“I’ve provided the services that I advertise.”
“Except that psychic services are not legitimate services. You can’t actually predict the future or talk to the dead, so what you are doing is fraudulent.”
Reg pointed to the tent card on the coffee table in front of Office Jesssup. Readings and other services are for entertainment only.
Jessup’s nostrils flared. “So you admit that you are not actually psychic.”
“I’m intuitive. I notice things that other people don’t, and provide clients with a performance that incorporates those elements. It feels very real to them. They put their own interpretation on it and go home happy.”
“You’re not psychic.”
“I don’t know of any objective test to find out whether someone is psychic or not. Do you?”
“There is no such thing. It’s hogwash. Therefore, what you are offering is not a legitimate service.”
“I’ve providing entertainment,” Reg reiterated. “Surely you do believe in acting. Performance art. Those are legitimate services. You’re not arresting all of the actors and artists, are you?”
“You’ve been advertising and putting up flyers.”
“Yes. In places where they are allowed.” Reg had been very careful to only post the flyers in places where community notices were allowed. No notices on telephone poles or windows.
“Do you have an example of what you have been posting?”
“Yeah, sure.” Reg got up and went to the second bedroom, which she had set up as her office, and picked up the top sheet from a stack of flyers. She took it back out to Detective Jessup. She pointed to the disclaimer that repeated the line on the tent card. Readings and other services are for entertainment only. It was a good thing she’d done her research before beginning.
Jessup’s lip curled into a sneer. “People like you give Black Sands a bad reputation. People don’t come here to be cheated out of their money.”
“If people want to be entertained, what’s the harm in them hiring me to do it? Everything is on that flyer. They can see what it is that I’m providing, and as far as I can tell, you haven’t had any complaints about me.”
“There is no such thing as a true psychic, Ms. Rawlins.”
“Prove it.”
But Jessup already knew that she didn’t have any basis to bring charges against Reg. She got to her feet scowling. “I’ve got my eye on you,” she warned. “The first time you step out of line, I’m going to be there, ready to catch you.”
“It seems to me that if the town is overrun with crooks, like you say it is, you’ve got your work cut out for you. Why don’t you concentrate on the people who you know have been ripping citizens off instead of someone who just arrived in town?”
Jessup didn’t answer the question. She went to the door.
“I’ll have my eye on you,” she repeated, and left.
“Well.” Reg looked down at Starlight. “That was a fun experience, wasn’t it? She’s got her eye on me now.” She went to the kitchen to refill her coffee mug, even though she knew she probably shouldn’t have quite that much caffeine in one morning. “Have you got your eye on me as well? Or all three of them?”
Starlight paced around the kitchen, stopping for a moment to sniff his dishes and then resuming his restless circuit. “Hungry? You’re going to have to wait until I’ve had a chance to shower and make myself decent if you want to share my breakfast. Although… there is still more of that burger left over from last night.”
She went to the fridge to get it out. “You’ll eat it cold, right? I don’t have to heat it up for your majesty?”
She opened the clamshell and looked at the partially-consumed burger. She was suddenly famished. How long had it been since she’d had a really good meal? It seemed like forever, even though she knew with the logical part of her mind that she’d had plenty to eat just the day before. She picked up the burger and put it on a plate. The smell filled the air, making her salivate.
She put it into the microwave to warm it up. She felt a sudden chill in the air and glanced over at the air conditioner to see if it was on. The room was quiet, and she couldn’t detect the hum of the air conditioner over the noise of the microwave. Starlight darted in and nipped at her leg, but Reg saw him coming and jumped out of the way before he could dig in with his claws or teeth.
“No, Starlight!” she shouted. She picked up a thick grocery flyer from the kitchen island and rolled it into a tube to smack him with. He danced back when she swung it, so that she only skimmed his fur. He yowled and put his ears back.
“Go eat your food,” Reg told him. “This is mine! No attack cat, or I’ll send you back!”
He sat down out of her reach, but didn’t go back to his food bowl or try to close in on her. Reg waited until the microwave beeped, then pulled the dish out. She couldn’t believe how hungry she was. It was like she hadn’t eaten in a week. She jammed the food into her mouth, wolfing it down. She closed her eyes and tried to remember what she had seen and heard during her session with Ling. Visually, there was nothing, just like when she closed her eyes. But she could hear and smell. There were smells of cooking food, like the hamburger and french fries. There were people talking. Machines making regular noises and, of course the beating of her own heart. I’m not dead. I can’t be dead, I can still hear my heart beating.
“Reg? Miss Rawlins? Are you okay?”
Reg was far away, and she didn’t think she could get back to the voice. There was too great a distance to be traversed.
“Miss Rawlins?” A sharp pain in her arm. “Come on. Wake up.”
“I… can’t…”
“You need to. Come back.”
Reg tried to withdraw from the poking and prodding, just focusing on the sensations in her memory. Where was he? He was closer than it seemed. She was getting closer to him.
There was a sharp, acrid smell that blocked out the smells of the hamburger and the other familiar smells of the memory. Reg coughed, choking on the evil stench. She put her hands up to her mouth and nose, trying to block the smell.
She opened her eyes. She was on the kitchen floor, Sarah hanging over her, face worried. Reg choked again. “What is that? Take it away.”
Sarah withdrew whatever stinkweed she’d been holding under Reg’s nose.
“It’s a traditional—”
“It’s foul!”
“You were in a trance. It was the only thing I could think of to pull you out.”
“A trance?” Reg scoffed. “I was not in a trance.”
“You wouldn’t wake up.”
Reg opened her mouth to say that she had just fallen asleep. But it was a pretty silly thing to say when she was lying on the kitchen floor. She hadn’t just lain down there for a nap.
She sat up slowly, trying to keep her wobbly head under control so that she looked like she was okay, and not all wonky like she was.
“Tell me what happened,” Sarah said, offering her hand to Reg to help her up. Reg ignored the hand and pushed herself up on her own. She didn’t want to end up pulling Sarah over. Reg was healthy and fit and in her prime. She didn’t need an older woman to step in and pull her up. Reg sat for a minute and then got shakily to her feet.
“I don’t really know. I was eating. I was thinking of the hamburger and just about Ling’s husband and then…” She shook her head. “I’m sure it’s just jet lag. I’m just fatigued after all of the driving.”
She remembered how Corvin had suggested that there was some kind of cosmic disruption that was keeping him from sleeping. Which was ridiculous, of course. There was nothing any of them could do to affect magnetic waves or energy fields of even a room, let alone an entire community.
“Think about it,” Sarah insisted. “This isn’t just about being tired. That was a trance. You were under a spell.”
“No one could have put a spell on me.”
Sarah laughed. “You’re not very familiar with the magical world, are you?”
“Someone has cast a spell,” Sarah insisted. “But I’m not sure it’s on you. I’m not sure you were meant to be caught by it. Sort of like a dolphin getting caught in a tuna net.”
“What were they trying to cast a spell on, then? My house? Starlight? Was my food contaminated?”
Sarah looked around the house, her hands outstretched as if trying to catch the wisps of spells. She closed her eyes and swayed back and forth. Reg almost found herself believing it, even though she knew it was just an act. Sarah looked up toward heaven, staring beyond the ceiling.
“We should cleanse the room,” she suggested. “Burn some sage to get rid of the spectral imprint… who did you have contact with last?”
“There was a policewoman this morning,” Reg offered.
“You did a reading for her?”
“No, she was trying to warn me off. To keep me from offering my services.”
“That’s not what I mean. I mean what spirit did you contact last? Was there some influence that was very strong?”
Reg shrugged reluctantly. “That would be Ling’s husband, I guess. I haven’t been able to get him out of my mind.”
“Because his imprint is still here. You should say a prayer. Do you have sage?”
At Reg’s doubtful look, Sarah waved her hand. “Never mind. I do. Don’t do anything before I get back. Understand? Don’t try to contact him again.”
“I wasn’t…”
“Just don’t. Don’t even think of him.”
Reg wasn’t sure how she was supposed to stop herself from thinking about a particular thing. Because of course the first thing that happened when Sarah left the cottage was that Reg thought back to the contact she had made with Warren.
Starlight brushed against Reg, meowing.
“I know, I haven’t fed you either. But you do have food in your dish.”
Starlight turned to look at Reg, clearly communicating his displeasure. Reg looked around. There was no sign of the hamburger, which presumably meant she had finished eating it herself, or she had dropped it on the floor when she had fainted and Starlight had moved in and gobbled it up.
She looked in the cupboards and found a can of tuna. She opened it, Starlight purring and rubbing happily against her legs the whole time, put some in a bowl, and put it down on the floor for him. Starlight trotted over and started to gobble it down. The smell was sweet and meaty and a little nauseating to Reg. It helped to clear the residual cobwebs away.
Obviously, she was fighting some kind of virus. That was why she had been having such trouble sleeping, having such vivid dreams and memories, and had fainted in the middle of the kitchen. She was coming down with the flu. That’s all there was to it.
Sarah returned. She smiled at Reg and nodded encouragingly. “We’ll have this place fixed up in no time,” she promised. She put some green leaves on a tray, then used a lighter to start them burning. She waved the tray up and down and back and forth, spreading the sweet-smelling smoke around. Like the tuna, it helped Reg to put aside her thoughts of Warren and focus on the present. Though the tuna might actually have helped more.
“Now, tell me about this spirit,” Sarah said, putting the tray down in the middle of the counter as it continued to smolder.
“He was recently killed in a plane crash, but he didn’t know he was dead. He kept saying that it was all a mistake. He could hear his heartbeat, so he couldn’t be dead. And I keep having dreams of him… hearing that heartbeat, as well as the other things going on around him.”
Reg realized after saying it that she had ascribed those feelings and words to the spirit, when she herself was the one who had come up with them. She was falling for her own con. The Warren she was dreaming about wasn’t the real Warren, but someone she had invented. She frowned to herself, thinking about the irony of it.
“He could hear his heart beating?” Sarah repeated.
“Yes. That’s what he said.”
“That’s very odd. A spirit wouldn’t be able to hear his heart beating, because it wouldn’t be beating.”
“I think that was his point.”
Sarah frowned. “You’re sure that this fellow is dead, right? It’s not a missing persons case?”
“Of course. He was killed in a plane crash.”
“So they have his body.”
“No. They’ve recovered some of the wreckage, but not his body. It might have been really torn up. Maybe sharks…” Reg trailed off. They both knew what predators could do to bodies. Luckily, neither of them had to see that. They both had professions that allowed them to sit in the comfort of their own homes, spinning their little tales.
“Then the answer is simple,” Sarah said. “He isn’t dead.”
⋆ Chapter Ten ⋆
If Warren Blake wasn’t really dead, then Reg had made a big mistake contacting him spiritually. When Ling figured it out and came after her, Detective Jessup would have the information she needed for her fraud charges. Contacting a spirit who wasn’t in the spirit world was a pretty dubious talent.
“I think if Warren wasn’t dead, Ling would know it,” Reg asserted. She turned away from Sarah to put the rest of the tuna into a sealed container and store it in the fridge. It was only an excuse to compose herself.
“Maybe Ling does know it in her heart, and that’s why she came to see you,” Sarah said. “She was looking for answers. She didn’t believe what the police told her and thought he was still out there, somewhere.”
“He couldn’t still be alive. If he was still alive, I wouldn’t be able to contact him, and the police would have been informed he was still alive. He couldn’t survive out there in the ocean, which would mean he is on land, somewhere close by. Where the ocean washed him in like the rest of the debris from the crash.”
“Not if no one knew who he was,” Sarah said.
“He would know who he was.”
“Maybe he’s in a coma. Some spirits have been known to wander while their bodies were in an unconscious state.”
Reg felt a rush of warmth. Like goosebumps, except calming instead of uncomfortable. Like her body had just confirmed what Sarah had told her.
“You really think he’s still alive?”
“It sounds like it, my dear. There’s only one way to find out. We need to contact him and get all of the information we can, and then track him down. Then he can be reunited with his wife.”
“Sarah, I can’t really—”
“You can and you will. You’ve been trying to shake him off ever since your session, so it shouldn’t be hard to establish contact again. He’s practically begging you to be his vessel again.”
“This is ridiculous…”
“No, it’s not. Now come and sit down and get comfortable. Do you have any rituals? Do you want a cup of tea or need some time for meditation…?”
“Well, the last couple of times I’ve had tea… but I don’t really have anything special. I just talk to the person about their loved on, and then see if I can… channel them.”
“I’ll put the kettle on. It may take a little while, since we’ve just cleansed the cottage of his spiritual imprint. He might not be as amenable to coming back again…”
Reg sat in her living room as she was told. She didn’t know for sure why she was doing what Sarah told her to, since she knew it was all just in her own head. There was no real spirit of Warren, just the voice Reg herself had made up. But Sarah was surprisingly convincing.
In spite of the amount of coffee and excitement that morning, she was already feeling drowsy by the time the kettle began to whistle. Sarah poured the water into the teapot, prepared their cups, and brought the tea service over. Reg poured water over the loose leaves and stared down at them. What if there was something more to reading tea leaves than just exercising a vivid imagination? What would it be like to have an actual vision or visitation?
Reg closed her eyes.
“It’s cold.”
“Are you reaching out, Reg? Can you feel him?”
“I’m here,” Warren’s voice answered.
“Well, you are strong, aren’t you? Am I talking to Warren?”
“Yes. Who are you? I can’t see you.”
“I’m Sarah, a friend of Ling’s. Tell me about where you are, Warren.”
“I don’t know. I can’t see anything.”
“What do you hear?”
“Voices. Beeping. Amplified voices.”
“Are you in a train station?”
“No,” the voice was dry. “It’s not a train station!”
“Is it your house? Are you sleeping in your bed?”
“I’m not in my house…” Reg searched for the words when the voice petered out. But she couldn’t find the words to put into Warren’s voice. She had to wait for them. “I might be in a bed, though. Where am I?”
“Are you in a hospital?” Sarah suggested.
“A hospital? Yes!” There was growing excitement in the voice. “I think it might be. But why would I be in a hospital? What happened?”
“Don’t worry about that. Those machines you hear, could it be a heart rate monitor? A respirator? Think about it.”
“Yes… they could be.”
“Do you know which hospital you’re at?”
There was only blankness when Reg reached for an answer. She couldn’t answer that question.
“Are you still there, Warren?”
“You said I was dead. But I’m not dead.” There were a few seconds of silence. “Not unless they come back for me.”
⋆ Chapter Eleven ⋆
Reg remembered playing on the swings when she was little. She tended to be excluded from the groups playing tag and grounders and other group play, and instead had to find other ways to entertain herself. She loved to swing for hours. High and low, fast and slow. Turning to get the chain all twisted and deformed in a big knot, and then to let it go and spin, spin, spin back to her original position.
What the Cat Knew Page 8