Maybe she's been reading too much Paul Auster lately, I wonder.
"Listen," I say looking at her firmly "people go missing because they're dead, murdered or in an accident or they fall off a cliff. Just be realistic. It's a question of coincidence. You disappear because you've misspelled a streetname and get lost and run into the wrong person, or trip over a treebranch near a dangerous river."
Then she moves, getting up from her chair.
"Rubbish" she says, she spits it at me like a cat with a bad temper.
"I thought you would be able to think beyond the daily pattern. I hoped you would use your imagination to teach me something. But ... you're just like the rest of them."
She's up and going, grabbing her coat, ready to turn her back at me.
"Wait,"I say, "Excuse me. I'm not what you think. I don't have the key to the next dimension. I'm bad with places and humans. Smells and sounds is really my thing. But if you could explain what you mean. I'll try to help you."
She looks at me disdainfully. "Will you?" and walks out.
On the street she comes up to me and as if suddenly she's made up her mind about something, she grabs hold of my arm and says angrily: "I'll show you where they are. The missing persons. Come with me." I can feel her warm garlic breath against my cheek. "You really don't know anything, do you." The words slither into my ears.
"Come on, let's go." She grabs my arm tighter, as if I would try to run away and we walk into the dark street.