Revealing the Dead

by Sheila Connolly

  “I’m all for that. But why the sudden interest?” Ned asked.

  “Something that Ellie said about this boy, I think. She told me that when she accidentally touched him, she could tell that he was inside, but it was like he was trapped and couldn’t get out.”

  “Abby, don’t take this the wrong way, but are you suddenly thinking about this because you’re interested in autism or because you miss teaching, being around kids?”

  “Maybe both. You know it was Brad’s idea that I should do something more, well, what he called professional, which translated into something he could brag about, and which paid better. But I liked working with kids, and that was before I even knew about this psychic stuff.” She made air quotes. “Now it’s even more relevant. Children are so open to new things, and they haven’t stifled their reactions because nobody believes them. At least, I hope not. And, yes, you and I have been talking about what I can do with myself over the long term, something that uses my brain as well as my, well, psychic abilities.”

  “Are you thinking of going back to teaching?”

  “I haven’t thought that far. I have no idea what the qualifications are here, or if my credentials from Pennsylvania would transfer. And I’m not qualified to be a counselor—I’d need more child psychology training, I’m guessing. And if I tried to volunteer at a school, people might wonder why, since I don’t have any children in the school system. Look, like I said, I’ve only just started thinking about this, but it seems like this opportunity has just dropped into my lap—”

  “You mean, a special-needs kid with some sort of psychic connection?” Ned interrupted.

  “Exactly. I’m not talking about him in particular, although I’d like to learn more about his background, even see if he’s related somehow. But the whole idea of communicating with children is appealing to me, and autistic children could benefit from anything I learn. Maybe. Right now I don’t know enough to say—and it could scare them as easily as helping them. Most autistic kids already have a lot to deal with, without me poking into their heads.”

  Ned didn’t respond immediately, but seemed to be turning the idea over in his head. Finally he said, “Abby, I agree that it could be worth looking into, and you’re more than qualified. But look at the problems we’ve had finding adults who share our connection thing, and approaching them without scaring them off. How on earth do you visualize finding children? It must be hard enough for parents to deal with having an autistic child, without trying to tell them that this psychic person they don’t even know, who has no children, thinks maybe she can communicate with them better than their parents can.”

  “Ned, I know that, and I know it’s a problem. But I still think it’s worth exploring. And now that most of the renovations to the house are done, except for the outside ones that will have to wait until spring, I’ve got time on my hands. All I want to do now is do some research, see what the current thinking is. Maybe find out what support the schools offer to special-needs children. I wish I could meet this boy, but I don’t know if there’s any way to make that happen without setting off all sorts of alarms. I don’t suppose you’d recommend talking to Leslie about it?”

  Ned shook his head quickly. “No, I think she’s got enough on her plate. Although she might have some information on museum trips for special-needs children. But tread lightly.”

  “Of course I will.” Abby had known Leslie for well over a year now, first as an employer, then as the angry mother who didn’t want to be told that her daughter shared an ability with Abby that she couldn’t begin to understand. They’d made some tentative progress, as Leslie had come to realize that Ellie deserved to understand for herself what she was feeling or sensing or seeing, but Leslie and Abby’s relationship was still fragile, and Abby didn’t want to disrupt things. And she truly wanted to keep the lines of communication open with Ellie, for all their sakes.

  Ned stood up quickly and deposited his breakfast plate and mug in the sink. “I’m sorry to leave all this dangling, and I promise we can talk about it later, but I do have to get to work now.”

  Abby stood up as well. “I understand. And it’s not like I have anything concrete in mind—I’m just kicking around ideas. Sometimes it helps to talk about them out loud. I’m going to poke around online today and see what I can learn.”

  “Sound like a good idea. We can talk over dinner tonight.” He came around the table and kissed her gingerly—not for lack of enthusiasm, but because a more serious kiss usually resulted in more than they had time for at the moment. “See you sixish, okay?”

  “I’ll be here. Love you!” she called out to his retreating back. After his car had pulled out of the driveway, Abby devoted three minutes to cleaning up what little breakfast mess there was, then wandered aimlessly into the dining room. The room doubled as her work space, which she preferred to converting one of the bedrooms upstairs into an office. Downstairs she had the whole dining room table to spread out her computer and her notes and her books, and plenty of space to walk around or admire the view out the windows when she was working through an idea. Not that she fancied herself a writer, but there had been so many changes since she’d discovered she had an ability she had never known existed, and she had to record them just to keep them in order.

  How many dead people had she seen since she’d met Ned? No, “dead people” sounded disrespectful. They were, for want of a better word, spirits of departed people, who seemed to be related to her by blood. She had spent a lot of her research time working out her family tree, because she kept running into these family spirits in unexpected places. It wasn’t precisely “seeing” them, because it usually required touching something that they had touched, even a long time ago, to trigger her awareness of them. Even that was evolving. But now that she had come to know and accept this unexpected ability, she was more open to it, and she was beginning to see and feel more of them.

  Ned shared the ability, although he hadn’t pursued it in his own life until he had encountered her—and then he’d concealed it from her for a time, just to see what she would find for herself. She was still angry about that, about him treating her like a science experiment rather than a person who in the beginning had been kind of overwhelmed by the whole thing. She had managed to forgive him. Ellie shared the same ability because she was Ned’s biological child with Leslie, whose husband had proved to be sterile. Leslie had gotten a bit more than she had bargained for when she had asked Ned to be a donor, but to be fair, he hadn’t known what it was, much less that it could be passed on to his offspring.

  Abby had learned that her mother shared a bit of it, but muted because she’d ignored it for most of her life. Abby had also run into a few other people who possessed it, but it was difficult to come out and ask them, and other people were usually reluctant to talk about what they thought they’d only imagined. She and Ned wanted to do more structured research into what they shared, and Ned had the funds and access to the appropriate equipment to do it, but the problem continued to be finding subjects. Even when she did stumble over someone who she thought would be a good candidate—like Ellie’s new classmate—it was difficult to approach them or enlist them.

  It was a mess. She knew too much now to walk away from it all, but not enough to figure out what to do, without being labeled as crazy. Maybe working with kids would be a good entry, but she didn’t want to go back to school to build up her résumé and then find a job and cherry-pick the “psychic” kids and ignore the others—that simply wouldn’t be fair.

  She gave herself a mental shake. She had found one more potential candidate the day before. She had guessed that he fell somewhere on the autism spectrum, from what Ellie had told her, but she should try to confirm that. And she definitely needed to find out more about autism, a topic that had gained increasing exposure even in the few years since she’d left teaching. Maybe she remembered things wrong, so she believed she should start with the current thinking about it.

  Once she was online,
she quickly got sidetracked by looking up Massachusetts laws regarding special education. What she found in a search was mildly reassuring: it seemed likely that the boy, now in third or fourth grade, had to have been officially evaluated sometime earlier, or he wouldn’t have been enrolled in Ellie’s school. Of course, that could have been in another state, where standards could have been different. No way was she going to check every state—she’d just wait and ask Ellie where he had been in school before. Of course, Abby had no idea how many students with special needs there were in Ellie’s school, or school district, or even the state, but there did seem to be jobs available in her area. However, as she had feared, she would need more training to even think about applying for such jobs. She shoved that idea on a mental back shelf, to be examined later. Back to her research.

  Even as she paged through articles, Abby found herself wondering: even if Danny was to some degree autistic, would any kind of psychic ability be seen as a disability or an advantage? Or was that a question that no school district would be willing to touch with a ten-foot pole? One-on-one counseling might be more useful for a child, to teach him or her to use that ability to understand other people and to deal with them effectively, which might counterbalance the effects of the autism. Right, Abby—you can hang out a shingle, but what would it say? Learn how to hear other people thinking?

  After a while she realized she’d missed lunch, and while she’d collected a lot of information, she hadn’t found much that was useful in this case. She really, really needed to talk to Danny, even touch him—sure, that would thrill his parents and the school. Maybe Ellie had been wrong and misinterpreted what she had felt. Or maybe it was a different kind of energy she felt in him that wasn’t the one they had. Maybe she’d just hit her funny bone and the tingle was purely physical—and one-sided.

  And Ellie was not her child, and did not live with her. How could she hope to get together with Danny? She had no standing here. She couldn’t begin to explain it to Leslie, and she couldn’t go to the school and wander around hoping to bump into the kid—literally—to confirm what Ellie had felt. As far as she knew, nobody was allowed to just wander into the school, even a parent.

  She scrounged some leftovers from the fridge and contemplated what fixings she had to work with for dinner, without finding any inspiration. But she didn’t feel like going out to eat either, although no doubt Ned would volunteer that option. After lunch, she pottered around the house, ran some laundry, and looked out the back windows at the cemetery that lay behind the house, hoping a deceased relative would provide inspiration. No such luck, though she’d seen them there before. By late afternoon she gave up and decided to chop anything edible she could find and make some kind of soup. Maybe with some bread or muffins. At least it would keep her busy.

  • • •

  Ned came home on time, and after changing into his grubby jeans, he sat at the kitchen table and listened as Abby outlined her tale of woe for the day, even while spooning up soup. Finally Abby ran out of steam. “I didn’t expect this to be easy, but I was hoping for some wedge that would get me closer to the boy, maybe even his parents. But there’s no way I can see to play any role at the school.”

  “If I can interrupt your pity party, I have an idea,” Ned said calmly.

  “Fine. I’ve run out for the day.”

  “It’s almost the end of the fall term, right? And there may be some year-end awards ceremony or something—I’m no more plugged in to the school calendar than you are. But say there is, or if there isn’t one, let’s create one. I can create a something-or-other award, a special gift from a local company—that would be mine—to each and every student at the school. Maybe some kind of cool science gadget. The thing is, they’d have to come up and take it directly from me and shake my hand.”

  “Which means you’d have to touch each one! Wow. But wouldn’t that cost money?”

  “Abby, I have money. Besides, it would be good advertising for the company. No electronics, though. And no judging, no reward at the end. Just a gift, from me to the kids at the school. Think that would work?”

  Abby nodded enthusiastically. “I like it. Of course, you’ll have to sell it to the school administration, maybe even the school board. Maybe you’d have to sweeten the pot, like giving some office equipment or something. But I’m sure you can work it out somehow. When would you do this?”

  “If I remember the calendar right, it’s less than a month before the holiday break. Maybe in a few weeks? That would give me time to meet with all the relevant people.”

  Abby sat back, feeling more relaxed than she had since breakfast. “Ned, I love the way your mind works. And a lot more, too. Maybe I can be your Vanna White and hand the kids their prizes, after you’ve shaken their hands—that would give us a confirmation if you feel something.”

  “Might help. But it’s a good start, isn’t it?”

  “That it is. Let’s put it in the To Be Considered pile. Want dessert?”

  “Dessert dessert, or something else?”

  “Both.”

  Chapter 3

  Saturday

  Abby was up early the next morning, even though it was Saturday. Getting up and starting her day was better than lying in bed and worrying about what she was doing with her life. She had to admit she was being a little obsessive, but she really wanted something to do with herself. Something important, something that mattered to her, and maybe to other people. Nobody was pushing her—nobody but herself. Ned was happy to support her, and he wasn’t particularly materialistic anyway. She was lucky, she knew, but at the same time she felt kind of embarrassed. She had a brain. She had professional experience. She wanted to use them, not just pick wallpaper patterns and try out new recipes.

  Ned noticed that she was in a mood, one that she couldn’t even quite define. “What’s up?” he asked as he settled at the kitchen table with his coffee and the newspaper.

  “I feel like a parasite.” She held up a hand before Ned could protest. “I know, you’re happy with the way things are, and I am too, most of the time. But I feel useless. I want to be doing something, not just dabbling in this psychic stuff.”

  “You want to give that up?” he asked, looking surprised.

  “No, not at all. But the key word was dabble. It’s not just a hobby. It could be important to a lot of people, in different ways. And it’s challenging, since there are so many people who think it’s fake or nonsense, or who believe that people who claim to be psychic are simply crazy. And I can understand that—we both know there are fakes, and there are people whose brains aren’t quite wired right and maybe they hallucinate or hear voices. And historically there have been lots of supposedly intelligent people who believed in spiritualism and the like.”

  “I hear what you’re saying, Abby, but what do you want to do about it?”

  “That’s what I don’t know!” she said, frustrated. “Look, we—you and I—have an extraordinary opportunity to look into all this rationally, scientifically. But I feel like I’m dashing around following up one interesting path after another, and I want to pick one and stick to it. We’ve already kind of divided our research into science—your territory—and the historic and intuitive and less easily defined areas—my turf. But that still leaves a lot of questions to be answered. And I guess that’s why I’m excited about looking at autism, to see if there’s some way to forge a connection with people who have trouble communicating with most people, if I decide to focus on autistic people.”

  “I agree. It’s worth taking a serious look at, and you’re uniquely qualified.”

  “Thank you. I didn’t doubt that you’d be supportive. I need to interact with them, and I don’t see how to do that. It’s hard enough to find people who’ll admit to any kind of possible psychic ability. How do I find people—adults or children—who have what is usually considered at best an abnormality, and at worst a sickness, and then try to find that invisible connection?”

  “You want my opinion?�
�

  “Of course I do.”

  “I’d say, approach it systematically. Learn as much as you can about different aspects, online or in libraries. Then find some people—scientists, researchers, counselors, whatever—whose opinions seem trustworthy, and talk to them. You don’t have to tell them about the psychic side right away. Say you’re thinking of going back to school and looking at different fields of study, and you’d be interested in autism. Bottom line, find out as much as you can up front and then sit back and review what you’ve learned. Then you can make a plan.”

  “You know, you’re right. Obviously you’re a scientist. I’m not. Maybe I could volunteer in a classroom as an observer or something. But say I can connect—then what do I do? It’s still a big leap to trying to forge a psychic link with autistic people and finding a way to make it work consistently with a broad spectrum of people.”

  “True. How about this: think big but start small. Maybe we could start our own school.”

  Well, that’s certainly a big leap, Abby thought. “That isn’t easy, is it? I mean, the state had guidelines and requirements, and I’m sure the medical profession would stick their nose in if we focus on one particular, well, ability. Apart from the fact that it would cost money, and we’d need staff to manage it.”

  “Hey, just fantasize, will you? What would you like to see? How big? Age limitations? What kind of staff? Live-in or day students? Medical faculty? Affiliations with any of the health or professional organizations in the greater Boston area? What range of students? From near normal—I know that’s a poor word to use—to severely impaired?”

  Abby held up her hand again. “Stop! Please. These are all good points, and I love your enthusiasm. Maybe it’s a good idea, but that would mean research into the practical side of setting up an institution. For-profit? Nonprofit? Certifications? Hiring staff. And that’s just the start. To be honest, I’m not sure I want to be an administrator.”