Marie Song (

"Explains the wet clothes and bed," Marie sighed, leaning back in the chair and crossing her legs so the top one bounced. "-and nothing else." That part was more bitten out of the air and irritation.

Marie let one hand prop her head by thin, spindly fingers. The other held the autopsy photos and the report they were attached to. She'd read it several times, and still nothing.

"Couple things we know. It's immaterial- fire doesn't burn it, it can go through locked doors without disturbing them, and leaves absolutely no physical trace of itself. It attacks in the mind, and it can manifest matter. The water in Ferguson's cell, for example."

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