In Memoriam

by Michael Beaulieu

  I hear people talking in the hallway, their voices growing louder by the second. So, I speak to Jim aloud. “It’s awful what happened to her and her friends, isn’t it?”

  Jim nods. “Obviously.”

  “You guys rock,” Krystal says.

  “Your parents are coming,” I whisper to her, just loud enough for Jim to be able to hear it, too, in case he didn’t hear them. Then I ask Krystal at a normal volume, “So, have you actually seen Priscilla at all since you’ve been here?”

  Krystal shakes her head. “No. They haven’t even let me leave this floor to go to the cafeteria yet. Not even with my parents. And she’s practically bed-ridden with her weak legs and all. Not that they’d let her come see me anyway.”

  I rub her back. “I’m sure they will eventually. Maybe next time we visit I’ll bring her up in a wheelchair.”

  Krystal smiles. “That would be nice.”

  “So, have you been watching anything good on TV here?” Jim asks her.

  “I’ve been watching some movies on my laptop. Mostly stupid comedies.”

  Jim smiles and tries to sound cheerful. “Hey, if they even make you laugh once or twice it’s worth it, right?”

  Now I hear the cop outside the room talking to a man and a woman. As I get up from Krystal’s bed and sit beside Jim, I use my magick-enhanced hearing to listen in.

  “So, you just let them in to see our daughter?” Krystal’s mother asks, sounding upset.

  “Didn’t you tell one of my colleagues it helped when their friends visited last night?” the cop asks firmly. “And this girl in there now, she’s one of the victims from that shooting. If I didn’t recognize her, I wouldn’t have let them in.”

  “Great, a murderess,” her mother says.

  Just what I didn’t need to hear.

  “June, those girls were defending themselves,” her father says.

  “I know, I know. I’m just worried about our daughter.”

  “Me, too,” her father says. Then he speaks to the cop. “Listen, our daughter is very vulnerable right now. So, from now on, make sure any visitors speak to my wife or I before letting them in. Are we clear on that?”

  “Yes. Crystal,” the cop says, sounding like he’s soldier speaking to a superior. I wonder if he said crystal as a pun.

  Now, do I sit here and pretend I didn’t hear them talking to the cop or do I get up and explain why Jim and I are here? Juliana said the guys that kidnaped Krystal and her friends were also after her daughter and her friends. So, I guess I don’t have a whole lot of explaining to do.

  “I hope my parents don’t kick you out,” Krystal says.

  Jim smiles at her. “We hope so, too.”

  Continuing to think quick, I unlock and hand Krystal my phone. “Put your number in it so we can at least keep in touch that way if your parents give us the boot.”

  Krystal enters her number faster than I can blink and hands me back my phone, which I tuck into my purse just as her parents come around the curtain.

  “So, you’re Emma McGlinchey-Beaulieu from the news?” Krystal’s mother asks, even though she works in the cafeteria and I’m sure she’s seen me there with my father at least a couple of times.

  “Yes.” I stand up, smile and offer my hand and we shake. “The guys who kidnaped Krystal and Priscilla were after my friends and I, too. They were actually arrested just before they were going to do a drive-by at my friend’s house.”

  “A lot of good that did,” her father says. “And that doesn’t entirely explain why you’re here or why your friends were here last night.”

  Krystal bites her top lip. “I told you it helped to talk to them. And talking to Emma and Jim is helping me, too.” She smiles.

  “We just thought she’d feel comfortable talking with us,” I say. “And my friends said she talked with them quite a bit last night.”

  “True,” her mother says.

  I sit back down just as Jim starts to stand up so then he sits back down.

  Krystal’s mother smiles at us. “Perhaps you and your friends can help her. She was already a fan of yours from following you in the news. But could I speak with you outside the room for a moment?”

  “Sure.” What else can I say?

  “By the way, I’m June and my husband is Stephen,” she says as I get up. She waits for me to start toward the door so I give Jim a quick nod and head for the hallway. She’s right behind me.

  When we’re outside the room, June shuts the door. I’m tempted to ask her if I’m in trouble, but I’m sure she’s about to tell me anyway.

  “So, Emma, how are you doing? I mean, I know you’ve been through a lot yourself,” she says.

  “I’m good,” I say. “Really.” I don’t know how candid I should be or not. I definitely don’t want to say anything that might make her think I’m too messed up to help Krystal.

  She grazes the side of my arm with her hand, trying to reassure me. “You can be honest with me, Emma. Lord knows I wish my daughter would be.”

  “I’m OK. I have an occasional panic attack or nightmare, but I’m mostly doing well.” Obviously, I’m downplaying things. But if I have to lie a little to help Krystal I’ll do it. [Hell, I’d lie to her stupid parents even if it wasn’t necessary. They’re clearly way too uptight and overprotective.] Actually, scratch that, they remind me of my parents. Good parents.

  Now she rubs my arm harder, but still gently. “I’m glad to hear it. A therapist has been coming to see her here in the hospital, but she told us Krystal barely says a word.”

  “Do you know the therapist’s name?” I bet it’s Marissa Dalton, the woman Lia, Shar and I see for group therapy. She’s not a Wiccan exactly, but her girlfriend is one, so I think she’d be great for Krystal.

  June withdraws her hand from my arm as her posture collapses slightly. “Um... I’m trying to think... It’s on the tip of my tongue... Melissa – Melissa something – I’m blanking on her last name.”

  “Could it be Dalton? Is her name Marissa Dalton?”

  “No, no... It’s Melissa... Seltab. That’s right. Seltab.”

  “Oh,” I say, feeling disappointed, my smile fading as my jaw drops slightly. I was really hoping it was Marissa.

  Now she’s wide-eyed and looks panicked. “Is Melissa Seltab bad?”

  “No, I don’t think so. I haven’t been a patient of hers, though.” I guess I should’ve hid my disappointment.

  “This Marissa Dalton you mentioned – do you and your friends like her?”

  I nod and put on a smile. “Yeah. She’s great. And I know she specializes in PTSD and severe trauma.” [I’m not sure that’s true exactly, but I’ll tell her whatever I have to in order to get Krystal out of Melissa’s hands and into Marissa’s. Also, it’s pretty fucked up that Greater Lowell Hospital has two therapists with similar first names.]

  “Do you think she’d be good for Krystal?”

  Haven’t we already established that? “Definitely. She’d get her talking for sure. I don’t know what we would’ve done without her.” [Especially when we were dealing with those witch hunters.]

  “Can you ask her to see Krystal? My husband and I will do the same, obviously. And we’ll have Krystal request her, too.” She looks so nervous, you’d think her daughter’s very life depended on my answer.

  “Of course, I can.” I almost respond in French because I’m so used to using it with Lia and Shar, but then they know enough to understand what I’m saying. “Just promise me you’ll let us continue visiting Krystal even if she does end up seeing Marissa.”

  “I think I can do that. Unless Marissa says she shouldn’t see you and your friends.”

  I submit to a single laugh. “I doubt that will happen.” We’ll just have to make sure we tell Marissa that helping Krystal is making us feel better about our own lives and that we want to continue doing so. Speaking of which, Lia, Shar and I need to schedule an appointment with her ourselves. We should make it a priority after everything we went through
with J, which she must be curious about because we had told her what we were up against.

  “Would you and Jim like more time alone with Krystal now?” June asks me as she opens the door so we can go back in.

  I give her a sincere smile to make what I’m about to say seem less disappointing. “I’m afraid we can’t right now because we still need to see Priscilla and I have to be home for dinner at 6:30.”

  “Oh, I almost forgot,” she says, shutting the door again. “I wanted to give you our home address and phone number.”

  I hand her my phone and she enters her info.

  I’m wondering why she’s so eager to give me their info tonight when she says, “They said Krystal might be able to come home tomorrow morning.”

  “Tomorrow? Do you really think that’s safe?” I’m a bit flabbergasted. Tomorrow just seems way too soon.

  “I’m sure we’ll be fine. We’ll have someone posted outside the house and they’re almost certain the people who took her are in Canada by now.”

  “It’s just, your mind races when you’ve been through something as traumatic as Krystal. I think she should spend a little more time in the hospital. At least until we can get her in to see Marissa a couple times.”

  June’s forehead wrinkles and her face reddens. “Well, we’re not rich and the insurance won’t pay for another night.”

  I can tell she’s getting angry, but I’m seriously concerned about Krystal. She’s probably still in shock over what happened. “What if my father could get the hospital to waive the charge? He’s the head cardiologist here.”

  “We don’t need charity,” she says, flustered. “And I’ve taken a leave of absence from work so I can be home with her.”

  I’d better get back on her good side before she changes her mind about letting us help. “Ah, I’m sure she’ll be OK then. I’m sorry if I offended you.”

  “It’s fine.” She smiles and opens the door and we head back into the room.

  Jim and I say goodbye to Krystal, who seems wicked disappointed that we’re leaving. But we explain that we need to see Priscilla, too, and she seems to understand.

  “Will you come visit me tomorrow?” she asks, her eyes wide and hopeful.

  “I wish we could, but tomorrow night we have a memorial for a friend who passed away,” I say. It’s for our friend Kat, who died helping us at the mountain so we could help you.

  The color drains from her face. “Oh. Thursday night would be OK then. But I think I’ll be home by then. You’ll still come, though, right?” I’m wicked sorry your friend died.

  “Thursday is totally do-able, ” I say. “And your mom gave me the address already.”

  She smiles widely. “Cool.” I’m really sorry about your friend.

  I force the corners of my lips to rise, which isn’t easy when we’re talking about something serious telepathically. We are, too, but we’re really glad we saved you and Priscilla and I’m sure she’s happy about that wherever she is.

  If you ever talk to her tell her I’m sorry and thank you. “You should go see Priscilla now.”

  If I ever do, I definitely will. “We’ll see you Thursday.”

  She smiles and Jim and I say our byes.

  “You heard that back there, right?” I ask Jim once we’re out of earshot from Krystal’s room, heading for the elevator.

  Jim takes my hand. “About her being sorry about Kat? Yeah.”

  “Do you think it was a mistake to tell her?” [How can it be a mistake when I was telling the truth?]

  “I don’t know. I guess it would’ve been better not to, but we needed to give her a good reason why we can’t come tomorrow and I can’t think of a better one than the truth.”

  I tighten my grip around his hand. “Yeah. I just hate that it’s going to cause her more stress.” [Then again, she watched her friends get raped and murdered. I don’t think she could get any more stressed than she already is.]

  He holds my hand harder, too. “I hereby instruct you to put that thought out of your mind right now.” [I don’t need your fucking permission.]

  I find his eyes with mine and manage a half-smile as we get on the elevator. “Just so long as you’re ordering me to.” If you really want me to forget, stop the elevator and fuck me hard right now.

  Are you serious? He asks.

  Shit. I didn’t mean to tell him that. No, of course not. What the fuck was I thinking? [I guess it was only human. And it would be fucking awesome if he did it.]

  “You OK?”

  I accidentally bite the side of my mouth. “Fuck!”

  His jaw drops. “What is it?”

  “Nothing. I just bit the inside of my cheek.”

  “Yikes. Sorry. Are you OK though?

  “As good as can be expected.” I force a smile, but it quickly turns upside down as I look away from him. I definitely wish I wouldn’t have told Krystal about Kat. Merde, merde, merde. Je suis une vraie idiote parfois. (Shit, shit, shit. I’m a real idiot sometimes.)

  When we get to Priscilla’s room we’re surprised to find that there’s no cop sitting outside. But the door is wide open and we see that she’s sitting up, watching TV. She looks down in the dumps until I knock and she sees Jim and I standing in the doorway. Then her face brightens as she swings her legs around so she’s facing us as we enter the room.

  “Hi!” she says excitedly as we step into the room.

  “Hey,” I say.

  “Excuse me! Miss!” I hear a woman yell behind us. “I need to talk to you.”

  “One sec,” I say to Priscilla then Jim and I turn and step back outside the room where the woman shoves an FBI badge in our faces.

  “I’m Agent Larousse, FBI. You’re here to see Priscilla?” She puts her badge away.

  “It’s fine. They’re here to visit me. They’re my friends,” Priscilla says and blushes a little.

  “I can’t let them visit tonight,” Agent Larousse says to her. “Hopefully, tomorrow night.”

  “We can’t come tomorrow night,” I say. “We have something important to do.”

  Agent Larousse straightens her posture, apparently trying to look intimidating. “That’s unfortunate, but I’m afraid she’s not permitted to have visitors right now.” Then she turns to Priscilla and says, “I’m sorry.”

  Priscilla’s brow furrows as hives appear on her arms and neck. “I want to see my friends tonight!”

  The lights in the room grow brighter then the bulbs all shatter. Jim and I look at each other, our mouths agape.

  Agent Larousse’s jaw drops, too. Nobody says anything, including Priscilla, who looks shocked by what she’s done.

  Please try to calm down, I say to Priscilla. Let me talk to her.

  Priscilla doesn’t say anything back, but a tear pours down her left cheek and more hives appear.

  Agent Larousse talks calmly and slows down her speech. “I’m very sorry, Priscilla. But, as we told you earlier, we might need to ask you some questions tomorrow and you can’t have visitors until after that.” Agent Larousse closes the door to her room.

  “Questions? What kind of questions could be so important that she can’t see her friends the night before you ask them?” I ask.

  “I’m afraid I can’t disclose that,” Agent Larousse says.

  “This is ridiculous,” Jim says deadpan.

  I want to raise my voice, but we don’t need Priscilla getting more upset so I try to talk calmly. “Her sister kept her prisoner for 15 years and you’re treating her like she’s a criminal? Is that what’s going on here?”

  “The decision wasn’t made by me,” Agent Larousse says as another female agent approaches her. At least I think she’s an agent; she’s dressed in a woman’s suit similar to Larousse’s.

  Can we hypnotize her, do you think? I ask Jim.

  You keep her talking and I’m going to try to read her, he replies.

  “I just want to know what’s happening with her,” I say to Agent Larousse. “I don’t want her getting more upset
and I’m not trying to make a scene. I simply want to know what’s going on.” [If that sounded like I’m threatening to make a scene, it was supposed to. Screw this bitch.]

  “Your friend is part of an ongoing investigation,” the other agent says, not bothering to show us her badge or introduce herself.

  “Why are you treating her like some kind of suspect?” I demand. This is such fucking bullshit. [I should make her stuff her badge in her mouth. The salope would deserve it.]

  “Right now, she’s a person of interest,” Agent Larousse says. Then she starts to say something else when she winces and places her hand on her head. Seems she’s suddenly developed an awful headache. That doesn’t usually happen when Jim reads someone. Maybe she’s prone to headaches.

  “She just needs to be ruled out,” the other agent says.

  “Did you not see how badly she’s been assaulted? Or how about the fact that her legs are so weak from being in a cell that she can barely walk?” I’m just trying to buy Jim some time.

  The agents appear sympathetic as they share a look. But then Agent Larousse’s forehead wrinkles and she seems to be struggling with something. Probably whether or not to tell me what’s happening here.

  “Please tell me what’s going on?” I ask.

  “We can’t,” the other agent says after another moment of uncomfortable silence.

  I’ve read Agent Larousse. I don’t think we can change her mind, Jim says.

  I glare at the agents and blow air out of my nose. “Fine. But this better be resolved soon.”

  “I’m sure it will be,” Agent Larousse says.

  “We’re going to look into this,” Jim says.

  “We’re just following orders,” the other agent says.

  At least the agents step aside and let us say bye before we leave. We have a memorial for a friend tomorrow night, but we’ll be here Thursday night for sure, I tell her telepathically. Thank Goddess, her hives are going away as fast as they came.

  Jim and I head for the elevator, holding hands once again. I feel slightly dizzy.

  So, what did we learn? I ask as my teeth start to chatter a bit. My nerves are frayed.

  They’re just ruling out her DNA. Hers wasn’t in the system so they were never able to compare it to the DNA samples they found on the butcher knife when Jenna killed their parents and abducted her.