Authors: James Swain
“Glad to hear it.”
“Please don’t leave.”
“Who told you I was leaving?”
“Snoop did. Say it isn’t so. Please.”
“My mind’s made up. If you’ll excuse me, I was in the middle of something.”
Taking out her cell phone, Liza snapped a photo of a stuffed panda named Butch that sat on the mantel over the fireplace. Butch could find playing cards, blow perfect smoke rings, and tell the future by banging on a drum. It was all a trick, courtesy of some amazing radio-controlled devices, but Liza had fallen in love with the little guy anyway. She hoisted her suitcase off the floor, and headed for the door, brushing past him. He wondered how he’d managed to ruin two relationships in one day.
“At least give me a second chance. I deserve that, don’t I?”
The suitcase fell from her hand. She crossed her arms in front of her chest, and gave him a soulful stare. “Tell me something. How can someone who can read people’s minds be so clueless about their feelings?”
“I don’t mean to be.”
“But you are. You ran out on those kids. You should be ashamed of yourself.”
“I had to save my friends.”
“You couldn’t have called the police? Come on, Peter, when did you turn into a superhero?”
“I’m not a superhero.”
“You’re sure acting like one. Anytime you think something bad is going to happen, you go flying out the door without caring about the people you leave behind.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Stop saying that.”
“But it’s true. Look, this will be over soon, and things will go back to normal.”
“Things will never be back to normal,” she said, sounding ready to cry. “You’re not the person I thought you were. Let me rephrase that. Half of you is the person I thought I knew; the other half is a strange dude with psychic powers who’s been leading a secret life none of his friends knew about. That’s the guy I’m having a problem with.”
“I didn’t want to keep secrets from you.”
“But you did. And you’re still doing it. I don’t know who you are.”
“I haven’t changed that much, have I?”
“Yes, you have. You act like someone possessed.”
“You’re exaggerating. It’s not that bad.”
“Yes, it is. You’re changing, and I don’t know why. Do you?”
He thought back to what Milly had told him. His parents had fallen into a lake with three of their little friends, and been miraculously saved by a spirit from the other side. But had it been a good spirit, or a bad spirit? His parents had changed the course of a war, yet had also been founding members of a murderous cult. He had no way of knowing what type of spirit had guided them. And if he didn’t know what spirit had guided his parents, he couldn’t know which spirit was guiding him. Liza wasn’t the only one who was confused.
“No,” he said quietly.
“No what?” she said, sounding exasperated.
“No, I don’t know why I’m changing. But I’m going to find out.”
“Well, send me a postcard.”
“You’re not going to give me another chance?”
“You’ve run out of those.”
He followed her out of the brownstone. The rain was coming down so hard that it made it difficult to see. At the corner she waved frantically for a cab. It was as if she couldn’t get away from him fast enough.
“I’ll do anything you want,” he shouted over the storm.
She spun around. “Anything?”
“Yes.”
“Do you really mean that?”
“Yeah. Just name it.”
“Stop doing these crazy séances, and come back to the real world.”
“I can’t do that. It’s who I am.”
“Then good-bye.”
A cab braked at the curb, splashing them both. Liza rammed her suitcase into the backseat, hopped in, and slammed the door. Kneeling down, he gazed at her through the window. He mouthed the words
Please don’t go.
She shook her head.
The cab sped away. He walked back to his empty brownstone, wondering if his heart might break. Liza had made him feel
whole.
Without her, he was nothing.
He looked to the sky. Was this his reward for doing the right thing? It hardly seemed fair, and he let out a frightening yell.
“God damn it!”
A car alarm pierced the air. It was quickly followed by another car alarm, and then another. Within seconds, every vehicle parked on the street was blaring.
He looked up and down the street in fear. His powers had made those alarms go off. He concentrated, and tried to turn them off.
Nothing doing.
He hurried inside his brownstone before his neighbors came out, and saw what he’d done.
28
Lying in bed that night, Peter stared at the side of the bed where Liza normally slept. Her leaving hadn’t seemed real a few hours ago. Now it did, and the pain was tearing a hole in his heart.
He rolled onto his back and gazed at the plaster ceiling. Tomorrow was Monday, and the theater was dark. Normally, he and Liza would sleep in, and spend the afternoon plundering an uncharted area of the city. New York had hundreds of neighborhoods, thousands of shops, and even more restaurants, and they’d tried to visit them all.
He retrieved his cell phone from the night table. He’d sent Liza several text messages, and apologized in every conceivable way he knew how. Still no response.
A clap of thunder shook the walls. He threw on a bathrobe, and went to the window which looked out on the courtyard. Some of the best séances he’d ever conducted had occurred during bad storms, and he’d assumed it had something to do with the air being filled with electricity. Now, he found himself not caring about the spirits, or anything associated with them. He just wanted her back.
He thought about her request.
Stop doing these crazy séances, and come back to the real world.
Up until two days ago, he would have said yes; his love for her was that great. Up until two days ago, he would have been able to walk away from it. But now he couldn’t. The spirit world had taken over, and he couldn’t have run away from it if his life depended upon it. But Liza deserved better than what he’d given her. She’d committed herself to him, and he’d repaid her by keeping her in the dark about who he was. There was a name for what he’d done. It was called being a shit.
His cell phone was vibrating. His heartbeat quickened as he grabbed it off the night table. Liza had sent him a text message.
“Thank you,” he whispered.
He returned to the window, and read her message by the light of the storm.
P,
I’m sorry to run out on you, but you gave me no choice. You’re scaring me. I don’t know this person you’ve become.
Do you?
L
It was a good question. He’d done things in the past couple of days that he would never have dreamed of doing before, and the answer was as obvious as it was frightening.
No, he didn’t.
He didn’t know this person at all. This person had powers and feelings that were brand new to him. If he wanted to get back together with Liza, he needed to find out who this person was. For her sake, and for his own.
But how? He supposed it had to start with knowing who his parents were. The family tree, as it were. Then he might understand himself a little better.
He went into the bathroom. Reaching beneath his bathroom sink, he removed the mysterious DVD that he’d taken from the bookshelf in Lester Rowe’s apartment. Maybe the DVD had the answers he was looking for, or could point him in the right direction.
His bedroom had a large entertainment unit built into the wall. Slipping the DVD into the player, he pulled up a chair, and sat a foot away from the giant screen. He had no films of his parents, just scrapbooks filled with aging photographs, and the ghostly images he carried in his head. He wondered what it would be like to see them again.
Moments later, he had his answer.
His mother’s lovely face filled the screen. Her eyes were expressive, and her smile could light up a room. She said hello to the camera.
“Hey,” he whispered back.
The camera pulled back. His mother was dressed as if going to the theater, and wore a strapless black evening gown and a string of white pearls. She sat at a table covered in black cloth with occult symbols painted on the fabric. Symbols were an important part of the spirit world, and every psychic worth his salt knew what they represented. The symbols on the cloth were new to him, and appeared to be a cross between a unicursal hexagram used to summon the spirits, and a common pentagram.
The camera pulled back even farther. His father sat to his mother’s right at the table. The quintessential college professor, he favored rumpled sports jackets and never combed his hair. Now he wore a tailored suit, a white shirt with a button-down collar, and a tie with a gold stickpin. His goatee was neatly trimmed, and the part in his hair was as straight as an arrow.
They both looked like royalty. He hit pause with the remote, and spent a long moment staring at them. His eyes grew moist. It was an image that he would forever savor.
He hit play, and the film resumed. Out of the shadows appeared four other people, who took their places at the table. Two men, two women, all dressed in formal attire. It was Lester Rowe, Milly, Reggie Brown, and Madame Marie, all looking twenty years younger.
On the screen, his mother said, “Let’s begin.”
The other participants nodded agreement.
His father struck a match, and lit three white candles in the table’s center. The lights in the dining room were dimmed. Everyone at the table joined hands.
His mother began to chant. She was soft-spoken, and he strained to pick up the words. Unexpectedly, things started to happen. First the candles’ flames flickered, then various pieces of furniture began to move around, with a painting on the wall crashing to the floor. In a mirror hanging behind the table, a ghostly reflection appeared. It was a man whose face had melted on one side. The man was laughing, and appeared to be enjoying himself.
“What the hell,” Peter said aloud.
His mother stopped chanting, and the face vanished from the mirror.
Everyone at the table seemed to relax.
Peter did as well.
His mother said, “Henry?”
His father reached beneath the table, and came up with a rectangular wood board. He moved the candles off to the side, and placed the board on their spot. The board looked ancient, and was covered in numbers, letters, and astrological signs. It was a talking board.
His mother said, “Ready, everyone?”
The others bobbed their heads. His father removed a heart-shaped planchette from his jacket pocket, and placed it onto the talking board. Everyone placed their fingertips onto the planchette, and scrunched up their faces. The planchette moved deliberately across the board, stopping briefly to touch on different letters and symbols, before moving on. Suddenly, his mother jerked in her chair as if being shocked by a cattle prod, while her face made horrible contortions. The other participants drew back in their chairs, clearly alarmed.
His father said, “Claire!”
His mother shook her head wildly, causing the pearls to flop around her neck. Her eyelids fluttered, revealing nothing but white. She had become possessed, and was no longer in control of herself. A stiff wind blew through the room, sending everyone’s hair on end. The candles went out, throwing the room into darkness.
Peter squirmed in his chair. He tried to remind himself that it was just a film, but it didn’t calm him down. His father relit the candles. Everyone was standing at their places except his mother, who’d collapsed onto the table and appeared to be passed out. His father gently lifted his mother’s head, and spoke in her ear.
“Are you all right?”
His mother sat up straight in her chair. Her eyes were now bloodshot, her beautiful face dark and ragged with age. Her fingernails had grown several inches, and resembled talons. An evil spirit had invaded her body.
Jumping up, his mother tossed her husband across the room with a flick of the wrist. He crashed against a wall, and winced in pain.
His mother clawed viciously at the air, causing the others to coil away in fear. She was like a wild animal, and appeared fully capable of killing someone. This was not the same woman who’d nurtured and raised him; it simply couldn’t be.
He tore his eyes away to look at the mirror behind the table. The visitor had returned to the glass, and was again laughing at everyone’s expense.
He looked back at his mother. She was wrestling with Reggie, who was attempting to grab her by the wrists. Reggie was a foot taller and outweighed his mother by a hundred pounds. It didn’t matter. His mother tossed poor Reggie over a chair like a child.
Lester Rowe was up next, grabbing his mother from behind in a bear hug. Lester was strong for his size, but no match for her. His mother broke free, and raked her fingernails across Rowe’s face. Ribbons of blood appeared, prompting her to laugh wickedly.
His father returned to the picture. In his hand was a small brown bottle. He uncorked the bottle and tossed several drops of clear liquid his mother’s way. She screamed, and protectively covered her head with her arms. His father calmly corked the bottle, and returned it to his pocket. Then he placed his hand comfortingly on his wife’s shoulder.
“Claire,” he said.
His mother struck out at him. The demon was slowly leaving her body, and the blow bounced harmlessly off her husband’s chest.
“Claire,” he said again.
His mother’s body trembled. Then, slowly, she lowered her hands. Her face had returned to normal, and she looked beautiful again. She seemed bewildered by what had happened, and glanced nervously at her friends.