I began to sweep while he put said chair to rights, setting it in its proper spot. “I heard you scream, then the breaking glass. It sounded like you were being murdered.” His voice was deep, gravelly, and the way he spoke gave off the impression that he usually didn’t say much.
“If that were the case you would have been useless. You didn’t bring a weapon.” I finished sweeping and put the broom away.
I turned to find him watching me intently. I knew what Lucas must be seeing. Me, clad in only my nightclothes (not the cute pair) and covered in scratches. Long layers of strawberry-blonde hair hanging in complete disarray, with bangs that fringed my eyes sticking out in all directions. I had to be looking pretty grim just then, my brown eyes distant, my pale complexion turned somewhat wan. I sure wasn’t looking my best. It was that damned swirly thing, or maybe the schizophrenia.
The longer he stared at me, the more curious I became. He was empty, no emotion whatsoever, but it was his thoughts that I wanted a glimpse of. What could he be thinking while he looked at me that way?
I didn’t want to be alone in the house yet, and sensing he would soon go, I hurried to make up a legitimate excuse to stall our leave-taking. “Do you mind if I use your phone?”
He didn’t mind, so I followed, trotting after him as we crossed the yard. It was dark, the lights from my kitchen spilling out from behind us. Faintly I could see his back. Muscles flexed beneath his shirt, shoulder blades moving rhythmically with each step.
His voice cut through my thoughts. “You don’t have a phone?”
“No. Usually I don’t need one.”
I didn’t know what to say after that, how to fill the silence. Our conversations were stilted. I just didn’t know how to handle him, because he wasn’t a customer or fellow employee. But I wasn’t the only one out of practice. He was taciturn to the extreme.
Lucas, apparently comfortable with the silence, pushed past a tall shrub that was covered in clumps of frothy white flowers. I followed him over the fence. He waited patiently on the other side, holding the branches back.
As we walked the short distance between our houses, cutting from yard to yard, I noticed my eyes would wander back to the shadow of his hulking form. The layers of isolation I’d wrapped around myself suddenly seemed suffocating.
The back door hung open, as if he had rushed out in a hurry. Lucas waved me over the threshold and walked off to the front room. Left alone, I let my eyes take in the detail of his kitchen.
He didn’t own curtains, just blinds. That was pretty much how the rest of the room went, very... single man. Where personal touches would have added character, he had impersonal, but well used utensils and appliances. The few pieces of furniture were plain but solid, no cushions or doilies. The place lacked frill. There wasn’t even a picture on the fridge. It was a little disappointing. I guess I’d been hoping for a secret guide, some insight to navigate by as Lucas lacked emotions.
He returned, handed me a cell phone, and walked off again without a word, granting me privacy. I could hear him moving around the house as I dialed Francesca’s number.
“Francesca Black,” she answered smoothly.
“Hey, it’s me.”
“Where are you calling from?”
“My neighbor’s. I broke a window at my place.”
“Did you meet death?” She sounded serious.
“Nope, he stood me up.” I hesitated, then, “But I did see something weird. It creeped me out.”
“Weird like a big bug or filthy rat?”
“No, it was bigger—”
“—bigger like a stray dog?”
“No,” I said in exasperation. Why was I even trying to explain? I’d already decided I was crazy. I sighed, “It wasn’t an ani—”
I was speechless because Francesca was right. It was a dog. That was why the emotions had been both familiar and alien. I’d felt them before on a few occasions, mostly with dogs, once a cat. Animal emotions came in softly, and they never quite felt human. They were cleaner, more innocent somehow. Simpler creatures, like a slug, didn’t have emotional reactions as far as I knew or felt. But I’d often wondered about the more complex creatures I hadn’t yet come in contact with: dolphins, horses, and even gorillas (Coco came to mind).
And the thing, whatever that blob of mist had been, it’d given the impression of a dog, having moved like one. An idea was forming in my mind, and I didn’t like it one bit.
“Hello? Have you even been listening to me? You can’t have a stray dog running around the house. You have to call animal control.”
“No, it’s already gone,” I replied absently. I remembered the reason for calling her and steered the conversation around. “But I’m still wigged out, want to have a slumber party?”
“Sure, come over. You haven’t met Brock yet. You’ll probably think he’s an ass—”
I interrupted, “Oh, I forgot tonight was the date for new carpets. Nevermind, I’ll be fine.”
“Brock won’t care. Come over,” she urged.
“No, I’d have trouble sleeping anyway.”
“Do you want me to call him and cancel? I can come over there.” She would too, cancel her plans in an instant to come over if I needed it. I didn’t want that.
“No, really I’ll be fine. Forget I called.”
“Alright, but I’m entering your neighbor’s number into my contacts, you know, just in case.”
“Don’t, he’s not my secretary.” Speaking of secretaries, I wondered if I should tell Francesca about my visitor. But that conversation could last a while, so I decided it should wait.
“With your death drawing near, I think it’s only wise.”
“Whatever,” I said before hanging up.
Lucas came in a moment later, making me think he’d been waiting for me to finish. “You can use my couch,” he offered.
“You were eavesdropping,” I stated blandly. He didn’t respond, and I took the moment to mull over his offer.
Did I want to pass the night alone with a phantom dog? No, I did not. But was it safe to bed down with a virtual stranger? No, it was not. I mean, I knew the definition of sociopath. And there I had a perfectly normal looking man, not to mention really attractive, and he couldn’t feel a thing. That made him the perfect candidate, because people who lacked empathy made awesome serial killers.
“Does your house have a basement?” That was where he’d do all the murdering and stuff.
“No.”
I hadn’t thought it would, but better to be sure. I wanted to say yes, nearly did, but years of habit held me back. “No, thanks for the offer, but I’ll be alright.”
Chapter 7
The beams of light streaming in through the loft windows made it difficult to sleep. I’d purposely left the floor-length linen drapes open, a wake-up call. I had things to do.
It hadn’t been a pleasant night. I’d drifted in and out, waking often only to imagine a sickly gray shape perched at the end of my bed.
This morning wasn’t going much better. I still felt jumpy. I rushed to shower and dress, looking around constantly, somewhat paranoid as I waited for that damned dog to appear.
It wasn’t until entering the kitchen that I got a surprise. The broken window had been covered over. Confused, I went out the back door to get a better look. A piece of plywood covered the hole, held in place by a mound of duct tape. For a patch job, it looked sturdy. Not only that, but there wasn’t a piece of glass in sight. I discovered a pile of shards in my trash bin. How Lucas had found them in the long grass, I didn’t know. And it had been Lucas, I had no doubt. But why he’d done it, I was still uncertain.
I left after that, rushing to complete an errand before my shift started. I was cutting it close. But I had to know, this couldn’t wait. It was still early for the tourist types, so I found good parking and hopped out, running for the door.
The Parlor was as I had l
eft it, dark and moody with dusty creaking floorboards. I hoofed it down the hallway, stopping abruptly when I reached the reception desk.
“You!” I screeched. She was the last person I had expected to see here, to see anywhere.
Her tangle of frizzy blonde locks bobbed as she stood up. “Hello, it’s good to see you again.” She stretched her hand out across the counter. “My name is Nancy Bristow.” With a self-deprecating smile she added, “Here I’m known as Madame Bristow, but you can call me Nancy.”
Perplexed, I did nothing but stare for a moment. Her hand fell away as I found my voice. “That fake, Eclipsys, the astrologist or whatever, said I’d meet with death. And guess what? Yesterday I saw a ghost! So I come—literally running back for answers—and find you all omnipotent, acting as if you’ve been waiting for me the whole time!” My voice had been rising with each word, the last punctuated with a shriek. But I wasn’t done. I felt totally out of control, and it made me angry. “I thought you were homeless!” I shouted.
Her calm did nothing to dampen my agitated frustration. “Come, I’ll explain where we can speak privately.” She walked around the counter, heading down the hall. With little choice, I followed her.
Her workspace was a small room, almost identical in size and shape to the astrologist’s, though that was where the similarities ended. Foreign looking carpets overlapped, crisscrossing over every inch of the floor. Gauzy cloth in royal colors clung to the walls, draped and displayed for effect. A small table and chairs dominated the area, filmy fabric donning each. The tarot cards were laid out, incense burning beside them. Nancy sat, gesturing to the other chair.
I ignored her, warning, “If you try to sell me on a reading I’ll probably punch you in the face.”
She smiled, unconcerned with the threat. “You think I’m a charlatan, but to understand, you must accept that I am not.”
“How about we pretend that I believe you, and you get on with the explanation.”
She nodded sagely and began. “Some people are gifted, as I suspect you are. For me the gift is sight. Through the interpretation of the cards,” she tapped her deck, “I can glimpse things. Sometimes it’s trivial, sometimes useful, and once in a while, terribly important.
“On the morning of the day we met, I did what I do every morning. I read the cards.” She began to rub her wrist absently. It was as if she was no longer speaking to me, but telling the story to herself. “They showed a very significant and specific idea, the message was clear. I would willingly give away a valued treasure to the red-headed stranger.”
I was tempted to correct her. My hair was strawberry-blonde, not red.
“I couldn’t understand why I would do such a thing. That is, until the moment I saw you standing there by the street. He was there too, close by you, smiling at me.” Her eyes became glassy as they filled with tears. I became uncomfortable with everything she was saying and feeling. “I knew then why I would do it, why I would give away something so important to me, something I loved.” She looked deep into my eyes. “I did it because he wanted me to. He wanted you to have it.”
I lightly touched the milky bead that rested on my index finger. “What is it?”
“I’m not exactly sure.” She waved her hand vaguely, trying to figure out how to continue. “It’s, well... let me explain Percival to you.
“We met when I was young, about your age. In fact, I was a lot like you when he found me. I didn’t understand why I could glance over a deck of playing cards and see that my neighbor’s cat would soon get run over, or that my mother would be making brownies in the afternoon. I didn’t know other people like me existed, the thought just hadn’t occurred to me. But Percy knew, he explained it all.” She suddenly burst into a smile. “I thought he was the smartest man alive, but he was just a boy back then. You see, he had a gift too. He could see the dead.”
Now she frowned. “He hadn’t always made the most of his gift, for a while he even considered it a curse. But over the years he did many great things. It became his passion, his life’s work.” Her frown deepened; I felt its sorrow. “When he found out he was dying he didn’t mourn for himself, but for what the world would lose with his passing. The gift was like a child to him, he wanted to see it continue...”
She shook her head. “I don’t know how he did it. He went away just before he died. I begged him not to go, he was so weak. He returned, from where, I never knew. The gift was no longer a part of him, no longer attached to his body I mean, but removed, placed in a ring. He wore it for only four days, and then he died.”
I pulled the ring from my finger. It slid off easily. I stood over her, hand extended. “Take it. I never wanted it. Besides, you lied when you gave it to me. You said it was only a trinket, nothing more. Remember?” I asked sharply.
I felt the slightest twinge of embarrassment, but she shrugged it off. “I had to say something to make you take it. I was desperate.”
“Yes,” I said dryly, “I remember.”
She shook her head, angling her body away from the ring. “I won’t take it back. He wanted you to have it.”
My hand fell. “Why?”
“I can’t say for sure. I only suspect you have a gift that makes the ring worthwhile in your possession.”
“I’m an empath, empathic, or however you say it. I’m not even sure if that’s the proper terminology, but it’s the only reasonable explanation that came up when I Googled it a few years back.”
She looked up sharply. “Could you feel the ghost’s emotions?”
“It was a ghost dog I think, but yeah, I felt the stupid thing.”
She smiled, her happiness a rush. “That’s wonderful!”
“Yeah, well, don’t count your chickens or whatever—I’ve seen the movie Poltergeist.” I pocketed the ring and sat back down.
She patted my arm. “It won’t be like that.”
I gave her a disbelieving look. My first encounter with a ghost, not even a human ghost, and I’d fallen over and broken a window.
“No one can truly understand the spirit world until they’ve passed on themselves. But Percy’s experience allowed him to formulate theories.
“He thought spirits, or as you say, ghosts, reside in this same space, but on a different plane or realm. A veil separates our world from theirs, but when it’s thin a spirit may cross over. The reasons differ, and there may not even be a reason. The dog, for example, may have crossed simply because it wanted to see something familiar. That happens sometimes.
“Percy liked to communicate with those who needed something. He tried to give them closure. It should be easier for you to understand them if you can pick up their emotions. It makes sense for you to have the ring.”
Percy was going to be disappointed, because I didn’t plan to wear it anytime soon. That thought made me feel guilty, so I stood to leave.
Nancy smiled warmly. “You believe me.”
The strange thing was, I really did. Recalling why I ever doubted, I shook my head. “I could have sworn Eclipsys was a fake.”
Nancy stood, following me to the door. “Oh, she is,” she confirmed lightly. “The cards told me you would come. I thought it best to avoid an introduction until you’d seen a ghost. You would never have believed me otherwise. So I asked Eclipsys to meet with you and your friend, giving you the prediction of death so you would know where to return after a sighting.”
“Do you know many people with... gifts?” The word still felt silly and strange to say.
“Percy used to host a convention every year, inviting the gifted and those sincerely interested in the occult. That’s how I met Eclipsys. She’s been a dear friend for many years. We own this shop together.
“A few years back, after I surfaced from the grief of Percy’s passing, I took over the tradition. Eclipsys helps. We hold the convention in October here on the island. You’re invited of course. Many people w
ould love to meet you.” She rubbed her forehead thoughtfully. “I can’t recall meeting another empath. I think you may be the first to attend. That is, if you do decide to come.”
I made a noncommittal sound and walked toward the door. I turned at the last minute as Nancy settled behind the reception desk. “Did the cards tell you my name was Adelaide Graves?”
She shook her head smiling. “It was nice to meet you, Adelaide.”
Chapter 8
I stirred the batter in lazy circles, my mind drifting. I’d passed my shift at Sterling’s in much the same way, Ben had noticed. He’d also noticed my late arrival. I’d endured over an hour of his lecturing, which was really just him complaining at me.
It had been difficult to go through the motions, completing mundane chores while trying to accept the facts. The facts: Yesterday everything was predictable, today the world was full of secrets. The world where: A palm reader may or may not be a pretending cheat while your waitress was a closet numerologist.
Had I ever met a mind reader? Or passed a perve with X-ray vision? What other gifts existed unbeknownst to me? And how had I not guessed? It seemed like a logical thing to wonder, being an empath and all, but I never had.
The cake batter no longer needed stirring. I began to eat spoonfuls. I’d briefly considered baking the cake and giving it to Lucas as a show of gratitude. But upon further consideration I discarded the idea, not for any particular reason, it just wasn’t something I would ever do.
Knocking sounded from the front room. Someone was at the door. The only visitor I ever had was Francesca. She didn’t usually bother with knocking though. Barging in was more her style, but she was probably still mad.
She’d called while I was working, excited to spill the latest gossip. A man had been murdered on the island, stabbed to death. They’d found him a few days ago, but the police were keeping the details hushed up.
Preoccupied, I’d been unable to provide the proper response to her news, the proper response being astonished sadness. So she’d accused me of being unfeeling. It had been perhaps a bit tactless to mutter, “Don’t I wish.”