Revealing the Dead

by Sheila Connolly

  Christine picked up after three rings. “Abby?” she sounded surprised. “Is anything wrong?”

  “No, of course not. I was thinking about you and I realized that there were still a lot of things we hadn’t talked about, after the last time we met, and I thought maybe we could have lunch or a coffee or something. You know, girl-type stuff. If you need to get some rest, that’s fine—we can do it some other time.”

  Christine still seemed a little bewildered by the call, but she rallied. “No, I’m glad you called. I guess I spend so much time with people near death that I forget how to deal with the living. I would love to get together with you. When? Where?”

  “Would you mind coming here? I’ve got some interesting things to tell you.”

  “Okay. Noonish?”

  “That works. See you later, then. And if something else comes up, I’ll understand.”

  “I know you will. I’ll see you later.”

  Abby hung up feeling satisfied. She hadn’t made a lot of female friends locally. First there had been Brad, long since discarded, who had demanded her full attention whenever they both had free time. Although Abby knew for a fact that some of that free time had been diverted to the lovely Shanna, which was why Brad was now an ex. Then she’d met Ned, who had directed her to Leslie. Leslie had been her boss, and that had been blown out of the water—on so many levels—once Abby had discovered Ellie’s gift or skill or ability or whatever it was. Abby hadn’t been at that job long enough to make friends among the rest of the staff. And through Ned she’d met his mother, Sarah, who was a lovely person and would count as a friend, but she was a generation older. So now she’d added Christine, who was older but not by much, and who was just coming to discover her own psychic abilities. Abby smiled: it seemed kind of unreal to get together with a friend to talk about their daily, ordinary activities—which happened to include channeling the dead. All in a day’s work.

  Now, what to make for lunch? Both she and Ned were essentially uninterested in cooking, although they were happy to eat whatever was put in front of them with enthusiasm—as long as somebody else did the cooking. As a result, they seldom shopped for food, and their cupboards—and pantry and fridge—were basically bare. So Abby started improvising a soup, and she knew there was a nice loaf of bread in the freezer, and . . .

  There was something resembling a meal ready when Christine rang the front doorbell. Abby had alerted Ned to expect her and told him he was welcome to join them for lunch. Christine came into the kitchen, followed by Ned. She was smiling, but she looked tired. Was it rude to ask if there were more deaths at this time of year than, say, in summer? Abby decided to hold her tongue.

  They settled around the kitchen table and ate, making pleasant chat. Soup consumed, Christine finally asked, “So, do you have anything new to report?”

  Abby and Ned exchanged looks. “As a matter of fact, we do,” Abby said. She and Ned proceeded to give a jumbled duet explaining their encounter with Jack and Bill Maguire, and what had happened in their attic, and how Ellie had happened to see it and respond. Which of course segued into Abby meeting Ellie’s new friend Danny at school, and the problems that autism presented, and why the mean girls had chosen to bully him and how such things could be managed, and at what level—personal? schoolwide?

  “My, you have been busy!” Christine said, sounding almost jealous. “You know, you’ve been quite lucky to encounter these people spontaneously.”

  “I know,” Abby admitted. “But sometimes I wonder if most people possess the ability, and these are only the ones whose force is strong.”

  “Have you talked to Ellie about these things?”

  “Yes, but cautiously. You have to remember she’s only eight, but she sees things far beyond her understanding. I keep wondering how we can keep Leslie in the dark about all this. I don’t want Ellie to hide things from her, but selfishly I’m afraid if Leslie knows even half of it, she’ll cut off contact between Ellie and Ned and me. Luckily Ellie’s smart and she uses good judgment.”

  Christine looked down at her plate, and then back at Abby. “Do you have a plan? I know you’re still exploring the biological or physiological basis for all this, but what do you do when you find it? Are you content just to discover like-minded people by bumping into them, the way you did the Maguires?”

  “I’ve been kicking around some ideas,” Abby began. “How much time do you have?”

  “You’re lucky—my afternoon is free, which is kind of rare.”

  “Then let me give you the bare outlines and you can tell me what you think.” Abby went on to sketch our her still-vague ideas about a school or an after-school program, realizing how flimsy they sounded even as she spoke. After maybe half an hour she ran out of steam. “So, what do you think?”

  “I think you need to take a deep breath and a step back. And I think we all need more coffee,” Christine said.

  Abby turned to Ned. “Would you mind making it?”

  “No problem,” he told her, and stood up and filled the hotpot with water.

  Abby turned back to Christine. “That bad? Am I completely off base?”

  Christine was pleating her napkin in her lap. “Abby, I’m not usually the kind of person to give advice, but I’ll try. First, you’re a smart young woman with a lot of energy, and I get the feeling that you don’t have enough to keep both your mind and your body busy. You’re looking for something constructive to do that goes beyond the borders of this house. Am I right?”

  “Yes. Sorry, Ned, but I am kind of bored. I love fixing things up around the house, and planning projects, and of course I love being with you, but I need something more.”

  “Abby, I understand,” he said, setting the coffee carafe on the table. “I have a job, one that I created and that I love doing. But you need something for yourself, that you value, that makes you value yourself.”

  “Another reason why I love you,” Abby said, smiling at him. She turned back to Christine. “And I am extraordinarily lucky that Ned has enough money not only to support the roof over our heads but also to invest in projects that might not otherwise happen. I did nothing to earn any of it, but I’d like to put the money—and my time—to good use.”

  “Another gold star for you,” Christine said. “But you’re still flailing around trying to figure out what. Now, take a look at what your first ideas have in common.”

  For a moment Abby wasn’t sure what Christine meant, but then it hit her. “Children.”

  “Exactly. If I recall, you told me you started out as a teacher of young children. You liked it, didn’t you?”

  “I loved it! I only gave it up because Brad the jerk didn’t think it was important enough to suit him. Sorry, Ned.”

  He held up both hands. “Don’t apologize to me. You had the good sense to dump the guy.”

  “So I did,” Abby said, cheered. “And then I, or sort of Ned and I together, found me that job at the museum, which was sort of a hybrid, but at least it got me back to teaching children.”

  “So you’ve always had some empathy, a kind of connection, for young children, even though you didn’t know why, right?” Christine asked.

  “I guess so. I never looked at it that way before. What do I do with it?”

  Christine refilled her coffee cup. “I found my niche almost by accident, much as you have. But I think in some ways we’re a lot alike. People who are making the transition to whatever comes after life as we know it are more open to this kind of phenomenon. Oh, they’re scared, and that’s where I come in. The unknown can be terrifying, but they can hear me, even when they’re no longer able to speak, and I can give them some assurance that they don’t need to be afraid—and they’re not alone. You, Abby, seem to have an affinity for the opposite end of life: the children, who haven’t lost their openness. All of their experiences are equal, whether they’re psychic or tangible. They don’t judge yet. It’s only when the grown-ups around them tell them to stop daydreaming or making up stories that
they shut it down.”

  “I agree. But I can’t go around saying a psychic ‘hi’ to every child I meet, hoping there’s a connection. As you know, it’s touch that makes that connection. Their parents or minders will think I’m a pervert and have me arrested.”

  “Did I say I was finished?” Christine asked with a half smile. “I think Danny’s your key. I can’t claim to know a lot about autism and how it affects children, but my general impression is that the consensus is that it’s not correlated directly with intelligence. An autistic child can have a normal intelligence, or even above normal, but there’s something wrong with how he or she interacts with the rest of the people in the world. It’s a communication problem. It may be that they’re overwhelmed by too much data all at once, but they’re born without the right filter so they shut down to protect themselves mentally. Or they may have difficulty processing that information in time to use it, so they get labeled ‘slow’ or whatever the politically correct term is these days. But if what you and Ellie have experienced with Danny is accurate, you—and probably others—have a chance to reach them, to communicate with them, and maybe to make their lives easier. What do you think?”

  After a few moments, Abby said, “I think you’ve just put into words what I’ve been struggling with ever since I met Danny. He’s in there—Ellie knew it first, and I knew it when I shook his hand. But how do we find a way to help these children without being treated like loonies or witches and driven out of town?”

  “That’s the tricky part,” Christine admitted. “My thumbnail response is: don’t go to the established schools, because they won’t know what to do with you. Don’t try to create your own school, because there would be too much paperwork and red tape, money issues aside, and you still wouldn’t be able to advertise what you’re doing. But you’re overlooking one possible avenue: working at an independent school for differently abled children. There are a couple of good ones right around here. You’d still have to be careful how you present yourself and what you’re offering, but you could be labeled a consultant or counselor, or a communications specialist. Will your prior teaching credentials support that?”

  “I’ll bet they do,” Abby said with something like wonder. “Christine, you’re a genius! I’ll get right on that.”

  “Happy to help,” Christine said. “And now that I think about it, I may have one more suggestion. I know someone who runs a small independent school about a mile from here who deals with the kind of problems you’re looking at. Maybe we could get together and talk about what might be possible for you.”

  “That would be wonderful. But . . . she’s not psychic, is she?”

  “No, or not that we’ve ever talked about. I might go so far as to call her intuitive. She’s not a by-the-book kind of teacher or administrator, but she’s great with the kids. I think you’d get along well, but I won’t tell her about our ability, not right away. Let me give her a call and see what I can set up, okay?”

  Christine checked her watch. “Good heavens, look at the time! I have a shift at the hospice tonight, so I should go home and get some rest first. Look, you do a little homework and learn something about current teaching methods, if you haven’t already. I’ll call my friend and see if I can get you two together. And Abby? Thanks for making me part of this.”

  Chapter 15

  Sunday

  Abby watched Christine hurry down the front walk to her car. Christine waved as she pulled away, then Abby returned the wave and shut the door before turning to Ned, standing behind her. “Wow.”

  “Exactly.” He smiled. “She’s a smart woman, and she’s found a good niche for herself.”

  “And here I’ve been running around like a headless chicken,” Abby said ruefully.

  “I wouldn’t exactly say that,” Ned told her.

  “Why not?” Abby asked, actually curious.

  “You have been trying out ideas. You’ve been kind of circling around what you really want to do, and Christine figured out what it was. That’s what friends are for. Or at least, someone looking at it from the outside.”

  “I want to work with children,” Abby said, almost to herself. She looked up at Ned. “I used to know that—that’s where I started out, in college, and after I graduated. But I kind of lost sight of it. I guess I was trying too hard to please Brad, and he didn’t deserve it.”

  “I think you’re right, but I’m kind of biased. You’re great with Ellie, though. You don’t talk down to her, but you don’t assume she’s an adult either. That’s not easy for any parent to manage.”

  Abby waved a dismissive hand toward him. “That’s easy—Ellie is an old soul, wise beyond her years. And you and I are going to have to talk about how we can have a serious talk with Leslie, before things get too much more complicated. Starting with the fact that you’re Ellie’s father.”

  “I’ve been letting Leslie make that decision. That’s what we agreed on at the beginning, although things are certainly more complicated now. There are things we never expected.”

  “I recognize that, and I haven’t tried to interfere,” Abby told him. “But that arrangement won’t last much longer. Kids grow up fast these days.”

  “Do you think Ellie already knows? Or senses it?”

  “She hasn’t said anything that would lead me to think so, but it wouldn’t surprise me. Or maybe she senses it on an intuitive level but hasn’t put it into words yet. I know you don’t hang out with a lot of children or high school kids, but I can tell you that Ellie’s group of girls knows more than I did at twice her age, I’d bet.”

  A sudden thought struck her. “Ned, say you’re an infant, or a child who isn’t yet using language. In most households there’s usually a television or a computer on, showing cartoons or a movie—something with people speaking, at least. How does a very young child perceive that?”

  “I’m not sure what you’re getting at, Abby.”

  “I mean, at what point does a child learn to differentiate between what he or she ‘sees’ on a screen and the real people around him? Which is real? Which do you pay attention to? But more to the point, what if they’re seeing the same kind of film or video in their heads?”

  “You mean, channeling someone, or a piece of history, kind of the way we do?”

  “Exactly.”

  “Hold on—” Ned protested when Abby began to go on. “You’re saying a child may be seeing three films in their head? The real people one—his parents, for a start, maybe siblings, and others; plus whatever’s on the screen, whether it’s a television or a computer; and, if he has the ability, the film he generates in his head? The ones that you and I see?”

  Abby nodded vigorously. “Something like that. Except we see them in front of us, not only in our heads. Look, I don’t mean to downplay imagination. I’d bet most children make up fantasies and visualize them in some detail. So maybe I actually mean four levels: two physical image streams coming from the outside, real and on-screen, and two internally generated—imagination and psychic.”

  Ned shook his head. “Abigail, if any of this is true, it’s a wonder children’s heads don’t explode in their first year.”

  Abby smiled at his comment. “Well, maybe that’s why the psychic channel gets shut down early, purely to cut down the visual noise in the child’s head. Or it’s the weakest one and can’t compete with all the other noise.”

  “This is definitely worth thinking about, but I think I need a glass of wine to help. Coming?”

  “Definitely. We’re not finished here.”

  The move to the kitchen, finding the wine and uncorking it, and filling two glasses provided a convenient break, and Abby wasn’t really sure where she wanted to go with their original discussion. Ned chose for her.

  “Abby? I see what you’re saying, and I think you’ve got some valid ideas, but like Christine said, you’re all over the place. I know we don’t have a timetable or a specific goal, but I think you need to choose one area to investigate and really dig
into that. It doesn’t have to be a permanent choice, but you need to figure out your own process and how you can direct your energies.”

  Abby sighed. “I know. I do like the excitement of exploring new ideas, but if we want anything like a better understanding of psychic phenomena, we have to go deep rather than broad. Does that make sense?”

  “It does. That’s what I was trying to say.”

  “So how about this: we look into local schools for autistic children and see what their approach to teaching is, and see if there’s some kind of niche I could fit into?”

  “Tricky, if you don’t reveal your real purpose, but if it’s an independent school, that gives you some leeway, and you do have the credentials to at least get in the door. I’m assuming you wouldn’t walk in and announce you’re a psychic consultant?”

  Abby smiled. “I think I’d be walking out about a minute later. All right, I’ll do some online research about the kind of place Christine mentioned. I haven’t lived here long enough to know anyone with a child in one of these places, or any of the teachers. But Christine knows someone who works at an independent school, and I’m hoping she can make an introduction.”

  “That sounds like a plan. But only if you want to, Abby,” Ned said with concern in his voice. “I don’t want to push you in any direction, and this may not be the way to go for you. We’re not in any hurry.”

  “But that’s not exactly true!” Abby said. “You’ve lived with this ability most of your life, and at the same time you’ve managed to ignore it much of the time. For me, this is still new, and every time I turn around I run into another example, and so far I’ve got a growing pile of unrelated information that I don’t begin to understand. I want—need to make sense of it, if only for myself. Maybe that will be enough. Or maybe I’ll find some way to use it to help other people. Right now I don’t know, but I need to keep working on it. Christine was right: I need to have more facts about how these children are taught and with what results. And I’d welcome the chance to talk to her friends, even if nothing comes of it. But I don’t want to spend big chunks of time doing research—I want to be helping people.”