Search for the Dead

by Sheila Connolly

  Abby smiled, picturing her father’s response. “I can see that. I think we all agree that he isn’t particularly sensitive, although of course he has plenty of other wonderful traits.”

  “He does.” Their soup course arrived and they dug in. After Rebecca had finished about half of hers, she said, “What are you calling this thing, by the way?”

  “We really haven’t decided. I mean, there are different components, like sight, hearing, even smell, and they come out under different circumstances, and different people seem to react differently. You know something I’ve noticed? Well, recently I’ve been doing a lot of reading about how popular psychic or paranormal phenomena were in the nineteenth and early twentieth century. And then it kind of died down. I think there was a flurry after the First World War, when people were trying to reach out to loved ones who’d died. During the Second World War there aren’t a lot of references, at least officially. But lately, now that I’m aware of it, I keep finding kind of oblique references. Like in the Sunday comics section—sometimes there are jokes about swamis and crystal balls. Or ghosts. There are always ghosts—nobody’s managed to dismiss them entirely. There are even television shows about ghost hunting.”

  Abby took a few more spoonfuls of soup. “Or on a more serious note, sometimes the FBI calls in psychics to help them find missing persons—and sometimes it actually works. So it’s like the whole thing has gone underground, but it’s not gone. Does that make sense to you?”

  “Kind of. Popular tastes changes, you know. There’s always that Next Big Thing, which often turns out to look a lot like earlier Next Big Things. What about research? I mean the scientific kind, like what Ned does.” Rebecca asked.

  “Well, that’s kind of a problem. Overall there are a lot of demands for too few research dollars. Nobody’s going to give money for woo-woo projects, even if you call them psychological studies, unless it’s a private donor with lots of money. Ned’s friend Kevin is lucky because he has the money to fund whatever he wants, but he’s never looked into this kind of stuff. I think Ned’s kind of lured him in by suggesting that psychic phenomena are simply electrical brain signals on a different wavelength, and Kevin should be able to track those if he tinkers with his machines and finds the right frequency.”

  “That makes sense to me.” Rebecca spooned up some soup, which delayed her answer. “But answer me this. If psychic phenomena are only electrical waves in our heads, how come some people seem to know things they shouldn’t? Like the family histories of people they’ve never met, or something that’s going to happen next week, and it does?”

  “Mom, I can’t answer that. The best theory I’ve come up with is that we receive . . . some kind of impulse, and then we apply what we already know to it to make it understandable to us. We may not know we’re doing it, or we’re using buried information we don’t know we have. But the result is that we ‘see’ great-uncle George standing in the living room, not a blob of static.”

  Their entrees arrived. When the waitress had left, Rebecca said, “You know, static pretty much describes what I heard at the cemetery. So it may be more than one wavelength. Maybe every person has his or her own.”

  Abby groaned. “Please don’t make this any more difficult than it already is! I know what you mean about the static, but right now I’d be happy if we found just one working wavelength and where it’s coming from.”

  “And that’s where this Kevin comes in?”

  “We hope so. Mom, how much time do you want to invest in this? I mean, now that we have a bed, we’d be happy to have you for as long as you want to stay, but I know you have a life of your own.”

  “It’s sweet of you to offer, but I don’t think your Ned would want me hanging around for long. And Marvin would miss me. He’s perfectly capable of taking care of himself, but he gets lonely. How about this? You take what you’ve learned today and add it to the information you’ve already got, and then get Kevin cracking. When you’ve got a test or something, let me know and I can come back—it’s an easy drive. And of course you can email me any time you want.”

  That had never even occurred to Abby. “We haven’t gotten into that habit. I didn’t know you used email much.”

  “Sweetie, I’m not an old fuddy-duddy, you know. Keep up with the times!”

  “Will you stay tonight, at least? I know Ned would like to hear your story, from you.”

  “Sure. Marvin can wait one more day.”

  Chapter 20

  “What did you have in mind for dinner?” Rebecca asked when they walked into the house.

  “Uh, I don’t know. Usually we’re exhausted by the end of the day, so we kind of improvise,” Abby told her. She wasn’t aiming to win any culinary prizes.

  “No take-out?” Rebecca asked with a twinkle in her eye.

  “Not regularly. Sometimes. We try to eat healthy, but that’s usually a protein and a veg. And dessert. Ned and I are in definite agreement about dessert.”

  “How about I figure something out?”

  “Mom, you’re our guest. Besides, there’s not a lot to work with.”

  “I like surprises,” Rebecca replied. “Find me a glass of wine and prepare to be amazed.”

  Abby pulled a half-full bottle of white wine out of the refrigerator, filled a glass for her mother, and handed it over. “Don’t go too crazy,” she said.

  “Who, me?” Rebecca replied, feigning innocence. “Go greet your man with appropriate enthusiasm.”

  Abby fled to the front hall, where Ned was just walking in the door. “You’re home early,” she said, before she grabbed his jacket and gave him a serious kiss.

  “Maybe that’s why?” he said when he came up for air.

  “Don’t get too excited—Mom’s still here.” She almost laughed as his expression soured. “Just one more night, I think. But we have news!”

  “About It?” he asked.

  “You mean, ‘It’ our fabulous psychic powers? Yes, that it. Go get changed and we can discuss it over dinner. Or while Mom is making dinner, and don’t ask what it is because I have no idea, and it may end up being Mystery Meat from the freezer with shriveled potatoes and withered carrots.”

  “My favorite,” Ned said. “I’ll be right back.” He took the stairs two at a time.

  When Ned returned, they settled at the kitchen table, watching Rebecca potter around preparing some kind of meal. “Did Abby tell you about our day, Ned?” Rebecca asked while slicing something—or was it dicing?

  “She hasn’t had the chance, Rebecca. But she did say you’d found something. Do you want to save it for later?”

  “How long do you think you can wait?” Rebecca said to him with an evil grin. “Don’t worry, I won’t torture you.” She put a lid on a casserole and slid it into the oven, then set the timer. “I wasn’t sure what the meat was, so let’s cook it until it disintegrates and it won’t matter.” She refilled her glass from the bottle, then sat down at the table. “I’ve got it,” she announced triumphantly.

  “It?” Ned said, looking confused.

  “Our it.” Abby explained. “Seriously, this is ridiculous. How can we hope to explain it to anyone else if we don’t even have a name for it? Look, there are three of us here—let’s take a vote. Suggestions?”

  “Sensing,” Ned said.

  “Feeling,” Rebecca parried. “Or, no, that sounds silly too. ‘I’ve had a Feeling’?”

  “We’ve run through the individual senses, and that just gets confusing. How about Contact? Or Connection?” Abby suggested.

  “I like Connection,” Ned said. “You can make a connection with a person or a thing, through any of your senses. All in favor?”

  Abby and Rebecca nodded. Then Rebecca went on, “So about my connection today . . .”

  Rebecca and Abby took turns describing their excursion to the cemetery. “It was meant to be a sightseeing tour,” Abby began.

  “But she had an ulterior motive, the sneak!” Rebecca countered. “Although it was r
eally nice to see the authors’ graves.”

  “But then Mom went down to where the Reeds are buried—”

  “No, dear, I was drawn to them. They called to me!” Rebecca corrected her, with deliberately exaggerated dramatic flair.

  “Well, either way, I didn’t tell you why we were there, and I let you find your own way,” Abby said.

  “And I did!”

  “So what happened?” Ned asked.

  “It didn’t sound like what happened to me, or not exactly,” Abby volunteered quickly. “She just got this sense of muddled images and sounds.”

  “Darling, will you let me tell my own story?” Rebecca demanded. “When I thought about it after, I decided it was kind of like static. Hard to pick out any one part—lots of stuff shuffled together.”

  “But you definitely sensed something? It wasn’t just wishful thinking?” Ned asked.

  “Ned, I don’t do that. Just ask my daughter.” When Ned looked toward Abby for confirmation, Abby nodded vigorously.

  “Well, however it happened, congratulations. Now you’ll have a better idea of what we’re talking about.”

  “Hey, it also supports your genetic theory, doesn’t it? I was worried that if it had skipped over me altogether, you would have had a problem with your genetic theories. So, now what do we do?”

  “Practice?” Abby said mischievously.

  “You mean, go ghost hunting on our own? You know where some other family members are buried, right?”

  “I do, but I’m kidding. Well, not about the practice part. Once you know what you’re looking for, it gets easier. Clearer. When you go home, look for any other family mementos and then find out what happens when you touch them or hold them. Baby steps.”

  “Thank you, dear. I get it. Ned, what’s your next step?” Rebecca asked.

  “I was going to tell you all, but you kind of stole the spotlight. Kevin has a new toy he wants to try out on a human subject. Abby, are you up for a test run?”

  “Will it hurt?” she asked plaintively. She wasn’t afraid of diagnostic machines in general, but this was kind of uncharted territory.

  “I don’t think so—it’s non-invasive. I mean, he’s not going to drill holes in your head. You can and should talk to him about it.”

  “Why don’t you volunteer to go first?” Abby asked. “And I’ll watch.”

  “I will if you like. Look, Abby, if it makes you uncomfortable you don’t have to do it. I can ask my mother.”

  “But the connection thing isn’t as strong in her as in me. When does Kevin want to do this?”

  “Probably over the weekend. He told you how expensive this equipment is, and he’s not prepared to buy his own, or at least not yet. But he’s got a friend who’s got a lab that has one, and he’s willing to let Kevin use it on a weekend. It’s a big favor.”

  “Do we have to sign anything? Is there insurance?”

  Ned looked bewildered. “Abby, you really are worried. I thought you wanted to understand this.”

  “I do. I just feel strange being a lab rat. Are there any known side effects?”

  “Like with radiation, you mean? No, nothing like that.”

  Rebecca had been watching their ping-pong dialogue without comment. Finally she interrupted, “What the heck do you call this machine thing?”

  “The process is called magnetoencephalography.”

  “Wow, that’s a mouthful! What is it?”

  “People usually shorten it to MEG—easier to say. It’s a neuroimaging technique for mapping brain activity—it records the magnetic fields your brain produces. Which everyone’s brain does, by the way,” Ned explained. “Not just us.”

  “What is Kevin hoping to find?” Rebecca asked.

  “He wants to localize the area of the brain that apparently makes it possible to see or sense these phenomena. The output is pretty simple, although the engineering isn’t. Portions of the brain—anyone’s brain—light up when they’re active. Scientists have already located where certain things appear to occur—like dreams.”

  “I think I’ve read something about that,” Rebecca said thoughtfully. “But where does the DNA come in?”

  “That’s going to be harder to measure. But if we can pinpoint where the—well, for want of a better term, central receiving center is, then we can look at the people in whom it lights up and see if they have any genetic connection. And we can look at what else occurs in that part of the brain, which may help us identify the genes, if they’ve been mapped already.”

  “And if they don’t have that connection?”

  “Then we will have learned something. Maybe everybody has this ability but doesn’t recognize it. I mean, the concept of déjà vu is pretty well known. Or maybe there’s some kind of physical mutation that occurs in a small number of people but that has nothing to do with their ancestry, or only in the broadest sense, like they’re all Icelandic.”

  “And what do you plan to do with this information, assuming you can prove something in particular?” Rebecca asked. “I don’t mean to criticize, but I would like to know if you’re thinking of any practical applications, or just trying to satisfy your own curiosity.”

  Ned glanced briefly at Abby, but she refused to try to bail him out of the situation, even if it was her mother he was talking to. It was a fair question, and she was curious to see what he would say.

  “Both, I suppose. First, I wouldn’t be looking into this if I hadn’t run into Abby completely by chance, and I think she’s told you what happened after that. I care about your daughter, and I want to help her understand what’s happening to her. And I also want to be sure that it won’t do her any harm, now or in the future.”

  “Is that all?” Rebecca asked.

  “No. I’ve been a scientist most of my adult life, and I’ve developed ways of using science that have practical value. You probably remember when DNA was considered a curiosity, a novelty, and now look at how it’s used. Abby and I have been hoping that we can take existing DNA analyses and combine them with cutting edge electronic scanning, and get a handle on this whole thing.”

  Rebecca nodded. “That makes sense. Abby told me that she and your mother went to Salem together. In another time, people—particularly women—were hanged for showing any signs of what you’re talking about. Could that happen again?”

  “In this irrational world, I won’t say no. We’re trying to be careful, and to start small. We aren’t looking to profit from whatever we find, and we have no deadlines. But I’ll admit I’m curious. And I think your daughter is too. Aren’t you?”

  Rebecca smiled reluctantly. “Of course, now that I’ve accepted that it might be real and I might share it. But I’m scared, too. Not for me, but for the two of you. Too many people seem to find an excuse to hate anyone who is different than they are, and I don’t want you to be their targets.”

  Ned and Abby exchanged a glance. “Mom, we’re not exactly going public with this—we’ve joked about putting an ad in the paper asking for people who think they might be psychic, which would definitely bring out some odd people, but we’re certainly not going to do that. We’re taking it slow, getting to know individuals before we suggest anything further.”

  Rebecca did not look satisfied. “I’m a mother—I worry. It’s part of the job description. I can’t imagine what Ellie’s mother must be feeling, and this is just the beginning for her. Let me ask you both this: if you decided to stop any research, let it all go, would that be a bad thing? You’d go on with your lives. Now and then you’d see someone or feel something, and you’d just say hi to the spirit of whomever and keep going. Even if you did come upon an explanation, would it cure world hunger? Save the whales? Stop wars?”

  Abby stared at her normally mild-mannered mother. “Mom . . .” she began tentatively.

  Rebecca waved a dismissive hand. “Don’t worry—I’m just asking. I know you’re both intelligent people and no doubt you’ve considered all this. But I want to be sure that you’ve given
these things some thought. I recognize that if this . . . thing is real, and you share it with some unknown number of people, including me, you can’t just wish it away or pretend it’s not there. Just be careful. Please? Look out for yourselves.”

  The timer in the kitchen beeped, and Rebecca was on her feet before it stopped. “Here endeth the lecture. I’ll dish up dinner, and then we will talk about nice safe topics like the lovely fall weather. Enough said.” She turned and marched toward the kitchen.

  When she was out of earshot, Ned turned to Abby. “Where did that come from?”

  “Maybe it’s the aftereffect of her first recognized psychic experience. I’d guess that nothing in her life before now has prepared her for this. She’ll calm down. I think. But you have to admit, she did raise some valid points.” Abby reached out a hand and laid it on Ned’s. “I don’t want to lose you.”

  Rebecca returned from the kitchen bearing a steaming casserole. She watched them for a moment before saying, “You two want to get a room, or you want to eat dinner first?”

  Abby broke the contact quickly, blushing. “Sorry, Mom. It just keeps happening. But maybe that’s another benefit for the plus column. Don’t you think everyone would like to feel like this?”

  Chapter 21

  The next morning Abby came downstairs to find her mother sitting in the kitchen, drinking coffee and reading the paper. “Hi, sweetie,” she said when Abby walked in. “Ned’s already gone, but he said to tell you that he’ll be talking to Kevin later today, to firm up plans for the weekend.”

  “Okay,” Abby said cautiously. “Is there more coffee?”

  “Of course.” Rebecca avoided looking at Abby until she had settled herself at the table with her own coffee. “Look, I didn’t mean to launch into a lecture last night. I must have been more rattled than I thought by . . . what happened yesterday.”

  “Welcome to my world, Mom. I don’t know a whole lot more than you do about all this, but I’m learning. And you’re absolutely right to point out the downside. Maybe Ned has let himself become too insulated, since he manages his own company. He doesn’t have to please anyone but himself, although he’s fair to his employees, and he wouldn’t do anything to put them at a disadvantage.”