Spirit Talk: (Book One of The Fiona Series)

by Colleen McManus Hein

  “I wish I could,” Fiona answered, “but I don’t have the…resources. The shop is closed now and we’re sending all the yarn back. The landlord’s going to rent it out to a guy who wants to open an Italian restaurant. He’s renting the apartment, too.”

  “I heard.” Greta sighed. “But maybe you could set up somewhere else in town? The folks who run the pottery shop, I hear, are leaving. They can’t take the winters anymore. The landlord is dying for another tenant.”

  “Thanks for the information.” Fiona smiled at Greta. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

  “You do that, honey. Every town needs a psychic. Now, can I get you folks something to drink while you look at the menu?”

  “Just coffee for me,” Martin said, handing his menu back to Greta.

  Fiona, who actually was hungry, also handed her menu over. “Same for me, please.” She didn’t want to eat in front of Martin. He made her feel exposed enough as it was.

  “You should order something if you’re hungry,” Martin said.

  Exasperated, Fiona exclaimed, “Can you stop doing that, please?” She didn’t say “reading my mind” because she knew Martin understood exactly what she meant.

  Martin chuckled. “You are giving me credit for abilities I don’t possess. I just figured you’d be hungry since it’s lunchtime.”

  “My mother’s going to make lunch and she’d be hurt if I ate without her,” Fiona said, sounding a little petulant.

  “You mother…” Martin began, “how would she feel about you coming to the facility for a few months?”

  “She’d freak out,” Fiona said. “She’d never allow it.”

  “You’re nineteen,” Martin pointed out. “She couldn’t stop you.”

  “How do you know I’m nineteen?” Fiona asked.

  “A guess. You’ve been out of high school long enough to have turned nineteen. Am I right?” Martin’s smug smile revealed his white, even teeth. His incisors narrowed down to sharp points at the bottom.

  Fiona didn't answer. There was something about Martin Bankston that made her feel queasy. “It’s pointless for me to talk to you,” she said. “My mother will never allow it, even if I did want to go.”

  “Don’t assume,” Martin said.

  Greta appeared with mugs of coffee and a dish of individual creamers. “Thank you,” Fiona said, gratefully wrapping her hands around the warm mug.

  Martin took a sip of his coffee while Fiona added cream and sugar to hers. Of course, he drinks his black, she thought. If Martin heard her thought, he didn’t react.

  “If you both visited the facility, your mother would have a chance to see for herself that you would be safe and taken care of. You could stop on your way back to Illinois.” Martin paused. “I could drive you since you don’t have a car here.”

  “How do you know that?” Fiona demanded.

  Now it was Martin’s turn not to answer. Greta, who was standing at the cash register, looked over at them inquisitively. “If you would just agree to visit, I think I could change your mind,” he continued quietly.

  “What would I be doing?” Fiona questioned him. “What exactly do you want me for?”

  “The facility wants to study people like you, with your extra sensory perceptions, to understand how it works. How you work. They want to find out what happens inside your brain that’s different. Then, maybe they can figure out a way to give everyone the ability that you possess.”

  “When you say, ‘Find out what happens inside my brain,’” Fiona asked, “what exactly do you mean? I’m not letting anyone look inside my brain.” She trembled, thinking of Frankenstein’s monster.

  Martin chuckled. “They don’t actually open up your brain. They use one machine to see your brain’s structure and another to see your brain’s waves…your brain’s electrical activity, and so forth.” Martin took a sip of his coffee and watched her over the rim of his mug.

  Fiona gazed up at the stuffed moose head on the wall. He was gazing at her with a sad expression in his large brown eyes. “If everything’s on the ‘up and up’ at the facility,” Fiona inquired, “then why all the need for secrecy? If you’re not doing anything questionable or dangerous?”

  “Ah, an excellent question,” Martin remarked. “You’re obviously an intelligent girl.”

  Fiona drummed her fingers impatiently; she wanted an answer, not a compliment to distract her from the question.

  Martin leaned forward and continued in a low voice, “We need to keep our findings secret until they can be presented to the world in a safe, useful way. Can you imagine the chaos that would ensue if criminals stole our findings and used E.S.P. to commit crimes?”

  Fiona nodded. “I suppose that would be bad,” she conceded. “But, I still don’t understand exactly what I’d be doing. What would an average day look like?”

  “Another good question,” Martin commented. “Well, let’s see. The day starts out with breakfast, obviously. We have a dining room and the participants eat together. There’s a wide variety of food choices and we can accommodate vegetarians, but breakfast is usually eggs, toast and bacon or oatmeal, or cereal. There’s always plenty of fresh fruit, and on weekends our cook makes pancakes, French toast, or waffles.”

  “That sounds wonderful, but what I really want to know is what happens when they study me? What will I be doing?” She felt intrigued but reluctant to reveal her keen interest.

  “There’s a wide range of experiments,” Martin answered. “You might be asked to focus on a photograph turned face down in front of you and ascertain the subject of the photograph.”

  “With monitors on my head as I do it, I suppose?” Fiona added.

  “Of course,” Martin assented. “You’ll always be monitored or videotaped during any session. Another session might involve your holding an object and passing along any images you receive or voices you hear while holding it.”

  Fiona nodded. None of these experiments sounded objectionable so far. She would welcome an opportunity to delve deeper into her gift and maybe discover how it worked.

  “You might also be given a map and asked to describe a certain location.” Martin paused while Greta refilled their coffee cups, making eye contact with Fiona in a way that relayed concern.

  Fiona could practically feel her asking, “Everything okay? This guy giving you trouble?” She flashed her a reassuring smile and Greta drifted off toward the kitchen. The moose continued to stare at her woefully.

  “You might be asked to work with a partner,” Martin went on, “and try to transmit images to one another. You would draw what you see in your head if you are the receiver. If you’re the sender, you would concentrate on an image. You may be asked to predict which image you’ll see next on a computer screen.”

  Again, nothing Martin was saying was alarming. Fiona started to feel a little less resistant.

  “We also test psychokinesis abilities,” he added.

  “What’s that?” Fiona inquired. The word sounded familiar but she didn’t remember the definition.

  “The ability to move objects with one’s mind.”

  Fiona had a memory. It had been summer vacation. She and Janie had been trying to convince Janie’s older brother to drive them to the small lake house the Schumann’s owned in southern Wisconsin. It was their favorite way to pass the summer days: go up to the cabin for a week at a time and swim and sunbathe all day, then play board games and listen to music at night. Those weeks were times that Fiona remembered feeling purely happy. The Schumanns thought Fiona and Janie were finally old enough to go alone, but the girls didn’t have a ride. Fiona had been waiting for the phone call from Janie, hopefully telling her to pack a bag.

  Fiona had to go to the bathroom, but she didn’t want to miss the call. She waited as long as she could until she was about to burst. As soon as she sat down, of course, the telephone rang. Fiona scrambled out of the bathroom and just as she was reaching for the receiver, it leaped off its base, all by itself. Astonished, she grabbed
for it.

  It had been Janie, letting her know that her brother Dan would drive them if they could be ready in ten minutes. Fiona had to focus then on getting ready quickly and she put the odd experience out of her mind for an hour. Fiona hadn’t pondered the telephone receiver’s jump until later in the car as they drove north. She’d never told anyone about it because it was so bizarre. Nothing else like that had occurred, however, that she could remember. There was one time when she’d been trying to decide what side dish to make when the Joy of Cooking pages had flipped by themselves to a potato recipe. Fiona had dismissed it as the result of an unseen draft, but the experience had given her pause at the time. The potatoes had been a perfect complement to the meal.

  “I know what that is.” Fiona nodded.

  “So, you’ve experienced it?” Martin asked eagerly.

  “Only once,” she admitted.

  “Only once that you know about,” Martin said. “We’ve discovered that people with this ability are influencing their environment all the time without realizing it.”

  “Really?” Fiona asked. “Like how?”

  “Oh, in all sorts of ways, we suspect. Causing electronics to malfunction. Causing the people around them to lose their train of thought. Even causing the hearts of people around them to beat faster. Making a light change to green, making the rain stop…”

  “That’s crazy!” Fiona exclaimed. “At least with me, anyway. I’m not making lights turn green or stopping the rain.” I hope I make Henry’s heart beat faster.

  “What about when you’re looking for something? Have you ever been looking for, say, your car keys, and you're desperate to find them? Maybe you’re going to be late for an important appointment? Then, all of a sudden, there they are! Right on the table where you always leave them! Has anything like that ever happened to you?”

  Fiona thought for a moment. Her father had called Fiona “my little detective” because she was so good at locating lost objects. She squirmed in her seat and lifted her coffee cup, about to take a sip. The creamer had congealed on the surface and separated into little white islands. She put the mug back down. “Maybe,” she admitted. “My father always asked me to help him find things.”

  “See?” Martin crowed. “There are probably lots of examples you could come up with if you tried. Things you didn’t even know you were doing.”

  “So,” Fiona continued, “the participants do experiments all day long, and then what? What do they do at night?”

  “At night, many of the participants choose to socialize inside the grounds of the mansion. We discourage trips into town. It’s difficult to abide by the secrecy rules when making small talk with curious people outside the facility. It’s just easier to stay…secluded.” Martin stared at Fiona, unblinking.

  “Are you saying I wouldn’t be able to leave? Not even to go to a movie? Or the drugstore?” She was astonished. Would she feel like a prisoner? Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Greta looking at them again. The moose stared, unblinking.

  “Each bedroom has a radio. You can bring a cassette deck and tapes if you like. We have a very nice entertainment room with a television and a VHS machine. Any toiletries or medications you need would be provided,” Martin reported calmly. “We have a woman who shops in town every day and would be able to pick up anything you need.”

  “What about going to the library? How will I get books to read?”

  “As I stated previously,” Martin said in a tone of voice which indicated that he was being patient, “we have a woman who can go into town and check out books for you.”

  “What about visitors? Could my family come and see me?” Fiona thought fleetingly of Henry.

  “We have allowances for sickness,” Martin said somberly. “If you were to fall seriously ill during your time with us, your family would be allowed to come. Otherwise, we ask that you commit to four weeks at a time with no visitors. Each participant is paid at the end of each four weeks. If, at that time, you choose to leave, you would be free to go.”

  “What if, after a week, you discover that I don't display any signs of ability on any of the tests? I get sent home with a week of pay?”

  “You’d get the whole four weeks of pay,” Martin said.

  “Why would I? If I couldn’t perform?”

  “In such an unlikely event, you would still get paid. We honor our contract. That’s never been a problem.” Martin grinned at her, again displaying his even teeth. “By the time someone is invited to the facility, we are already confident of their abilities.”

  “How much is the pay?” Fiona finally asked. She’d been avoiding the question because she was afraid the answer would be too good to turn down.

  “We pay our participants three thousand dollars for four weeks of work.”

  “What?” Fiona exclaimed. “That’s not possible. There’s got to be some hidden, horrible part of the study that you keep secret until I’ve signed.”

  “You’re a savvy young woman.” Martin smiled, leaning back. “You know that if something sounds too good to be true, it probably is.” He reached into his black briefcase and pulled out a small stack of papers. “This time, however, you’re wrong. There’s nothing hidden. Everything you’ve asked about is right here in the contract.” He handed her a paper-clipped bundle. “Take it home and show it to your mother. Think about it, then call me at my hotel in the morning. We can make arrangements then.”

  “My mother already had my grandmother’s phone turned off,” Fiona stated. She felt relieved that Martin did not already know this bit of information.

  “Then meet me here at nine a.m.” Martin responded. “You can sign the contract after I’ve answered any questions you and your mother still have.”

  She stared mutely at Martin. She could not get over the idea of making three thousand dollars in a month, especially without having to pay any living expenses. There had to be a catch; it was too good to be true.

  “I have to tell you something,” she said. She had been peering at Martin’s face for the past thirty minutes, aware of how unusually dark his eyes were. It was hard to tell where his pupils ended, and his irises began.

  “What is it?” Martin asked calmly. He looked amused.

  “When you came to my grandmother’s apartment for a reading, I was about to let you in. I had my hand on the doorknob when I heard my Grandma Kate’s voice in my ear. She said ‘No!’ right before I opened the door.” Fiona leaned back to watch his reaction to her story.

  “Well,” Martin said coolly, “your Grandma Mary wasn’t really using the best judgment, now, was she? Letting a complete stranger into the apartment? I’m sure your Grandma Kate was afraid for you.”

  Fiona nodded. “For sure,” she agreed, “it was definitely dangerous. You could have robbed and murdered us. My Grandma Kate might have been warning me, though, about the future and about your facility.”

  “Why don’t you ask her?” Martin suggested. “Read the contract, then ask the spirits and your Grandma Kate what you should do.”

  She hadn't expected this answer. “Okay, I will,” she said defiantly. “But even if they say it’s okay, there’s still my mother. She’s never going to want me to go. She doesn’t even let me sit next to men on the bus.”

  “Are you sure about that?” Martin asked. “Think how quickly you could earn enough for a whole year’s worth of tuition and room and board. Maybe you shouldn’t ask your mother. You’re an adult. Maybe you should just tell her. Think of your time at the facility as a job you’ve taken to pay for college.”

  “Do you have any pictures of the facility?” Fiona interrupted, looking at Martin’s briefcase.

  “I do.” He reached into his case and pulled out a folder. Inside was a stack of 8” x 10” photographs. The first was a black and white photo of a Victorian-style mansion.

  Fiona’s breath caught in her chest when she saw it because she recognized the house: she had dreamt of it many times.

  “What is it?” Martin ques
tioned, observing Fiona’s expression.

  Fiona could not take her eyes away from the photograph. The three-story Victorian had an asymmetrical shape with multiple wings and gables going in all directions. The trim on the tall, imposing house was gingerbread-style and the shingles on the roof were scalloped. There was a wraparound spindle and bracket porch across the first level. The structure that drew Fiona’s eye the most, though, was the octagonal tower with a pointed roof at the very top of the mansion. “I’ve been dreaming of this house,” she murmured.

  “Gorgeous, isn’t it? You should see the inside, too. It’s been restored perfectly. You’ll feel like you’ve stepped back in time.” Martin turned the photo around to admire it himself and smiled affectionately. He looked softer and more human than Fiona had seen him look so far.

  “I don’t mean I’ve longed for a house like this,” Fiona explained. “I mean that I’ve been having dreams for a while about this exact house.”

  “What color is it?” Martin asked. His eyes were sparkling.

  “Green,” Fiona said. “Light moss green.”

  “Look at the next photo,” Martin breathed. He pushed the stack toward her.

  Fiona moved the black and white photo aside and there in front of her eyes was the house from her dreams in full color: it was painted a pale green with reddish-brown trim. “That’s it, exactly.” Fiona sighed. “It’s the house I see in my dreams.” She looked through the rest of the photos. Some were of the mansion’s interior and some of the grounds surrounding the mansion. The pictures were obviously taken in summertime and the bushes and flower beds were lush and verdant. There was birdhouse on a post next to the porch, just like in her dreams.

  “It’s lovely,” she commented. “When you said, ‘the facility,’ I pictured someplace…ugly. They run the experiments in the house, right? Everything happens there?” She realized that she sounded excited and she tried to gather her composure.

  “Everything happens there,” Martin reassured her. “You’ll always be in the house of your dreams.”