Hearing Voices

by E. C. Bell

  He sighed. “She was my psychiatrist.”

  “She was what?” I stared at him in shock. “Would have been nice if you’d mentioned that earlier.” My voice was still super sharp, and I still didn’t care. “After all, she’s a suspect.”

  “Oh, it’s not her,” Jasper said, his voice confident. Then he frowned. “It couldn’t be her, could it?”

  “Of course, it could,” I said. “It could have been anybody on that list. Which is why I have to investigate.”

  “I—I told her everything,” he said softly. He stared at me. “Do you really think it could have been her?”

  “I don’t know!” I cried. “That’s why we have to investigate, like I said. But it would have been good to know that you and I shared a shrink, though. You know?”

  “Yeah,” he said. “Yeah, I get it.”

  “Let’s just solve your case, shall we?” I said to him. “Then, maybe I’ll be able to figure out a way to prove to her that I can actually interact with ghosts.”

  “Sounds good,” he said. Then he smiled. “Hey, I’ve got an idea,” he said. “How about if I get good at moving things and then scare the crap out of her? Wouldn’t that convince her that ghosts are real?”

  For a second, I actually thought about his suggestion as a real option, then gave my head a shake. He didn’t need to practice becoming a poltergeist. Once I figured out who killed him—if, in fact, anyone did, because I wasn’t even sure of that—and put his mind at ease about it, I would help him move on. Just like my mother would have wanted me to do. Him turning into a poltergeist and scaring the crap out of our psychiatrist should not be in the cards.

  But the words that came out of my mouth were, “We’ll see.”

  Not “No,” but “We’ll see.” Which is something my mother would have never said. What the hell was wrong with me? I couldn’t use a ghost to solve my problems. I couldn’t. Could I?

  No, I couldn’t.

  “You know what might be better?” I said. “Tell me something that only Parkerson would know. About you.”

  He frowned. “Why?”

  “If you tell me something that only you would know, and I tell her, then maybe she’d believe that I have actually been speaking to you. You know?”

  He looked uncomfortable. “That stuff we talked about—it was kind of personal.”

  “Well, get over it,” I said shortly. “I need to convince her that you and I are in contact. So, give me something I can use. Something that only she would know.”

  He stared down at his slippered feet for a moment. “Tell her the name of my dog,” he finally said. “It was Jimmy. My dog’s name was Jimmy.”

  “Thanks,” I said. “That should help.”

  “I never told anybody about my dog,” he mumbled. “Not even Phillipa.”

  “Thanks,” I said again. He looked so miserable, he was making me uncomfortable. “You know what else you could do for me?”

  “What?” he asked. He wouldn’t look at me. Like telling me the silly name for his dog was some deep dark secret.

  “You could investigate for me. You know, follow the people on the list around, and see if you can find out anything that could help prove that one of them is actually killing patients.”

  He frowned. “How could I do that?” he asked. “It’s not like I can question them or anything.”

  “True,” I replied. “But you can watch them and listen to them. You might hear something or see something that’ll help. You know?”

  “All right,” he said. “I guess I could do that. Who first?”

  “Our shrink,” I said after a moment’s thought. “Why don’t you start with our shrink?”

  “All right,” he said again, then whirled when the door flew open. He gasped and darkened even further as Dr. Parkerson walked in.

  “Speak of the devil,” he said, weakly.

  “Have you calmed down?” Parkerson asked. “We need to talk about what happened in my office.”

  “Oh?” I said. “I thought you were here to give me another shot of something to shut me up again. Then I’d be nice and quiet, just the way you want.”

  “This isn’t what I want,” Parkerson said. “But you must learn to control your outbursts. It isn’t good for you or for the process.”

  “The process?” I scoffed.

  “The process,” she said.

  “She always loved the process,” Jasper said softly.

  Even though I’d decided that I didn’t give a crap whether Parkerson believed me about the ghosts or not, old habits died hard, and so I couldn’t look at Jasper. Just stared at Parkerson though my life depended on it, and asked, “What about your process?”

  “It isn’t my process,” she said, with a hint of impatience in her voice. “It’s the process. The way we are going to work together to help you get healthy.”

  “I am healthy,” I said acidly. I glanced at Jasper, whose eyes had popped wide. Apparently, he’d never tried talking back to his shrink.

  I looked back at Parkerson. “I’m perfectly healthy,” I said. “And I can see ghosts. Ghosts. You know, Dr. Parkerson?”

  I heard Jasper suck in breath, which was kind of funny, but I didn’t laugh or glance at him. I concentrated on Dr. Parkerson.

  Her expression didn’t change. I wondered how much control it took for her to keep her face that way and whether she’d learned how to do that in shrink school or on the job. On the job probably. You learn that by staring in the eyes of the people you are trying to fix. You learn to keep your disgust to yourself.

  “I understand that you believe that,” she started, but I waved my hands at her to shut her up. Her voice faltered, and I figured that she was reacting to the look on my face.

  Well, I never went to shrink school, so I didn’t have her skill set.

  “Damned straight I believe that,” I said. “And more than that, it’s the truth. Isn’t it, Jasper?”

  I turned my head and looked at him. Chuckled at the pop-eyed look of surprise on his face. I glanced at Parkerson and nearly laughed out loud when I saw the same look on hers.

  “Yeah,” I said. “I know about Jasper Flynn. About him being your patient. About him dying here.”

  “How—how did you know that?” Parkerson sputtered. She looked around the room as though she was trying to see Jasper, which, of course, she couldn’t. Or maybe she was trying to find the door, to make good her escape.

  “He told me,” I said. “The day I got here.”

  She pulled herself up and glared at me. “How did you get that information?” she said. “Jasper Flynn died seven years ago.”

  “Seven years three months and six days,” Jasper said softly. His voice sounded faded. I glanced at him and saw that he had darkened appreciably.

  “Seven years three months six days,” I said. “According to Jasper. He says hi, by the way.”

  I almost laughed out loud when I heard Jasper whisper, “No, I didn’t say that. Tell her I didn’t say that.”

  “He’s a tad upset with me,” I said. “Guess he’s still scared of you. What did you do to him to scare him so badly, Doctor?”

  Dr. Parkerson looked around, and this time she looked afraid. “Why are you doing this?” she asked.

  “To prove to you that I can see and speak to ghosts,” I replied. The truth felt wonderful on my tongue. Like I’d sipped water from a glacier fed stream or something. “You want more?”

  “More what?” she asked.

  “More proof,” I said. “Jasper told me about his dog. His dog’s name was Jimmy. Right?”

  “How did you know that?” she gasped.

  “Like I said. Jasper told me,” I said.

  She stared at me for a long moment, her face like stone. “Did you break into my files?” she asked.

  I snorted unamused laughter. “I didn’t touch your files,” I said. “I went to you for help, not to mess with your worldview by sneaking a peek at your stupid files.” I looked around the locked room with th
e tiny bed and the white badly plastered walls. “Not that it did me much good.”

  “You couldn’t have taken any files from my downtown office,” she said absently. “I keep them here. How did you get into my office here?” Her face sharpened. “Is someone helping you? Getting you this information?”

  “No one’s helping me,” I said. “Just the ghosts.”

  “Oh, stop it!” she cried. “There are no ghosts!”

  “She does like to hang on to her preconceived notions, doesn’t she?” Jasper said. His voice sounded like it was coming from far away, and when I looked at him, he had gone dark grey. Dark, dark grey.

  “Hang on,” I said to him. “I know it’s tough, but try to hang on.”

  “Please look at me when you’re talking to me,” Parkerson said. She’d managed to pull the psychiatrist mask back over her face, and I couldn’t read her any longer.

  “I wasn’t talking to you,” I said. I sat down on the edge of the bed, suddenly tired. All this confessing was exhausting.

  “So, you believe you are speaking to a ghost at this very moment,” Parkerson said. “The ghost of Jasper Flynn.” She looked like she wished she had a note pad and pen. Or my big fat file. Or maybe, a gun.

  “Yes, I am,” I said. “He’s right there.” I pointed at Jasper, who looked like he wanted to run away. “Don’t worry,” I said to him. “She can’t hurt you anymore.”

  “Jasper.” She’d crossed her arms over her chest, like she was trying to protect herself from all the sudden crazy floating around that room. “Really?”

  “I told you that,” I scoffed. “Yes, it’s Jasper. Good old Jasper, the friendly ghost.”

  “Please don’t call me that,” Jasper whispered.

  “Sorry,” I said to him, then turned back to Parkerson. “He doesn’t want me to call him that,” I said. “Isn’t that funny?”

  “None of this is funny,” she said. “Marie, you must stop this delusional behaviour. You can understand that, can’t you? I don’t know how you found out about one of my patients—”

  “Who died under unusual circumstances,” I said sarcastically. She shook her head, sadly, and I laughed. “I guess this means you aren’t going to let me see my friends,” I said. “Or the media?”

  She frowned. “The media?”

  “Nurse Melodie mentioned it. Ellis Wheeler wants to interview me for his news show.” I laughed. “Guess that’s not going to happen.”

  “No,” she said. “That would be ill-advised at this time.”

  “I get that,” I said. Personally, the last thing in the world I wanted to do was be interviewed by that man. It was one thing to admit to my shrink that I could see ghosts—but telling a media guy so he could make me look like a fool to the rest of the city? Not a chance.

  “What about James?” I asked. “Is he still off-limits?”

  “Yes,” she said. “He is.”

  “Can I see Dad?”

  She almost laughed. “Definitely not.”

  “What about Jasmine?”

  Dr. Parkerson frowned. Was about to say no, but I waved my hand at her, stopping her before she started. I was pretty sure that Jasmine wouldn’t want to talk to me anyhow. Not after what my father told her. I wished that there was a way to get hold of Jasmine. Tell her that she didn’t have to worry, that I wasn’t actually crazy or anything. That she could still be my friend. Even with the ghosts.

  I swung my head, which was getting pretty heavy, in Jasper’s direction, and saw that he was cowering in the corner like he wished he was anywhere but in that room. Ignored Parkerson’s “Oh no not again” noises and concentrated on Jasper.

  “Are you all right?” I asked.

  “I can’t listen to anymore of this,” he said. “She’s a killer—”

  “Maybe,” I said.

  “And you’re playing with her,” he continued. I blinked, then shrugged.

  “Why not?” I asked. “That’s what she’s doing to me.”

  “What am I doing to you?” Parkerson asked, testily.

  “You’re playing with me,” I said. My head swirled, and I leaned back against the headboard. “You drugged me out of my mind, and now you’re playing with me. You’re the cat and I’m the drugged-out mouse.” I shrugged. “And I can’t do a thing to stop it.”

  “I’m sorry you feel that way,” Parkerson said. “Perhaps we can talk about it tomorrow at our next session.”

  “I can hardly wait,” I said.

  “Try to sleep,” she said, and reached for the door knob.

  “You going to keep me locked up?” I asked. “Tomorrow?”

  “No,” she said. “You’ll be back in group tomorrow.”

  “And my meals?” I asked. “You going to let me eat with the others?”

  “We’ll see.”

  Growing up, when my mother said that, it meant no. I hoped Parkerson would be different, because I needed to get back out of my claustrophobic little room and into the slightly less claustrophobic little world that was Building Thirteen. It was time for me to figure out why people were dying, and who was killing them. I couldn’t do that locked up, even with Jasper’s help.

  I glanced at Jasper. It looked like he’d calmed down. Even looked like a little of his light had returned. Maybe the thought of me being out had stabilized him. He wouldn’t have to do all this alone. I’d be there, with him. For back up.

  Not exactly back up, but whatever. I turned back to Parkerson. “Yeah, all right. I guess we’ll see what tomorrow brings.”

  “Try to sleep,” she said again, and this time, she opened the door. “I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”

  And then she was gone, and only Jasper remained.

  “You sure know how to make friends and influence people,” he said. “If you don’t make up with her you’ll never get out of here.”

  “I’m not making up with her,” I said. “She has to make up with me.”

  Jasper laughed miserably. “Then get used to being here,” he said. “Because that ain’t ever going to happen.”

  “She can’t keep me here forever,” I said.

  “She can do whatever she wants,” he replied. “She’s a god, here. Haven’t you figured that out yet?”

  “Man, she really got in your head,” I said. I struggled briefly with the blankets, and finally got my feet under them before I gave it up as a bad job and laid back.

  “That’s what they do,” he said. “So, you want me to start watching her, right? You know, investigating?”

  I had asked him to do that, but decided that it might be better if I knew what the dead knew, first. For whatever reason, Parkerson had given me a little more space. I figured I might be able to check out the staff myself. That included my dear shrink.

  “Why don’t you start with your people?” I said. “Talk to them, first. See if you can figure out who feels they died because of the killer. You know what I mean?”

  “Investigate,” he said. He looked angry, like he wished I hadn’t called him off Parkerson. But all I did was nod until he turned toward the door.

  “And maybe don’t mess around with the poltergeist stuff anymore,” I said. “Just for a while.”

  “All right,” he said, but I could tell he only said it to get out of the room without having another discussion with me. Which was all right with me, because the drugs were taking over again. His voice had started fading in and out, which meant that soon I wouldn’t hear him at all. And all I wanted to do was close my eyes.

  I forced them open for just a few more minutes. Just so I could make one more request. “Ask Franklin to come see me when I wake up,” I said. “I don’t know how long I’m going to be able to hear you all. We need to hurry up with the sign language lessons.”

  “All right,” he said. He sounded angry, but I didn’t care. “I’ll make sure he drops by.”

  As my eyes slid shut, I felt him leave the room. I was finally alone. Maybe I could finally sleep, with no dreams.

  And then . .
. I was at the ball park, eating peanuts.

  Dammit anyhow.

  Jasper:

  Investigating Was Never My Strong Suit

  I WISHED THAT Marie had said yes to me investigating Dr. Parkerson. She needed to be investigated. She really did.

  Then I gave my head a big old shake. I’d said I’d talk to my people about their deaths. That was what Marie had asked me to do, and I would do it.

  Unfortunately, it was almost time for group. It brought everybody together but it wasn’t really the best venue for asking people about how they died, and who they suspected did it. Generally, we didn’t talk about stuff like that, even if it was all we thought about in the deep part of our brains.

  It was all that I thought about, anyhow. Dr. Parkerson had never been able to help me understand why my mother would have abandoned me the way she had.

  “That’s just the way of the world,” Dr. Parkerson had said. “Sometimes, mothers leave.”

  I’d thought about trying to find my mother a couple of times, but that would have meant leaving that place, and those people. And the thought of that had always been too terrifying. Here I had order. Out there, in the world? It was brightly coloured chaos, and I did not do well with chaos. Memories of chicken feathers floated in and overwhelmed me for a moment. I looked down at my hands and they’d gone back to dark grey—the preamble to disappearing back to that nightmare house, which was what I really didn’t want to do. I mean, I never wanted to go there, but especially not now. When I had a mission.

  I needed to do what Marie had asked me to do. Just follow her orders so she’d keep talking to me.

  The first one to group after me was Franklin Gilroy, and he just wanted to talk about my sign language lessons.

  “You been practicing?” he asked, his flat voice more aggravating than usual.

  “Yeah,” I said. “I have.” It felt like it had been months since he’d given me that first lesson, and I could barely remember anything he’d taught me. “I tried.”

  “Oh, sometimes it takes a bit,” he replied. “Especially if you can hear. If we could figure out a way to make you deaf, I think you’d learn double quick.”