able to tell just how forced the smile is. "But I have to wait up for Santa."

"Not too late," Virginie says.

Trina nods. But if the body language is anything to go by, she's going to be in that chair for a long, long time.

Logan tries to reach out to her, to say...something. Anything. To apologize, first, to promise to do better second.

But he stops, knowing she can't see or hear him. That's one of the basic rules of the story, isn't it?

"These things are only shadows..." he murmurs, then looks at the spirit. "She wouldn't believe it anyway. Probably shouldn't, really."