"No? Why not? What did you see?"
She sniffled into a fresh tissue, and would not look at him. "I saw my father."
Christen's chest heaved, and he could think of nothing to say. Therefore, he remained silent, and simply waited for her to continue at her own pace. Slow shadows crawled the floor skittishly, erratically driven by a fickle wind that blew beyond the room's blinded windows.
"He stood before me, as real as he ever had," she explained sorrowfully, "And he took me in his arms. I remember how I felt his touch, how I breathed his cologne, and how the stubble of his chin chaffed my cheek, as it always had. I remember he spoke my name, and then he said something I will never forget."
When she faded away, and seemed to disappear, he prompted with, "What did he say?"