by L C Kincaide
His tone was positive and reassuring, and Emma didn’t buy any of it. Maybe he can, but the Everdons of the past had a long reach, and she still felt their hold on her. It was unlikely she will never be completely free of it.
“Does your mother have any plans for the manor?”
“She hasn’t been back since we left. I suppose she’s happy enough to not have to deal with it anymore. The Trust money is available if she wants to keep the place from falling down, and I have a feeling she’d just as well have me take over and be done with it.”
“How do you feel about that?”
Emma didn’t have to think about her response. “Sick to my stomach, to be honest.”
“I can see how you would. It is a beautiful house though. Maybe down the road you’ll find a use for it.”
Emma shrugged. “I wouldn’t know where to start. It’s all a bit overwhelming.”
“Well, it doesn’t have to be now. You’ve earned your rest.”
“Thank you, for this. Tonight’s been wonderful. I feel like Cinderella, escaping from my life for a while.”
“I should be thanking you.” His smiling eyes met hers. “We should do this again.”
Emma smiled back. “That would be fun. But I thought you were busy getting ready to take over the business.”
“My father talks a lot about abdicating, but the truth is, he loves it at the top. And he’s dreading having all that freedom because my mom has been collecting travel brochures and he hates going anywhere. But even when he does, I can make time.”
“Okay. Maybe I’ll drive down then.”
“That would be great, and if the weather is still warm enough, we can go sailing.”
“Out on the ocean?”
He laughed. “That’s usually the way. Do you get seasick?”
Emma shrugged. “I don’t know. I’ve never been on a boat.”
“Then I think you should find out.”
Realizing the hour, they soon left the restaurant, the change in venue barely interrupting their conversation.
He was right. Maybe it was time she rejoined the living. The past twenty-four hours had shown her she was living half a life, trudging through the days exhausted and steeped in guilt. Tonight had been so wonderful.
“I mean it. Thank you for prying me out of my life for a little while. I forgot what it felt like to be normal.”
“I wish I’d known. We could have done this sooner. I’m glad it helped. Maybe you’ll sleep well tonight too.”
“That would be awesome.” She had to agree.
John walked her to the entrance of her building while the driver waited at the curb with the engine running. He was heading straight for the airport.
“Well, have a good flight.” She said, feeling awkward for the first time. The evening with her lifelong friend had felt too much like a date, something probably he had not expected either.
“Thanks. And hang in there. It will get better.”
He took her in a quick embrace and got in the car. With a wave from the window, he was gone.
From the sidewalk, she watched his taillights merge into traffic, and with a resigned sigh headed upstairs.
WEDNESDAY
~*~
“Rachel, it’s Emma. Can you make that appointment?”
“What, with the psychic?”
“Yes. And soon? Really soon?”
“Sure. What’s wrong? Did something happen?”
“Nothing new, just the nightmares. I want to know why I’m still having them.”
“Ok. I’ll call her now, make it sound like a life and death emergency, and get back to you.”
“Thanks.”
They signed off. It may well be a life and death situation if it continued. Emma had been so sure it was over, even if for a little while, and at least for that night, but having two good nights in a row was too much to hope for. It seemed, she had just dozed off after having lingering thoughts about her lovely evening, when the next minute she was sitting bolt upright, sweating and her heart hammering to break through her ribs. She decided this wasn’t normal, and there had to be a point to it, one more pressing than guilt.
“Are you sure you want to do this?” Rachel asked her for the umpteenth time.
“Yes, I’m sure.”
“It’s not too late to turn around.” Rachel drove through an older neighborhood, the houses faced in brick or siding, adorned with gingerbread scrollwork and painted shutters. Scantly leaved elms guarded the houses, appearing rather ominous in the fading light.
“No, but it is a bit creepy out here.” Emma remarked at the shadowed street and swirling leaves on the pavement before them. “I think this is it.” She pointed to a two-story house clad in faded blue siding with dark blue shutters. Faint light glowed from beyond the curtains, and the porch light illuminated three sagging steps leading to a small porch.
“Is she any good? You’d think she’d live in a better house if she was.”
Rachel parked the car in the drive in front of a garage and shut off the engine. “Maybe she drives a Mercedes.”
“Hmmm. Anyway, we’re here.”
“Okay. We should be careful with what we are thinking, just in case.” Rachel suggested.
“Good idea.”
A woman in her forties answered the door, smiling at her visitors from a broad, flat face adorned with black-framed eyeglasses. She invited them inside a house redolent with an uncommon mélange of incense and cat litter.
“Come in.” She ushered them warmly into a parlor papered in fading florals and an equally worn grouping of couch and armchairs with a coffee table crammed in between. Of the two floor lamps, only one was on and turned to a low setting lending the proceedings a mysterious air, but judging from the décor and general state of the house, it probably looked like this all the time. The fireplace was a dark, ash-filled opening.
“I’m Mabel. And you are…” she smiled expectantly at Emma.
“I’m Emma, and this is my friend, Rachel.”
“Yes, of course.” She indicted one of the two armchairs facing each another. “Please have a seat here. Rachel, why don’t you sit there.” She indicated the sofa three feet away under the window.
She settled herself across from Emma. If anything, Mabel looked more like a bookkeeper than a psychic medium with her lank shoulder length curls and plaid gabardine pantsuit.
“I am more a medium than a psychic which means, I don’t read fortunes or give predictions. My specialty is connecting with those who have passed.” She explained by way of introduction. “Is this why you are here, to connect with a loved one?”
Emma nodded.
“Good.” She smiled and removed her glasses. “Now, it is important not to interrupt me, but you may speak with the departed when I say so.”
Emma nodded again. From the corner of her eye, she spied Rachel sitting rigidly in the center of the sofa. Mabel depressed a button on an old fashioned tape recorder. Emma was surprised to find that anyone still used such gadgets.
“All right.” Mabel took a deep, slow breath and closed her eyes. “We are here with Emma. I ask for protection of our sacred space from negative influences, regardless of source. Give us guidance and the answers that we seek.” She breathed deeply again and leaned into the backrest, her hands relaxed on the armrests of her chair.
Emma found she was also breathing deeply and tried to relax. Any second, she could be communicating with Ivy, and now that it was a possibility, her heart raced.
“Who is it you seek to communicate with?” Mabel spoke from her trance-like state without inflection and her eyes closed.
“Ivy.” Emma responded with a trace of nervousness in her voice.
“Is Ivy there?” Mabel intoned, then inhaled deeply
and waited for a response. “Emma wishes to make a connection with Ivy. If you can hear me, please come forward.”
After a while, Emma risked a glance in Rachel’s direction. Rachel shrugged.
“Mmmmmm…. someone is here…” Mabel spoke in a low voice. “Come forward. Emma is waiting to hear from you.” She beckoned.
“You may now speak with the departed.” Mabel instructed.
Emma waited, goosebumps prickling her skin. Her hands were balled into fists.
“Ivy? Are you here?” She whispered.
Mabel smiled. “I am here.” She said, her tone of voice different from before, lighter, higher pitched.
“Are you all right?”
Emma’s pulse quickened in the stretched silence.
“All right? No. Not all right.” She whispered in a monotone.
Emma’s heart pounded. “I’m really sorry, Ivy.”
“Alone.” The voice said, louder now. Mabel twitched.
Oh, God! She knew this was going to be hard, but not like this.
“What can I do?” She barely pushed the words through a tight throat. “I want to help you.”
“Help me?” She cried out.
Emma jerked in her chair and Rachel gasped on the sofa.
“Yes.” Emma’s voice was reduced to just above a whisper as she watched the medium’s face contort.
Without warning, Mabel shot upright in her seat. A blood-curdling wail issued from her wide open mouth.
Emma pushed herself into the backrest and Rachel cried out.
The medium’s eyes opened and burned into Emma’s “RELEASE ME!” She shouted. “RELEASE ME-RELEASE ME-RELEASE ME!”
Mabel’s hands were claws on the armrest, her back ramrod straight and angled forward, her face was flushed, the expression an intense glare.
Both Emma and Rachel screamed when the lightbulb exploded. As unexpectedly as she sprang up, Mabel collapsed as if she were a marionette and someone had cut her strings.
“Oh my God.” Rachel stared at Emma wide-eyed. Emma stared back in the gloomy parlor.
Rachel switched on the other floor lamp.
Mabel stirred in her chair and slowly straightened herself, her features and skin tone returning to normal. She took a couple of deep breaths and reached for her glasses. After positioning them, she smiled at Emma expectantly in the dim light, as if nothing out of the ordinary had transpired.
“I see the Spirit was a feisty one.” She remarked with a smile glancing at the darkened lamp. “Did you get the answers you were seeking? I seldom remember any of what goes on, but we have the recording.” She depressed the Stop button and pushed it a second time to eject the tape.
Emma took the cassette from her and handed over the payment with a trembling hand.
“I guess.”
“I find the Spirits are rather unpredictable. From what some of my clients told me, the experience can be very unsettling at times, but it’s nothing to be worried about. The Spirit world, though all around us and very close, is still separate from our realm. You may picture it as a veil keeping their reality apart from ours. Unless you are dealing with a poltergeist type of situation, and I assure you this is no such phenomenon, you are quite safe.” Mabel smiled reassuringly.
“But she sounded so… angry.”
Mabel nodded as if she understood. “Has your loved one crossed over recently?”
“Almost a year ago.”
“The time measured on the other side is not like ours. What is a month for us, could be as short as a day for them.”
“Or maybe it feels longer?” Rachel couldn’t help herself.
“Perhaps. I suppose it depends on the situation. Was it a violent death?”
“No. At least I don’t think so.” Not that she knew what actually happened.
“Well, it could be the Spirit has not adjusted yet. Not everyone adapts easily, but we do eventually.”
They rose to their feet and followed Mabel, who guided them back to the foyer. “I hope this will be of some comfort to you.” She said opening the front door and gave them each a business card. “And don’t forget to like my Facebook page.” She beamed widely. “It’s Medium Mabel.”
“Sure.”
“You got it.”
They said their goodbyes and rushed for the car, quickly backing out and driving away. Neither woman spoke until Rachel rounded the corner and pulled over to the curb. She put the vehicle in park.
“God, what was that?” She said. “Are you sure that was your friend, Ivy?”
“According to Mabel, it was. Who else would it be?”
Rachel shrugged. “She sounded really…”
“Pissed off?” Emma finished the sentence.
“Yeah.” She turned to Emma. “Did any of that make sense to you?”
“I don’t know. It could’ve been a trick. Anybody can fake things.”
“Sure. It can’t be hard to rig a lightbulb to explode, can it?”
“No. There are probably a dozen YouTube videos on that.”
They gazed into the darkened street ahead of them. A car approached them, its lights uncomfortably bright through the rain-spattered windshield.
Rachel nodded in agreement. “I don’t know about you, but I could sure use a drink.”
“Me too. And we won’t tell anyone about this.”
“Agreed.” Rachel pulled away from the curb and drove off.
“I don’t feel any better informed now than before we went.” Emma noted setting down her empty wineglass.
Upon their arrival, Emma turned on every light in her apartment, banishing all shadows.
“It was creepy. Do you suppose she changed her voice on purpose or did she actually sound like anyone you know?”
Emma shrugged and crunched on a pretzel. “I can’t imagine Ivy screaming at anyone like that. I don’t know.” She glanced suspiciously at the cassette tape that bore witness to their recent experience. “Do you have a cassette player?”
“No. I don’t think I’ve ever seen a gadget like that until tonight. You may find one at a used electronics store or a flea market.”
Emma scowled at the cassette. “If there’s even a point to listening to it. It’s not as if she had much to say, just a lot of pissed off yelling. But what if it is real, and Ivy is trapped in the manor and angry with me for bringing her out there and then abandoning her?”
Rachel shrugged. She never participated at the Weekend events after that only time, nor had she met Ivy, and what little she knew of Everdon history wouldn’t help Emma decide one way or the other.
“I say, go with your gut.”
Emma nodded. “I guess. It was a lot like the nightmares I’ve been having.”
“Still?”
“Yeah. Monday was the first night I actually slept. It was great.”
“Really? What changed?” Rachel asked perking up with interest.
Emma realized too late, her time with John she had meant to keep private.
“It was probably a fluke.” She replied casually, hoping to throw Rachel off.
“Well,” she said rising to her feet, “I better get going before Matt sends out a search party.”
Emma walked her to the door.
“Let me know if you find a tape recorder. I’ll scout around for one too.”
They hugged briefly, and Emma closed the door. Alone again, she faced her brightly lit open concept living room. All that light was irritating, and she turned off at least the ceiling potlights. Loath for her apartment to become a pigsty again, she gathered the wineglasses and the empty bowl of snacks, and washed them, then sat at the bar that separated the kitchen from the living room.
From this vantage point, the city lay sprawled on the other side o
f the glass, thousands of sparkling lights stretching far out to the horizon, and she wondered what John was doing. It occurred to her again that despite their lifelong acquaintance, she really didn’t know him at all, though it seemed he knew more about her. Did that make her self-involved? The possibility was not a pleasant one, but maybe true, if only a little. She checked her cellphone for messages and found none. If anyone called, it would probably be mum checking up on her, but she wouldn’t leave a voicemail unless it was an emergency. Elinor Everdon Stuart was the least tech-savvy person on the planet, and Emma was glad of it.
She swiped it and remembered the pictures she took earlier from the family album. At her computer, she uploaded the batch and waited for them to appear. Faded and grainy, they weren’t of the best quality even at a decent resolution. She zoomed in on the faces. The smiling Everdons, Mason and Amelia — she did look so much like Ivy — had eyes only for each other. Whatever the occasion, it seemed to be a happy one, surprisingly, old Margaret Everdon’s features warmed into a semblance of congeniality as she gazed at Amelia, belying any hostile intent. A young Aunt Lucy grinned impishly beside Amelia, but it was the woman between them that had Emma’s attention.
Scanning the rest of the faces, she confirmed this was the only person in the gathering not smiling at all. In fact, she looked petulant to the point of hostility, and her head was turned in Amelia’s direction. Mum said she was a Ruskin, but that was all. Emma grinned having found a good excuse to reach out to John without appearing pushy or needy. She typed in her message, attached the image and sent it to him.
Twenty minutes later, she was humming in a bubble bath.
~*~
John smiled when he received Emma’s text. He was, in fact, at his parent’s house poring over his father’s notes, meticulously detailed ancestry charts and family photographs. Even a handful of yellowed correspondence survived. Similarly, he had never spent too much effort pondering family history, and participated because his folks insisted, and it seemed fun most times. That changed last year as it did for Emma too. The weekend started off well enough and ended abruptly on a peculiar note still shrouded in mystery. Emma had finally shed some light on what happened, but that left more unanswered questions. Now, she had one of her own.