Chapter 43

Who wanted me dead, and why? I never did anything to anyone that would make them hate me. At least as far as I know.

I began to wander the stage, wondering if I would be stuck here forever. Sure, I loved the shows and watched every production, evenings and matinees. But that was from the lighting booth. I didn’t want to be an invisible part of them on stage for the rest of my life—or death, I suppose. At least I was invisible, I figured, so the audience wouldnursquo;t know I was there. Ghosts usually are, from what little I knew about them.

“Maybe someone will hold a séance to try to talk to me and I’ll become visible to them?” I said aloud, wondering if anyone would hear me, if they were around. Probably not. Who hears ghosts?