He asks about anyone who might have passed, anyone who might know her, and no... No one who knew her in life, at least. The furrow of her brows is probably telling that she's having trouble thinking of anyone.

He stumbles back against the counter, and it's only surprise that keeps her from reaching for him. There's something else still weighing on him... Something big.

Imelda, I'm dead.

She doesn't understand at first. What kind of joke is this? Whatever it is, it can't be true. He's standing right in front of her, as plain as day.

But she's no stranger to the undead, or the various ways that they can traverse the living world. A cold dread settles into the pit of her stomach, as she reaches out beside her to grasp a hold of the table.

"That's not funny, Hector..." Her voice is nowhere near as strong as it should be.