A high, singsong thought came in and skipped along his brain:
Spill the rattle…pinch the fish…oxygen is high-priced.
Adams forced the thought out of his brain, built up his concentration.
"Start over again, Thorne. A ghost came along and blotted you out."
Thorne's thought was louder now, more distinct.
"I wanted to ask you about a name. Seems to me I heard it once before, but I can't be sure."
"What name?"
Thorne was spacing his thoughts now, placing them slowly and with emphasis to cut through the static.
"The name is Asher Sutton."
Adams sat bolt upright in his chair. His mouth flapped open.