by Mona Marple
“The report isn’t, but the note here definitely is.” Patton says, and he hands the paper back to me.
INC. CALL, TROY MONTAG, REF: LOLA ANTI. EYE WITNESS. CALL BACK REQ’D.
I gasp. “Troy Montag?”
Patton nods. “Has Connie spoken to him?”
“I don’t think so.” I say. “An eye witness, that means….”
“He saw what happened.”
22
Connie
Sage warned me not to do this, but for once I decided to be the carefree, rebellious sister and go against her advice. Fine, she’d said, and floated away in a temper. Probably off to find Patton Davey. They’ve been spending a lot of time together lately.
I wish she was here now, though, as the door bell rings and I pad across the hallway. I glance in the consultation room as I pass, do a quick sweep of the room with my eyes: the room’s clear, two glasses of water are ready in place. All okay.
“Welcome!” I call out as I open the door, hoping my enthusiasm convinces myself as much as my customer.
Devin Summer stands on my veranda in boyfriend jeans that hang from her waist, a cropped-top revealing a pale, concave stomach and an oversize hoodie. The bags underneath her eyes look as though someone has colored them with a gray marker pen, and her skin is like a moon crater up close. I’ve always said that money makes people more attractive, or affords them the tools to trick the world into thinking they’re more attractive, and proof of my theory is standing right before me. Although, of course, I know little about the supermodel world and this could be the look that’s in this season.
She doesn’t smile, and I force myself not to read anything into that. Lots of first-time clients don’t smile. This is a nerve-wracking, hopeful, amazing, devastating experience.
“Come on in.” I encourage, opening the door wide. “Don’t stay out there, looks like a storm is on the way.”
The clouds have been building all day, and they’ve formed a solid cover now, blocking out the blue sky and the sunshine. There’s no rain, no wind even, but the birdsong sounds like more of a warning than a celebration, and the temperatures are impossibly humid. Any moment, the sky will be illuminated with a strike of lightning, I can tell.
I love the weather patterns here, the predictability of the seasons. We’ll enjoy a wonderful summer, and a colourful fall, the snow will descend for winter and spring will promise new beginnings. In Waterfell Tweed, the only thing I could know with any certainty was that the wind would blow. Day after day after day.
“Come on through here.” I say as I lead Devin through to the consultation room. I feel as though I’m coddling a small child, encouraging them to put one foot in front of the other. Is the supermodel really so used to having a staff that she can’t even make basic conversation without guidance?
“I do insist that we only drink water during the consultation.” I say as I sit down across from her. She shows no sign that she’s heard me.
“I think you’ve brought something that belonged to your loved one?” I prompt.
She nods and reaches into the pocket of the hoodie that is unzipped and hangs over her body and across onto the couch on both sides of her. She looks tiny, waif-like, set aside the proportions of the furniture. The couch isn’t even that big.
She holds out her fist to me, and I reach across, accept whatever she’s offering. She drops a heavy gold band into the palm of my hand.
“This is beautiful.” I say.
She doesn’t react. Maybe she’s a skeptic, one of those who believes it’s all a con, that I’m picking up on every reaction she gives to allow me to guess why she’s here. I get those sometimes. They’re impossible to deal with. Not because I need their reactions, but because they give closed energy, which is hardly a great invitation to extend to their best friend or their second uncle or whoever it is they want to contact.
I run through the normal procedure and rules while I stroke the ring with my thumb and forefinger. I’m buying time, because Devin has brought negative energy into my home and whoever she is calling from the spirit world is ready to bring the same.
I take a deep breath. “This is your sister. Her name is…” I stumble over the word, seeing the general shape of it’s letters but not the clear, focused form.
“Hadleigh.” The spirit says, arriving with such energy that Devin herself gasps. She is the double of her sister, but while Devin carries a dark energy that is sadness and guilt, Hadleigh carries a fury.
“She’s here, isn’t she?” Devin asks, and I see the fear in her eyes.
I nod. “Hadleigh, Devin is here to speak to you. Devin, you can speak to Hadleigh directly, she can hear you. I’ll feed her comments back to you.”
Devin begins to shake and wraps the hoodie around her, covering her flat stomach. “Can you tell her… oh, ok, I just talk. Hadleigh? I’m sorry.”
Devin bursts into tears and I feel some of the dark energy around her release, seep out of the house through every open window, every air vent.
I watch Hadleigh, who stands by the door, simmering. Her anger is palpable.
I sit, and I wait.
Whatever is happening here, I’m simply the vessel who can channel Hadleigh’s responses.
Devin cries for several minutes, covering her face with her hands, gently sobbing into her lap. I sip water and watch her and Hadleigh as closely as I can.
“I’m so sorry.” Devin whispers.
“Ask her why.” Hadleigh commands.
“Your sister asks why.” I say. My stomach churns. There are days when I love my work, when I get to reunite people who love each other and allow them to share declarations of undying love. And then there are days when the conversations I am asked to facilitate are much harder, more complicated, more painful.
“Tell her… I… I’m sorry for the crash.” Devin says, choking back a sob. She gazes at me, as if I am channeling her sister internally. Another common misconception. The TV world of charlatan mediums has a lot to answer for.
“Tell her I want her to explain what happened. I want to hear her tell the whole story and take responsibility. Accept it was her fault.” Hadleigh is stone, no sympathy. A hard heart in a beautiful body.
I relay the message and Devin nods.
“I knew she’d want that.” She says. She can’t meet my gaze now. “It’s why I’ve been too scared to come. I, erm… we, were both models.”
“You can tell her to take my pictures down.” Hadleigh interrupts, her voice pure venom. The pictures, I realise. Sage didn’t see pictures of Devin all over her house, they were pictures of Hadleigh. A shrine to the sister who seems to hate her.
I choose not to pass on that message, pretending I haven’t heard.
“It was a stupid party. I didn’t even want to go, but there was this guy who was going to be there. Darren something, I don’t even remember. He’d been trying to get together with us for a while, he wanted to shoot us for a perfume ad. So we went. And he didn’t have a perfume ad, he was just a guy who knew the right people and said the right things. He was a complete waste of time. I was so freaking annoyed that I’d got ready and gone out for him.” Devin says. She pauses, takes a sip of water, coughs to clear her throat. “I couldn’t find Hadleigh, so I had a beer. And then she rocks up, bored by the party, desperate to leave right away. Everything had to be right away with Hadleigh. I should have told her no. I should have called a cab. I should have done a million things but I got in the car and I drove us home.”
“Not quite home.” Hadleigh spits.
“Not quite home.” Devin says, and I wonder if their twin connection remains in place. Devin begins to cry again, tears escaping her eyes as she looks up and to the side as she remembers. “I swerved off road and hit a tree. Hadleigh was… she… they said it was instant, no pain. I hope that’s right. The emergency services came and I think they were so shocked, I mean this was in the middle of our biggest runway show so we were pretty well recognised, I think they were stunned.
Nobody breathalyzed me. It didn’t really occur to anyone, I don’t think.”
I nod. It’s not my place to judge.
“I would have passed, if they had. It was just one beer. But I don’t remember swerving, and I’ve tried to. I’ve really tried to force myself to remember what happened and I can’t.” Devin says as a shudder passes through her body. She takes a sip of the water, gulps it too quick mid-tears and almost chokes. I’m ready to jump up and offer whatever rudimentary First Aid I’ve learnt from medical dramas on TV, but she recovers, cheeks red, eyes wild. “I think I fell asleep.”
“Wow.” I say, needing to give some reaction because Hadleigh remains silent.
“I miss her every day.” Devin says. “She was my best friend my whole life. She was better at everything than me. More confident, more popular. More comfortable in her skin. The modelling was her idea. She was approached at a soccer game and came home and convinced me to go with her. I hated it at first, standing and posing. I’d struggled for so long with my acne, the last thing I wanted was to have pictures taken of me. But it started being fun, spending that time with her. I knew I was the awkward one compared to her, but I didn’t care.”
“Hadleigh, do you have anything to say?” I prompt. Hadleigh looks at me, and for a moment I see how her shoulders have slumped, how she looks at her sister. And then something hardens and her posture straightens, her eyes glass over.
“Sure.” Hadleigh says, and something about the combination of her icy blonde hair and clear blue eyes is chilling. “Tell her she’s a killer.”
The words cause me to shiver, and Devin looks at me curiously.
“Your sister’s struggling to come to terms with what happened.” I say diplomatically.
Devin nods and begins to cry again. “I can’t believe she’s actually here. I never thought I’d get to be around her again. Then I heard about you, and I knew I had to come.”
“You know, this might be enough for now.” I say with a gentle smile. “This is a lot to take in, and such an emotional thing to discuss. Why don’t you get some rest and maybe come back another day?”
Devin looks at me, her eyes wide. “Does she want me to go?”
“It’s not that.” I say, shifting in my seat. “But, honey, you look exhausted. I have a duty to look out for my clients, and the spirits too. This kind of conversation is hard for everyone.”
Me included, I think. I’m ready to lie down in a darkened room with some relaxing nature sounds playing until I fall asleep and, hopefully, dream of anything but this sorry situation.
“I just needed to ask her.” Devin says.
“I know.” I say, with more urgency, because I need this meeting to end. The dark energy is growing. I need Hadleigh out of my house. “And today has been a really productive first appointment. You’ve made contact with your sister. That’s huge, isn’t it?”
Devin nods and drinks the last of her water, but makes no effort to get up off the couch.
“I just…” She begins, then takes a long, quivering sigh. “I just wanted to ask one thing.”
“Okay.” I say, settling back down into the comfort of the couch. She’s going nowhere yet, that’s clear. “Well, sure.”
Devin looks right at me, then runs a slender hand through her hair.
She is building up to something, and Hadleigh remains by the door, like a coiled spring, ready to attack.
Don’t ask, I silently implore. No good can come of this.
“Can she forgive me?” Devin asks, and I see how much the question has cost her. How much more comfortable the wondering must have been for her, compared to this moment, this raw moment of vulnerability, where the answer is about to be revealed.
I glance across at Hadleigh, who nurses her head as if the fatal wound continues to hurt. Which it may. Ghost pains, they’re called.
Please, I silently pray. Please give her this gift.
Hadleigh moves across the room, standing directly in front of Devin.
“Please forgive me.” Devin repeats.
Hadleigh smiles, her face returning to how it must have looked as a child. Sweet innocence, freckles, natural beauty.
“Please.” Devin begs.
“Never.” Hadleigh answers.
23
Connie
“How dare you?” She sneers, advancing towards me. Just days ago, I would have been upset by this encounter but not fearful. I thought I had no reason to fear spirits, but now I know. They can attack. They can hurt.
And I have one of the angriest spirits I’ve ever seen, in my house, refusing to leave.
“I had to.” I say, trying to stand tall and appear confident.
“You had to lie? What’s the point even calling out to me if you’ll just lie your way through a meeting anyway? She needs to know the truth!”
“Does she?” I ask. “Why? What do you think that will do to her?”
“Well, it won’t kill her, that’s for sure.” Hadleigh says. “So she’ll still be ahead of me.”
“Hadleigh, please. She’s your sister.”
“She’s my killer.” Hadleigh spits.
I see Patton and Sage appear in the kitchen, together of course. They really need to be a little more discreet, if you ask me. Atticus appears a few moments after and the three of them watch, assessing how out-of-hand the situation is.
“I’m asking you to leave.” I repeat. I’ve already asked her four times since Hadleigh left, the smile of relief on her face.
Of course she forgives you, I’d said, every word costing me a professional self-respect. I don’t lie. I don’t take what the spirits say and shape it into more comfortable, easier to accept, half-truths. I warn clients, when they book an appointment, yes your spirit might not answer the call, but there’s another option - they might answer the call and leave you wishing they hadn’t.
I’ve shared devastating revelations in this room. Secrets and truths that leave me feeling dirty, as if I’ve just read someone’s most private journal or walked in on a couple’s marriage counselling. After those meetings, I jump in a hot bath, the water hot enough to scald my skin, and cleanse myself, before doing the whole thing again the next day.
But I couldn’t share this truth with Devin.
A truth more heartbreaking than any I’ve heard before.
And so I swallowed my professional duties, my personal commitment to make my contribution to this industry honest and ethical, and I lied. And I don’t regret it.
“You think you just get to call me in here and then get rid of me when you’ve heard enough? It doesn’t work like that.” Hadleigh says.
“The appointment’s finished.” I say. “I know you’re angry, but can’t you see how sorry she is? Can’t you see how much she misses you?”
“Mm-hmm, and that helps me how? End result, I’m still dead.”
I sigh. “I’m so sorry for what happened to you, I really, truly am. You’re a beautiful young woman, right at the start of her life. It isn’t fair. But I don’t see what you’d gain by telling Devin you don’t forgive her.”
“She asked the question.” Hadleigh says. “It’s not like I went across to her house and scrawled all over her walls that I’ll never forgive her. She came here. She asked the question. And you owed me the truth. Who the hell do you think you are to steal my voice?”
I shake my head and sigh.
She’s right. I’ve done a terrible thing.
“I’m sorry.” I say. “I thought it was for the best. And, if I’m honest, I just didn’t have the guts to tell her the truth.”
Hadleigh laughs, a mean little noise, while Sage advances towards her from behind, and places a hand on her shoulder. Hadleigh spins around. “What’s going on?”
“We heard the noise.” Sage says, doing a double-take at Hadleigh’s appearance. “Wow, you’re Devin’s twin.”
“Her dead twin.”
“Why so angry?” Sage asks. I roll my eyes. Just as I’m desperate for the conversation to en
d, she’s going to get the whole thing started again. “I mean, we’re all dead here… apart from Connie. Take a chill pill?”
Hadleigh stiffens for a moment, stunned by Sage’s cheek, and then vanishes into thin air.
“Are you kidding me? I’ve been trying to get rid of her for a good twenty minutes.”
Sage shrugs. “You were giving her the attention she wanted. Nothing like a bit of patronising to get rid of someone with an ego. Anyway, are you ready to sit down? We have news.”
I don’t even have to ask who the we refers to, and I walk out of the consultation room, closing the door behind me, and take a seat at the kitchen island.
“So, we went across to the station over in Rydell Grove.” Patton says as Sage gazes up at him.
“I bet those buffoons didn’t even have a file.” Atticus says. He’d always had a strong rivalry with the neighboring towns, determined that they were weak impersonators of Mystic Springs.
“Well, almost. You should see the way they keep their desks over there. It’s like a pigsty.” Sage says. I try to resist the temptation to raise an eyebrow. Sage was never one for clean or tidy living, preferring to spend her time learning the lyrics to new songs and forever painting and repainting her toenails. In my memory of her alive, she’s always barefoot. I guess she must have worn socks and shoes at some points, but my mind has blocked those out.
“It certainly is.” Patton agrees. “But we worked hard and we did find a file.”
“A file? You’re kidding. Should we share this with Taylor?”
“One Sheriff’s enough.” Sage says, and Patton’s chest swells.
“He still has Nettie in custody, guys.” I remind them. “We have to work with him on this.”
Sage rolls her eyes, but Patton nods.
“You’re right.” He says.
“I’ll ring him.”
**
When Taylor Morton arrives, he’s in full Sheriff’s uniform and the clothes, together with those dark-rimmed glasses, make him look awfully stern.