Phillip followed Barnum home in the form of an orb - a small ball of energy that couldn't transform into a full apparition. Taking on this form was odd - he couldn't keep track of time in this form, only float - and he found himself back at the Barnum mansion with no idea how much time had passed.

Before he knew what was happening, he was back to his true form. He found himself in a bedroom and glanced around curiously before his eyes fell on the king-sized bed.

Barnum laid beneath the sheets. Charity sat on the edge of the bed, a hand to his forehead. Phillip didn't have a clear view of her face, but he could picture the deep, worried frown.

"I'm telling you, Chairy, I'm not sick. I saw Phillip. He was—"

"You had a nervous breakdown on stage, Phineas." Charity's voice was sharp with truth, but soft with concern. "You need to lie down. Take it easy."

"He touched me. My wrists..."

Barnum shifted and held up a hand. Charity shook her head. She leaned forward and caressed the man's cheek.

"If you still feel like this in the morning, I'll call a doctor," she promised. Then she got up and left the room.

Barnum laid alone in bed, a look of disbelief on his face. Groaning, he covered his eyes.

"What's wrong with me?" he moaned. "There's no such thing as ghosts..."

Phillip ached to appear to him once more, but he didn't have enough energy. He could only watch Barnum in helpless silence.

"No such thing as ghosts," Barnum muttered again.

He turned on his side, ready for sleep, but not before Phillip caught a glimpse of him rubbing at the faint pink marks on his wrists one more time.