Imagine my surprise when the image in the window started to move. We could have been sisters if not for the way that her hair fell around her face. Her hair never did that, no matter how hard we tried to force it around the hot iron. Always so damned mousy. But that image couldn't have been me. I wasn't moving like it was.

But it still seemed so damned real.

A chipped fingernail raised up, that apparition seeming to point to something beside her. As though to indicate where the door was or perhaps to indicate a thing that could not be see, she aimed that finger over to the side. My fingers dug into my palm as I stared at this window, oblivious to the muttered statements of the other people in the place. The slurping of coffee and the clinking of little pieces of flatware rubbing on plates had all but evaporated in the appearance of this thing.

Her finger hooked back along her own throat, dragging that nail across it and leaving a razor thin crimson mark behind it. She hadn't been pointing at anything. Just preparing to evacuate soul. My hand flew to my throat and unable to regard another moment, I fled into the night streets.

Anywhere but there.