by Sheila Lowe
“It’s still in my phone from when I sent it to Zach.” Not bothering to wipe away the tears running down her face, Abby texted the address to Jessica, along with the lockbox and alarm codes.
Within fifteen minutes of their arrival, she was back in her own car and Sage and Jessica were on the road.
TWENTY-ONE
“And if it does ‘go south’,” said Jessica, “are you sure you want to be caught up in it? There’s still time if you want to back out.”
Sage turned the long-lashed, blue-blue eyes her way and gave her heart a flutter. “Are you kidding? I wouldn’t miss it for a billion bucks.”
“A billion?”
“Well, maybe for a billion. But not one cent less.”
Jessica smiled. “Thank you, Sage. I’m glad you’re coming with me.”
“Excuse me, lady, this is my car. You are coming with me.” Then his expression grew somber. “It drives me nuts to see a kid being abused.”
She reached over and squeezed his hand. One day soon, she intended to find out what had prompted him to build a center for traumatized children. For now, though, she would allow him his secrets, just as she protected her own.
According to Google Maps, the Benedict Canyon address lay thirty-five miles east of the Thousand Oaks Mall. Their route would take them back on Highway 101, continuing south to Beverly Glen, where at some point they would turn onto Mulholland Drive, twisting and turning until they reached Benedict Canyon Drive in Beverly Hills.
“Benedict Canyon is where Charles Manson’s gang killed a bunch of people,” said Jessica, reading what Wikipedia had to say about the area and its history. “There was a pregnant actress named Sharon Tate. It says she was married to a director—Roman Polanski, who got exiled because of underage sex.” She read further. “That’s way before we were born. 1969. Oh, look, here’s a name I know. Adam Levine from Maroon 5 lives there.”
“Oooh, now I’m impressed.” Sage sent her a grin. “Why don’t you look it up on Zillow? We can get an idea of what we’re going into. By the way, what are we going into? Do your woo-woo feelings have a plan for when we get there?”
“Nope. I just know I have to go. It’s like someone pushing me. Like I don’t have a choice.”
“Gotcha.”
They hit evening rush hour traffic, sat in a sea of red lights, reaching their exit over an hour later. The road into the canyon was only a little wider than the street where she lived and not well lit. The gleam of Google Maps in the darkened car showed a densely populated, sprawling neighborhood, thinning to the occasional home before curving into gulp-inducing hairpin turns.
“Nothing under a million,” said Jessica, perusing the listings in the area. “Here’s one for thirty million. Who pays thirty million bucks for a house?”
“Someone with money to burn. What about the one we’re going to? What’s it listed for?”
She checked. “A measly million-six. They must be the poor folk in the neighborhood.”
“Must be.”
They drove for a time without talking on the curving road. The Tesla’s headlights picked out towering hillsides and old growth trees and shrubs jutting from both sides, punctuated by fences or walls behind which homes hunkered down. The further into the canyon they drove, the more the homes were built up or against the hillsides, with backs of houses and garages facing the winding road, no space taken up by sidewalks.
“You looked pretty intense back there with Abby,” said Sage, pulling onto a straightaway. “For a minute I was wondering where you’d gone.”
“The moment she mentioned Benedict Canyon I got a super-weird vibe. So—look, I’ve just started learning how this stuff works, feeling my way. I wish Justin would come—” she stopped herself. Sage did not know about her son.
“Justin—?” he prompted.
“Not now. I can’t talk about it now. I just can’t. I need to concentrate on Ethan.”
“Okay, no pressure. We can talk whenever you’re ready. Or never.”
“Thank you,” she said, grateful for his understanding. She consulted the GPS. “Get ready to turn in three hundred feet.”
Sage tapped the brake and made a sharp right onto an even narrower road that wound upward. He slowed as Jessica read the mailbox numbers and kept checking the onscreen map.
“Another six hundred feet. Three hundred. Okay, stop; it’s right here.”
They turned onto the steep driveway in front of an ivy-trimmed garage. Sage killed the engine.
“Give me a sec.”
Jessica turned inward and waited for the touch of spirit, a message that would tell her what their next action should be. What felt like ages went by with nothing happening. She shrugged. “I guess we go look.”
A six-foot unfinished wood fence surrounded the property. As they entered the gate a bright security light came on, spotlighting a storybook house with ivy-covered walls, dormer windows on the second story. Small by Beverly Hills standards—a mere 1,600 square feet, according to the MLS listing.
They climbed the slight incline to a brick veranda. Three steps up brought them to the shiny black front door. Using the light from her phone, Jessica tapped the code into the lockbox keypad and got the key. She unlocked the door and Sage entered the burglar alarm code Abby had provided.
They stepped into a narrow entry hall with dark hardwood floors, a staircase to the right. Sage located the light switch. A wide arched entry led to a great room on the left. Jessica took a quick look inside, absorbing the atmosphere. Emptiness bounced back at her.
“Anything yet?” Sage asked.
She shook her head. “I’m not getting anything. Maybe I’ve brought you on a wild goose chase.”
“Don’t give up. What you felt when Abby was talking about Trey’s client—”
“What I felt then was overpowering. Now that we’re here, there’s nothing but a big, fat blank.”
“We’re here, let’s check out the house.” He grinned down at her. “Maybe we’ll want to buy it.”
“Why, do you have a spare million-six lying around?”
He gave her a one shoulder shrug and another smile. “You never know.”
What am I getting myself into?
They began their self-guided tour, moving through the downstairs. The owners might be away, but someone was keeping the place ready for prospective buyers to see. Designer touches throughout left it ready for an Architectural Digest photo shoot.
The great room faced the backyard and led to a sunroom. A small kitchen done all in white opened onto the dining room. The chunky wood dining table held a vase of red silk roses.
Coming back to the staircase, Jessica noticed a light prickle of static dancing across the crown of her head. She was learning to recognize the sensation of someone ruffling her scalp as a sign, a prelude to spirit contact. She waited for some kind of guidance.
An invisible hand pushed her toward the staircase with the force of a strong magnet. She glanced at Sage. “We need to go upstairs.”
He gave her a nod and followed close behind her.
The master bedroom and a guest room on the second floor were sparsely furnished. A few black walnut pieces, no personal items on display, which seemed appropriate for a house on the market and the owners away.
A third bedroom had been turned into a den. The cream-colored fabric of the eight-foot sofa looked brand new, no saggy cushions from years of family members vegging in front of the big screen TV in the built-in entertainment center. No glass ring marks on the polished coffee table. Who had white upholstery, anyway? If any kids lived in this house, their parents must be OCD.
Jessica took it all in from the door, all at once reluctant to enter the room. She half-turned to Sage, who was right behind her, reminding her by his presence that she was not alone in this. But in fact, she was alone. He could not feel the invisible hand that was pressing her to go in, or the other hand pulling her back.
Enter or back out? The decision was hers alone to make.
Jessica grabbed Sage’s hand and squeezed it tight. Letting it go, she stepped across the threshold, passing through an invisible veil so cold it made her gasp. An unwholesome effluvium saturated her soul, sucking her dry of the desire to make any connection with the spirit world or look for Ethan Starkey.
This was a waste of time. Why bother to look for someone else’s child when she was permanently separated from her own?
“You are nothing. You don’t exist.”
Where had she heard those words recently? She sank onto the sofa, her head lolling back against the puffy white cushions as she struggled to remember.
She should not be here. It was all a waste. Nothing mattered.
“You are nothing. You don’t exist.”
“What’s happening, Jess?”
As Sage’s words touched her and bounced off, it came back to her: the visit to hell. Was she back there, inhabiting Trey’s energy again?
“Jessica? Can you hear me? Jess!”
Did Sage intuit the vile presence that sapped her will to answer? She could not summon the energy to ask him. Coming to this place was an exercise in futility. They should end this worthless search. If she just closed her eyes and drifted away…
Strong arms slid behind her back, under her thighs. Her limp body was being lifted and carried, bouncing against the rough texture of Sage’s jacket. Down the stairs. Out into the cold evening air. Her eyes opened to a starry sky, a full moon.
Sage had brought her to the privacy of the backyard, where the security lights reflected off the pool water, winking and sparkling. She looked up into his face and tried to smile. The muscles around his mouth, bunched with anxiety, relaxed.
“Are you back? Are you okay?”
“I think so.” The sludge in her brain started to clear, the power returned to her limbs. “Seems like these days, people are having to ask me that question too many times.”
He set her down. “What were you feeling back there?”
“It was so eerie. I was back in the hell dream, but not exactly. It was the feeling of the dream without being there. Like death. It’s too hard to explain.” She made a supreme effort to sweep away the remnants of the unnerving experience and gather her thoughts. “One thing I’m sure of is, they were here. Trey and Ethan were here.”
“So, you were picking up what he was feeling while he was here?”
She glanced back at the house with a convulsive shudder. “I’m sure of it. I didn’t make a specific contact, but it was Trey’s energy I felt, I’m positive. It doesn’t make sense that it’s anything else.”
“What did you feel? I know it wasn’t anything good.”
“He had nothing to live for. Nothing. Sage, I think we’re too late.”
Sage looked around the small, stone-paved backyard. “There’s no cabin here.”
“No.”
A swimming pool took up most of the available space. On one side, a low rock wall butted up against the pool’s edge. Rising above it on the hillside was a cactus garden, a few trees. At the far side of the pool was a table and two chairs. No place they would find Trey with his head shot off. No little boy.
“I should try again to reach Ethan,” said Jessica. “Not inside, though. I’ll never go back in that house.”
She sat at the poolside table and put her hands in her lap, palms up. Taking three deep, long breaths, she pushed away all other thoughts and brought a picture of Ethan into her mind as she had last seen him in the vision. Still wearing his SpongeBob shirt and Spiderman boots. His toddler face tear-streaked, eyes round with fear.
Help me spirit guides. Please help me find this child.
She waited, got nothing.
Please listen to me. I’m asking for your help.
She tried until her hands were freezing and she had to put them in her pockets. She hunched into her jacket, turtle-like. “I keep hearing a tinkly bell and am thinking of Bella.”
“My Bella? The psychic medium?”
“She’s the only Bella I know of.”
Sage nodded. “Maybe your guides want you to get her to help.”
“I’ll try anything. Do you think she would mind if we called her?”
He said she would not, and called up her number in his phone.
The Reverend Bella Bingham answered right away. Sage told her he was putting her on speaker so they could all hear each other and explained the situation.
“I saw you on TV,” said Bella, her accent sounding stronger over the phone. “I remember you said you wanted to locate a little boy, but I was surprised to hear the reporter say you were involved in looking for the one that’s been missing.”
“His grandmother outed me to the media. She’s very religious and doesn’t like psychics.”
Bella tsked, then said, “I had a funny feeling I’d be hearing from you.”
“A psychic feeling?”
“I suppose you might say that. My guides gave me a message for you.”
Jessica glanced at Sage, who wore a knowing smile. “Why didn’t they just tell me to call you? Why play charades with a bell ringing that reminded me of you?”
“Ah, that’s a question for another time, luv. For the present, we need to hurry. The message I’ve got for you is this: there’s a séance tonight at 9:00 in West Hollywood and you need to be there. That’s not far from where you are now, is it? See how that worked out?”
“A séance? You mean, sitting around in the dark, contacting the dead? That kind of séance?”
“The only kind, ducky. I’ve been told you should go. Remember I mentioned Russell Levine to you? Shall I give you the address, then? I c’n give him a ring and ask him to put you on the list. You won’t get in unless you’re recommended and on the list.”
Jessica hesitated, not at all sure she wanted to attend a séance. For one thing, it felt like an irrevocable step toward the development of her mediumship. But there was her promise again, nagging at her conscience. She had vowed to do anything within her power to get Ethan back.
“Thanks, Bella, please go ahead and call him.”
“All right then, dear. Give us a minute, I’ll ring you back.” Bella chuckled. “Now don’t you two go snogging while you’re waiting.”
“Snogging?” Jessica said when they ended the call. “What’s that?”
Sage grinned. “British slang for making out.”
“Oh, jeez.”
He shifted the second chair closer to her, getting into her space. “We might have time for just a little snogging.”
“Maybe it’s not a good idea to get started.”
Jessica’s feeble protest died away as he put an arm around her and pulled her close, his eyes holding hers. “I think it’s a really good idea,” he murmured, leaning in until the tip of his nose was touching hers. He stayed there, teasing, waiting until her need to kiss him was so strong, she couldn’t not lift her lips to his.
Bella’s callback interrupted before they’d had enough.
“All right luv, yeah? I’ve got it all worked out for you. Well, it was spirit who got it worked out, I’m quite sure. Now, are you ready?” The address she recited was five miles from their location as the crow flew, which was at least a half-hour on the L.A. freeways.
“Now, listen to me carefully, this is important. You’ve got to be there before 9:00 or you won’t be allowed in. Once the door is closed, it’s closed and locked until the séance is over. Nobody gets in or out while it’s going on.”
“But what if we get stuck in traffic or lost?” Jessica protested. “Can’t we call ahead and ask him to wait for us?”
“No, dear. There’s no excuse that will open that door after it’s been closed. I had to call in a favor to get you in, spirit or no spirit. Russell will be expecting you. You’d best make sure you’re there on time.”
“Thank you so much, Bella, we
’ll be there.”
“Well, the way spirit’s been tweaking my ear tonight, there’s certainly a reason for you to be there. I swear, if you two hadn’t a’ called me when you did, I would have called you a minute later. Now, don’t be frightened. You’ll be in pitch darkness, but you mustn’t let that worry you. Just do as you’re asked and all will be well.”
“When someone says ‘pitch darkness’ and ‘don’t be frightened’ in the same sentence, it frightens me,” said Jessica when they were back in the Tesla and on their way to West Hollywood. “What did she mean? Have you ever gone to a séance?”
“No, but I’ve always wanted to. I’d love to see ectoplasm up close.”
“You mean that slime stuff in Ghostbusters?”
“Uh, not quite. I’ve seen some YouTube videos and read some websites that say it’s a substance that comes from the medium’s body—the pancreas, I think.”
Jessica stared at him, aghast. “Comes from where, exactly?”
“It can come from any orifice. In most mediums it comes from the mouth or nose.”
“Eww, that sounds gross.”
“It can take on different shapes and spirit can use it to materialize a body and talk to the people at the séance. In one of the videos I watched, a sitter said he was at a séance where ectoplasm took the shape of a hand and he shook it.”
Jessica tried to imagine shaking a spirit hand. It was one thing to see an apparition, quite another to reach out and touch spirit “flesh” made from ectoplasm. The idea both attracted and repelled her.
“What if the sitter was gullible?” she said.
“He was a very well-respected lawyer named Victor Zammit, and seven other people saw it, too. It wasn’t like a ghost, where you can’t touch it. There was a red light on and they could see the hand. It was well-formed and solid, every detail, even the fingernails and the hair on the back of the hand.”
“That sounds scary to me. You believe Bella knows what she’s talking about, sending us there? It’s kinda strange, isn’t it?”
“Says the lady who sees dead people. And yes, I’m sure Bella knows what she’s doing. Do we have any other options?”