"Have you ever seen a fan stop?"
"What?" I said, so frustrated I could spit. I stayed there listening, not because he was holding my arm, but because I had already been pulled into the magnet, the black hole of this situation. At this point I was caught in the moment, a chunk of debris in a puff of smoke, caught on camera.
The train flashed by outside, and the lights and the moving cars played shadows across his face. His icy blue eyes were wild.
I sighed.
"A fan, a fan," he said, letting go of my arm and waving his hand in quick circles. "Once it slows down to a stop, it kicks back, just a hair, the other way. That's what this is, it's just life, stopping, then kicking back just a little, it's physics somehow."
"Okay."
"Like life is all this momentum, just couldn't stop all at once, not just stop, there's still some motion left." He was looking out the window now, his voice being drowned out by the train a bit.
I set my wine down on the glass coffee table. I knew what he was talking about. I had seen the tiny hand prints that appeared on the glass moments after I cleaned it. I heard the doors slamming when there was no wind, the closet door open after I had just shut it. The towels rearranged in the bathroom, etc. etc. etc. At least the ghosts liked things color coordinated.