“Fiona, I don’t have a ghost in the house!”
She clucks her tongue in disapproval at my tone. “I know it’s alarming, dear, but please try to control yourself. Scots have a genetically built-in aversion to overt shows of emotion, and I’d hate to think less of you over something so minor as being haunted. Now, what about visual disturbances? Have you seen anything strange around the place?”
Into my mind flashes an image of the strange, hostile man in the hat hiding behind the tree who left no footprints behind. Another image comes, this one of the little blonde boy playing in the yard…
The boy my security camera didn’t catch, presenting me instead with a recording of static.
Horror creeps over me, starting at my feet and slowly moving up my body until I’m gripped in a cold, tight skeleton hand of fright.
As if her case is closed, Fiona says sagely, “Ah.”
Chilled to the bone, I say, “It’s impossible. Ghosts don’t exist.”
Fiona smiles. A bass rumble of thunder rolls through the sky. The rain increases, peppering the windows and drumming against the roof.
Then the overhead lights turn themselves off and on three times, like a smug supernatural fuck-you.
22
“Now listen carefully,” says Fiona, turning businesslike again. “I need to tell you something important.”
“What is it?”
“No matter what happens, don’t tell the ghost it’s dead. They have no idea they’re no longer living.”
I’m convinced we’re both in a padded cell somewhere having this conversation. That’s really the only reasonable explanation.
When I sit there staring at her in disbelief, she continues.
“Ghosts are simply souls with a story to tell. When a person dies tragically or violently, their spirit often can’t move on. They have unfinished business that keeps them tied to this realm. Until they get closure, they will remain here, haunting the people and places that meant the most to them while they were alive.”
“Are you even listening to the words coming out of your mouth?”
She arches a brow. “I’m aware this is difficult for you, dear, but there’s no need to be snippy.”
Chastened, I sigh. “Sorry.”
“As I was saying…what was I saying?”
“Ghosts need closure.”
“Yes, that’s right. And until they get it, they’re stuck here, wandering the earth in misery.”
She stares at me expectantly.
“You’re saying we need to help this ghost who doesn’t exist and definitely is not haunting me get closure.”
Fiona beams. “Well done.”
Stupendous. She wants me to give up art and become a guide for lost spirits. “I hope you won’t be offended by this, but that is the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard.”
I can tell by her expression that she’s definitely offended.
She sniffs, lifting her nose. “All right. If you don’t want my help, I can’t force you to take it.” She stands, takes her mug to the sink, and dumps the rest of her tea down the drain. Rinsing out the mug, she says over her shoulder, “Do you need your office cleaned today?”
“Really? We’re just going to act like this conversation never happened?”
She turns to level me with a cool stare. “I was under the impression that wallowing in denial is where you’re most comfortable.”
“Ouch. That was harsh.”
“I’m not one to sugarcoat things.”
I say drily, “Gee, I couldn’t tell.”
We gaze at each other across the room, until I finally give in.
“Okay, even if I did go along with this insanity—which I’m not, I’m just saying if—what then?”
Her expression softens. She sets the mug in the drain rack next to the sink and returns to her chair. “Then we attempt to contact the spirit to see what it wants.”
“You’re back to the séance thing again.”
“Correct.”
We gaze at each other across the table as I attempt to retrieve my brain from outer space where it went for a nice rest from this ridiculous conversation.
“Or maybe I should just go see a therapist. That seems as if it might be money better spent.”
“Oh, there won’t be a charge, my dear. She could do it as a personal favor.”
“Who’s she?”
“My sister. She’s a medium.”
By this point, that new tidbit of information doesn’t even faze me. “Of course she is. And how does one get into that line of work?”