His son is gone from the bed. **I did not see him leave.** He drifts through the wall and through the bathroom into the kitchen. The pipes and insulation fade through him but do not phase him. In the kitchen he stands by the window, and the moonlight falls gently on his shoulders. He turns and sees his family staring at him. A church bell somewhere begins the gentle, dull bonging of the witching hour. With his last whisper of strength he raises his arms in loving benediction as he fades away.