Startled, she returned softly, "He told me he was going away forever, and that I couldn't follow. I wanted to go with him, but he told me to go back. He said God had fashioned the world to require me. He said I must do something important, something that only I could do at a particular time in a particular place."
Christen pressed his lips tightly shut, and listened. Unwilling to face his curious gaze any longer, she stood abruptly to approach the window and pull one slat of the blinds down to a sharp 'V'.
"I asked him how I would know what to do," she sighed, "And he told me that I wouldn't know what to do. He said I would simply do it." She fell silent for a time, before adding, "It might have been a dream, I suppose, though it seemed so real. I was there, and he was there. The experience was as real as this one, but he was already dead by then, and I was dying.
"Like you, they brought me back repeatedly, before they saved my life, but they couldn't save my father." For a time, she was enthralled by the play of nature, which danced to the wind beyond the glass. "I was scared and confused, when I recovered from the coma, but I could recall with startling clarity every word, every touch of those last moments in his presence. I know it happened, but it couldn't have happened."
When she turned to face him, and asked again if he could remember his experience, he shook his head stiffly. For a time, he was too stunned to respond. When she asked a third time, he said, "I wish something like that had happened to me. I might see some purpose in the accident, if that were true. It would make me feel better, but it didn't happen that way. Nothing happened, except that I blacked out, and then I woke up in the hospital."