Proof of Life

by Sheila Lowe

  Jessica wasn’t ready to stop playing devil’s advocate. “Isn’t it an amazing coincidence that he’s having a séance tonight, at the exact time we need it?

  “A coincidence that Bella’s guides must have been aware of. Do you want to blow it off?”

  “No. Yes. No.” Jessica sighed. “Let’s get there and see how it goes.”

  “Remember what Bella said. After the door closes, nobody in or out. So, you’d best decide right now whether you want to do this. Are you sure you’ll be okay in a dark, confined space? You’re not claustrophobic, are you?”

  “I’m not sure of anything, except that I have to go.” An inadvertent giggle escaped her. “I’m like a psychic bloodhound following a scent.”

  Sage rolled his eyes. “I guess that’s one way to look at it.”

  They located Russell Levine’s address at eight forty-five.

  The house, an early twentieth-century wood Craftsman bungalow painted yellow, stood on a corner flanked by apartment complexes. The price range in this area was far below Benedict Canyon, but the bright floodlight shining on the driveway over the one-car garage was similar to the house they had visited. A dusty red Honda of uncertain vintage faced in and left no space for another vehicle. Lined with cars on both sides, the street was as closely packed as sardines in a can.

  “We’re going to miss it,” said Jessica.

  “No, we’re not. We’re supposed to be there, remember?”

  “Well, in case you haven’t noticed, there’s no place to park and it’s almost nine.”

  “Concentrate. Ask the parking gods to help us.”

  “You’re kidding, right?”

  They turned the corner and drove slowly along the street. “Try it,” said Sage.

  “Okay, fine, but I don’t see…”

  Three car-lengths from the corner of the short block, red backup lights came on at the curb. A Prius pulled out and Sage squeezed into the Tesla-sized space.

  Jessica stared at him. “How did you do that?”

  He shut off the engine with a triumphant smirk. “What’d I tell you?”

  “I can’t believe that happened. I want to see you do it again.”

  “Oh, ye of little faith.”

  They hurried back to Russell Levine’s house around the corner. According to Jessica’s phone, it was 8:56 when they rang the doorbell, which sounded remarkably similar to the tinkling bell she had heard earlier.

  The door was opened right away by a man who must have been six-five and twice as wide as Sage. Late 40s, early 50s. Piercing dark eyes. Hawk nose. Long, silver-grey hair that had a “just-washed” shine. He was dressed in faded jeans and an olive drab t-shirt that bore a cartoon drawing of a man in sixteenth-century clothing. The word “Nostradamus” was printed underneath, with a thought bubble above the man’s head that read: “You’re all screwed.”

  What had she expected, a wizard’s gown and cap like something out of Harry Potter? She could practically feel Sage’s elbow jabbing her with the same thought.

  “Glad you made it,” said Russell Levine warmly, ushering them inside. “I was afraid I was gonna have to lock you out. C’mon through.”

  The tiny living room was no more like Jessica had imagined it would be than Russell himself was. No Victorian furniture, heavy curtains or crystal balls in evidence, no tarot cards. An IKEA-type couch, a pair of matching recliners in front of a 55-inch TV. Nicer than his slightly tatty appearance suggested, and nothing to indicate that a séance was about to be conducted on the premises. Weren’t other people supposed to be present?

  “The séance room is out back,” said Russell, answering her unspoken question. “Everyone else is already there.” He guided them through the living room and into the kitchen, where he handed them each a gallon-size clear plastic baggie from a box on the worktop.

  “You’ll have to leave your phones, purse, any jewelry in here,” he said, showing them a wooden box that already contained several similar bags filled with phones, watches, wallets, rings. “It’s like the airport; nothing in your pockets, please,” he continued. “We check everyone that comes in. It protects the integrity of the process and makes sure no one is trying to pull a fast one.”

  “Is that a big problem?” asked Jessica.

  “Debunkers, you know? They sometimes come in acting like they’re genuine seekers and think they can trick us. You’re more than welcome to inspect the séance room in whatever ways you want to. We’re completely transparent.”

  “No need,” said Sage. “You’re a friend of Bella’s. That’s the best recommendation you could get.”

  Russell nodded. “I can say the same of you. Now, your coats stay here. You’ll need to remove your boots in the séance room.”

  They hung up their coats on a rack with several others and then Russell showed them a scanner wand.

  “You weren’t kidding about it being like the airport,” said Sage, removing his belt and ring and placing them in the baggie. “Is that a metal detector?”

  “Yep. Stand still and hold your arms out.” Russell ran the wand over each of them and, after asking permission, gave them a brief all-business pat down.

  This is getting serious, Jessica thought, still considering backing out.

  “It’s like getting into Fort Knox,” Sage said.

  “We have to be careful for our protection and yours. So, I’ll need to see your ID.”

  “Are you kidding?” Jessica said.

  “Nope. Anyone new is required to show ID.”

  “Wow. Okay. Here’s my driver’s license.”

  Sage showed his, too. Russell gave each card a cursory look and handed them back.

  “Thanks, guys. Now, let’s go on through. Follow me.”

  He took them out the back door and through a yard so small it might fit in one of Jessica’s miniature scenes. “The séance room is an addition to the house. We’ve had a ton of offers from builders who want to put condos on this corner, but the lot is perfect for what we need, so we keep putting them off.”

  A Do Not Disturb sign was posted on the add-on room door, with “No entry for any reason” written underneath. When Russell opened it, Jessica was surprised to be faced with a second door behind the first.

  “Extra security,” he said with a smile when he saw her expression. The trio entered and he locked both doors behind them.

  It’s a good thing I don’t have claustrophobia, thought Jessica, noticing that the two windows had blackout curtains closed over them. The room was larger than it appeared from outside. Two dozen people were seated on metal folding chairs arranged in a circle. Two of the chairs were empty, but not together.

  They looked like an ordinary collection of folks, various ages, dressed down like the medium himself. At one side of one of the empty chairs was a woman in her twenties in a backwards Dodgers cap over waist-length blonde hair was already giving Sage the once-over, her eyes resting too long on his crotch, Jessica noted with amusement. She was getting used to women checking him out and he always seemed oblivious to the attention.

  On the other side, a middle-aged, heavyset woman sat next to a thick-lipped bald man around the same age. Next to the other empty chair was a woman who might be anywhere from thirty to fifty, wearing too much makeup, short-clipped hair too black to be natural. Jessica tried not to stare at her long, black and gold striped fingernails. How she drove with those talons was a mystery.

  The other attendees all blended together.

  “This is Sage and Jessica, everyone,” said Russell. The group chorused “Welcome.” Some waved or nodded.

  Hovering by a table set next to a small alcove at the back of the room was a slightly-built, olive-skinned man in head-to-toe black. Long, black drapes hung from the ceiling on each side of the alcove, a Mission-style wooden chair between them.

  Russell said, “This is Miguel. He’ll be in charge. I’ll be the one in the cabinet.”

  Jessica was tempted to ask why he would be in a cabinet, but Russell had g
one on to remind them to remove their boots and leave them by the door with the various footwear already there.

  “I don’t know how much Bella has told you,” he said, as they complied. “But our development circle has been meeting every week for the past seven years. We’re all very serious about our mediumship and we expect guests to be, too.”

  “Oh, we’re totally serious,” said Sage. “No problem there.”

  “Great; have a seat. Now, so you know, Bella didn’t tell me anything about you two or why it was so important for you to come tonight, just that it was.” As Jessica started to reply, Russell stopped her. “We don’t want to know anything, so please don’t give any information that might interfere with the integrity or the transparency of the process. Okay?”

  “Okay. Sorry.”

  She went to the empty chair between the two women. They introduced themselves as Marlene, and Fawn, the one with the baseball cap. Sage took the last seat between a man named Bob, and Tanya, the woman with the talons.

  Russell ambled over to the alcove. “This is the cabinet where I’ll be sitting,” he said. “Have either of you attended a séance before?”

  “No, never,” said Jessica, fascinated despite her misgivings.

  “Séance virgins,” said Fawn, pointing a benevolent smile at Sage.

  “The best kind,” said Russell. “Don’t worry, there’s nothing to be afraid of.”

  Why is everyone talking about being afraid?

  A cardboard box sat in the center of the circle. It contained an assortment of children’s toys and on top, an object that resembled a skinny dunce cap.

  “Once in a while, children in spirit come to visit,” said Bob, following her glance. “They come out and play with the toys. Last week, we had the father of a girl who passed in a car wreck come to visit us. She was in the front seat when they got T-boned. The other driver was the one who got cited, but the father couldn’t stop feeling guilty. His daughter walked out of the cabinet and sat in his lap and kissed him. She told him she was happy in the world of spirit and that she loved him.”

  “The best thing was, she told him she didn’t want him to feel bad, that it wasn’t his fault,” Fawn added.

  “That father was in tears,” said Marlene. “In fact, there wasn’t a dry eye here. His daughter’s visit gave him so much comfort.”

  “It must have been—I don’t even have words for it,” said Sage. He appeared to be enthralled, but Jessica was too choked with emotion speak. The story had resurrected the memory of her own accident, of her death and return to life.

  She had noticed that most of the time the spirits’ motives in coming back with messages for their loved ones was simply to let them know that they were okay, or that there was no need for guilt. There was nothing big and profound in what they had to say. They just wanted their people on Earth to know that they loved them. Even the father of Mean Grocery Store Guy.

  “Sometimes, several of them show up,” Tanya said. “Children, I mean. ‘Specially at Christmas. We put up a tree and all the decorations. When the lights are out you can hear them playing, squealing and laughing, throwing the balls around, ripping open the Christmas presents we bring them. It’s incredible.”

  Jessica smiled and nodded, but it was thoughts of whether Trey had killed his son that filled her mind. If Ethan was dead, would he come through tonight and sit on her lap? He didn’t know her, so it was doubtful. Would Justin? She thought she would not be able to bear it if he did.

  “Okay, folks, let’s get started.” Russell, who reminded Jessica of a grizzly bear, looked too large for the cabinet, sat on the chair and placed his hands on the arms, talking as Miguel fussed around him. “Let me tell you a little about how it works. Miguel is gonna tie me down so I can’t get up and also so I won’t get hurt if the spirit team decides to move the chair.” He must have noticed Jessica’s alarmed expression. “Once in a while when I’m in trance they’ll pick up the chair and spin it around or even send it across the room. I never remember any of it, of course.”

  Spinning chairs? Don’t be frightened? Oh, sure.

  “I’m gonna ask our newcomers, Jessica and Sage, to please test the ties? After you’ve done that and made sure there’s no hanky panky, everyone will sing some songs to build up the energy and raise the vibration. Miguel handles the music. He’ll be sitting near me so he can make sure everything is okay and I’m not having any problems.”

  Jessica’s anxiety climbed a little higher. What kinds of problems?

  “I have to say one important thing,” Miguel added in a slight accent; South American, she thought. “Not all of the time, but sometimes there is ectoplasm coming. I have to warn, if you see, you must not touch it.”

  “Okay,” said Sage, “but why?”

  “Ectoplasm, he is part of the medium’s body. Any contact can make severe injuries to Russell. If is touched or bright light comes, the ectoplasm, he go fast, back into the body. It make dangerous. No photograph, no touching.”

  “I got burned once before,” Russell said. “One of those secret debunkers grabbed at it, which is another reason why we’re so careful about who comes in here. I’m not ready for that to happen again, believe you me.”

  “Literally burned?” Jessica asked.

  “Very literally. Second degree. I ended up at urgent care. Same warning if a spirit comes out and touches you—they always ask permission first—or if you see a trumpet floating around, don’t touch. Is that okay with you? If not, now’s the time to say so.”

  “I didn’t know there would be trumpets,” said Jessica. She was beginning to detect a kind of energy in the atmosphere that was making her skin hum and the fine hairs on her arms stand up. Did that mean there were already spirits present? She glanced around, not seeing anyone who looked other than corporeal.

  Miguel went to the cardboard box and took out the object that looked like a dunce’s hat and showed it to her. “This is trumpet. Not the one you play a tune. Is okay to touch now. You check, make sure no tricks.”

  Jessica took the trumpet from him and turned it all around, inspected it inside and out, one end and then the other. It was comprised of three collapsing sections, was open at each end and made of lightweight aluminum painted a luminous blue.

  “The trumpet, he make the sound louder,” said Miguel, mixing up his pronouns. “What is the word?”

  “Amplify,” said Bob. “It amplifies the sound. Spirits have no physical human voice box after they cross over, so the trumpet helps them communicate with us.”

  “Ectoplasm can form into a voice box, too,” said Tanya, making a shape in the air with her long nails. “They can speak through it, but it’s not easy for them to do. They have to remember what their human voice sounded like.”

  “They forget what they sounded like?”

  “If you didn’t speak for a long time, then got your voice back, you might have to practice sounding like you used to. It’s called direct voice mediumship.”

  Someone else piped up. “When the spirit body is coated with ectoplasm, they say it’s like trying to talk with your head under water.”

  “There’s a lot of competition in the spirit world. They line up, wanting to get through,” said Russell. “But it means they have to get in touch with feelings from when they were last on the earth plane, and sometimes that’s not so easy. So, if they’re going to get up the energy to come through, they have to really want to do it.”

  “I never knew any of this,” Jessica said, getting more than a little excited about what she was learning. She glanced over to see whether Sage was listening but he was distracted, examining the trumpet.

  Miguel came over then with four heavy-duty plastic cable ties and showed them around the circle, then returned to Sage. “These the police use for handcuffs. You try to stretch.”

  Sage complied, showing everyone that despite his best efforts, the tensile strength of the cable ties made them virtually impossible to stretch or break.

  Miguel took
the ties and bound Russell to the chair at his wrists and ankles. Russell did a convincing job of straining to move his arms and legs. Again, the ties stayed intact.

  “Okay, some final info for you new folks,” Russell said. “It’s important for everyone to be upbeat, in a good mood, and be open to the spirit energy. Otherwise, this won’t happen. We work in complete darkness, except for a red light that might go on after the room lights are off. That’s only going to happen if there’s a materialization. Think of it like a photographer’s darkroom. White light impedes the process of spirits developing, the same as photos.”

  There was that word again, process. He had used it several times now. Jessica had expected to sit around a table with a Ouija board, everyone touching their fingers to the planchette and making it move, the way they did in scary movies. Half of her was champing at the bit to get started. The other half still wanted to jump up and run, locked doors or not. She flicked a glanced across the circle at Sage. His spellbound gaze was fixed on the medium in the cabinet.

  “My control is a spirit named Graham,” said Russell. “When I go into trance, that’s who you’ll hear first.”

  “Graham is our circle guide,” Fawn explained. “He’s lived on Earth before. Freddy also comes in. He’s ten years old. He died of the Spanish Flu after World War I. If someone wants to materialize, Freddy’s the one that will help them. He’s in charge of the ectoplasm.”

  Marlene reached out her right hand to take Jessica’s left. “We all hold hands. It completes the circle and makes sure everyone is where they’re supposed to be. No monkey business.” She gave a big grin. “Not that anyone in this room would cheat, of course, but we still do it that way, every single time.” Fawn stretched her left hand, which was cool and firm, quite the opposite of Marlene’s soft, warm one, and took Jessica’s right.

  Russell closed his eyes and began to breathe deeply.

  “Everyone is quite happy?” asked Miguel, taking his seat beside the cabinet. He started fiddling with an iPod on a small table next to him, then turned off the lamp, plunging the room into a darkness so deep that nothing was visible. This must be how it felt to be blind.