wrap me up;;

I -- [she cut herself off, trying to breathe, to compose herself] -- Nothing, I just -- I tried to forget and -- they're all back... 

"They are not real now. Remember that. Remember how strong you were, protecting all of us in the grocery store? That’s you, not what was using you. Look at me," she beckons and lays a hand on Samantha’s cheek. "I’m real and nobody’s going to hurt you. Not ghosts or demons or that freak clown from that Stephen King book-movie thing. They’re just ghosts. That’s all." Patrick didn’t like that, promising a rather lovely array of vengeful deeds on her when he was real again. "Oh would you shut up?" she demanded of her ghostly ex. "Honestly, I really don’t have time for you."

Seeing the ghost that wasn't hers, the one tormenting Emma -- it provided a small reserve of steel to harden within, and Samantha swallowed back her tears, irritated enough that such a kind woman would suffer the torment of someone so horrible. She'd been nothing but selfless... her strength inspired something in Samantha, so she wiped her eyes, and refused to look at her parents or Samael's victims. "Thank you," she whispered hoarsely, before critical eyes searched for the salt lines that were supposed to cover every entry way. She stood, limbs a little shaky, and offered a tiny tremulous smile.