“I don’t want to go anywhere. Now is all that matters. I don’t care about my life, my past. I only want to be here with you. In life I heard only noise and felt only pain. I experienced confusion and rage. I acted out my impulses and reacted to others by screaming, hitting, kicking, biting. I grabbed whatever I could get hold of. I dug my fingernails into human flesh and tore at it with all my strength. I remember the restraints and the shots, the injections that sent me away. My consciousness disappeared.”
“You acted out your emotions because you couldn’t express them any other way.”
“Exactly. I lived a life without the connections language helps us form. All I heard were sounds and I screamed and howled in reply, trying to drown out the hideous racket. I heard everything at once, crashing into my ears, exploding my senses. I heard many things on earth: disembodied noises and creatures, not all of them human. I heard countless sounds from hell. When I tried to end the unbearable clamor, only incoherent noise rushed up; through my throat and out of my mouth.”
“And what about Daniel?”
“Daniel was silent. He never spoke or cried out. He shrank into corners, trying to disappear from life; he didn’t rage against it. He felt petrified of everything, even me. Who can blame him? He was also scared to death of the way his body convulsed sometimes.”
“He had epilepsy. He suffered from seizures. He was a selective mute, capable of speech but unable to speak, for psychological reasons.” After I explain this to Anthony, I decide to ask the most important question of all, hoping he’ll be able to remember and make some sense out of his experiences. “What happened that night, Anthony, the night Daniel died?”
“I don’t remember. Think about it, Annabelle. I can only speak at all right now because I’ve visited the incredible library that is Wyatt’s brain. When I was alive, my mind wasn’t like that. As soon as you met Wyatt, everything changed for us. So much more became possible. I felt a connection with him immediately, but he hesitated, even though I suspect he knew all this was inevitable. I could feel his loneliness, how his talent isolated him from others, from his family, from his mother and his father. Like my parents, his mother wanted to lock him away, except he was older when it happened, and his uncle helped him.”
“But you never had anyone like Oliver to help you.”
“Nobody cared about me. I think that when my family sent me away, I must have been no more than a helpless baby. They locked me up in Wild Wood Hospital and there was nothing I could do to stop them. Everyone knew I’d grow up and grow even more repulsive, more uncontrollable.”
“No one tried to understand.”
“There are so many parallels between Wyatt and me. The way we feel about you is our most important connection.”
“Anthony, I care so much about you and Wyatt. I feel that connection, too.”
“When he finally got you alone that Sunday afternoon, he held you and your heart beat with his. I pushed at the door of his consciousness and he opened it for me.”
“You took over Wyatt’s body for the first time.”
“I looked around in his mind, but not with my eyes. I became aware of his thinking process, like a waking dream. I had access to his memory. If I felt an emotion or had a thought, the right words materialized. And I could make the words come out his mouth. But the best thing was watching your face when my words reached your ears, watching the light in your eyes intensify as you understood what I said.”
I want to hug Anthony, but he’s only a disembodied voice.
“I’m able to inhabit Wyatt’s body, Annabelle, but I only come close to being human because I know you. Wyatt and I both see you for what you truly are, someone whose beauty shines through from the inside to the outside like no other. The bond was formed. We three can’t be separated; not until we know the truth.”
“What truth, Anthony? The truth about the night you died?”
“Annabelle, what if I killed Daniel that night?”
I have to answer honestly and struggle to find the words. “I don’t know. But Anthony, you need to believe that you wouldn’t have done it intentionally. I know you would never have deliberately hurt Daniel. I truly believe that. We’ll help you. We won’t stop trying ’til we know for sure what happened. I promise.”
“I can’t think any more. I’m losing strength. Go to sleep. I have a little energy left. Let me use it to watch over you. Just leave the door open. I hate closed doors because I spent my whole life locked up behind them.”
That’s why he rattled the doorknob and opened the door!
“I’ll leave every door open from now on, Anthony.”
“In my life, in that horrible place, I hated to be locked up, restrained. I loathed being touched by those people. Now I exist only because I hope to be touched by you. When I’m in Wyatt’s body, I live and breathe and speak only so I can be close to you. Sleep, sweet angel. No one can hurt you while I’m here.”
After decades of waiting, watching and hoping, Anthony found me and now he’s experiencing something he never felt during his short tragic life. I’m his only hope. I keep thinking about this until I finally drift off to sleep, thankful that I’m loved by my family, by my friends and now by Anthony. When he lived and walked on this earth, Anthony never felt loved by anyone.
Chapter 23
We Make Plans
I don’t know if I can wait for the meeting at Oliver’s house because I’m about to burst. But I have to wait, so I do. I haven’t even told my mother about my early morning visitor. I only want to explain it once and answer everyone’s questions all at the same time. Plus I’m picturing the drama my announcement will cause and I’m enjoying the anticipation. By the time we’re finally sitting down around Oliver’s kitchen table, though, I’m ready to explode. I’m squirming in my seat like a five-year-old.
Somewhere deep inside myself I find some self-control and let Oliver speak first. He informs us that yesterday, on the way home, Wyatt almost passed out from exhaustion. After he downed three bacon double cheeseburgers and a vanilla milkshake at Nathaniel’s, he came straight home and went right to bed. He hasn’t had a lot of time to research any of the information we uncovered in the hospital yesterday. But he does have a couple of things to report.
Oliver and Jackson pass around tea and sandwiches and we all settle in. Jackson goes first. He’s one of those bald guys who embraces the hair loss and shaves the rest off just to show he doesn’t give a hoot. Rising steam from his tea cup veils his features and, with his dark eyebrows and intense expression, he looks demonic. But he’s one of the kindest, sweetest men I’ve ever met and a minister, too. He explains the results of the limited research he did last night, in bed, on his laptop, before he fell asleep.
“I found office addresses for both of the doctors’ names we uncovered. Lucky for us, neither of these gentlemen has retired. Both of them have private practices now and they both stayed local, too. I think Oliver and I should make appointments with Drs. Peterson and Summers and conduct these interviews. Maybe one of these gentlemen remembers a hospital employee named Mike. I have the psychology background, so I should definitely be in on the meeting with Doctor Peterson.”
I’m curious to hear Jackson’s opinion. “From a psychologist’s point of view, what do you think about our experience yesterday?”
“From what we’ve discovered so far about the unknown, violent roommate, I’m going to speculate that he was severely autistic. This could explain his mutism. Autistic children have difficulty communicating and they can have devastating meltdowns when they feel over-stimulated. In addition to autism, he might have suffered from a mood or a personality disorder, such as schizophrenia. His frustration with being unable to communicate was probably a contributing factor to his violent behavior. With the right medication and counseling, a skilled therapist might have been able to help our Lonesome Boy.”
“But the doctors at Wild Wood didn’t diagnose him correctly?” Wyatt asks.
“I doubt it
. But, then again, it’s hard to say unless he’s your patient. A psychiatrist would need lots of time with him and careful observation and analysis to accurately make any of these diagnoses. I don’t have a medical degree, only a Ph.D. Plus, he’s not my patient. And he’s been dead for over twenty years. So…” Jackson shrugs.
Oliver adds, “Of course, Jackson’s information about the boy is limited. He’s just making an informed guess. He also discovered something else that’ll be helpful to our investigation.”
“Thanks, Oliver.” Jackson goes on to explain, “Not only do I have the psych credentials; my research skills aren’t too shabby either. I also found Nurse Mary McGuire. Guess where?”
No one attempts a guess, because when people tell you to guess, they don’t really expect you to. They just want to tell you outright. I decide to take a stab at it anyway, to humor him. After all, I still have his really expensive sweater. “Online newspaper archives, the obituaries?”
“Nope, somewhere way more obvious and she’s still alive. Think again, Annabelle.”
“I give up.” Actually I really want him to finish telling us his news quickly, so I can tell mine and blow everyone away.
He smiles proudly and lowers his voice for dramatic effect. You can tell he must be an excellent preacher. “In the Eastfield phonebook.”
This news is pretty cool, but not better than mine.
Jackson’s smile is a mile wide. “Very low tech. Mrs. McGuire doesn’t have a cell phone or a computer. I simply looked her up in the phone book and I spoke with her this morning. She’s in her eighties now, and retired, but manages to stay pretty active. She’s widowed for the second time and lives alone in the home she and her second husband owned together. She was raised in Eastfield and has lived here her whole life: a townie. Like many elderly people who live alone, she was happy to have someone to chat with.”
“What did you say?”
“I told her I was helping some high school students with a History project about the Eastfield area in the 1950’s and 60’s. I said I got her name through the local Senior Citizens Association. I didn’t want to make her too suspicious about our interest in the closing of Wild Wood Hospital, so I avoided mentioning your imaginary project about the 1980’s. Right now, Oliver and I think you should focus on getting in the door, getting to know her. Open the lines of communication. Too many direct questions would alarm her. Feel out the situation and be friendly. Maybe you’ll get invited back.”
“When did you and Oliver decide all of this?” Wyatt sounds a little annoyed.
“Soon after I found her phone number, I figured out a basic plan. Then when I spoke with her, I could tell by her voice she was lonely and happy to shoot the breeze about a lot of subjects. She eagerly agreed to meet with two young people and I told her to expect your phone call today or tomorrow. So, Annabelle, you or Wyatt should call and set something up for early this week. We don’t want to waste any time. I think Nathaniel should accompany you. We can say he’s part of a mentoring program at the high school. We’ll give her Oliver’s number so he can back up your story. What do you think?”
“I think you’ve given us some little old lady to interview because you feel like she’s the least threatening prospect on our short list. And we’re supposed to talk to her about a subject that isn’t even related to Daniel Warren or the closing of the hospital. Plus you’re sending Nathaniel with us as a babysitter. You want us to stay out of trouble and you think we can’t handle anything big.” Wyatt’s full-out pissed now and not bothering to hide it.
Oliver looks tired. His face is nearly as gray as his close-snipped, always tidy hair. But he finds enough energy and enthusiasm to stand up for Jackson.
“We always want you to stay out of trouble, Wyatt, but you’ve done a poor job of that so far. This is an important task. You need a subtle conversational touch. She’s likely to open up and talk the most out of all three of our prospects. Also, based on what we found out from reading the files at the hospital, we know she came into close contact with Daniel Warren on a regular basis. And her hidden note contains the only mention of the violent roommate we could find, besides the ones in Daniel’s diary. She’s key.”
“Okay, okay. Maybe you’re right.” Wyatt manages a close-lipped smile and tilts both hands up in a gesture of surrender.
Jackson asserts himself. “She’s an important source, even though she happens to be a little old lady. So brush that chip off your shoulder, Wyatt, and be a team player. You and Annabelle have a valuable part to play in all this. And you get to go first. Jackson and I won’t get an appointment to meet with two busy doctors right away, but Mrs. McGuire is eager for company and not likely to postpone anything.”
I don’t care about any of this. I’ll interview anyone they want me to interview about any subject. What I really want is to talk about the Lonesome Boy. I’m practically exploding because I’m so excited to tell them about last night. I was planning on a low-key introduction leading up to an explosive announcement, but instead I just blurt it out, “His name is Anthony.”
“What the hell are you talking about, Annabelle?” Wyatt asks.
“The violent roommate. He visited me last night. At midnight, actually, which is always the time in my dream. He rattles my doorknob if the door’s closed and now I know why.”
My mother looks annoyed. “Annabelle, you should have woken me up.”
“But, Mom, I wasn’t afraid. You’re the one who told us he isn’t evil. He doesn’t mean anyone any harm. And you were right.”
Everyone’s attention is super-glued to me and I explain how Anthony can communicate now because of what he learned from being inside Wyatt’s mind. I tell them about his memory of someone calling out, “Anthony!” After I finish describing every detail, I hit them with the part about the door needing to be open.
“It all makes so much sense,” Jackson says.
“Annabelle, you need to wake me up if this happens again,” My mom warns me.
Nathaniel offers, “You can borrow Jeff. He loves you, Annabelle, and he’ll bark loud enough to raise the dead if the ghost shows up. I’ve never offered to lend him to anyone before, but I’ll do anything to help you. It’s my fault this ghost has gained so much power. If I hadn’t coached Wyatt in channeling, this would never have happened.”
Oliver frowns. “I feel responsible. Before Wyatt ever even met Annabelle, I encouraged him to use his talent.”
Jackson folds his hands on the table in front of him, as if he’s about to lead a prayer and announces, “Wyatt and Annabelle aren’t children any more. They’re talented, brave young adults who are curious about everything. You have to let them explore and learn. Oliver, the world is their classroom now. It has no walls and no door to close and lock. If you worry too much about them, you’ll undermine their confidence. Susannah, Oliver, you’ve done a great job with Annabelle and Wyatt so far. They have lots of confidence and courage. Don’t feel guilty. Give yourselves a pat on the back.”
I reach over and take Jackson’s advice. “Good job, Mom. I haven’t turned out all that bad.”
She smiles a small, reluctant looking smile, but a smile nonetheless.
The best thing for Wyatt and me would be for Jackson’s message to sink in. And for us to have the freedom to see this adventure through to the end. I’ll sneak my friend the minister a hug later.
“Hey, you know what? I agree with Jackson.” Nathaniel raises his tea cup. “I drink to your health, Jackson. May you live long enough to preach a million sermons and may everyone who hears them follow your advice.”
Wyatt and I raise our mugs and drink, too.
“Amen,” Oliver says as he sips from his cup.
No one likes to be proven wrong, especially an intelligent grownup like Oliver, who’s used to being right. But he’s being a good sport.
Nathaniel smiles. “We’re the best damn ghost hunters ever.”
Oliver corrects him. “Poor Anthony, we aren’t hunting him. We’r
e helping him, uncovering his story. We aren’t ghost hunters. We’re paranormal explorers.”
I put one hand on Wyatt’s forearm and rub the top of Jeff’s head with the other. If these two behemoths have my back, how can any harm ever come to me?
Chapter 24
Talking to the Little Old Lady
Just like Oliver and Jackson predicted, when we contact Mrs. Mary McGuire, she’s eager to meet with us and talk about her life as a long-time Eastfield resident. Wyatt and I duck out of our practices early and meet Nathaniel in front of her little cottage on one of the side streets near Main Street, not too far from Jackson’s church. In this part of town the houses are pretty close together and have small yards. Most of them were built in the late 1800’s.
Sandwiched in between two large Victorians with wrap-around porches, Mrs. McGuire’s home looks like a dollhouse. Rose vines past their blooming season cling to a weathered but well-kept fence. Due to an unseasonably warm fall, rows of chrysanthemums, sedum and giant marigolds still brighten both sides of the flat stepping stones leading up to her front door. Enchanting.
The door itself is exceptionally quaint and unusual. It has a rounded top and a small rectangular window with six tiny panes, right at eyelevel.
“Awesome,” I whisper to Wyatt. “My dad’s a builder so I can ask about the architecture of her house. And my mother’s a gardener so I’ll be able to complement her flowers and name them all. I have good conversation starters so I won’t sound stupid.”
“Oh, you’ll probably still manage to sound stupid, Annabelle.”
I punch him in the arm and he rubs the spot and laughs.
Before we start up the walkway to ring the doorbell, the door creaks open. I expect a chubby little, hunched over hobbit lady with a wrinkly smile to peep out and greet us, but she’s tall and slim with excellent posture. She looks more like a retired business woman than a character from a fantasy tale.
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