Donn's Hill

by Caryn Larrinaga

  Graham nodded. “Hmm, you’re probably right.”

  “So that’s it? She hates me because she thinks I’m proof of what a faithless pig her husband was?”

  “That’s part of it. But I think the bigger issue is Tom’s will.”

  “His will?”

  “Yeah. I guess there’s a way to exclude any illegitimate children from laying claim to part of an estate, and he didn’t do that. They were never able to conceive, so she didn’t think Tom had any heirs. Then you showed up, and you look just like your mom, and with the last name ‘Clair’—well, she put two and two together. She thought you came to town to sue for part of the estate.”

  “What?” My shout startled Striker, and she leapt down from my lap to climb onto Graham’s. “No one knew Tom was dead until after I got here. I found the body, for Pete’s sake!”

  “Shhh, settle down. I’m not saying there’s any merit to what she thinks is going on. She’s pretty paranoid right now—I think she’s losing it. She says you killed him so you could pounce on the will.”

  “That’s insane.”

  “I know. She’s been under so much stress… I think she’s having a nervous breakdown.” He shook his head. “I’ve never seen her like this—even when she’s been at her worst. She was ranting and raving while we waited for my mom to get here to take her home.”

  I suddenly felt exhausted. Too much had happened today, and Graham was right—I had gotten a lot of sun. I stood up and rubbed my eyes.

  “I’m going to go home and lie down,” I told him. “I’m so… ugh. Penelope said Dr. Lee is stuck at the animal hospital. I need to cover her shift.”

  A long, low groan escaped my lungs. Yesterday had been awful, and despite the lack of any new dead bodies, today was shaping up to be another winner. I left Striker with Graham and slumped off to the volunteer station, where I’d have to deal with Phillip for the umpteenth time that day.

  “Seriously,” I muttered as I crossed the square, “I can’t wait for this day to be over.”

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  My phone buzzed in my pocket. I pulled the golf cart over and answered it.

  “Hello?”

  “Mackenzie, where are you?” It was Gabrielle. “I’ve been waiting.”

  “Ah, crap. I forgot to text you back. I got roped into covering someone’s shift.”

  Irritation rang through Gabrielle’s sigh. “Well, I wish you would have let me know. I’ve been sitting here for half an hour.”

  I bit my lip. “I’m so sorry. I’ve only got a couple of hours left. Can I come by after I’m done?”

  “I’m hosting a séance at nine o’clock. You’re welcome to attend, and perhaps we can chat afterward.”

  I checked my watch. My shift ended at nine, but I could probably sneak off a few minutes early and bolt for Gabrielle’s shop.

  “I’ll be there,” I promised.

  “Sure.” She hung up without a goodbye.

  I swore under my breath as I got the cart moving again. This day just keeps getting better and better.

  By the end of my second shift, my body ached from lifting supply totes, and the novelty of cruising down the street at a whopping fifteen miles per hour had long since worn off. I’d thought I got off easy when I was assigned to be a runner, but apparently Penelope had been punishing me after all.

  Phillip didn’t seem to mind when I dashed into the volunteer station ten minutes before my shift technically ended. He got up from his camp chair and walked toward me to collect my keys and radio.

  “Thank you for covering for my dear sister. I truly appreciate your extra efforts.”

  He opened his arms, and I realized he wanted to hug me. I stepped away from him and backed up toward the tent’s flaps.

  “Uh, yeah. No problem,” I told him. “See you tomorrow.”

  For the second time that day, I sprinted across the town square, darting through the crowd to make it to Gabrielle’s without being waylaid. This time I was successful, and I crossed Main Street with plenty of time to spare.

  The windows of Gabrielle’s narrow Victorian were dark except for the light of a single, flickering candle on the first floor. I fell into step beside an elderly woman wearing a long fur coat. I held the heavy wooden door to the shop open for her, and she accepted my arm for additional support as we climbed the stairs to the attic.

  “You’re such a sweet young woman,” she told me, as she took her time with each step. “My name is Lillian.”

  “Nice to meet you. I’m Mac. Is this your first séance?”

  “Oh, no. I’ve been coming to see Gabrielle for decades. At my age, you know, more of my friends have passed on than haven’t.”

  “Are you always able to connect with them?”

  We paused on the second-floor landing, where Lillian removed her coat and draped it over one arm. Beneath it, she was wearing a long black dress covered in tiny shimmering beads. A heavy necklace inlaid with sparkling jewels hung around her neck. I got the feeling she wasn’t scraping by on a tiny retirement fund.

  “Not always,” she said. “Have you ever attended a séance before?”

  I shook my head, and we started ascending the stairs once more.

  “Then you’re in for a treat. Even if I’m not able to talk to someone, I love being here. It’s quite an experience.”

  “I can only imagine.” I wasn’t actually sure how I felt about the séance. I had zero interest in having a conversation with one of my dead parents while in a roomful of other people. On the other hand, I was extremely curious to see another psychic in action.

  “Of course, I do prefer it when I get to speak to my older sister. She was a lovely woman and always looked after me. She passed away fifteen years ago. Heart problems. But it’s the most marvelous thing: I can still feel her looking after me. Last year she came to me during the séance and warned me to be careful. And do you know what happened? While I was in Paris last fall, my home in Chicago was burgled!”

  “Oh, my,” I said.

  Lillian nodded. “It was terrible. The thieves made off with most of my jewelry and quite a bit of valuable art and furniture. The police said it was definitely the work of professionals. But thanks to my sister, I’d taken my favorite jewels with me.” She fingered the gems around her neck. “I would have been devastated to lose this. It’s been in the family for generations.”

  We reached the third floor. A pair of coat racks flanked the oaken door at the top of the stairs, which was propped open. Lillian allowed me to hang up her heavy fur coat, and we entered the séance room.

  The converted attic was much the same as I remembered from my previous visit. The folding screens were arranged in a circle around the low table, and dark fabric stretched from their tops to a central point on the ceiling. The air was heavy with the smell of sandalwood incense, and the only light came from an ornately decorated lantern that hung from the nexus of the hanging fabrics. The effect was intimate—almost claustrophobic—and I felt as though I was in a tent in a desert somewhere. There were already six people sitting around the table, and their bodies were all radiating heat.

  Gabrielle appeared from behind one of the screens, wearing a long, off-the-shoulder dress with ruffled sleeves. Her eye makeup was heavy and smoky, and she wore dark lipstick. She looked like a gypsy—or at least how I imagined a gypsy might look.

  “Lillian!” she cried. “It’s so good to see you.”

  Gabrielle gathered the older woman into a hug then led her to one of the floor pillows. After she helped Lillian sit down, there was only one pillow left, and Gabrielle steered me away from it and toward the edge of the space. She ducked behind another screen and returned with a rickety three-legged stool.

  “I’m sorry, Mackenzie, but I sold out tonight’s session. Do you mind sitting over here? I think it’ll be a more suitable vantage point for you.”

  “I don’t mind.” I was relieved that I wouldn’t be directly involved in the séance. Although after the day I�
�d had, I would’ve preferred a nice, fluffy pillow on the floor.

  “Séances are very delicate. It’s extremely important that you sit as still as you can, and that you don’t speak at all during the session. I’m sure you’ll have many questions, and I’ll happily answer them when we’re finished.” She gave me a reassuring smile and left me to settle in on the rough wooden stool.

  Something rubbed against my ankles. A tall gray cat was winding between the legs of the stool, brushing its face against me. It was the strangest looking cat I’d ever seen; it had gigantic ears that loomed over piercing yellow eyes and didn’t appear to have any fur at all. I reached down to stroke its back, expecting the bare skin to feel rough. Instead the cat felt soft and smooth, almost like suede. The animal seemed thin, even skinnier than Striker had been when I’d first met her.

  I wonder if Striker would look like this if her fluffy fur were shaved off?

  The cat blinked up at me then stationed itself near the table.

  Gabrielle shut the door and took a seat on the last vacant pillow. She smiled around the table at the seven other people in attendance, all around the same age as Lillian. Everyone was well dressed, and despite their advanced ages, they seemed perfectly comfortable on the big square pillows. I recognized Mark’s aunt Sheryl, whose vibrant purple hair sharply contrasted with the reserved gray of the rest of the elderly attendees.

  Gabrielle raised her hands into the air with her palms facing upward and spoke in a loud, clear voice.

  “Welcome, everyone, to this opportunity to commune with those who have passed before us. Tonight we will call out into the space beyond the veil and beseech our dear departed loved ones to join us at this table. Tonight we shall connect with that place where spirits wait to enter the next life. Please remember that if they have already passed on to what awaits us all on the other side, we will not be able to reach them. However, if they are lingering here on earth, they may be open to our call.”

  Gabrielle lowered her hands and picked up a long box of matches. She struck one and leaned forward across the table, lighting the three candles that sat in the center. Each of the candles was a different color and shape: one was blue and triangular, another red and circular, and the third was yellow and square. She shook out the match and rested it on a metal plate then pressed a button and extinguished the light from the ceiling. The cat’s yellow eyes glowed in the flickering candlelight.

  “Please join hands,” she said.

  The attendees around the table clasped hands, forming an unbroken circle. It reminded me of the photo I’d seen in the basement of City Hall, where there were too many hands on the séance table. I shivered.

  “Focus your minds,” Gabrielle instructed. “If there is someone you would like to make contact with tonight, think of them. Remember them. Hear their voice in your mind, and call to them.”

  The room was silent except for the sounds of nine people and one cat breathing. I tried to keep my mind clear. I didn’t want my mother or father—or worse, Tom Bishop—showing up in front of all of these people. I tried to focus on watching the faces of the people around the table, whose eyes were closed in deep concentration, but my day had been exhausting and my own eyes wanted to rest. My eyelids slipped down, and I let myself relax as much as the rickety stool allowed.

  After what felt like a long time, I detected a low rumble in the room. It was a familiar sound, but something about it was off. It took me a moment to recognize it as the purring of a cat because it was much louder than I had ever heard a cat purr before.

  Gabrielle spoke. “Someone is here.”

  I opened my eyes. The air in the room felt different. The change was difficult to pinpoint, but I soon realized the smell of incense had been replaced. The faint scent of charred wood filled my nostrils as clearly as if I were sitting around a campfire. I looked at Gabrielle nervously. Had the candle in the downstairs window fallen over? Was the building on fire?

  She caught my eye and shot me a reassuring smile. She inclined her head, indicating a shape near the door. The door hadn’t opened, but a young man now stood there. He was tall and wore a puffy brown vest over a long-sleeved shirt. His face was covered in black soot, and though he gave off a soft glow, he cast no shadow.

  My breath caught. Honestly, I hadn’t expected to see anything extraordinary at all, and now it seemed a ghost had shown up within the first half hour. I searched the faces of the people sitting immediately next to Gabrielle—could they see the figure? They didn’t appear alarmed. Oddly, the longer I looked at the spirit, the calmer I became. I had the overwhelming feeling that this ghost wasn’t here to start any trouble, just like the one in the Grimshaw Library. His face looked sad, not angry, and his eyes were warm.

  “Mr. Lasko, I believe our visitor is here to see you,” Gabrielle said.

  A hunched old man sat directly across from Gabrielle. “For me?” His voice was thin and reedy, and his hands shook in his neighbors’ grips. “Is it David?”

  The apparition pulsed momentarily, growing brighter like a light bulb that is about to burn out, and then returned to his original soft glow.

  “Yes, it’s your son.”

  Gabrielle took a deep breath, and the ghost moved through the table toward her. The cat jumped up on the table and struck a defensive posture in front of her but didn’t hiss. David stopped moving and sunk downward until he was sitting right in front of Gabrielle, his torso cut off by the wooden tabletop. Gabrielle stared straight ahead and gazed directly into David’s eyes. Strangely, the eyes of the others around the table didn’t follow the ghostly figure when he moved.

  They can’t see it. But Gabrielle can… Does the ghost look like a man to her or a shimmering shape? I’d come here with a dozen questions, but the séance had brought on a hundred more.

  “You may speak, Mr. Lasko,” Gabrielle said, her voice flat.

  The old man appeared pained. “Oh, my boy, my sweet, sweet boy. Why haven’t you moved on? Why are you still here? It’s been so many years since the fire.”

  Gabrielle inhaled a second time, taking a long, deep breath and straightening her spine. She looked regal, like a queen about to make a proclamation to her people. When she spoke again, her voice echoed slightly, as though we were sitting in the middle of a cavern.

  “I wait for you.” Gabrielle spoke in a strange double tone. I could hear her own accented voice, but there was a second one behind it, deep and masculine and slightly quieter than hers.

  The room was momentarily silent. Realizing I was holding my breath, I released it. The ghost was talking through Gabrielle. Just like Kit had said, it was as if Gabrielle had become a telephone, and Mr. Lasko was using her to have a conversation with his dead son.

  “You’re waiting?” Mr. Lasko asked in a quiet voice.

  Gabrielle spoke again in that odd, echoing way. “We cross over together.”

  “But your mother has already passed on. I want you to be with her.”

  Gabrielle was silent, staring straight ahead. The ghostly figure in front of her shimmered. She gripped the table, her knuckles growing white before uttering a single word. “No.”

  Mr. Lasko’s trembling stopped. “David,” he said, his voice suddenly much firmer than I imagined possible, “you must move on. I can still feel you in your old room. It broke my heart enough to lose you.” His voice cracked. “Can’t you see how much worse you’re making it? I need to know that you’ve moved on. I need to be able to imagine that you’re somewhere better, happy, and with your mother.”

  Gabrielle tipped her head backward and exhaled loudly through her mouth. As she did, the apparition faded. Her posture relaxed, and she took several long, even breaths.

  “David?” Mr. Lasko’s voice was sharp and panicky.

  Gabrielle shook her head. “He’s gone, Mr. Lasko.”

  My eyes widened. Gone? Had I just witnessed someone passing on to the other side? I expected it to be more dramatic.

  Gabrielle seemed to read my mind. “Go
ne only from this room, not from this plane. I don’t believe he’s moved on to the next life, Mr. Lasko. He simply didn’t want to argue with you anymore.”

  Mr. Lasko’s shoulders slumped forward, and his hands slipped out from his neighbor’s grasp. He gave a low sob. It made my heart ache. This is exactly why I don’t want to see my parents. I didn’t think I could bear the idea that they were stuck between worlds, not moving on to whatever awaits us on the other side.

  Still purring loudly, the hairless cat walked across the table and sat down in front of Mr. Lasko. It leaned its head down and butted against Mr. Lasko’s forehead. The old man raised a trembling hand and stroked the cat’s back as tears fell from his chin.

  “Would you like to recover in private?” Gabrielle asked softly.

  The old man continued to cry, and nodded. Gabrielle motioned for me to come to her side.

  “Please escort Mr. Lasko downstairs,” she whispered into my ear. “There’s a sitting room on the second floor, first door on the right.”

  I walked around the table and helped Mr. Lasko stand. His arms felt willowy and fragile, and we moved slowly for the attic door and the stairs beyond it. When we reached the second floor, I guided him to the room Gabrielle had indicated. It was a very pleasant space, with creamy walls and a long microfiber couch. The décor surprised me; it was very simple and modern, and there were no antiques or knickknacks like in the bookstore or the séance room upstairs.

  Mr. Lasko took a seat on the couch and picked up a small bottle of water from a basket on a square side table. He opened the bottle, took a long drink, and sat back against the cushions. His eyes were dull and unfocused.

  “Are you going to be alright? Is there anything I can get you?” I was at a loss for anything useful to say or do.

  He shook his head. “No, nothing. Please, go back up to the séance.”

  Nodding, I backed out of the room and headed upstairs. I’d recognized that look on his face: grief. There was nothing to do but leave him to his thoughts.