Sole Possession

by Bryn Donovan

  “No, I don’t! It’s not me being crazy.” Now that she’d started talking about this, she figured she might was well go all the way. “I can see ghosts.”

  Her sister’s mouth dropped open. “This is worse than ever.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “At least before, you knew you were seeing things. Now you believe they’re real? Isn’t that, like, schizophrenia?”

  “Could you at least try to be a little open-minded?”

  “No. God, this is horrible. You’ve been normal for so long. Mom and Dad and I all thought you were better for good.”

  “You’ve talked about it?”

  “They ask me sometimes how you’re doing.”

  The thought of the three of them conferring about her mental health infuriated her. “Oh, that’s great. So you’re, like, on crazy sister watch?”

  “Apparently with good reason!”

  Andi stood up as though she were going somewhere. “This is ridiculous, you know that? You’re my younger sister.”

  “Tell me about it. I didn’t ask to be the normal one.” Lissa caught herself. “I mean, the responsible one.”

  “I’m responsible! I’m a responsible person who happens to see ghosts, and when I was growing up they scared the crap out of me. That is not my fault. In fact, it really sucked.”

  She had wanted so badly to confide in Lissa about her horrible day. Seeing that man attempt to push the chainsaw into Mr. Willingham’s face had frightened her beyond belief. She had almost been the witness to a murder…and the murderer wasn’t even living, so how he could be stopped?

  His very presence had rendered her almost catatonic. It was like a terrible nightmare, where you can’t explain to anyone later exactly how frightening it really was. She didn’t even know if she’d be able to sleep that night. Every time she thought of the figure she’d seen, she got that prickly, sweaty feeling again.

  Her younger sister looked sad and worried. “Andi, do you think you’re going to be all right for the wedding?”

  “Excuse me?”

  “Look, it’s my big day. I’m just asking if you’re going to be all right!”

  “Well shit, Lissa, I don’t know. Unless you’re getting married in a haunted church, I’ll be fine. And FYI? Not everything is about your wedding!”

  Lissa got up, her face tinged with red. “Okay, you know what? I’m going over to Greg’s.”

  “No, don’t. I’m going, okay? I’ll go to David’s.”

  “What does he think of all this?”

  “Well, he doesn’t think I’m crazy,” Andi retorted. She wasn’t entirely positive on this point, but she still took satisfaction in saying it.

  By the time she got to the lobby of David’s building, with a gym bag stuffed with a change of clothes and some toiletries, Andi felt like a complete and utter fool. Why hadn’t she called him first? Instead, she’d spent the whole drive over there thinking of other angry things she should have said to her sister.

  Maybe he wouldn’t even be home, and she’d have to go to a hotel or something.

  Maybe that would be better.

  She buzzed him and his voice came over the intercom. “Hello?”

  “David, it’s me, Andi.”

  “Come on up.” The front doors of the lobby clicked open.

  When he opened the door of his condo to her, she said, “I had a fight with Lissa. Can I stay here?”

  “Hell yeah,” he said.

  Chapter Twelve

  David got out of bed carefully so he wouldn’t wake up Andi. She lay on her back with both arms stretched above her on the pillow, as though she’d fallen asleep in the middle of a good stretch. She looked very cute. Her late-night appearance had surprised him. He was sorry she had fought with her sister, but still, he could use more surprises like that.

  As he always did first thing in the morning, he went to his office to check his email and read the headlines. Dread settled on him as he sat down, though. Thoughts of the strange and awful incident with Mr. Willingham blotted out the pleasure of waking up next to someone he…well, really liked.

  He could hardly believe it happened, but he knew the gardener had thirty-four stitches in his leg to prove it. David thought of calling the hospital again, but he’d seen Mr. Willingham yesterday afternoon, and probably nothing had changed since then. Besides, it was early. Let the man rest.

  David logged onto LexisNexis, the archive he relied on for researching cases. After he and Andi had gone to the historical society, he’d meant to see what else he could dig up about his mysterious and apparently unhappy ancestors. He’d gotten distracted, and a part of him just didn’t want to know any more. But after yesterday, he didn’t feel like he had any choice.

  Searches of Clarence Boyd and Irene Pennington Girard turned up nothing new. A great-great-uncle who never returned from New York. A great-grandmother gone missing. Alien abductions, David thought to himself sarcastically. Then he tried a search of Edgar Girard, the great-great-grandfather who had designed the house.

  The first few documents held nothing of interest, but then he pulled up something new. The Tribune had printed it in the society pages.

  Irene and her husband George—his great-grandfather, he reminded himself—had attended a fancy charity ball. The article described Mrs. Girard’s “elegant, modern black hat with white plumes” and her silver fox stole. Andi would love that, David thought, envisioning the dead animal head dangling on the lady’s shoulder.

  The piece went on to say, “Mrs. Girard declared to a friend her intention of persuading her husband to move to the City, where she might more easily partake of such delightful Society. Might the Girard mansion go onto the market soon?”

  Irene had wanted to sell the house. Cold pricked the back of David’s neck.

  He poked around, finding more dead people and dead ends, until he came across a note that said his grandmother had given all of the personal papers belonging to the house’s architect, Edgar Girard, to the historical society.

  Well, that would be interesting reading. Or maybe it would be crushingly boring, but either way, he intended to do it.

  He heard Andi stir in the bedroom. Enough of this. He pushed his chair away from the desk and went to take a shower.

  * * *

  Andi slouched on David’s black sofa, looking at the Tribune. The newspaper matched David’s décor. Everything in his condo was monochrome. It was like hanging out in a black and white movie, which was probably okay now and then, but maybe not the best way to go through life. He could use a little color. Even some red pillows on the couch would help. Or some artwork…

  God. She acted as though she were going to stay. The thought snagged her, like a nail protruding from wood, tearing a hole in the sandpaper. Was David worried she might be moving in?

  As he came out from the shower, wearing only his boxers, she said, “Thanks again for letting me stay over. I’ll probably go back there tonight.”

  “Whatever you want’s fine.”

  “I’ll call her today. It was stupid to storm out of there,” Andi admitted. “I mean, I’m a grown-up! I feel so embarrassed now.”

  David shrugged. “Maybe you just needed a little space.”

  He sat down next to her. He wasn’t giving her a lot of space right now, but she had no complaints. David didn’t seem to have any self-consciousness about walking around with almost nothing on. Andi, on the other hand, was extremely conscious of his bare, freshly showered body. She felt a tingle between her legs, a sensation that had become quite familiar lately. They had made love the night before, despite the lateness of the hour.

  “So what do you want to do today?” David asked. “I’m guessing you don’t want to work on the house.”

  She sighed as her thoughts turned back to the job. “It needs to get done. You need to get it off your hands.”

  His eyes got that cold, deadened look she’d seen before when they discussed the place. She said, “You’re never goi
ng to be happy as long as that house owns you.”

  “What?”

  “As long as you own that house,” she said, correcting her verbal slip. “And it’s going to be kind of hard to fix it up and sell it when ghosts are attacking us.”

  He didn’t say anything.

  She braced herself before speaking again. It was only for his own good. “We need to try another psychic.”

  He let out a harsh breath. “Yeah, because that worked out so well before.”

  “We got a bad one! That doesn’t mean they’re all bad.” She launched into the argument she’d rehearsed in her head. “It might be just like contractors. There are some really bad ones out there. But then there are the honest ones who know what they’re doing.” She ducked her head to try and meet his eyes. “Like me.”

  “Well, how do we find a good, honest exorcist?”

  She didn’t have a great answer for that. “Why don’t you look at Craigslist with me this time.”

  “This is insane,” he said, getting up and walking away.

  “Oh, come on. Can’t we just talk about it a little more at least?”

  He glanced back at her. “I’m going to get my laptop so we can look.”

  “Oh. Okay,” she said. This was good. “You know what? Before we start, I’m going to call Lissa.”

  Maybe she wouldn’t even pick it up, Andi thought as soon as she hit Lissa’s number. But her sister answered after half a ring. “Andi! Are you at David’s?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Oh, good. I was worried about you.”

  “I told you I was coming over here. Why were you worried?”

  David returned to the living room with his laptop and sat down on the couch next to her again, opening it up.

  “I don’t know,” Lissa said. “I always worry about you. Look, I’m sorry I was so bitchy about the house.”

  “Eh, you had every right to be,” she told her. Over David’s shoulder, she saw him pull up Craigslist. “I have to do my share of the housework too, even if you are about to leave.”

  “No, I didn’t mean that. I mean, the stuff about the house you’re working on…I’m sorry, Andi. It all kind of freaks me out.”

  “It freaks me out, too.” Andi shifted on the couch. “I’m sorry I took off. That was stupid. It’s not like we’re going to live together that much longer.” Even as she said it, Andi realized how sad she really was about that.

  “Oh, Andi, I’m going to miss you.”

  “I’m going to miss you, too! I’m happy for you, but I’m going to miss you.”

  “Well, I was thinking about what you were telling me,” her sister said. “And it sounds so crazy…but you don’t seem crazy. You seem like you’re doing fine. I mean, I’ve been really impressed with you lately. You go out and meet with these people and you fix up their houses. It just seems like you’ve really got it together. And I don’t know if you could do all that if you were crazy.”

  Andi felt warm inside, a chocolate-chip cookie kind of feeling. She thought Lissa saw her as someone who just couldn’t hack it in a regular office job, but her sister respected her and her work. “Thanks,” she told Lissa. “So you believe me now when I tell you there’s ghosts?”

  “Like I said, it kind of scares me, but what do I know? And then other times, I just think there’s no such thing. But if you say you see things…I’ll try to keep an open mind, okay?”

  “Fair enough,” Andi said.

  “Are you going to come home?”

  “Yeah. I’ll be home tonight.”

  David looked up at that with a slight frown then went back to searching the listings. When she got off the phone he said, “Sounds like you guys are okay again.”

  “Oh, yeah. We never stay mad at each other for long.” She leaned over to look at the laptop screen. “Find anything?”

  “I found this guy.”

  Andi read over the ad. “He looks good.”

  “I doubt it. But I’ll call him anyway.”

  * * *

  Morton Silva’s ad said he had over thirty years of experience. Andi imagined an ethereal, wizard-y figure, a Gandalf or Dumbledore.

  Instead, the man who showed up at the house was sixty-something, stocky, with a full head of glossy black hair, like Elvis. He wore a camel-colored sport jacket over a shiny maroon shirt.

  Andi glanced at David. She suspected the psychic’s appearance would not reassure him. Even though David had picked this guy out, Andi felt very responsible for things going well…whatever “going well” even meant, in a situation like this.

  “You must be Andi,” Morton Silva said. When he drew closer, Andi noticed that he smelled like alcohol. Not just his breath, but coming out of his pores. This wasn’t good.

  “Yeah. Nice to meet you, Mr. Silva.”

  “Call me Morty.”

  They shook hands.

  “Huh,” he said. “What do you need me for?”

  Andi frowned at the odd question. “What? I thought David told you.”

  He looked from her to David and then shrugged. “Right. And you’re the one who thinks I’m full of shit,” he added amiably, shaking David’s hand.

  “I just said it was a distinct possibility.”

  “Fair enough. So, this is the place, eh?” He had the clipped, nasally way of speaking that wasn’t unusual in Chicago, the “this” sounding almost like “dis,” but not quite. His shoulders hunched as he peered around the room, his lower lip sticking out a bit.

  “I don’t know if David told you,” Andi ventured. “I saw some things…”

  “Yeah. A woman, right?”

  “I didn’t say where you saw her,” David said to Andi in a warning tone.

  Andi reminded herself that David wasn’t telling the psychic he’d lived there, or that the woman they’d seen was his mother.

  “Yeah.” Morty gave a quick wink in her direction. “He’s shrewd like that.”

  “I’ve also seen two different men.”

  “But those men apparently look alike,” David put in. “I still think they could be the same guy.”

  “All right,” Morty said. “At least two spirits.”

  “There was one other bizarre thing,” Andi said, following him. “A woman who supposedly left the house and disappeared.”

  “Eh, she mighta just left,” Morty said. “Okay, enough background. Just let me walk around the house.”

  “We’ll go with you,” David said.

  “Course you will, Slappy. Come on.”

  Andi grinned as she and David followed him.

  “What?” David said in an undertone.

  “Slappy,” she repeated.

  The psychic shuffled through the smaller front parlor. “Dead as a doornail,” he mumbled to himself. He headed into the dining room, then the kitchen. “Huh. Little bit of an echo.”

  Andi decided not to ask what that meant.

  The man kept silent as he toured the dusty rooms on the second level. When they got to the landing of the third floor, she took care not to show any reaction.

  She hardly had any time. Morty strode right down the hall to the bathroom. As they followed him, Andi tried to meet David’s eyes, but he stared straight ahead.

  The man stood at the doorway of the bathroom, his hand covering his mouth. “Aw, man,” he murmured as they reached him. “Poor baby.”

  “Can you see her?” Andi blurted out, earning a sharp look from David.

  “No, just feeling it,” he said, as though this were a completely rational remark. He might have been a fellow contractor, Andi thought, talking about drywall or ducts.

  Morty was the real deal. She knew it. Just having him in the house made her feel better.

  “You read body language,” David said. “You saw Andi or I tense up, maybe glance at the bathroom.”

  Morty’s eyes half-closed in a weary expression. “Look, pal, if I could do that, I’d be in Vegas, okay?”

  “David,” Andi added softly. “We were behind him.”
/>
  Morty smirked and pointed a finger in her direction. “Eh? You got yourself a smart lady there, Mr. Girard.” He added under his breath, “Smarter than you know.”

  Andi wondered what that was supposed to mean as the man ambled back toward the stairs.

  David asked, “Aren’t you going to look at the rest of the rooms?”

  “Nope.”

  They followed him back down to the parlor.

  It was already getting dark. Andi had been sorry when David told her Morty wanted to meet in the evening. Even in the daytime, the house creeped her out. She flipped on the light. The shine from the converted gasolier only emphasized the gloom that gathered around them.

  “Well, I don’t know about the other one, but you’ve got a lady friend in residence, all right,” Morty told them. “You wanna talk to her or what?”

  “Talk to her?” David repeated.

  “Yeah. You know, she ain’t gonna go anywhere unless you make a courteous suggestion.” He inclined his head doubtfully. “Maybe not even then, but it’s worth a try.”

  “David, we should do it.”

  “Do what? A séance?” David asked, his voice edged with sarcasm.

  “No séances,” Morty replied. “It’s not exactly the most convenient way to talk to somebody, is it? Knock once for yes, two for no. They get sick of it. How would you like it if you were in a conversation where all you get to say is yes or no?” He clicked his tongue. “I’ll tell you what, most of them won’t even bother. And I don’t blame them a bit.”

  “What about that thing where you channel them?” Andi asked. “And they talk through you? Is that actually possible?” Ever since she’d seen the movie Ghost as a little kid, she’d wanted to know.

  “Don’t ever do that,” Morty commanded. She almost laughed, but his serious expression deterred her. “Don’t let anyone or anything take control of you.”

  “Okay,” she said.

  “So, how do you talk to them?” David asked.

  “You’ll see. When would you like to do this?”

  “How about now?”

  Morty shook his head. “I have an important appointment. With a perfectly aged bottle of Scotch and a perfectly aged woman. Not keeping either of them waiting.”