A vibe.

I went and stood beside the wall, my arms folded.
“So you found it at last,” she said. “It took a little time.”
The voice was soft and still and quite unchanged.
“Did you bring me here?” I asked. “Did you call me when the aircraft
crashed?”
She laughed, and I had never been away from her. Time stood still on
Monte Verità.
“I wanted you to come long before that,” she said, “but you shut your
mind away from me. It was like clamping down a receiver. It always
took two to make a telephone call. Does it still?”
“It does,” I answered, “and our more modern inventions need valves
for contact. Not the mind, though.”
“Your mind has been a box for so many years,” she said. “It was a
pity—we could have shared so much. Victor had to tell me his thoughts
in letters, which wouldn’t have been necessary with you.”