The stranger came just as Giuseppe had finished spraying down the lab. The tables along three walls had become hazy green blurs, barely catching the light from the single bulb he had left lit. The dulled grey cabinets peering down at the tables stretched toward the ceiling in rows that quickly, almost unnoticeably, slipped out from sight. And no wonder, for high above him the walls drew together and created a lightless cone that, although they were inside, gave the distinct sense of a hole opening into nothingness.

But Guiseppe did not look up for long. Instead he glanced around at the empty tables and closed cabinets, and was pleased. It was an orderly place, the clean simplicity supposed to encourage a similar form of thought. Except not simple, exactly, that wasn’t quite what he meant. But he didn’t have time to amend it; that was when he heard the cough.

Mildly surprised, he turned around, expecting to see a colleague who had forgotten something. And for a moment, that was what the stranger could have been as he stepped through the open doorway, a small figure in a coat and scarf. But as he entered Guiseppe was at once struck by a odd discomfort, all the more sickening because it did not seem to have a source. He reached almost unconsciously for the silver band around his wrist…

“Don’t,” said the stranger, and the word, while completely lacking urgency, rang with such a clear expectation of obedience that Guiseppe let his hand fall to his side.

The stranger had moved close enough that Guiseppe could now make out his features. It was not a handsome face, he thought, too full of muscle, too full of movement. His nostrils seemed permanently half-flared, his jaw muscles bulged, and his furrowed brow protruded alarmingly.

“Who are you?” Guiseppe asked, plopping down at one of the tables. Just looking at the other man’s face had tired him.

“I’ve been sent from someone you used to know.” His voice was low and mellow, completely at odds with the rest of him. “I’m called Rider.”

“But who sent you?” Guiseppe leaned forward, curious for the first time. He could not think of anyone he had once known, but did not anymore. His world was too contained for such people.

“Someone for whom you have grieved,” said Rider, apparently intent on remaining cryptic. He began to pace, and even his walk was unsettling; he leaned forward as he moved so that he appeared always on the verge of toppling over. “A ghost, of sorts.” He smiled, a fleeting quiver to add to the already moving lips. “Yes, Guiseppe, I bear the greetings of a ghost from out there, that I may wake another within you.”

Guiseppe watched him blankly, but he began to wonder whether he ought to be alarmed. He was not easily roused into great emotion of any sort, fear, anger, or anxiety. Even now he was not afraid, not really, he was only beginning to wonder whether the other man was mad…

Rider had stopped pacing in front of the table where Guiseppe sat. He plucked the scarf from his neck and held it out with all the flair of a magician performing a trick. “Do you recognize it?”

And he did, as Rider had known he would.