Under the Skin

by Vicki Lane

  Lizzy had already claimed her corner of the sofa but she no longer gave off that Lizzy-like impression of being an aloof and amused onlooker. Indeed, she had seemed to go into something of a trance at one point yesterday. At first Gloria had assumed that her sister was pretending—a subtle mockery to get back at her for insisting on this weekend. But it hadn’t been an act; Gloria was certain of that now.

  Giles was issuing the standard reminder about cellphones and bathroom visits—done and done, thought Gloria, eager to get on with the session. Perhaps it would be her turn this morning, her turn to name the spirit the group would call.

  When she had broached the subject to Giles at breakfast, just to let him know that she was prepared but trying hard not to seem pushy, the medium had only smiled. He would know, he had said, when the spirits were ready to speak to her.

  And now everyone was in place, taut with anticipation, and now Charlene was smudging the room again, intent upon her self-appointed duty, and now Giles was speaking to the group.

  “… a few of you have mentioned strange dreams and some … mmm … contacts … experienced since last night’s session. It’s a common enough phenomenon, the reason being that when one immerses oneself in the spirit world for any length of time, the veil between this plane and the next grows more … permeable. You may, indeed, have communication outside of these formal sessions. Take into consideration too that we are in an old house which may harbor resident spirits …”

  Beside her, Gloria heard Elizabeth’s sharp intake of breath. But when she turned, her sister’s face was expressionless.

  “… In fact, I’m told there is a mischievous prankster at the inn who enjoys moving small objects about … so if your toothbrush ends up missing …”

  A little ripple of amusement went round the group and Ree nodded. “I knew I hadn’t left my glasses in the sink.”

  “That sounds like the work of a prankster, to be sure,” Giles agreed. “And there may be another spirit on the premises, a mother, mourning a lost child …”

  A lost child. The sleeping pain in the depths of Gloria’s heart awakened, an old wound, never fully healed. But perhaps soon all that could be put right; perhaps the next spirit would speak to her. And she to it, at long last.

  “… I know that those of you who haven’t yet made contact with your particular chosen spirit are eager to do so. And there will be time, rest assured. But before we begin asking for a specific name, I’d like us to open ourselves to any spirits who, though they’ve not been called, may have messages for some among us.”

  Giles paused and frowned, as if deliberating. “How shall I explain it? It’s a bit like putting out grain and seeds for the wild birds. You may wish only to attract the pretty songbirds but a swarm of rooks and pigeons will descend, frightening away the others. So we’ll give any eager or importunate spirits out there a chance to be heard first. Otherwise, they could interfere with our attempts to communicate with the ones you have chosen. You see, gathered as we are …”

  Oh, can’t we just get going? Gloria had to bite her lips to keep from speaking the words aloud. Please, I want my turn!

  Of course it wouldn’t do, and she controlled herself as Giles went on at some length about the group dynamic and misdirected energy and restless spirits. But at last he was done.

  Once again they all took hands and closed their eyes. This time, however, rather than concentrating on a name, they were asked to “think of a mirror, reflecting nothing. Try to hold that thought in your mind,” Giles urged them, “making it a blank slate on which the spirits may write their messages …”

  Minutes passed in the darkened room. Heavy breathing … a discreet cough … that repetitive little sniff from Dawn.

  Really, if she’d just blow her nose, thought Gloria, abandoning for the moment her concentration on the nonreflecting mirror. Isn’t this taking a lot longer than the last time? Maybe there aren’t any messages for anyone here and we can …

  And suddenly Dawn was giggling. It welled up and overflowed—a fountain of pure amusement. Gloria opened her eyes to see that all heads were turned toward the young woman whose shoulders were shaking as peals of mirth poured from her. Steve’s mouth gaped open and she shot a questioning look at Giles who shook his head and put a finger to his lips.

  “It’s just too funny,” Dawn gasped, between bursts of laughter. “She—Aunt Somebody—the prankster you were telling us about—says she’s torn out the last pages of Sandy’s mystery novel and hidden them somewhere in Sandy’s room. She won’t stop laughing.”

  Giles addressed the prankster spirit, asking if she had any message for anyone. There was a pause in Dawn’s laughter. “She says … Sandy should look in the fireplace … and she says … that it’s the husband who’s trying to kill the wife.”

  Is that a message for me? Gloria leaned forward to catch Dawn’s next words but there were none. The laughter stopped and Dawn’s head drooped.

  “I believe our prankster has moved on,” Giles told them. “Let her go and once more concentrate on the mirror reflecting nothing … the empty slate. There may be others waiting to speak.”

  Again the room fell silent except for the sound of quiet breathing and muted rustlings as the group resumed its vigil. Moments ticked by … endless moments …

  There seemed to be a humming … so faint that Gloria dismissed it, at first, as a ringing in her ears. But then she felt Elizabeth’s hand jerk convulsively and heard her utter a tiny squeak of exclamation. And then the humming became louder and with a jolt like a mild electric shock, she realized that it was the same odd little tune she’d had in her mind earlier.

  And now Giles was speaking in his usual quiet tones, sounding like a cautious fisherman who feels a nibble at the end of his line. “Hello … I believe we have someone … Is there a message for one of us?”

  The humming grew louder, no longer haunting and lovely but fierce … grating … frightening in its intensity.

  Then, abruptly, it stopped.

  Gloria felt Elizabeth pull her hand free. Opening her eyes, she was startled to see her sister, hands over her face, slowly shaking her head as if refusing something.

  Reaching out a tentative hand to her sister’s shoulder, Gloria hissed, “Lizzy! What are you—”

  Giles stopped her with a quiet “She’s fine. Please, don’t distract her. I believe she’s receiving a message.”

  The whole group watched in tense silence as Elizabeth continued to shake her head. Then she grew still. She was breathing heavily, as if she’d been running … or engaged in some mighty struggle.

  Alarmed at her sister’s actions, Gloria turned and looked at Giles, her eyes wide with apprehension. He returned her gaze and, making a downward gesture with his hand, mouthed the word Wait.

  They all waited, watching Elizabeth, who remained motionless, her face hidden. Then, just as the silence was about to be unbearable, Giles spoke.

  “Elizabeth.”

  Dropping her hands, Elizabeth lifted her head. The pupils of her eyes were huge, almost eclipsing the blue, and she stared unseeing across the room.

  “Elizabeth … please share your message with the group.” Giles’s voice was gentle but he obviously expected compliance.

  There was a long hesitation and then Elizabeth blinked. Her eyes returned to normal as she straightened and turned toward the medium. “I’m sorry—there was no message for any of you. Nothing.” Her unwavering blue gaze forbade further inquiry.

  Gloria felt a little shiver run over her body. She was sure that Lizzy had received a message of some sort. And she was equally sure that her sister would not be sharing.

  Elizabeth and Giles stared at one another. Finally Giles spoke.

  “Very well. We’ll move along to give some others a go. We’ll begin with …” He closed his eyes, as if musing over a choice, and Gloria could contain herself no longer.

  “Please, if I could just talk to my baby. They said I couldn’t keep it, that there was a nic
e family who wanted to adopt; and then they said it died …”

  She knew that she was perilously close to sobbing. She had already said far more than was necessary but the wall of secrecy, built up so many years ago, was crumbling and she was helpless to stop it. Her words flowed out in a great tumbling stream.

  “They gave me anesthesia and when I woke up, they said that my baby had died. They never let me see it … They wouldn’t even tell me if it was a boy or a girl … I thought I heard it cry but they said it was the anesthetic that made me dream that … Please, if I could just tell my baby how sorry … I couldn’t help it. My mother … She didn’t want it even to be born … She wouldn’t let me keep it … I wasn’t strong enough to fight her … All I know about my baby is its birthday, July 28, 1973 … I have it engraved on this locket. I named him … her … Dana.”

  Gloria was aware of disapproving looks from some of the circle, as well as pitying glances from others. Joss was frowning, fiddling with the bandages on his head. He opened his mouth as if about to say something then closed it again without speaking. Giles’s expression remained neutral, noncommunicative, and she plunged ahead, all the years of pent-up sorrow distilled into a single entreaty.

  “Please … is my baby there?”

  She heard those last words striking against the silence like tiny mallets on a silver bell and it seemed to her that plaintive syllables hung reverberating in the air. A sudden vibration went round the circle of clasped hands and there was a startled gasp from one of the Seekers.

  Across the table the medium let out a low moan. In the darkness of the room, all that could be seen of Giles of Glastonbury was the vaguest outlines of his face. The medium’s head rolled from side to side as a confusion of sounds issued from his parted lips. Then, all at once, his head drooped forward.

  Gloria sat rigid, unmoving as a tiny surge of current went tingling through the locked hands of the circle. A breath of air stirred above her head and a silvery chime sounded once.

  Then, from somewhere … from everywhere … came a hesitant voice.

  Mama?

  Chapter 22

  Seekers

  Saturday, May 26

  Mama?”

  I blinked my eyes in utter confusion. Joss was on his feet and staring at Gloria. He had pulled free of the circle, leaving Len and Giles with empty outstretched hands. Suddenly the medium slumped back in the wing chair as if in a faint, and a murmur of voices ran round the room. Ignoring the obvious consternation of the group, Joss appealed directly to Gloria.

  “This is … I have to talk to you … now! It’s very important … the most important thing in the world!” Joss cried, staring at my sister with such hungry intensity that the other members of the group, some of whom had been trying to make him sit back down, grew silent.

  Gloria, like all the rest of us, was dumbfounded at this outburst. As for me, I was still trying to get my bearings—to sort out the experience that had left my thoughts swirling in confusion. But whatever had happened to me just before Gloria began to call for her baby (if I was prepared to believe it had happened and wasn’t some midlife hallucination brought on by suggestion and a close atmosphere) had to be forgotten for the moment.

  “You need to get out of here now!” Charlene was on her feet and tugging at Joss’s arm. “Somebody help me!” She looked around the group as Joss refused to move but continued to stare at my sister.

  “Listen, people,” Charlene implored, “Giles is in trance. This interruption is draining all his energy—it could be dangerous if it goes on.” She continued to tug and now Len was on his feet, catching hold of Joss’s other arm. As he and Charlene began to propel Joss toward the door, Gloria stood.

  “That’s all right. Let go of him. Joss and I will go outside and have a talk, won’t we, Joss?”

  A few steps and she was at his side, taking his hand. Charlene and Len hesitated and then released their hold on Joss, who allowed Gloria to lead him in meek silence from the room.

  Still stunned, I watched them go. Minutes ticked by and Giles began to revive. The circle of Seekers reformed, but moved at last by a deep irrational feeling of something wrong, that warning bell that insists on being heeded, I excused myself and hurried after my sister and Joss.

  They were sitting at one of the tables on the porch, talking quietly. I don’t know just what I’d expected—Joss seemed more or less loony but not especially violent. I couldn’t understand, though, why Gloria had walked out of the séance just when she was on the brink of making this long-hoped-for contact with the child she’d never seen.

  She looked up as I came out the front door and smiled. Her face was radiant—smooth and serene with a look that made me think of some potent female saint or perhaps the joyous earth mother of an older religion.

  “Come sit with us, Elizabeth.” She beckoned to me and I saw that she had the chain of the little heart locket wrapped around her hand.

  Joss was sitting opposite her at the round table watching her with that same hungry intensity as I slid into the chair between them.

  “So,” I said, with a total lack of originality, “what’s all this then?”

  Gloria favored me with a saintly smile. It became her but I found it unsettling.

  “Joss was just starting to tell me something that … Well, you’ll have to hear it for yourself, Lizzy. Joss, would you start over? You said that you’re a friend of Nigel’s—remember, Lizzy? The stylist I went to in Asheville …”

  The story Joss told was—well, I’d call it unbelievable but for one thing.

  Glory believed it. Or desperately wanted to. From the minute Joss began the improbable tale, I could see the depth of her longing to accept it as true.

  Joss was quivering with pent-up excitement, one leg jigging up and down and his fingers beating a nervous tattoo on the table as he began his story.

  “Okay. So, I moved to Asheville about six months ago—I’m studying massage therapy and waiting tables at a place in Biltmore Village. I met Nigel at a party back in February and he was doing these intuitive readings. He put his hands on my head and right away told me that I was searching for someone very important to me—someone I hadn’t seen in a very long time.”

  He turned his dark eyes on Gloria and I felt a chill at the intimacy of the shared gaze.

  “Excuse me,” I said, “but I thought that Nigel was a hairstylist. What—”

  “Oh, Nigel’s a psychic too,” Gloria hastened to explain. “He told me that he’d always been gifted that way and when he worked on people’s hair, he often got very strong impressions—”

  Joss ignored my interruption and continued, his eyes still fixed on my sister. “I told him I’d been searching for my mother ever since I learned that I was adopted, but that none of the databases could tell me anything. I’d begun to believe that maybe she really had died when I was born. That was the story my adoptive parents had always told me—they may have even believed it.”

  For a moment the young man seemed to be struggling for words. A troubled expression flitted across his face.

  “Nigel and I got to be friends—he thinks we knew each other before—in a previous life, I mean. He’s been really good for me, helping me understand who I am … and he’s the one who suggested I come for this weekend.”

  Joss wrinkled his brow and reached up to adjust his bandage. “I think that’s right. I think it was Nigel who said something about finding my mother … but since the accident, my memory is kind of messed up.”

  “I’d been wondering about the bandages,” I said, wondering even harder where all this was leading.

  “A car knocked me down when I was crossing the street,” he explained. “I was lucky it wasn’t worse—that’s what they said. And my memory is coming back. It’s just sometimes, there are two different memories …”

  He looked at Gloria and a sweet smile spread over his face. “But that’s not important anymore. All my important memories begin today, don’t they?”

 
His smile widened. “I need to call Nigel right now and tell him what’s happened—that his reading was right.

  He’ll …”

  Joss’s voice trailed off and he stood, reaching for the cellphone on his belt. “I owe it all to Nigel … I have to call him right away …”

  “Gloria, do you believe all that stuff Joss was saying?”

  My sister and I were soaking in one of the hot tubs at the spa, preparatory to going for our massages and whatever other treatments she had signed us up for. Though I hadn’t been especially eager for the spa experience, I was glad that this previous appointment had cut short the increasingly emotion-charged conversation that Gloria and Joss had fallen into. And so, I think, was she.

  Our tub was outdoors—tucked away amid the trees and close enough to the creek that its soothing murmur was an additional pleasure. Birdsong—sunlight glinting through leaves—an idyllic spot. For a brief, selfish instant, I wished that it was Phillip sharing this moment rather than Gloria.

  “Do I believe that Joss is the child they told me was dead?” Gloria was stretched out in the gently steaming water, her head resting on the edge of the blue fiberglass tub, her eyes closed. She looked drained, as if she’d just completed some tiring journey.

  Letting out a deep sigh, she opened her eyes. “Lizzy, I don’t know what to think. I would love to believe it. And I did, for a moment or two.”

  She trailed her hands through the water, rippling the surface. “Back there, during the séance, when I heard the word ‘Mama,’ my body responded. Do you remember how just the sound of your baby crying would make the milk come in? I didn’t nurse Ben long—it was just so inconvenient—but even after my milk had dried up, whenever he cried, suddenly my breasts would feel full …”

  A tear appeared and slid slowly down her cheek. “And that’s what happened when Joss called to me; it was like I was in a dream, a dream I’ve had over and over—except that in the dream, the baby I called Dana is a girl.”