“What is the truth?” Carmel asks. “What happened in that house? Am I really supposed to believe that Mike was murdered by a ghost?”

“Do you believe in God?” he asks.“Do you?”“I used to”“What happened?”“I couldn’t find him. He’s supposed to be everywhere. I mean, he’s not supposed to be playing hide-and-seek.”

“What I feel is that if one has got to have a murder actually happening in one's house, one might as well enjoy it, if you know what I mean.”

“The question I constantly asked myself was this: What am I supposed to do?”

“He asked me if I ever prayed-- and I lied.Then he asked me if I ever got an answer, or a sign that my prayer was heard-- and I told him the truth."Yeah... me neither."His hands sounded like leather as he slowly rubbed some warmth into his knotted knuckles."So what happens to all of those lost prayers?"I didn't know if I should tell him the truth of what I really believed... or not.I put my hand on his slumping shoulder, smiled and told him the truth of what I believe, "Don't worry...”

“This city belongs to ghosts, to murderers, to sleepwalkers. Where are you, in what bed, in what dream?”