"Did you..." she began, hesitantly, "Did you know right away... that ... that you were dead?"
He chewed the corner of his bottom lip thoughtfully. "No," he answered slowly, "No. I did not know right away." She watched him as he reminisced quietly, his already faint eyes becoming glassy as he looked past her shoulder at a memory to which she did not have access.
Uncomfortably and uncertain that he would hear her over his reflection, she spoke timidly. "When, when did you know?" It seemed like a safe enough question, not too invasive, althogh she didn't so much want to know when; instead, she burned to know how, but the word seared through her like a ribbon of fire when she thought about it.
In reality, he didn't seem dead, not really. After all, she'd had enough conversations with him to know that he could carry on a conversation as well as anyone with a brain and a skeleton. He had human habits, she'd noticed--like biting his lip. He had human qualities: he was sometimes impatient, but not unkind when he was--instead he mostly sounded annoyed. In fact, he had seemed perfectly human to her the first time she'd ever encountered him, not at all like she'd imagined someone who was dead. Besides his habit of fading, rather than walking in and out of her presence, he looked perfectly human; human enough to touch, to go about daily life as any living being and not raise alarm, human enough that his chest still rose and fell with the slight suggestion of a steady breath. How had he known he was dead, then? Had he seen his own body? The thought made her tense. How had he died? For all their conversations, she'd never inquired--she'd never asked what she now considered vital questions.
As if he could discern her thoughts he suddenly jerked to change his attention. "When," he repeated, a crease forming between his brows--another all-too-human quality--"for some it only takes a few minutes before they know. For others, it could take hours." She couldn't imagine going hours and not knowing you were dead. It seemed impossible to her. "It takes a certain kind, a rare kind, to go that long."
"So, when you do know...," she began tentatively, as the ribbon shot through her again, that acute indication that perhaps she didn't want to and shouldn't know.
"How do you know," his finished for her, his eyebrows raising inquiringly? She nodded, swallowing hard. It wasn't like she was expecting him to tell her that he knew because of some terrible, catastrophic event or realization. It wasn't like she was really afraid of what he would say. Though she felt pulled by some invisible thread that yearned for her to know, the ribbon that twisted its way through her rib cage told her that something within her resisted his answer.
He seemed to contemplate how best to explain to her, angling his head slightly. When he arrived at an answer, he nodded once and regarded her gently. "You do not know you are dead until you try to do something that requires a body and discover that you cannot."
She looked at him for several moments, confused at what this meant. She thought of all the things it took for humans to talk: vocal cords, the muscles of the face, mouth and tongue, and so many other things that were necessary that she probably didn't know about. He spoke to her just fine, she thought. He could walk, although he was entirely able to float as well. It seemed to her that he had it backwards. He could do things without his body that he couldn't do with it. What could he possibly mean, you didn't know you were dead until you tried to do something that required a body?
Silently, and without looking her in the eyes, he crossed over to where she stood. He slowly reached out his hand as she watched, breathlessly, and gently put his hand over hers. She wondered for a moment why he let it hover there, without actually making contact. Then she realized that he was touching her, and yet she felt nothing. He moved his hand away as she finally understood.
