by E. C. Bell
I laughed in spite of myself. “Maybe I will,” I said. “Did James have any information for me? I’d asked him to check out some—stuff—about this place. Did he tell you anything?”
“Actually, he did,” he said. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a folded piece of paper. “He asked me to give you this. He said that these are the people who have been employed here since the killings started.” He stared at me, hard. “What killings was he talking about?”
I didn’t answer him. Just took the paper from his hand and straightened it, looking around furtively as I did so. It didn’t look like Nurse Willoughby had seen my father hand me the paper, but I couldn’t be sure. “Thanks.”
I glanced at the list. It was six names long and I recognized three of them. Nurse Willoughby was third, below Nurse Melodie’s. And Dr. Parkerson’s. My shrink was on the list. Fantastic.
“Are you in danger?” Dad asked. He’d started looking around furtively, and I realized we both had to stop with that BS or we’d clue Nurse Willoughby, third on the list of potential killers, that we were up to something.
“No,” I said. I turned over the sheet Dad had handed me and started doodling on the back of it. I hoped that the nurse would just think that it was just another sheet of paper she’d given me, and nothing more. “At least, I don’t think so. Did James say when the killings started?”
“He said ten years ago. He said there were suicides, of course, and some accidents. But there were heart attacks too. Looked like at least one a year of those,” Dad said. “Marie, why do you need to know this?”
“A ghost found me,” I whispered. “Jasper Flynn. James didn’t give you any information about him?”
Dad shook his head.
“That’s too bad,” I said. “It would be nice to know who I’m dealing with. Anyhow, he’s the one who told me that he suspected people were being killed. So, I figured, since I’m here, I could help.”
“Just like your mom would,” Dad said.
“Mom would never help them figure out what happened to them,” I said. “She just moved them on. You know that.”
“Yeah, I remember you two fighting about that,” he said. I was surprised, because I couldn’t remember fighting with Mom about our abilities. Not in front of him, anyhow.
“Your mom used to tell me about your fights,” he said. “You could get nasty when you wanted to.”
“Yeah, I guess,” I said. I didn’t really want to think about how I’d hurt my now-dead mother. “But she got the last laugh, now didn’t she?”
“What do you mean?” he asked.
“Well, she never did come back,” I said. “Even though I could have used her help. She died, and then—poof! On to the next plane of existence for her, without even a backward glance. Jesus.”
I felt my throat tighten and took a deep breath. Blew it out, manufactured a smile from somewhere, and slapped it on my face.
“Whatever,” I said. “She must have thought I could handle it, if she left.”
“She must have,” Dad said. He looked around the empty room, and over at Nurse Willoughby, who looked like she was sleeping in the chair by the door.
“Doesn’t really look like I’m handling any of this very well, does it?” I said.
“Well, this is a bit of a pickle, girl, no doubt about it,” Dad said. He smiled gently. “Now, tell me, really this time. Are you okay?”
“Yeah, Dad,” I said. “I’m okay. James will get me out of here, we’ll solve the big mystery, be heroes, and then I can get back to my life.”
I hoped.
“I still don’t understand why you don’t just tell everyone the truth,” he said. “I know your mom had some difficult moments, but people treated her well enough, once they understood.”
He sure remembered Mom’s life differently than I did.
“Dad, I’m here just because someone said I could interact with ghosts,” I said harshly. “Can’t you understand? This is the kind of shit that happens to me when people find out what I am capable of.”
“No,” Dad said, just as harshly. “This is what happens when people don’t know. They can say any damned thing they want about you, no matter how incredible, and since you keep your damned mouth shut everyone can just assume you’re nuts or something. And tell me. When did you get so freakishly strong? I saw what happened to the guy you were supposed to have beaten up. He was lucky he made it.”
“I didn’t do that,” I said. “Ghosts did. A bunch of them attacked him, including the spirit of the girl he’d killed. He was a real bastard, Dad.”
He sat up straight and stared at me. “You were dealing with poltergeists?” he asked.
“Well, yeah,” I said. “It started with one, but she taught everybody else. And I have to tell you, they saved my butt out there. He was going to kill me. I owe them my life.”
He shook his head. “Never trust a poltergeist,” he said. “They can be helpful, but it doesn’t stay that way. Not for long, anyhow.”
I frowned. “What do you mean?” I asked. “Mom never dealt with poltergeists, did she?”
He looked around like he wished there was anyone else in the room to talk to. “Maybe one or two,” he finally said. “Then she figured out that they were dangerous and did her best to get rid of them quick.” He stared just past me, looking haunted. “They can be dangerous. Remember that."
“They saved my life, Dad,” I said.
He didn’t answer me. Just stared out at nothing for a long time and then sighed. “I still think your best bet is to tell everyone about your abilities,” he said.
“Telling people I can see ghosts doesn’t help,” I snapped. “Nobody believes, Dad.”
“James does,” he said. “And that cop. The Sergeant. What’s her name?”
“Sylvia Worth,” I said.
“And your friend Jasmine, she knows too, right?”
“Jasmine?” I frowned. “How do you know about Jasmine?”
“Well, I called her after I got the call from Ellis Wheeler,” Dad said. “You left her number with Rhonda, remember?”
Rhonda, my snoopy sister, would do anything to get the family back together. Including this, it seemed. “Wonderful,” I muttered.
“Jasmine said I could stay with her while I was here,” he continued. “And last night we had a long talk.”
My stomach tightened. “About what?”
“Well, about everything,” he said. “About your mother. About you.” He smiled. “Why didn’t you tell me you and James were thinking about getting married?”
“We’re not,” I said shortly. “We’re just dating. What did you tell Jasmine?”
“We talked about your mother’s abilities. About what she could do, and how she could help the spirits move on.”
I felt like I was going to puke all over the shiny rec room floor. “You didn’t talk about me, did you?” I asked.
“I didn’t have to,” he said. “She guessed most of it.”
Jesus.
“With a little push from you, I imagine,” I muttered. “Dad, what have you done?”
“What do you mean?” he asked. “She was fine with the whole thing. Really. Said it made sense and explained a lot of what seemed to always happen around you.”
“That doesn’t sound like Jasmine,” I said. “She is the most down-to-earth person I know. She doesn’t believe in any of the ooga-booga crap. None of it. She doesn’t even buy into Halloween and Christmas. I feel sorry for her kids—all that explaining about the history of the holidays, the whole nine yards. She really wrings all the fun out of it. I can’t see her just accepting the idea that I can interact with ghosts.”
I realized my voice was getting loud and glanced at Nurse Willoughby, but she hadn’t moved.
“I live at her house,” I said. “And if she thinks there’s anything wrong with me, she won’t let me move back there when I finally get out of this place. She’ll want me to stay as far away from her kids as I can. You understand t
hat, don’t you?”
My voice was definitely louder. I could hear it echoing off the walls and wondered distantly why Nurse Willoughby hadn’t jumped up and come over to find out what the hell was going on. But then my dad blew his top and pushed all thoughts of Nurse Willoughby out of my head.
“You honestly think that your friend would run you out of her life because you can interact with spirits?” he cried. “Why do you have such a low opinion of people?”
“Because mostly they’re bastards!” I yelled. “They’re bastards and I can’t trust them at all! I don’t want to be stuck in a place like this for the rest of my life, and I don’t want to have people look at me the way they looked at Mom. Like she was crazy. I just can’t stand the thought they’ll look at me like I’m so different, that it’s only my difference they can see. Understand?”
“Well, we don’t think of you that way,” he said.
For a while after Mom’s funeral, that was the truth. I called it the honeymoon period, which was kind of a horrible way to talk about those months after a death. But my last few phone calls with my sister, I’d heard the judgment creep back into her voice.
“Have you talked to Rhonda lately?” I roared. “That’s all she ever talks about! And she’s my sister, for God’s sake!”
I didn’t even hear Nurse Willoughby squeak up behind me, but gasped as she grabbed me securely by both elbows, pinning me to her.
“That is just about enough of that, young lady,” she said. “You are becoming far too agitated. It’s time for you to go back to your room.”
“Let her go,” Dad cried as I struggled in her arms. “All we’re doing is talking. Isn’t that right, Marie?”
“I don’t think so,” the nurse said before I had a chance to say a word. “It’s time for you to leave.”
“You do understand that she shouldn’t even be in here,” my father said. “That she can see the spirits of the dead, and there is nothing wrong with her head. Nothing at all!”
“Dad, no,” I grunted, still fighting in the nurse’s iron grip.
“That is enough, Mr. Jenner,” Nurse Willoughby barked. “You are upsetting Marie, and it is time for you to go.”
“You are the one upsetting her!” Dad yelled. “By drugging her and keeping her here against her will! She can see ghosts. That’s the truth of it, and you can’t keep her locked up just because you think she’s crazy without any proof whatsoever!”
“We do not use that word here,” Nurse Willoughby said, her voice like ice.
“What?” Dad cried. “Proof?”
Nurse Willoughby’s face closed. “Get out.”
The doors burst open and three muscle-bound men in white uniforms ran into the room and grabbed my dad. They almost knocked the table over and I saw, with horror, that the sheet of paper Dad had brought in for me was about to drift to the floor. If it flipped over, the nurse would see the list of names James had written on it. Including hers.
“My papers,” I gasped. “Please. I need my papers.”
“I’ll bring them into you later,” Nurse Willoughby said.
“No, please,” I said, desperately. “I need to write down my thoughts and stuff. From this encounter. Please?”
Dad threw one of the orderlies on the table and I wanted to scream because the papers were going to fall and I was positive Nurse Willoughby would see what I was desperate to keep from her.
“Please?” I said again, my tone so wheedling it made me sick. “I won’t cause any trouble, I promise.”
“For heaven’s sake,” she said, but she released one of my arms and gathered up the pages from the table. Then she bent and retrieved the pencil from the floor. I could see it had snapped in half, and ludicrously hoped that the tip hadn’t broken, because I wasn’t going to able to get it sharpened again.
“All right?” she said, roughly folding the pages into quarters and ramming them into my housecoat pocket with the broken pencil. “Will you come with me quietly now?”
“Yes,” I said, and obediently turned toward the door.
Nurse Willoughby hustled me down the hallway to my room so I missed the rest of the fight but it sounded pretty ferocious. Dad put up a good one, it seemed.
He always did. Not that it ever, ever helped.
“Don’t worry,” the nurse said as she unlocked the door and pushed me inside. “Once Dr. Parkerson hears about this she won’t let your father come back.”
Before I could answer, she slammed the door shut in my face and, over the noise of my father being dragged from the rec area and out of Building Thirteen, I heard the door lock.
I felt a sudden chill and turned. Standing in the middle of the room was Franklin Gilroy, and he looked pissed, like he’d been waiting for me for some time. His mouth moved, but I couldn’t hear a word.
“I’m sorry,” I mouthed, shaking my head. “It’s the pills.”
His mouth moved again, and I was finally able to read his lips. “For fuck’s sake,” he said, and then he disappeared.
Jasper:
Paper and Pencil
I HEARD ABOUT Marie’s father from Phillipa, who said she was hanging around in the kitchen when she heard the fight. When I was able to get away from her, I went to see if Marie was all right.
I hoped that as she’d adjusted to the drugs so that she would be able to hear me all the time. That would have been perfect, but perfect doesn’t usually happen. Not to me, and not ever in this place.
I walked into her room and she was sitting in what was becoming her usual place, on the edge of the bed opposite the camera. She didn’t respond when I came into the room, and I figured she was just ignoring me for the camera.
I saw a crumpled sheaf of papers on her nightstand with a yellow pencil, snapped in two, on top of it. Except for the fact she’d apparently already broken the pencil, that was a good sign. They’d give her a notebook soon, and then she’d have a way to communicate with me. Maybe we wouldn’t need to learn sign language. Except that I couldn’t use the paper and pencil. Looked like we were stuck with sign language.
“How goes it, Marie?” I asked, and walked around so I was standing in front of her. She jumped a bit when I made it to her field of vision but didn’t respond otherwise.
“I heard your dad came for a visit and caused a bit of a stir. Parents, am I right?”
She shook her head, just once, her hair moving briefly in front of her eyes and then back, so I could see them again.
“You can’t hear me?” I asked. Yelled, really, like that was going to help, but it looked like she read my lips or whatever, because she nodded. Once.
“Man,” I said. “We got to get on those sign language lessons or this is going to get real difficult real fast. I’ll go find my guy and see if I can get started.”
She stared at me, and I could tell that she didn’t know what I was saying.
“I’ll be back,” I yelled. “Soon.”
She looked down at her hand, unwilling to even try to talk to me. I felt my rage build, fast and almost out of control.
“Damn you!” I cried, and slapped at the crumpled papers on her bedside table. “You can’t just lock me out like this!”
The pages jumped on the table. Two inches, and nearly fell to the floor. My rage seeped away as I stared at the pencil, which was still rocking back and forth.
I’d moved the papers and the pencil. Somehow, I’d moved the papers and the pencil.
I looked at Marie. “Did you see that?” I asked, but her back was still to me. She hadn’t seen what I’d done. But I had. I had.
I backed out of the room deciding, rather magnanimously, that I’d give her a little bit of slack. After all, she had just had a great big fight with her father, maybe she needed a little alone time.
I’d moved the pencil and the papers. Maybe I could learn to use that ability to communicate with Marie even if she couldn’t hear me.
Then, I was hit with exhaustion so complete that I was barely able to stumble out of
the room. I guessed it was probably from moving the pencil. If just moving it a centimetre had taken this much strength, I’d have to learn how to conserve my energy as well. That could take some time, which meant I probably needed to learn sign language from the old man anyhow. I figured it wouldn’t take too long, and then Marie and I could keep communicating while I learned how to use my newfound ability.
So, I drifted out of Building Thirteen to Building One. Franklin Gilroy was almost always there, and it was time for me to convince him to give me my first lesson.
FRANKLIN SAT IN his usual spot by the heavily barred windows overlooking the meadow out back. I had no idea what he looked at out there, but he could be at it for hours if nothing grabbed his attention. I touched his aura close to his shoulder to let him know I was there.
“Hey, Franklin,” I said, when I had his attention. “I want to talk to you about sign language lessons again. And you were right, before. It has to do with the girl.”
“Marie,” he said.
“Yeah. I don’t want to lose my chance with her just because we can’t talk. You know. Please reconsider. I won’t tell Phillipa. I promise.”
He stared at me for a long moment, his mouth working soundlessly. Then, he sighed. “I suppose,” he said. “But you got to understand something.”
“What?” I asked.
“I’ll be teaching Marie myself,” he said.
“Why?” I asked. That was not the plan.
“Because I know what I’m doing and you don’t,” he said. “Better chance that some of it will stick if I work with you both.”
“Have you gone to see Marie?” I asked suspiciously. “Even after Phillipa told you not to?”
Ribbons of red wafted from Franklin. He was angry. Really angry.
“Her making that pronouncement didn’t stop you from going back, now did it?” he asked.
I shook my head.
“Well, I figured it wouldn’t hurt for me to meet her, too,” he said. “So I did. And I offered to teach her my language. Figured it would be easier with her than you.” He smirked at me. “Even gave her a lesson.”