by Susan Gnucci
Tess dropped her gaze because his nearness was making her weak in the knees. She was frightened her own body would betray her, that it would somehow reveal her biggest fear lay in disappointing him. She stepped back to put some distance between them, effectively forcing him to drop his hands from her shoulders. Immediately, she sensed his embarrassment. Feeling guilty about his discomfort and unable to concentrate a moment longer in his presence, she stammered a hasty reply, “I’ll…I’ll think about it. I promise.” Turning quickly on her heels, she bumped squarely into Detective Baxter as he entered the room. Bouncing off his massive frame, she was made to feel even more self-conscious at her less than graceful exit. Mumbling an apology, she fled the room, leaving the senior detective staring blankly after her.
He felt ready to make his move. The young prostitute he had been stalking in Vancouver would make an easy target. She was dropped off in the same deserted alleyway every night, and invariably, she was inebriated or high. All he had to do was lure her into his car with the promise of more drugs. He had scored some weed (or ‘BC bud’ as the locals called it) earlier in the day, and now as he lay in wait for her, he fantasized at the pleasure the next few hours would afford him.
As the hours ticked by with no sign of his victim, he began to feel uneasy. Refusing to accept the obvious, he sat stone-faced and chilled in his car, listening to the incessant drumming of rain on the roof, the silence broken only occasionally by the shrill blare of an ambulance siren as it sped to its destination.
It was the pale glow of the pre-dawn sky that finally alerted him to the fact it would soon be light. He could not believe she had not shown. Tonight of all nights, she had altered her routine. He frowned and shifted uncomfortably in his seat in an attempt to relieve his cramped muscles, trying to decide how much longer he should wait. After another half hour, he finally accepted the fact there was nothing to be done, and so sighing in disgust, he started his car, vowing to return the next night. A second night of lying in wait, however, proved fruitless as well – the girl did not show. Now after all his work, he was to be denied his pleasure. That did not sit well with him. Not at all.
Although it had been a relief to return the ring, Tess now struggled with McLean’s request to meet with Katie Bishop’s family. She wanted to help them, of course, and she also wanted very much to please McLean. She couldn`t deny that fact. And yet, she knew the chances of successfully channeling were slim. As she sat sorely conflicted on the bus ride up to the university on a particularly dreary November morning, she was taken back to a similar bus ride a few years earlier…
She remembered with clarity how it had been a comparable day – gusts of wind buffeted the bus, and heavy raindrops splattered noisily against the fogged up windows sounding like tiny glass beads being hurled against the panes. Thirty damp people stuffed into an enclosed space created a humid, uncomfortable ride, so most people tended to keep to themselves. Unable to find a seat on the crowded bus, Tess stood in the aisle battling against claustrophobia from the press of so many patrons. She was so preoccupied with that and with trying to keep her balance despite the constant lurching of the bus, she failed to notice at first the middle-aged woman who sat before her.
The woman stared fixedly at her hands in her lap and gently rocked herself to and fro, mumbling incoherently, seemingly oblivious to her surroundings. Tess tried to shield her from the curious stares of some of the less sensitive passengers who snickered or openly gawked at the poor woman, no doubt expecting some type of outburst from her.
Several minutes into the trip, someone rang for a stop, and for a brief second, the woman lifted her head and made eye contact with Tess. Her stricken face was tear-stained. What would normally have been an awkward moment wasn’t, as it was readily apparent the woman was entirely lost in her own thoughts. Tess dropped her gaze in an attempt to allow her some privacy anyway. Afraid the lurching of the bus was bringing on nausea, Tess planted her feet wider apart in order to stabilize herself. She quickly realized, however, it wasn’t the movement of the bus causing her queasiness; it was something else. And then the humming began…
When the bus pulled to a stop at the next corner, the woman rose quickly from her seat and made her way to the exit doors, many of the other passengers giving her a wide berth. It was not Tess’ stop – hers was still several blocks away, but she felt compelled to get off the bus as well, so she ducked through the open doors at the last minute. Stepping abruptly into the wind and rain, she was momentarily disorientated. Several patrons who had exited the bus at that particular stop had quickly opened their umbrellas, so it took a few seconds to spot which way the woman had headed. As Tess hurried after her, she called out, “Excuse me, ma’am. Ma’am. Please wait.”
Once she caught up with the woman; however, she suddenly grew self-conscious. “I’m sorry. I…I don’t mean to pry. I just couldn’t help but notice on the bus…you were crying. You’ve had some bad news.”
The woman stared at her blankly before turning to resume her way, muttering, “I’m sorry. I have to get home. I have to get home.”
Tess gently took her by the arm and led her a few steps to the relative shelter of a store awning so they were both out of the wind and rain. “I won’t keep you; I promise,” she assured the woman, who by now was eyeing her warily. “I just need you to know something. Your son…”
The woman gasped and clapped her hands to her mouth.
“Please, it’s alright.” Tess held up her hand. “Your son is alright. Well…he’s hurt. It’s his leg, but he’s alright,” she blurted out.
The panicked woman grabbed Tess by the arms, the force of her grip so strong, it was painful. “You’ve heard from my son? Are you a friend of my son’s?” The desperation in her voice made Tess wince.
Gently, Tess pried the woman’s hands off her arms and held them in her own. “No, I don’t know your son; I’m sorry.” Quickly realizing she was in trouble, Tess replied sheepishly, “I…um…I just know he’s alright.”
“But how could you know? The crash just happened. His fiancé just phoned me at work from the airport. We haven’t heard anything from the police or the airline. I don’t understand. How can you know anything?” The woman’s voice rose higher and higher such that people standing around them were beginning to take notice.
“I…uh,” Tess stammered. “I can’t explain. I just know. And I couldn’t let you suffer in agony not knowing.” She knew she sounded ludicrous.
The woman took a step backwards, shaking her head in confusion. “I lost my husband this time last year. I watched him waste away from cancer. I cannot lose my son on top of that. Do you hear me? I just can’t!!” Stifling a sob, she ran headlong into the storm, leaving several passersby staring blankly at Tess who, by now, had turned a brilliant shade of red.
On the national news later in the evening, Tess listened to the story she knew would be featured. A commuter jet had crash landed in Edmonton that morning killing 29 passengers and crew. There were 27 survivors, and Tess knew with certainty the son of the woman on the bus was among them. She just prayed by now his mother knew as well.
It pained her to remember the sound of McLean’s voice – an odd mixture of relief and disappointment – when she told him she would meet with Katie’s parents, but she needed to do so by herself. Ever the professional, he thanked her profusely and attempted to hide his disappointment behind that. She knew her decision brought him relief in that he didn’t have to stall any longer about such a meeting, but she also knew he naturally wanted to be involved. She was certain he was puzzled at the fact she was effectively shutting him out, and she worried he would take it the wrong way, but she simply could not have him present. It was hard enough to focus on anything when she was around him, let alone try to channel. In reality, she was quite sure of the futility of such an attempt anyway, but she couldn’t bring herself to refuse the request. And so, she found herself driving up the peninsula on this blustery, gray November afternoon.
Katie’s family lived on a hobby farm half-way up the peninsula among a pastoral setting of acreages making up the Agricultural Land Belt. Driving through fields and farmhouses that looked like they were straight out of a Norman Rockwell painting, Tess passed numerous roadside stands selling everything from freshly cut flowers and organic vegetables to home-spun crafts. It was easy to get distracted, but she tried instead to focus on the purpose of her trip this afternoon. Stopping only once to check her directions, she backtracked and took a right turn onto a smaller road that wound its way steeply up the back side of Observatory Hill, aptly named for the astronomical dome at its peak.
When the dome was constructed in the early 1900s, it had been built on a hilltop well outside the city limits. Despite increasing light pollution from the ever expanding city, its telescope was still used on a regular basis. In fact, it was one of only a few federal observing facilities in Canada. Tess had worked there several summers as a tour guide during her undergraduate degree, and now in graduate school, she collaborated with several of the researchers stationed there, but she had always accessed the facility from the other side of the hill. She did not know there were acreages on the back side.
Pulling to a stop at the end of a long driveway next to a dilapidated old barn, Tess turned off the car engine and tried to collect her thoughts. It was going to be hard to witness the hope on their faces. If she was in their shoes, she knew without a doubt she would grasp at everything and anything for answers. She desperately wished she could provide them with some.
Gathering her courage, she stepped out of the car and made her way up to the front door of a modest rancher, noting it was painted a deep shade of green such that it blended naturally into the surrounding hillside. As she steeled herself to ring the doorbell, she looked around at the front yard. It gave her the impression of a neatly tended garden, albeit one that had been left to its own devices for several months. Although carefully laid out, it was a mess of overgrown plantings that had long since reached their peak but had not been cut back or pulled out. It had the air of something sad and neglected. She tried to imagine it in its prime in mid-summer, understanding the comfort and pleasure such a lovely place would undoubtedly provide.
Unable to stall any longer, she rang the doorbell, her hand shaking visibly as she did so. The door was opened almost immediately by a young boy who couldn’t have been more than five, but before he could say anything, a man placed his hand on the boy’s shoulders and gently moved him aside. Extending his other hand toward her, the man greeted Tess. “Hello, you must be Miss Walker. I’m George Bishop, and this is our son, Brett,” he explained, patting the little boy affectionately.
“Hello. Pleased to meet you both.” Tess shook the hand offered to her and smiled warmly at the young boy as she entered the foyer. She was a firm believer in what handshakes told you about a person and was therefore impressed that Mr. Bishop’s had been strong and genial. It said something about his character. “Please, call me Tess,” she advised him, wanting to set an informal tone for their meeting.
“Of course. And please call me George,” he replied. “Come in. Come in.” He took her coat and waved her into the living room, indicating a comfortable chair for her to sit in. “My wife is a bit…under the weather today, but I’ll get her.” As he turned to do so, a woman entered the room of her own accord. She needed no introduction. In comparison to her husband’s composed demeanor, she wore her grief like a mantle. It was visible in every line of her face; in the slow, deliberate manner in which she carried herself as though every movement required a colossal effort; and in the deep, sad recesses of her sunken eyes. From her own family history, Tess thought she knew grief well, but her experience seemed to pale in comparison to the raw, shattered look of this woman. Surely the loss of a child, and a loss such as one under these circumstances, had to leave a mother gutted. Tess wondered briefly if the woman was medicated.
“Tess, this is my wife, Sandra.” George made the introduction as he carefully guided his wife to the sofa, taking great care as one would with an invalid.
Tess stood up from the seat she had taken, unsure if another handshake was in order, but then thought better of it when none was offered. The woman simply nodded at her blankly like she had no real comprehension of what this meeting was all about. Tess was left with little choice but to sit back down.
After an uncomfortable silence, George motioned to his son who had also settled himself on the sofa beside his mother. “Now, Brett. You’ve got your chores out back to finish. That rabbit cage isn’t going to clean itself.”
The boy threw his father a petulant look, the kind only a young child can who knows the futility of protesting but does so anyway. Slipping off the sofa and crossing his arms defiantly against his chest, he marched across the room. “But I want to talk to the sidekick too!” he wailed.
George threw Tess an apologetic look as he rose from the couch and gently steered his son out of the room. “Psychic, son. The word is psychic.”
If the circumstances had been different, the little boy’s comment would have amused her no end, but as it was, she was profoundly moved by his dogged determination to find out more about his big sister’s murder. ‘Great,’ she thought. ‘So much for staying detached.’
“Sorry about that. He’s overheard Sandra and me,” George attempted to explain as he resumed his seat next to his wife and placed her hand lovingly in his. Such a gesture elicited a sad smile from her, and she leaned in to her husband for support. There was such a fragility about this woman, and it tugged sorely at Tess’ heartstrings.
“No worries,” Tess replied. Seizing the moment, she thought it best to explain something. “I just want you to know I’m not the kind of psychic who can…commune with spirits. I’m afraid I can’t help you there.” Her comment drew some interest from the mother who looked up with a flicker of hope lighting her otherwise dull eyes. Witnessing the poor woman’s face, Tess would have given anything to have been able to say something of comfort. Instead, all she could do was offer a suggestion. “There are people like that, you know. If you think it would bring you some peace of mind.”
“Thank you for the clarification, Tess.” George seemed genuinely touched. “The police have told us very little, and we understand that’s often the case in an open investigation, but I’m sure you can understand, we’d just like answers. All we’ve been told is you produced a sketch of the suspect. Do you work often with the police?”
“No, this is my first time,” Tess admitted. Her mind was racing as she realized how difficult it was going to be to keep the true nature of her sighting from these people as Mclean had recommended. For one thing, George was obviously very astute. And besides, didn’t they deserve to know? But what comfort would the knowledge of their daughter’s last anguished moments bring them anyway? Despite her inner turmoil, Tess tried to appear calm as she continued, “I…um…sought out the police after seeing your daughter’s story on the news.” At least that was not a lie.
If George picked up on Tess’ inner conflict, he gave no indication. “Oh, so you had some kind of vision after seeing the story?” he asked.
“Yes, that’s right,” she nodded vigorously. “An image of this guy just popped into my head, and I knew it had to be the ki…um…the suspect.” She winced as she corrected herself, knowing the pain the more accurate term would undoubtedly inflict. OK – so she had just stretched the truth a little. “You see, I’ve had this ability since I was a little girl, and it has never failed me,” Tess assured them. “That’s how I know my sighting is accurate. Oh, I know the sketch is pretty generic, but it does resemble him. I’m hoping it’s close enough to produce a tip.”
“So are we, Tess. So are we,” George replied solemnly. After a moment’s hesitation, he delicately asked the question she had been prepared for. “So there’s nothing else you can tell us?”
“I’m afraid not. Not right now, but maybe I can ask you something.”
“Of course. Anythi
ng. Anything at all.” George leaned forward, eager to be of some assistance.
“The ring Katie had on – the band with the scroll pattern. Was it special to her?” Her question sparked an immediate response from the mother who gripped her husband’s arm and closed her eyes as though to steel herself against something inordinately painful. Tess winced, mortified with the knowledge she had provoked such an anguished response.
George flashed a kind, sad smile to assure her he knew she meant no offence. “No, not really. Sandra and Katie went to a flea market back in the summer and Katie bought it then. That was only a few weeks before…” Turning his attention to his wife, he whispered into her hair, “It’s OK, dear. It’s OK.” He rubbed his wife’s hand vigorously in a vain attempt to transfer some of his strength to her.
Tess knew she was pushing it, but she forged ahead anyway. “I know this is asking a lot, but maybe it would help if I saw Katie’s room.”
At Tess’ suggestion, Sandra rose abruptly off the couch and stifling a sob rushed from the room, leaving her husband to heave a weary sigh. “Would you excuse me for a minute?” He seemed anxious to go after his wife, but not before turning to Tess. “Please don’t go. Of course you can see her room. Just give me a minute.”
Tess heaved a heavy sigh herself, for her heart went out to this poor man. Surely, he must be struggling with his own grief, and yet, circumstances dictated he shelve it right now in order to stay strong for his wife. And what of the little boy? What do you tell a child so young? What a way to lose your innocence. Tess’ musings were interrupted when George returned several minutes later. Although flustered, he appeared resolute.