If there had ever been hearing within the capacity of this spirit, it was long gone. There was only the overwhelming sensation of hatred, a rage borne of blood and betrayal, something that comprehended nothing more than a lust for vengeance and a need to revisit the horror, again and again. To relive it in a space saturated with it: to ensnare whomever entered that space into the same furious grief.

On the wall, the dark strands only multiplied. Even as Facilier spoke, useless and fruitless, the black holding onto his Shadow thickened until a loop descended from the ceiling, winding around the Shadow's neck. It stayed there for a moment -- almost friendly, touch light, soft -- and then it jerked upward.

And it pulled, lifting the Shadow up the wall, tightening around its own dark neck until there was no gap of light between it and Shadow.