 
Karma House

Laura A. Ellison

Smashwords Edition

Copyright 2012

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

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**Other Smashwords Titles by Laura A. Ellison** :

The Last Girl

Time Immortal: Tales of Marcus, The Blind Vampire

A Foreign Body (short story)

Books written by Laura A. Ellison can also be obtained through the author's official website:

http://spiritimmortal.weebly.com

or through select, online book retailers.

For my parents, Patsy and Larry Ellison, who taught me to believe. Thanks to the Rocks-Jim, Lynne, and Lilda-who did it first. Also, the family, friends and teachers who encouraged me to write.

*****
Chapter One

Belinda Hart had known her whole life that death was not a simple thing.

Belinda, the quiet, chubby daughter, had studied philosophy in college. She was the best educated among her brothers and sisters. However, like her brother Will, she had distanced herself from the rest of the family. She spent some time at graduate school in Florida, found the hot, sticky weather unbearable, and moved on to Nevada. She heard by then Will was living with Nicole and the kids in Colorado. She did not stop to visit on her way to Las Vegas.

She got a job at the front desk of the Excalibur Hotel. She saw Celine Dion perform, and later Wayne Newton. She found an apartment and a new roommate. She celebrated the New Year, followed by her thirty-second birthday in February. The following week, she cut her wrists in the bathtub. Her roommate came home to find Belinda dead, soaking in the murky red water.

The roommate, a young black woman named Pam, tried to contact a family member of Belinda's, but could not find a phone number. When the police had left with Belinda's body, she frantically looked through Belinda's purse and sparsely furnished room, but all she found were a few business cards. One card was white with a figure eight stenciled in silver with black lettering, "Molly Hart, psychic. Trustworthy and discreet." Another card read, "Sarah Hart, world-renowned psychic and medium. First reading free."

Pam knew these people could be Belinda's family, although she knew so little about the tall, sad-eyed woman who wore glasses and was more likely to stay home than go out. Pam was unsure about how old Belinda was, she had not told anyone about her birthday. Pam, who was twenty-seven, guessed they were about the same age. Belinda mentioned something about being from Michigan.

Belinda's body was taken to the morgue; Pam stuck with the mess in the bathroom. The police had come and gone.

Pam decided to call Molly Hart's number.

She was walking out of Belinda's room in the small apartment when the phone rang. Before picking up the cordless phone from the base, she glanced at the caller I.D.:

MOLLY HART

1-616-###-####

The phone rang four times before Pam picked up. "Hello?"

The voice of an older female answered. "Hello. She's dead, isn't she?"

Pam was taken aback for a moment. "Who is this?"

"My daughter Belinda is dead, right?"

"Y-yes."

"Tell them I'll be there later in the day. I had to book a last minute flight."

Pam sat on the old couch in the living room, grateful with relief. "I'm sorry, Mrs. Hart. Belinda was a nice person."

"Yes, she was a good girl. Thank you for being her friend. She didn't have very many."

"She didn't tell me much about her family. You're all from Michigan, right?"

"Yes, we are. We're all here, except for her brother, Will. He's in Colorado, but I'm sure he knows."

"Did the police tell you Belinda had...died?"

Pam heard the woman sigh on the other end. "She's only been dead a few hours, dear."

*****

The Harts all came for Belinda's funeral, which was paid for by her parents, John and Molly.

Will arrived as soon as he could, without Nicole and their children. Molly knew Nicole would not want to attend a Hart funeral, especially a suicide. Especially Belinda. Nicole never liked Belinda, thinking Will's sister selfish and strange, but all the Harts were a little selfish, strangeness was in the genes.

Molly had spoken briefly to the police in Las Vegas, but suicide was given as the only cause of death. She was asked if she knew whether Belinda had ever been depressed. Her mother said yes, often.

Molly flew home in coach with her daughter's body in baggage. Molly could hear Belinda's voice, coming in faintly while she was dozing on the plane. The white noise comforted Molly, although she had prepared herself years ago for outliving her oldest daughter.

Molly had dreamed of Belinda's death when she was pregnant. She saw the lights of a modern Las Vegas, so different than in the seventies. She floated down the Strip of the future; white tigers and drive-thru wedding chapels, water and blood, a young black woman with braided hair and red nails. Molly had tried to forget those dreams, blaming them on pregnancy hormones. However, she was well past blaming her dreams on anything but herself, because her dreams always came true.

Chapter Two

Belinda was born with her mother's brown eyes and her father's dark hair. She was shy as a small child, and by the time she was three-years-old, she started to see faces in the walls and mirrors of the Harts' old house, or in other places. She could hear voices, sometimes many voices, all talking at the same time. As she grew older, she shared these sights and sounds with her brother, Will. By then, Will was almost eight, Belinda five, and their mother was pregnant again. John had told Molly this could happen; their children would be odd. By then, Will was almost eight, Belinda five, and their mother was pregnant again. Belinda told her mother that she would have twins, a boy and a girl. Molly refused to believe her.

John's family, the Harts, was psychic, dating back to his paternal grandmother, Nedra Hart. Molly's father was a famous medium and psychic healer, Samuel Murdoch. Her mother had also been psychic and the Murdochs taught their children that reincarnation was possible. Molly believed she was the reincarnation of her own great-great-grandmother Murdoch. John did not believe in those things, but the voices and faces in the walls were typical of his side of the family.

Will, named after his great-grandfather William Hart, an osteopath and husband of Nedra Hart, had spent his early childhood in an almost constant state of wonder and terror, unable to understand why he could see and hear the things he did.

One of Will's earliest psychic experiences happened at the age of four while attending a family funeral. He looked up from where he was sitting in his father's lap, several feet from Great-Aunt Emily's open coffin, and heard the old lady's voice whispering, "I am dead now, completely dead." Will started screaming, wetting his pants. His father took him into the restroom and Will tried to explain what he heard. John told him he heard the same words being whispered to him, although he later admitted to Molly that he had lied to the boy. Will was still too young to know anything about death and he was so traumatized, John and Molly never brought their children to funeral homes or cemeteries again. Will and Belinda were only little children, they had yet to understand their own gifts.

Will and Belinda were still adjusting when the Harts moved out of their first house, which was relatively new compared to the older, two-story house with four bedrooms and one bathroom on 1225 Gable Road. The house was old and the young family soon began to share strange and identical experiences. Will and Belinda would play together or alone upstairs and witness a door suddenly open and close on its own or a light switching on and off. A rotten smell came out of the furnace vents at the start of winter, but the Harts attributed the odor to the age of the house. All of these disturbances were minor at first, so John and Molly chose to ignore their mild haunting.

Molly, however, became increasingly nervous during the remainder of her pregnancy, especially after her obstetrician informed them that he heard two heartbeats in his stethoscope during a prenatal exam. The idea of having twins filled her with dread and anxiety.

Her sister Pauline had been a twin, her brother dying at birth. Pauline, sixteen years older than Molly, always had problems, including childhood seizures and almost dying of pneumonia twice, both times going through frightening near-death experiences. When Molly's twins were born, she thought Pauline might have been in a mental institution, but she was not certain. She later received a letter from her sister, postmarked Phoenix, Arizona. Molly spoke to her mother Colleen over the phone while still in the hospital, recovering from the Caesarean section.

"Mom, did you know Pauline was living out West?" Molly asked.

"Yes, I know."

Molly hated it when her mother played mysterious with her. "Have you spoken to her?"

"No, I haven't heard from her since your father died."

The twins were born December 15, 1979, a boy and a girl, both healthy and normal. Samuel, named after his grandfather, was born first, at ten-fifteen p.m., and Sarah followed at ten thirty-five. Sam, like Belinda, had the _caul_ around his head at birth, the membrane that resembled a little crown.

The delivery was not half as difficult as the discomfort Molly experienced towards the end of her pregnancy, with the painful swelling in her legs and ankles. When her obstetrician discovered she had toxemia and high blood pressure, she was put on bed rest. However, she was too uncomfortable to be active and was becoming anxious by the impending birth of twins, along with the frequency of disturbances in the house.

Molly could not sleep at night because of the noise, the sound of footsteps pounding on the staircase, going up and down every night around two in the morning, going on until almost two-thirty. She would have to wake up later to get Will and Belinda off to school, and all the kitchen cupboards would be open, the heavy table pushed against the wall, the chairs tipped over in the dining room. She would be alone in the house until Belinda came home from morning kindergarten, the anxiety making Molly exhausted. She did not tell John her feelings; she wanted him to think she was happy. Molly was never one to share her doubts with anyone, even John. Because of this, she gave off the impression of being positive and upbeat most of the time. However, she was scared to be alone in the house as summer and fall dragged on, refusing to admit her fear to herself; she was a Murdoch, her mother and sister used to take her, as a small child, to houses and places reputed to be haunted. She did not understand why she was afraid. She would try to ignore it, but the harder she tried, the more frustrated she would become.

Before her bed rest, Molly repainted the upstairs hallway and took on other projects around the house, including preparing the twins' nursery. She worked alone during the day but became nauseous from her growing sensitivity to the paint fumes. She tried to nap in the late mornings, before Belinda came home from kindergarten, but she just could not relax. This pregnancy, so different from the others, became a mental and physical torment, although Molly knew the fault was not with her unborn babies.

She walked from room to room on those autumn mornings. She looked forward to the days being cooler; the summer had been so hot. One October day, after walking Will and Belinda to the bus stop at the end of the driveway, she stood in front of the house and studied the modest structure she and John had chosen because of the generous number of bedrooms.

Molly turned suddenly to the sound of tires rolling on the gravel driveway. She just glimpsed an old red pickup backing out. She did not see who was driving the truck.

Must have wanted to turn around, she thought. But there are shorter driveways on this street to back out of.

A breeze picked up, tossing some yellow and red leaves across the front yard, up to the porch. The old porch swing moved gently, back and forth.

This house doesn't like me, she thought.

John had suggested that a dog could keep her company during the day, but pets did not last long around Molly and the children could not seem to understand that.

How would I explain? she asked herself. Should I tell Will and Belinda, as young as they are, about when I was five-years-old and saw a little terrier thrown into a burning fireplace by a poltergeist in Scotland? That could certainly traumatize a kid.

Molly looked up at that little attic window, fascinated by its unique stop-sign shape. If she had not been so afraid, she would go up to the attic, but even John refused to go up there with her. The noises would always start there; the footsteps pounding pounding pounding until everyone awakened, Will and Belinda running to John and Molly's room. When the noises stopped, the sound of objects moving in the kitchen continued for a half-hour or more. Finally, peace would descend, John and the children falling asleep, oblivious to Molly's quiet sobbing.

She was still thinking about these things when the sparrow smacked against the attic window, its fine-boned, tiny body falling on the ground. Molly gasped, becoming suddenly nauseous, although she had suffered little or no morning sickness. She walked slowly over to the little bird; its beady eyes were blinking in shock, the wings still trembling. Looking down at the dying bird, she felt a kind of black dread she never felt before in her life. However, the encroaching nausea intruded on her emotional state, and she found herself running into the house to the bathroom.

*****

John's mother, Edna Hart, came to help with the house and the children in March of 1980, the twins only three-months-old. Will and Belinda excitedly told their grandmother tales about the house, including the noises in the attic and on the staircase, along with the obnoxious smell in the cellar, although John had already explained to his mother about the house.

Edna stared at the front of the old house after getting out of John's Chevy station wagon. The previous owners, the Browns, had renovated the place a few years ago. She moved her gaze from the big front porch to the white siding and the small, octagon-shaped attic window. She followed her son inside and was struck by the musty smell of rotting leaves. Edna felt the 'badness' of this place, something terrible had happened here.

Will and Belinda had only met their Gramma Ed a few times in their short lives. The fifty-year-old woman was tall and had a kind of nervous energy, but was also gentle and warm. She had the same eyes as their father, a deep gray that widened in moments of surprise, anger, or laughter. Her hair was a deep brown, worn in a bun on top of her head. She favored pants suits and low-heeled shoes. She smelled like talcum powder.

Will and Belinda fell quickly for Gramma Ed, following her all around the house while their anxious, distant mother remained bed-ridden. John, after work, could be found in the bedroom with his wife, nursing a martini. Edna thought his attention to Molly was touching, but he gave little time to his children.

John had been an only child, a companion and mascot to his parents. When his psychic abilities began to intrude, he became even more alienated from children his own age. Edna and John's father, Robert Hart, sent John to a boarding school in Connecticut, but he did not last long, especially after the suicide of a classmate. John attended the school for almost a year when unpleasant rumors had started about his friendship with another boy. John refused to talk about it and asked only to come home. He finished his education at a public high school in 1966. He went off to the University of Michigan, where he met Molly Murdoch, the daughter of the famous Samuel Murdoch. He was smitten with the brown-eyed, red-haired girl who effortlessly understood him and desired him at the same time. They married after only one year at Michigan.

John, without a degree, took many jobs in sales, eventually settling on insurance. He used his psychic, highly empathic abilities to sell life, auto, and health insurance policies through Oracle Insurance. He started his own business with his partner Max Henley, which proved successful. He made an almost unconscious decision to repress his psychic ability, ignoring the disturbances in the house, letting Molly and the children indulge themselves in ghosts and reincarnation. However, he was not above using his talents to bluff at poker or using the cards to impress potential clients by telling their fortunes during a three-martini lunch.

He did not have Molly's dramatic flair, he seemed almost dull, although Molly was one of the few people who really understood him, she would listen when he would try to express himself. In their most intimate moments together, Molly could feel his loneliness and despair.

The house rarely had a moment of peace and John knew his wife was depressed. She neglected her appearance and seldom helped his mother very little with housekeeping or the children after the birth of the twins. John had heard of people having nervous breakdowns, but he knew little about the subject. Molly's father had suffered from mental problems for most of his adult life, as did Pauline. John started to feel helpless, working longer days and drinking more.

Edna had agreed to stay and help with the twins, who were so tiny and colicky, but she hated that madhouse. The children were spooked and Edna was simply terrified. The rotting-leaf smell was always in her nose unless she went outside. She slept upstairs on a cot in the hallway and was awakened every night to the hard thumping on the stairs, followed by the crying babies. Whatever was in the house disliked the twins. Their empty cribs were often knocked over. Edna would neaten the nursery, only to find toys and clothes scattered around the room later. The dresser drawers, painted blue and pink by Molly before her bed rest, were found overturned on the floor.

One night Sam started screaming in the nursery, followed by Sarah; the bursting of the light bulbs overhead and in the hallway drowned out their piercing shrieks. This activity was accompanied by a snapping sound moving up the staircase, as if something was trying to come through the wooden steps. Molly, pushed out of bed by the babies' screaming, almost bumped into Edna on her way to the nursery. Molly flipped on the wall-switch, but no light appeared. The next morning, they would find pieces of the bulbs on the rug. Edna and Molly retrieved both babies from the dark room, not noticing the cracks in the walls until morning.

Colleen Murdoch came to visit, and practically begged for a séance. John rolled his eyes and mixed another martini. He told Molly that if his mother-in-law insisted, he would go with the kids to Max and Rita's house for the evening. Rita was Max's wife and the childless couple were quite enchanted by John and Molly's strange children.

Fortified by a few of John's potent martini's, Colleen, Edna and Molly pulled out Colleen's battered Ouija board. The formidable Colleen, with her own skill and techniques learned from her late husband, believed she could get to the bottom of this haunting. However, it was uncertain what would occur with the women's talents combined. Molly, who was already a little drunk, had stumbled around the downstairs of the house, switching off the lights after having lit several candles in the living and dining room. Colleen and Edna laid their fingertips on each side of the pointer of the Ouija board; Colleen, with her manicured nails, bouffant hair-do and smelling of Shalimar; Edna, with her bun and dishpan hands. Molly put down her martini glass, and joined the older women at the dining room table, her small fingers resting on the remaining space on the pointer. The room was dark, except for the candlelight. Molly looked at her mother and mother-in-law, and was reminded of the three Weird Sisters in _Mac_ _beth_.

Colleen called out,"Who haunts this house? Show us who you are!"

Only the silence answered them.

The neighborhood where the Harts lived was quiet, with several acres of property separating them, the house far enough off Gable Road and secluded by trees. Will, Belinda, and the twins were each other's playmates, because few children lived in the immediate area, and other children did not visit. Will was already in third grade, and had some friends at school. Belinda, in the first grade, was not as well liked. Belinda's best friends were Will and her Gramma Ed.

Colleen was going to call again when the dining room table started to shake. Edna was reminded of the stories Nedra, her mother-in-law, had told of the table-tapping parties decades ago in New York City. Molly's drunken eyes watched the letters and numbers on the board dance around while the table continued to shake. The women released the pointer and the board and pointer fell on the hardwood floor. Then Edna's chair was tipped back, and she let out a surprised gasp as she fell backwards. Molly rose quickly, running for the light switch; although she was worried the bulbs would burst again.

Colleen, however, was not ready to back off. "Speak to us! Show us who you are!"

Edna, as she was getting off the floor, noticed the odor coming in stronger than usual through the kitchen vent. "Do you smell that?"

"Yeah, it smells like November," Molly replied. "When leaves are burning."

Colleen called out again, while the heavy table continued to shake. "What is in the cellar?"

The table, seemingly weightless, steadily rose off the floor, and hovered just below the ceiling. Colleen and Edna moved away, closer to the living room, where Molly was already standing.

The table, having been suspended for just a few minutes, dropped hard with a solid crash. Because of this, the legs would always wobble slightly and the table was never sound again. Molly had liked that table; it was made of oak, by an Amish furniture-maker, with the matching chairs.

The three women were a little disappointed in the so-called séance, in spite of the table-theatrics. However, no one could dispute the haunting. Colleen wanted to explore after another martini, but Edna and Molly were not so eager. Colleen elected to go alone, so her daughter, followed by Edna, felt obliged to go with her.

Edna found Colleen's ways grating on her nerves. Colleen Murdoch was a contradiction; she was impatient but determined, reserved but adventurous. She was used to getting her own way in most things, having been wife, business partner, and nurse to her husband for decades. Like Edgar Cayce, the "Sleeping Prophet," Samuel Murdoch had given medical advice using herbs and supplements. However, Samuel Murdoch only occasionally went into trance, giving his readings fully conscious. For a man who did not complete high school, he just seemed to know things about a variety of subjects. He also spoke at length on reincarnation and ancient civilizations. Books and articles were written about him, but the Murdochs did not become rich until many years later.

Unfortunately, Sam Murdoch also suffered several nervous breakdowns and bouts of pneumonia. Colleen, his second wife and twenty-two years his junior, was his caretaker. Molly was born last, sixteen years after twins Pauline and Vincent, the baby boy dying at birth. Samuel had a son, David, from his first marriage, and Colleen had helped care for him as well. David, Pauline, and Molly had been in the shadow of their gifted parents, and their burgeoning gifts were kept hidden away, because there was no time for them. The children learned to be understanding, obedient, and quiet. They knew they were not as important.

The Murdochs eventually became wealthy when an osteopath, a Doctor Rose, hired Sam Murdoch as a consultant, but Sam refused payment, initially never taking a dime for psychic readings and consultations. Doctor Rose came up with the idea of selling health drinks and vitamin supplements using Sam's name and image, and the profits were shared between Rose and Sam. Samuel Murdoch would become worth millions of dollars, the family experiencing a boom in the sixties, when young people were becoming more vegetarian, and Colleen created a series of soy products that vegetarians could eat in place of meat. She sold the business just a few years ago, for almost 20 million dollars, a good price in the late seventies.

Colleen Murdoch was just too proud and that was what bothered Edna the most. Being "Somebody" was important to Colleen, for some reason. She had to be better, she was better, and she wanted nothing more than to remind some miserable ghost of her superiority.

Molly handed her mother a flashlight, and Colleen and Edna followed Molly outside to the cellar doors, located to the right side of the house, towards the back.

"Do you have a camera around, Molly?" Colleen asked.

"I have an Instamatic, Mom," she replied. "But the film only has a few pictures left on it. Do you think it could pick up anything?"

Colleen shrugged. Her carefully sprayed hair was disheveled, a few beads of sweat on her upper lip. "Maybe. I was hoping we would have some proof."

"Maybe we should have tried to photograph the table," Edna remarked.

Molly went back in the house to retrieve her camera. Edna was left with Colleen, where they both stood outside the cellar doors.

The night was mild for April, although rain had fallen all day. Edna had pulled on a shawl, Colleen a sweater. The silence was becoming awkward, so Edna attempted small talk. "So...how are things in Chicago?"

Colleen nodded. "Good, good. David sold the franchise a while back..."

Blah, blah, blah, Edna thought. Maybe I should ask her about Pauline, just go ahead and piss her off.

Colleen suddenly stopped her topic of conversation, giving Edna a hurt look. "I know Pauline isn't perfect, but she's still my daughter. You were lucky; you only had John to deal with."

Edna could not believe Colleen had just read her mind, which she considered a lack of psychic etiquette. She could have done the same, but thought it disrespectful to strip a person of their privacy.

Edna sighed, trying to stay patient. "I'm sorry. I know Pauline has had her problems and so has John. But I can't understand why it is so important—"

"I can't understand why it wouldn't be! Look, Edna, we have a responsibility—"

"No, we don't. And how can we use our abilities when we don't even understand them?"

"But when we try to repress it, like John does, all we end up is broke with a house full of crazy children."

"They are not broke, and the children are not as crazy as Pauline."

"Ed, how do you know how they will turn out? Molly and John are like children themselves; two big babies with babies of their own. They think a nice house and a station wagon is the answer to everything. I wanted to think the same thing once, but dealing with Pauline has taught me more. Pauline's abilities are extraordinary. Will and Belinda are taking after her. Those two have seen the most activity in this house, because the energy is drawn to them. And John doesn't want to deal with it. He works late, he goes to Max and Rita's, or he gets drunk in front of the TV. He should've known, when he married Molly, how—"

Colleen abruptly stopped talking when Molly came back, holding her little camera in her right hand. "All right, are we ready for the cellar?"

Molly unlocked and opened the rickety wooden doors with the peeling white paint.

"Take a picture here, Molly," her mother said. "Point the camera into the cellar."

"Okay." Molly turned the Instamatic on, put the little black camera up to her eyes, her right eye focused in the square-shaped lens, and pushed the red button. The flash went off, and Molly pushed the slide button on the bottom to advance to the next picture. "I have only six exposures left, I had twenty-four all together, but I have Belinda's and Will's birthdays on this roll of film."

"Do you have pictures of Christmas?" Colleen asked, as she descended down the rotting cellar steps with her flashlight on.

"Yes, but on a different roll. It was the twins' first Christmas, and they were just ten days old."

"Did you get those developed?" Colleen asked, her voice echoing from the cellar.

"Not yet. I'm so bad about that," Molly said, as she carefully followed her mother. Molly had given her mother the only flashlight in the house.

Edna followed Molly down the steps. The air felt moist, which was typical in April, but the women could see the steam exhaling from their noses. Colleen felt the winter ache in her bones, especially in her knees.

The cellar was about the size of a large closet, used for storage or a place to hide in case of a tornado, although this part of Michigan had not witnessed a tornado in decades. Edna still remembered the last tornado she experienced almost thirty years before with hailstones the size of golf balls; the windshield had been cracked in their old Plymouth. The next-door neighbor's house was destroyed, but the house Edna shared with her husband Robert and five-year-old John had remained standing when they emerged from their little cellar. John was holding his dog at the leash, a black Lab named Winston, as he looked out at the neighbors' annihilated house, the structure torn in half, pieces of the garage and kitchen miles away. The neighbor woman screamed and screamed, although none of her children had been hurt. Edna tried to comfort the woman, but those people were afraid and resentful of the Harts. Their oldest son beat up John in a schoolyard fight soon after that, and Robert lost his job at a local auto plant, forcing the Harts to move.

Robert tried to make a blue-collar living, hiding his gifts in obscurity. Before they left the neighborhood, Robert sent an anonymous letter to those neighbors, telling them to take their bully son to a doctor, something was wrong with his health. Months later, Edna would open the newspaper obituaries to find the boy's name listed. She would later learn he had died of a brain tumor. Robert did not tell her for years about that letter.

Edna disliked this cold space; she was starting to feel nervous and claustrophobic.

"Take a few pictures, Molly, "Colleen said.

Molly obliged, and the rapid flash of light revealed the woman's figure, a head and shoulders barely discernible against the dirt walls. She was in the corner, near the rotting wooden shelves. All three women saw her.

"Take another picture, quick."

Molly could have dropped the camera, her cold hands trembling and clammy, but she managed to take another picture, the lens targeted at that corner. When she did, the light from the flash once again illuminated the small space, and the gauzy form was moving upward, fading fast. Molly took a third picture, but the shape was gone by then.

"Who is she?" Colleen asked, more to herself than to the others.

Molly had lowered the camera when she looked up through the space between the open cellar doors. She sensed that someone was looking down at them. A tall shape, although she had not glimpsed any features at all, male or female.

"This house doesn't belong to John and I and the kids," Molly said. "We're always being reminded that we don't belong here."

"Oh, yes, you do!" her mother said. "Your apparitions don't pay the mortgage—"

"Mom, you know the dead don't care about legal ownership. You took me into enough haunted houses to learn that the dead, their energy, can do whatever it wants. These apparitions don't care if John and I have a twenty-year mortgage on this place, they want us out."

"You can't just leave it," her mother said. "These souls need to rest, but you won't have any peace until you stop being afraid of them."

"Maybe they don't want to rest," Edna said. "We shouldn't assume anything."

"Can we talk about this back in the house?" Molly asked. "I'm freezing, and I really have to pee."

*****

A letter to Molly, from her sister Pauline, arriving a few days after the birth of the twins

12-3-79

Dear Molly,

Congratulations on your twins! I think this is a time for joy, not fear. I know; Mother would go on and on about the crazy twins on Dad's side of the family, but that was in other generations, although I've been told your children are gifted as well. I wasn't surprised to hear this.

I rent a house in Phoenix; I've lived here for a few years now. I work sometimes, but Mother invested my trust money for me, and I live off the interest. It isn't a lot of money, but I don't need a lot. Mother asked me if I wanted to live with her, back in Chicago. She said she would give me the old townhouse apartment, but she wouldn't leave me alone if I was so close by, we would get on each other's nerves after a while. It's funny, because when I was a little girl, all I wanted was her attention, but I didn't really get it. Now, I don't want it, anyway. After Jimmy died, she felt she had to babysit me because of my suicide attempt in London the day after Jimmy's funeral in Glasgow. His wife and children were at the funeral, but I wasn't welcome, although Jimmy and I had been together for almost fifteen years. I was his second wife, we just didn't have anything to prove it legally; he never divorced Rosalind, because she begged him not to. Roz always thought I was some kind of lunatic who put Jimmy under a spell. It was really just the opposite! She never understood his work, why he needed to seek out answers in untraditional ways. I understood, I was willing to go on that journey with him, it was our fate. With Jimmy, I found a sense of purpose, and he found the answers he had been looking for.

I wanted this letter to be about your children, but I somehow wandered to Jimmy, instead. You know, their experiences in life won't be all that different from ours, Molly, they are the gifted children of gifted parents. I just hope being different won't make them bitter, like I have felt sometimes. My love for Jimmy was one of those things that gave me a sense of normalcy, that I would have a chance to live in the way I had dreamed since I was a child. Even then, love felt like some friend that had moved too far away to visit again. I knew Jimmy loved me, but I never asked him to divorce his wife, I never really expected him to. I thought I should have been grateful that he left Roz to live with me, and I didn't demand more from him. That's what I mean, Molly, we don't expect more, so we don't ask for more. I don't know if John is like that with you, but he will be neglecting you and your children if he does, if he tries to ignore what is right in front of his face. Father and Mother didn't ignore our gifts, but they couldn't deal with the part of us that were children. Well, it was worse for David and me.

I remember living on the charity of Father's wealthy friends, these people bringing old clothes for David and I to wear, or the little money Father would make from his books. Father would get overworked and nervous, have a breakdown, and end up in a hospital. We would go live with friends of Father and Mother's, or relatives. David left home and joined the Army the year Mother and I went to stay with Uncle Ed and Uncle Cole. As you know, they were twins, and two of the funniest people I ever knew, I always liked gay men. Mother would act as if she disapproved, but she became quite fond of those two. Another man lived with them; a dark-haired fellow named Rey. He was a painter and possibly Uncle Ed's lover.

I was about eight-years-old, and those were Depression years. Uncle Ed and Uncle Cole were living in a farmhouse in Ohio, near Columbus, that was falling apart. There was no indoor plumbing, and Mother kept an old chamber pot under my bed for when I had to go in the middle of the night.

Mother got a job cleaning for an old lady that lived in town, and Rey would drive her to work in his truck. The woman paid Mother daily, so Mother would return with enough money to buy groceries by the day. We ate a lot of soup that winter. I got very sick and I almost died of pneumonia. I remember going through the Light, seeing someone there who I couldn't remember later on, who told me I had to come back, although I didn't want to. I recovered by the time spring came. Rey got beat up by some other men and left town. Uncle Ed stayed, and he would drive Mother to work.

I think Uncle Ed and Uncle Cole couldn't get a job in town because people there knew the uncles were homosexual. But getting a job was so difficult then and being so poor makes you want to give up. The old lady died, so Mother didn't have a job anymore, and she stayed in bed for days. Later, Father got out of the hospital in Cincinnati, and sent us a train ticket to get back to him. This was around the time he met Dr. Rose, who would start him in business.

I know these are the things Mother didn't tell you because she was too ashamed. Why? None of it was her fault, or Father's. I used to blame them, especially when I would get sick and Mother wouldn't speak to me. She is still mad at me for turning my back on what she values, although she was the one who thought it was so cute to see me in that cottage in Glasgow, cooking dinner, and watching Jimmy and me dance to those Dean Martin records she bought me. She didn't think she would have to be ashamed of me anymore; she would be absolved of her guilt. This is something you will know later, because your children will come to you, wanting answers, and all you will have is guilt. Guilt provides no answers–it only creates more questions. What will you tell them? It is typical of our times to pass the buck, but we already know where that leads, we learn nothing. And they won't want any excuses, they may not forgive you for being so human, just as I was not able to forgive Mother for not telling me about Vincent. She should have told me I had a twin who died at birth. You even knew before me, you told me. Poor Jimmy didn't know what to do with me after that. Mother tried to explain later, telling me that I would have missed my twin brother too much. That left me stumped; how could I miss someone I never thought I knew? It is so easy to keep secrets from children, but children grow up, they always do.

Do you remember when we visited that estate near Glasgow? Books flew off the shelves in the library, the owner's little dog was thrown into the blazing fireplace and you were possessed by the spirit of a young woman who was murdered there centuries before. You were in trance for a good hour, related the whole story of her life, one Mary Dwight. Mother thought the whole thing would traumatize you. You were just a little child then, so Jimmy put you under hypnosis later to make you forget. Mother left with you the next day to go back home. And I'm sure that's another secret she has been keeping from you, among others. Where there is one secret, there is usually more. Tell your kids that one, too.

I wish you and John and your children a Merry Christmas. I'm sure the twins will have arrived by the time you get this letter, and they will be healthy, although twins are born tiny sometimes. Maybe I'll come to visit your haunted house in Michigan; my house is perfectly quiet, so it has never felt like home.

Love, Pauline

Chapter Three

Molly and her mother had the photographs developed the next day at the local Walgreen's pharmacy.

John was working and Will and Belinda were at school. Edna offered to stay home with the twins. Molly and Colleen had lunch at a nearby Burger King while waiting on the photographs.

"Have you given any thought to looking up the previous owners?" Colleen asked.

Molly dumped catsup on her French fries. "The Browns lived there for almost thirty years, so I don't think they had any problems."

"I'm not talking about the Browns, I mean the first owners."

"I don't know anything about them."

"You could go to the library or the Register of Deeds."

"All right, we can go after I get the pictures."

Colleen was unsurprised by what she and Molly saw in the photos while they sat on a wooden bench in the Walgreen's.

Photographic flaws or blurry images can be blamed on anything from a broken camera to substandard film, but the only photographs affected were of the twins or Belinda. If a photograph featured Will alone or the adults, no blurs or flaws could be seen. An interesting plume-shaped cloud appeared over Belinda in one of the Christmas photos, while she was unwrapping her presents under the tree. The twins, at ten days old, wearing matching red and white Christmas caps and pajamas, sat on their father's lap, but a large ray of white light almost obliterated them from the image, John's tired face the only discernible thing in the photo. Molly remembered taking that picture, and was frustrated that so many of the photos were flawed.

"Why is it only the pictures featuring Belinda and the twins?" Colleen asked.

"I don't know. All the pictures of Belinda on her birthday are ruined, too! The camera I used is the same one I used last night, it's new—"

"Are those pictures any good?"

"Let's see. I haven't got to those yet."

When Molly found the three photos she took the night before in the cellar, she and her mother were disappointed by what they saw. Molly had hoped to catch the ghostly figure in the corner near the shelves. Instead she picked up another blurry white image that took up most of the picture. The walls of the cellar could hardly be seen.

"Well, that's a bust," Colleen said.

"What now?"

"We could go to the courthouse, look into the deeds."

"All right. But I have to pick John up from work by five; he gave me the station wagon."

"Did you ever consider getting another vehicle, dear?"

"Only if I get a job, and the twins are too little right now."

"You must get bored."

"I'm always bored, Mom. You know how it is."

Colleen had spent most of her adult life running from boredom, creating projects or making plans. Her job, for many years, consisted of looking after her husband and children. She took care of Old Sam during his breakdowns, public appearances, the money, and later, his failing health. She took care of Pauline when she would suffer mental problems, the alcoholism and broken love affairs. Molly had received a letter from Pauline while in the hospital, and that was how Colleen found out her oldest daughter was living in Phoenix. She occasionally heard from David, who had created distance between him and the family by moving to California.

Colleen once had higher hopes for Molly, but she married too young. All John did was drink and ignore everyone else, except Edna, who was practically raising the children herself. Molly took little interest in her children, as long as they were clean and fed. Molly was getting to the point where she was treating Edna more like an indentured servant than a mother-in-law, something Colleen knew better than to mention to the woman, knowing Edna would argue with her.

Molly and her mother made the silent journey to the courthouse and the office where the Register of Deeds was located. The clerk was a woman who looked to be almost Colleen's age, early seventies. She took almost twenty minutes, returning with a pile of papers. The public was not allowed to take the copies of the deeds, but they could write down whatever information they wanted from the documents. They went home with a list of names and dates, going back seventy-five years when a John Degan built 1225 Gable Road in 1904. He and his wife April lived there until 1907. The house stood vacant until 1909 when a man named Clark and his family moved in and inhabited the house until 1938. The house was then owned by a man named Ross who used it as a rental for several years until the Browns bought it in 1949. The Harts bought the house from the Browns in March of 1979.

Molly now knew the name of the first owners, Degan. She shared this with John that evening, after he came home from work. He even took a look at the photographs as he drank his first martini of the evening at the dining room table. Molly was with Colleen in the kitchen, preparing dinner. Edna was in the living room with the children.

John took the photos out of the Walgreen's envelope, and flipped through them. Molly and Colleen only mentioned that many of the pictures were flawed, but had not explained anything else.

He noticed, just as they did, that only photos of Belinda and the twins were defected. He took another sip of martini, loosened his tie, although it was already loose against his white shirt. He scratched his cheek, feeling the thin layer of stubble. He picked up the photos and sorted through them again, looking specifically for the one of Belinda with the plume of light over her head.

John remembered his grandmother Nedra Hart showing him photos like these, from her Spiritualist days. She had told him the story, in her Irish lilt, of how she led a séance in New York City, one of the guests being Harry Houdini. The table they were using started to shake, tapping noises coming from the bottom of the tabletop. Houdini spent the rest of the evening tearing the table apart, looking for wires. He found nothing. Nedra loved telling those stories. As a young girl living in London, she had met Arthur Conan Doyle and other famous people, including members of the royal family. She had also enjoyed a continuing correspondence with other famous psychics, including Old Sam Murdoch and Edgar Cayce.

John could not recall Nedra mentioning anything about plume-shapes in those old sepia-toned photographs. Some of these featured fairies, which had fascinated John the most as a child, although he had known they were fake. Nedra would tell her leprechaun stories as well; John enjoyed every story she told about Ireland, even the darker stories about her grandmother surviving the Potato Famine. John would find out years later how brutal Nedra's childhood had truly been.

Edna walked into the dining room holding five-month-old Sarah, whose head rested against her grandmother's breast. "Do you know if Molly bought diapers today? I've asked her twice."

John did not look up from the photo of Belinda. "I don't know. Mom, what does this look like to you?"

Edna came closer with Sarah, and John detected the odor; the baby did need a clean diaper.

Edna noticed the plume right away. "Well, that's interesting. I haven't seen something like that in a long time."

"Not since Grandma."

"I had photo albums full of these kinds of pictures, including Nedra's. Your father made me throw all that away."

Robert Hart had been reborn as a Jehovah's Witness the last five years of his life. With his newfound beliefs, all documented history of the Harts as psychics was relocated or destroyed. John and Molly were just married, and he and Edna thought of Robert's religious conversion as a reaction to his diagnosis of lung cancer. Robert then ordered Edna to burn the old photographs and letters by and about Nedra. From his deathbed, Robert was convinced his mother had been possessed by demons. However, Edna sent some of those things to Robert's brother in Detroit, knowing that Nedra's memory should not be burnt as some sacrament just because Robert was afraid to die. Nedra's legacy was important, just as much as any Samuel Murdoch.

Edna handed Sarah over to John and flipped through the photos herself, sitting at the wobbly oak table. She could smell meatloaf baking in the kitchen. She had been relieved of cooking duties since Colleen arrived, and Edna admitted the woman was a good cook, although she thought it was interesting that Colleen became rich selling vitamin supplements to vegetarians.

Edna found it a shame the photos of the twins' first Christmas were ruined. She had wanted to visit then, but a snowstorm hit Traverse City, so she spent Christmas at home with her sister Lucy. She missed Lucy, they lived in the same apartment building, and they would see each other every day. She could not have predicted that a visit would turn into a full-time job taking care of four children.

"I'm going to need you to stay a little longer, Mom," John said, his voice becoming almost a whisper. "Molly can't do it all herself, it's too much for her, with the twins."

Edna shook her head. "It can be done, John. My mother raised seven children on her own."

"The neighbors paid her for psychic readings."

"What's wrong with that? I would have no complaint if Molly—"

"I don't want her to have to do that, Mom."

"She needs to occupy her mind."

John tried to keep his voice low, although he was losing his patience. "She needs to grow up! Colleen fills her head with this garbage!"

"Do you think it's all garbage? With these photos right in front of you?"

"I just want to forget, Mom."

"How can you do that? Take away Molly's camera? Keep her from being curious? Consider the way she grew up with Colleen and Pauline, taking her to those places—"

"That's what I mean."

"You want Molly to stop being herself, to stop being a Murdoch?"

He shook his head. "No, no. I want her to care more about the kids, me, our family, than being psychic."

"Not in this house, son. You would have to move."

"We can't move. We haven't lived here a year, we don't have enough in escrow, and the payments are so high, we're just making it."

"Too many children. Too much debt."

"Yes. But having you here has made it so much easier, Mom."

Sarah had grown tired of waiting, falling asleep, her head now against her father's chest.

"All right, I'll stay a few more months."

"Thanks, Mom."

*****

One day, at the end of April, weeks after Colleen had departed for Chicago, Will and Belinda decided to skip school and hide in the cellar. Eight-year-old Will brought his tape recorder with him, Belinda following. Molly had left for the library, John was at work, and Gramma Ed was looking after the twins.

The adults trusted Will to get his sister and himself off to school every day. Will, being the oldest, never dodged his responsibilities to his younger siblings, but that was before he was almost smothered in his bed and Belinda was touched in the bathtub.

Six year old Belinda had been too embarrassed to tell her parents, especially her dad, so she told Will. The boy understood enough of what she told him to know it was wrong. She said she saw a man in the bathroom, looking over her while she was taking a bath. He was in the shape of a black, buzzing mist, but she only saw his head and shoulders.

"How do you know it was a man?" Will asked.

"I don't know. He just looked more like a man," she replied. "His hands felt like a man's."

"Oh."

"I wanted to get up out of the tub, but I felt a hand on my chest, pushing me back in the water. I tried to move away, but I felt his other hand on my leg. His hand was on my belly. I was too scared to scream, I couldn't make a sound. He wouldn't stop touching me, Will. It was wrong."

Will could see the tears in her eyes. He put his hand on her shoulder. "I think he tried to hurt me, too."

"How?"

"He put a pillow over my face in bed, and I couldn't breathe. I was just falling asleep, and I felt something pushing against my face. By the time I opened my eyes, the pillow was tight on my face, I couldn't breathe for a few minutes, and then just as I was going to pass out, the pillow fell off my face. He doesn't like kids. Gramma Colleen told Mom we should move out. Did Mom show you those pictures, the ones she took in the cellar?"

"No. Did you see them?"

Will sighed. "No. I heard Mom and Dad talking about them, though. She said something about a woman named April, that she used to live here."

"Is she the lady ghost in the cellar?"

"Could be. We've heard noises down there."

"Uh huh. But I'm not going down there if he's there."

"Maybe we should tell Mom and Dad what's happened to us."

"Maybe April can tell us something. Would she talk to us with the Ouija board?"

"I was thinking a tape recorder. I saw this show on TV about these people who record voices they said were from a cemetery. Voices of dead people."

"I hear voices sometimes, anyway. So does Mom. I dream stuff, too. I can hear people laughing, sometimes talking, and music. I dreamed I was on a ship once, but I was dressed like a man, wearing these funny boots. The ship was made out of wood, with a big bird in the front—"

"I've had those dreams, too. I dreamed I was a doctor, or something. I had all these jars in front of me, on a table, and there were dead twin babies in one jar."

"Maybe we could try the tape recorder, Will."

"Yeah, okay. You know, we could just leave the tape recorder running down there. We couldn't get into trouble; we would just have to wait to check it until we get home."

"But Mom might be home by then, and she doesn't want us in the cellar. If she saw us, we would get grounded, like before."

"Maybe. But she would be impressed if we caught something on tape."

Belinda nodded. "I think Mom wants to write a book. She's always at the library."

"Dad doesn't like it. He says she should get a job, they need the money."

*****

The May weather was more pleasant than the month before, the temperature in the low seventies, but the cellar at 1225 Gable Road remained icy cold.

Will and Belinda quickly entered the cellar, Will having found the key to the padlock in one of the kitchen drawers, where their mother had left it. Molly was becoming unusually careless lately. Will had noticed the change in his mother; her distractedness, his father's stony silence and drinking, and how the five- month- old Sam and Sarah were never out of Gramma Ed's sight. Will knew so much was wrong and, like most first-born children, he had decided to chip in, to initiate change. Belinda did not argue with this unspoken plan, she would follow Will into Hell, at least when they were still children.

Edna was giving the twins their breakfast when Will and Belinda left, their grandmother thinking they had gone on to their bus stop. They would usually return around three-thirty. Edna or Molly would help them with their homework while the twins napped.

The wooden rungs on the short ladder that led to the cellar creaked under the children's feet. Belinda entered first, and she started to shiver right away, the cellar never changed its temperature. Will followed her, the tape recorder dangling from his right hand. He shut the cellar doors above them, making the area dark.

Belinda turned on the flashlight, moving the light around. The rotting smell was always there.

Belinda suddenly panicked. What if Mom detected the stinky smell on their clothes? She would know where they had been, although Molly was not noticing much these days, she was always writing in her notebooks, with folders full of newspaper clippings. She had stopped wearing makeup or getting her hair done. After dinner, she would drive to the party store up the street, and buy dessert for the kids and more liquor for herself and John. Gramma Ed would have one or two martinis, staying up to watch Johnny Carson with Molly. John would be asleep on the couch by then.

Belinda would try to talk to her father, but he would only ask her if she had done her homework. She would say, I did, Dad. He would then tell her to help Gramma Ed with the dishes, or mix him another drink. Belinda was becoming a regular bartender by the time she finished kindergarten, mixing martinis for the grown-ups. She would eat the green olives, and Molly would buy more because she knew Belinda liked them. When Belinda would eat most of the Chips Ahoy and finish off her brother's lunch at school, no one said anything. A few kids at school made rude comments, name-calling and oinking sounds on the playground or in the hallway, but not when she was with her brother. However, there were the boys that would wait to taunt her when she was alone. She never spoke of it, because there was no point. Over the next few years, Belinda grew to believe that there was nothing worse than being the Fat Girl. As she got older, she realized Will would not ever really understand this. The other Fat Girls would not even discuss their unhappiness, because it was too important to act as if the constant teasing and insults did not bother them, so denial was the key. Belinda, for years leading up to her suicide, whenever she was sad, would eat a whole jar of green olives, knowing that was her mother's way of loving her, and she had been sort of happy then, in that old house.

Belinda zipped up her pale blue windbreaker, bought in the women's section at Sears. She picked the flashlight up from the cellar floor, where she had put it for just a moment. Will was right behind her, placing the tape recorder, now running, on the floor. Will had told her not to speak when he turned the tape recorder on, and she stayed silent, shivering in the cold. She reached up, and secured the red plastic barrette in her hair, keeping her bangs on the right side of her head from falling into her eyes. As she did this, she could feel an icy, hard grip wrapping itself around her right wrist.

"Will?"

Her brother made a shushing noise.

"Will, someone is touching me." Belinda tried to lower her arm, but the grip was too strong. She dropped the flashlight with her other hand. Will quickly picked it up, shining the light on his sister, but also seeing, in the corner, on the old shelves, a large Mason jar. Will took his focus away from his terrified sister, who was too shocked to scream, and slowly stepped over to the shelves, his light shining on them.

The large jar sort of resembled the ones from his dreams, when he was some kind of doctor or scientist, with the two twin fetuses floating together. In this jar, there was a murky substance, like moldy water. Will came closer, knowing Belinda was scared, but she was not being hurt. He had to know what was in that jar. He reached over with the flashlight, nudging the glass.

Finally, Belinda spoke up, whispering, "Will, she won't let me go!"

"Ask her what she wants."

"April, what do you want?"

Will saw the water in the jar swish around, and he saw someone in the glass, a reflection of a tall man with broad shoulders and large hands. Will could see the back of this shadow-man, one of his hands gripping his sister's wrist.

"Belinda, that's not April!"

"Will, I'm scared!"

"Don't be." The boy also wanted out of this cold, wet place, but he chose to stay his ground, and asked the ghost, "Who are you? Are you the man that lived here? April's husband?"

Silence, except for the tape recorder.

"Why don't you like the twins?"

Will saw his sister fall off balance, landing on the dirt floor. He ran and put his arm around her as she got back on her feet.

"C'mon, Bel—"

The jar fell to the cellar floor, its contents spilling into the dirt. The smell was enough to make them dizzy; sweet and rancid, like spoiled milk.

Will and Belinda forgot about the tape recorder as they both climbed up the ladder, their sneakered feet flying from the adrenaline. Will, who was above Belinda on the steps, pounded his left hand against the inside of the shut cellar doors. The doors were sticking, although Will knew the latch was unconnected outside, the doors should have flown open.

"Will!" His sister screamed, right behind him. "Hurry up!"

"Hang on!" He dropped the flashlight, practically on Belinda's head, and pushed at the doors harder, his left hand in a fist, the other holding on to a rung. However, the rung under his right foot broke from his weight. He lost his balance just as the doors gave way from his fist. His foot accidentally kicked out, knocking his sister off the ladder, making her fall down. Daylight flooded the cellar, and Will looked up to see his Gramma Ed looking down.

"You two! Up here! Now!"

"Gramma, Belinda fell!"

"Get her up here, William!"

"Yes, ma'am!"

Will scrambled down, grabbing Belinda by the hand, pulling her up from the ground. He pushed her in front of him, making her go up the ladder first. He grabbed the flashlight, putting it in his pocket, along with the tape recorder, the machine still recording. He turned it off, and took his evidence with him into the morning light.

Chapter Four

Gramma Ed spanked them both before they made it into the house, but they hardly cared. Will was sent to his room, where he rewound the tape in the recorder. Belinda was also sent to her room, too relieved to cry, even if the spanking came from her beloved grandmother.

Will played the tape back, disappointed to hear only his and Belinda's voices. However, he also heard something that he had not in the cellar; a buzzing noise, as if from a swarm of insects. Belinda had heard the same thing when she was touched in the bathtub. Will heard their whole adventure on that tape, from when he shushed Belinda until his grandmother called him William, which she did not do very often. He knew he and Belinda were lucky they were not hurt, and they would definitely be grounded.

Molly returned from the library around noon. Edna let her know what had happened with Will and Belinda, but Molly was unhappy with Edna for physically disciplining the children.

"Spanking children has no effect, it's been proven!" Molly yelled.

Edna was ready to yell back. "Well, maybe I wouldn't have to discipline your children, Molly, if you were here to do it yourself!"

Molly sat down at the kitchen table, picking at her old sweater. She did not want to think about how she looked, or the housework or the children. She was tired of it all–Edna's nagging, John's cold silence, the demands of their children. The only peace she could find was in the mystery of April's story, in the quiet of the library and the local cemeteries, with the dead. April had been murdered in this house, she knew it.

Molly had been at the offices of the local newspaper, The Lakes Sentinel, and asked if she could look in the archives, going back to the turn of the century. She was directed to the library downtown, looking through microfiche on the machine, spending hours turning that spindle. If the murder of April had occurred between 1904 and 1907, the story would have been reported in the newspaper. She spent four hours looking through the microfiche, at the antiquated articles in the Sentinel, glancing upon old advertisements for corsets and sewing machines and strange elixirs, like the ones her father used to sell. Molly found nothing about April. She tried looking for a marriage license between John Degan and April, but that would take weeks, coming from Lansing. She considered looking for some Degan descendents in town, but did not want to embarrass herself around strangers.

She knew she needed to talk to someone. John, who she once considered her best friend, had become distant since the birth of the twins. He had not wanted more children after Belinda, although he loved them all. He still provided for his family the best he could, but he was drifting away. They no longer had sex, one reason being that they always felt like they were being watched.

"We don't live in this house, we just exist," Molly said to Edna. "It's sucking the life out of us. I can't breathe. That's why John doesn't like to come home and why you want to leave, Edna. When was the last time you had a decent night's sleep since you came here?"

Edna looked down at the cut-up chicken in its package on the counter. "Maybe we all should leave."

"John won't let us move out."

"I could talk to him some more."

Molly sighed. "Good luck. Actually, I don't care what he wants anymore."

"If you can't control yourselves, you can't control your children."

Molly shook her head, the strawberry blonde strands hanging in her young face, splashed with freckles on fair skin. "You don't know what it's like to try to control four children—"

"Well, I do now, Molly! John was an only child, and now I know how lucky I was! But you can't blame them for your insecurities as a mother! All you do is make them feel bad, and yourself worse. You owe them more—"

"So does John. How come you're not telling him these things?"

"Because I can't get through to him when he's drunk! And he has his excuses, too." Edna looked down at the packaged chicken again, the pinkish blood collecting in the plastic corners. "Be careful, there may be another woman."

Molly decided to ignore Edna's last remark. "It's the house, Edna. I went to the Sentinel; I've spoken to a reporter. He wants to write an article. He's taken my research and he's going to do some of his own."

Edna wanted to shake her. The children would never be so important to her, always something else. However, even Edna thought there was some truth about the house having an effect on them all. No one was ever relaxed in this house. The noises from the attic continued, so the children could not sleep through the night, with Will and Belinda suffering nightmares. Their grades were down, but Edna thought that had more to do with John and Molly's arguing.

Edna wondered when things had started to go wrong between John and Molly. When they first moved into the house, the disturbances were merely a mild nuisance as long as they were in control. Now the house was in control.

The situation would only get worse if they did not find a solution together.

*****

Will played the tape several times in his room. The buzzing sound was faint but, towards the end of the tape, around the time the jar fell, a woman's voice could be heard for a few seconds, a faint murmur. The voice was definitely female, but sounded too mature to be Belinda's. Gramma Ed had not appeared yet, and when she did, she yelled. The voice could have come from upstairs, maybe something Gramma Ed had murmured to the twins.

But why did the voice speak then, when the jar fell? Will thought. Maybe I should play this for Gramma, when she stops being mad at me. I know Belinda will want to hear it.

Belinda's room was just across the hall. Last summer, before her bed-rest, Molly had painted the walls pink, making her daughter's room more of a girl's room. The ceiling and trim were white, along with the canopy bed and dresser. The curtains were white and lacy. The comforter on her bed was also white, edged in pink. However, Molly could do nothing about Belinda's sloppiness; toys and clothes were scattered on the hardwood floor, Barbies in different states of undress mixing with the dust bunnies. Her mother used to help Belinda keep her bedroom clean, but Molly had lost interest in housekeeping.

"Hey, Belinda!" Will whispered. "Let me in!"

The door opened, Belinda rubbing her eye with the other hand. The events of the morning had left her exhausted, and she dreamed strange dreams, which was not unusual for Belinda. Sometimes, she and Will dreamed the same dreams. "I heard the voice on the tape, Will. The lady's voice. I heard it when I was waking up—"

Will entered her room quickly, shut the door behind him. "Is it April?"

"Yes. She was trying to tell us down there, but he wouldn't let her talk. He was holding me by the wrist, see?" She pointed to the blue and yellow marks showing up on her right wrist. "He's mad at us, because we're getting closer, Will. She said that he is ashamed."

"He's ashamed because he killed her."

"Yeah, and Mom knows that."

"Dad knows, too. He just won't admit it; he doesn't want to think the man would hurt us."

"That man is John Degan, April's husband."

"They know."

"If Gramma told her what we did today, she's going to be mad at us, too. So will Dad."

"Yeah, but we have to tell them what he did to you in the bathtub. What if he tries to hurt Sam and Sarah?"

"I wish we could just move out!"

"Hey, I wish, too! But Dad mentioned something about losing money."

"Do you understand that?"

"Not really. Come on; let's talk to Mom."

*****

Belinda, as an adult, would try to recall clearly what happened to her in the bathtub when she was six years old. Over the years, she would forget the details, only remembering how scared she was.

She had been old enough to wash herself in the bathtub, although her mother or Gramma Ed would help her wash her long, think hair; difficult to comb out when wet. Molly had spoken of getting her hair cut short, but Belinda did not want some stranger cutting her hair, making her look like a boy.

She was rinsing the soap off her bare shoulders and arms in the steamy bathroom that evening. She was alone, and sometimes she would sing or hum to herself. She liked being alone most of the time, because no one seemed to like what she had to say.

Gramma Ed, Molly, and Will told her she could not talk about the house to other people, they would misunderstand, so she stopped talking about it. If she stopped talking all together, she did not think anyone would notice.

She also did not speak of the changes she noticed on her body; the growth of hair between her legs, even the way she smelled was changing. Puberty had come too early for her; not a cause for celebration, but something she would have to watch carefully. Belinda saw her body as something uncontrollable, frightening, so she ignored it in her own childish way, along with everyone else, including her mother.

Belinda felt the bathroom become cold underneath the steam from the bath. The chill seemed to land on her damp hair, down her wet neck and shoulders. She suddenly shivered, goose pimples covering her. The nipples on her bee-sting breasts had become more sensitive, and puckered from the invading cold.

A man's hard touch brushed against them.

The movement was swift, making her gasp. She looked up, and saw the shadow through the steam, which was quickly evaporating. The shadow was not against the wall, but to her left side, near the rim of the bathtub.

The buzzing sound was all around her as the shadow took on a more definite shape, forming into a man's head and shoulders.

She felt his hand against her small chest, pushing her, keeping her in the water. She was too shocked to call out to anyone. She felt another hand on her plump thigh, and its firm grip was moving upward, to her belly. Then it started moving downward, past her belly button.

The man's hand brushed past her emerging pubic hair to her vagina, and Belinda could feel that icy-coldness spreading between her legs as those dead fingers penetrated her gently, seeking out her pleasure underneath her fear, a back and forth stroking as light as a feather.

The nauseating dread Belinda felt was undermined by the shock from her body's response. Many years later, she would realize she had been traumatized.

She did not experience anything like an orgasm, the touching stopped before her body could react that strongly. The buzzing sound just stopped, the shadow was gone.

She jumped fast out of the bathtub, the water now completely cold. She grabbed a towel, covering herself, wanting only to be clothed and safe in her room.

She dressed in her blue flannel pajamas after drying off, getting under the covers of her canopy bed. When she stopped shivering, she reached for the stuffed animals around her; the beat-up teddy bears; the old toy stuffed dog. She surrounded herself with their comforting presence, reminding herself that she was still a child. She fell asleep, not allowing him entrance into her dreams.

*****

Molly was on the phone when the children came downstairs, Will bringing the tape recorder. Edna had gone upstairs to take a nap, after putting the twins down for their afternoon rest.

Shawn Rush, who was one of two full-time writers for the Sentinel, met Molly that morning when she visited the offices. The secretary had referred her to the library, but she bumped into Shawn on her way out. He thought she resembled some kind of hippie housewife, wearing her old multi-colored sweater, her long hair hanging in her face.

Molly explained what was going on in her house, and he did not laugh at her or seem offended. He gave her his card, and told her he wanted to help, as long as he could write an article about the house in the future.

Molly felt she had to explain who she was from the beginning, telling Shawn about her family and John's family, her father and Nedra. She knew this would spark his interest, no matter what John thought.

Shawn told her, when she called, that he was going to set up an interview with one of the Degan descendants. Molly was ending her conversation with Shawn when Will and Belinda entered the kitchen.

Molly hung up the gold-colored phone on the wall, which matched the gold and avocado-green patterned wallpaper. Belinda, many years later, would shudder at the memory of that seventies design.

Molly shook her head at them; she was too tired to deal with her children lately. "Your Gramma Ed told me what you two did, and you're both grounded!"

"Okay, Mom," Will said. "Do you want to hear the tape?"

"You were taping down there?"

"Yes."

"Did you pick up something?"

"Maybe. A woman's voice."

"We think it might be April's," Belinda said.

Will played the tape on the dining room table while his mother finished her coffee. The buzzing sound filled all their ears, along with the voices of Belinda, Will, the woman's murmurings, then Edna yelling at them to come out of there.

"She sounded mad," Molly said.

"Belinda fell."

"Are you all right, Bel?"

"Yeah."

Will played the tape several times for his mother. Rewind, play. Rewind, play. He is ashamed, Mom. He killed her, Mom.

"But why would he want her dead?" Molly asked.

"I don't know."

"What about the reporter...Shawn?" Belinda asked.

Molly ignored the question, knowing she had not told either child about Shawn Rush yet. "I didn't find anything in the old Sentinels," Molly said. "No murders of a wife by her husband."

"Maybe he got away with it," Will said.

*****

Shawn Rush visited the Harts in their home that summer, in June of 1980. The weather had been humid and rainy, with the window air conditioner in the living room broken.

Shawn, a young reporter in his early thirties, was close in age to John and Molly. He was unmarried, so the sight of four children watching television, toys scattered about, with their tall, handsome grandmother sitting in a rocking chair in the corner, was a touching scene.

Shawn did not know what to expect at 1225 Gable Road, although he had written a few articles about haunted houses in the past. When he was living in Georgia, he followed local paranormal researchers, a married couple, into a haunted plantation house, partially burned down during the Civil War. He spent the night in the place, bored and getting attacked by mosquitoes. The wife, who claimed to be a medium, made contact with the spirit of a black man who died in slavery before the War. Nothing dramatic happened, except for the creaking noises on the ancient staircase. The overall rot of the place aggravated Shawn's asthma. He could not wait to leave that morning.

Shawn was a skeptic, but even he was a little taken aback by the calmness of the family. Molly made a point of cleaning the house, her first attempt in months, and all Shawn saw were clean surfaces and the smell of tonight's dinner, pork chops. The boy, Will, a tall kid with gray eyes, had greeted him at the door. He politely let Shawn in, whose jacket was sprinkled with rain. He followed the boy to the dining room.

John Hart, the adult embodiment of Will, sat at the table with a cup of coffee. He wore a white shirt with his tie loosened. Molly had said her husband sold insurance for a living through Oracle Insurance, a company that had been around forever.

Shawn, whose father was an alcoholic, could see that Hart wanted a drink. He was not fooling anyone with his coffee. He had the desperate look around his tired eyes and on his mouth. The whites of his eyes were slightly yellow, uncommon for such a young man. His hands were small, the hands of an artist, a gentle person. This was not a man who yelled at his wife and kids; he beat at them gently with his unhappiness, drowning them in guilt and self-reproach.

"Mr. Hart?" Shawn asked.

"Call me John. Molly's in the kitchen. Please, sit down."

John took in this young man, who seemed younger than him. His brown hair was cut short, his eyes a hazel-green and, along with his corduroy jacket, he gave off the air of the yuppie. John found the young man's vulnerabilities easily; he was ambitious, but feared himself. He had a rough childhood, an alcoholic father and a mother who was frequently ill. Like John, he was a man of order who favored being in control. He was a good journalist, wanting to write books that would make him famous, but he suffered from self-doubt. "Molly tells me you are quite interested in our crazy house here."

"She tells me there have been frightening disturbances, that this house is haunted."

"Yes, it is." John paused a moment, looked down at his coffee cup. "Did she tell you about our families?"

Shawn nodded. "She did. The Harts and Murdochs are famous. Nedra Hart was your grandmother, right?"

"She certainly was. She had a gift, so did Molly's father, Samuel Murdoch."

"Mr. Murdoch did publish many books. There is also a Pauline Murdoch, she wrote a book in the early fifties, about reincarnation. She was living in Scotland at the time..."

John could feel his right hand squeeze into a fist underneath the table. Why did Molly do this? he thought. Didn't she know this man would dig into every bad thing?

John kept his voice cool and pleasant. "Pauline is Molly's sister."

"Does she still publish?"

"No. Pauline has been ill." John rose from the table. "I'll go get Molly."

Molly had been detained while looking for the audiotape Will recorded from the cellar. She wanted to play the tape for Shawn. She also dug up the photographs. John found her in Will's room, letting her know Shawn Rush was here. As they were walking down the staircase, he whispered, "I didn't know your sister had a book published."

Molly abruptly stopped walking, making John almost bump into her. "I forgot about that book. It was only published overseas. She wrote it almost thirty years ago. She was in her early twenties, living with James—"

"Shawn Rush must have found that book."

"Really? I've never read it."

"We can talk about this later. He's waiting."

Molly wanted to take Shawn to the cellar, and had purchased several flashlights and a 35mm camera for this occasion. Before going outside, Molly had presented Shawn with the photographs and played the audiotape in the dining room. However, Shawn did not see anything in the photos, light or shapes, which would suggest an apparition, including the plume above Belinda's head, or any flaws in the photos of the twins. John and Molly looked at each other, shocked. The flaws were plain to them; Edna and Colleen had seen these flaws as well. Molly played the tape on her son's tape recorder, but all Shawn could hear were the voices of Will and Belinda and Edna. Towards the end of the tape, where Molly could swear were the murmurings of a woman, John's head snapped up from the table, his face burning red, as he looked over at his wife.

Shawn was feeling quite awkward by this time, with Molly's angry exclamations and her husband's nervousness. He began to feel sorry for Molly, he noticed she had taken extra care with her appearance; her hair cut in a short, layered style, with makeup and a new sweater and jeans. John had also seen this, but failed to make any connection between his wife's new friend and her sudden, revived interest in her looks.

John Hart sat quietly at the dining room table. "Molly, maybe you can take Shawn into the cellar. I need to sit for a minute."

Molly knew something was wrong with him. It was not like John to resort to any dramatic maneuvers around strangers. She noticed he was struggling to stay sober all evening, drinking coffee. The voice from the tape had disturbed him.

"Okay, honey," she said. "I'll take Shawn to the cellar, we won't be long."

John waited for them to go outside before he replayed the tape. He waited to hear her voice again.

_He is ashamed_.

He is ashamed.

John knew that voice did not belong to April Degan, as he was expecting. He had not heard the tape until tonight; he believed the voice to be April's due to Molly and the children's excited chatter, but he only needed to hear three words, in that Irish lilt, to recognize the voice of his grandmother, Nedra Hart.

Nedra died when John was in his early twenties; he and Molly had only been married a few years. She always knew she would live to be in her eighties, live a long life, and die a sudden death. Nedra and her husband, Dr. William Hart, had raised three sons, with Robert, John's father, as the oldest. After the boys were born, Nedra more or less retired from using her psychic gifts in public, although she did write a few books on the subject of life after death. She wrote of the tunnel and the light fifty years before anyone else started to believe in those things. She had a spirit guide/control named Tomah, who she spoke of at length. Nedra had been tested, as a young woman, by a psychologist friend of Dr. Hart's, who diagnosed her as schizophrenic with delusional tendencies, but highly functional. She laughed about that for years, as she grew more reclusive, preferring the life of a wife and mother to that of a famous freak.

Nedra had been small and dark, with the gray eyes John and Will had inherited. She wore her brown hair in a single braid, her skin fair and freckled. She was always a little plump, no taller than five feet. John owned a framed photograph of her, taken around 1912, when she was in her twenties, wearing a high-necked, dark dress, and boots that buttoned on the sides. The photograph had been taken in a parlor, with Nedra standing, looking off to the left, a serious, distracted look on her face.

John wanted a martini, but he played the tape again. He was convinced he heard his grandmother. Each time he played the tape, the voice became louder in his head. Nedra had been born and raised in Ireland, spent some time in England, and moved to the states when she was nineteen. She traveled with her brother throughout the country; she was already famous as a psychic back home.

Nedra had believed in reincarnation, but she was raised a Catholic in Ireland. She did not speak of reincarnation publicly or mentioned it in her books.

He is ashamed, John thought. Who is 'he', Grandma? Why are you on this tape?

Will had painstakingly described, for an eight-year-old, his experience with his sister in the cellar. He mentioned the jar, how he saw the twin fetuses, remembering this image from his dreams. When the jar fell on the ground, he said a liquid spilled that smelled like death. John knew what the boy meant–the scent of rotting flowers and spoiled milk.

We only moved into this house because of the twins, John thought. That's when everything went downhill. The twins have been the focus from the beginning, for all of us, the ghost included. Molly said she saw the ghost in the cellar with Mom and Colleen. Will and Belinda saw something down there, Belinda talked endlessly about the cold grip on her wrist. He is ashamed. I am ashamed. I have no control. Molly thinks she does, but she's wrong.

Shawn Rush was not the reason John had stayed sober today. Will had told his father about when he was almost suffocated in his bed and what happened to Belinda in the bathtub. The ghost came with the sound of buzzing, like a swarm of bees. John had heard that sound at night when he was trying to go to sleep, or whenever he was alone. He thought the sound could be coming from the furnace, in the vents, but that excuse could not be used in the summer, and he had checked for bee's nests in and around the house.

John hated bees. When he was six years old, he had accidentally stepped on a collapsed cardboard box in the woods behind his home and was attacked by a small swarm of yellow jackets that lived inside. Edna saw him running and screaming up to the house, which would be bypassed by the tornado weeks later. She sprayed him with the garden hose, later counting at least twenty bee stings on his body.

Belinda was now six. Will followed his father to Belinda's room. John asked about the ghost touching her. He sat on her bed and looked around. This was maybe the second time he had been in her room since moving into the house. He remembered Molly painting this room, Belinda sharing Will's room then. Molly had also painted the hallway and the twins' nursery. She accomplished a lot of work before her bed-rest, although the place had been slowly turning her into a nervous wreck.

John felt so awkward around Belinda, the child he was the least close to, but he had to know what happened to her. "Will said the ghost wouldn't stop...touching you...in the tub?"

"Yes."

John wanted a martini now more than ever. "Where were you touched?"

"All over."

"Your legs?"

"Right."

She did not look him or Will in the eye, she just looked down as she sat at the bed, one leg hanging down from the edge, the other curled under her.

"Did he...touch your privates?"

Her eyes, so much like his, shifted to the left, then right. "Yes."

"Between your legs?"

"Yes."

"How come you didn't tell me, Belinda? Why have you kept it to yourself?"

She gave her father that blank look, which he would misinterpret for a lack of intelligence but, in fact, was really despair. She thought her father and mother were hopeless and this despondency would dog her until that day in Las Vegas, over twenty years later. John would blame himself. He was supposed to have been the father, the protector, but he had failed.

Belinda shrugged her shoulders. "I told Will. Besides, the ghost hates the twins, not me. If he kills the twins, he'll leave the rest of us alone."

"Sam and Sarah are only babies," Will said.

"He killed the other twins," his sister replied. "April's babies."

*****

Shawn Rush could feel the icy coldness in the cellar, but not any odor. Maybe a little mildew, the smell of earth, but nothing unusual. "I'm sorry, Molly, but I don't smell anything out of the ordinary for a cellar."

Molly had only been in the cellar once since the children were terrorized. She had not touched anything, including the jar on the cellar floor. Whenever she came close to the jar, still resting in its fetid puddle, the rotted flower smell assaulted her nose, making her nauseous.

Shawn can't smell it because he is an outsider, Molly thought. He's not a member of the family.

"You know," Shawn said, "I managed to find a descendant of John and April Degan's in town. Her name is Jean Larabee. April and John were her grandparents. She's a very large woman and a recluse. I visited with her for a little while, but she didn't really want to talk to me. I think she would rather speak with you. I don't know why, maybe she trusts women more. Maybe she would tell you something she wouldn't tell me."

"You think I'm crazy, don't you?"

"No, I don't think you're crazy, but the disturbances have only been witnessed by yourself and family members. No one outside the family has seen anything in or outside the house. Maybe Jean would be of more help right now. In the meantime, I'll keep researching."

"I was hoping for a book."

"Me, too. But there has to be some sound evidence to put in a book, hearsay isn't enough."

*****

A letter from Nedra Hart to Samuel Murdoch, from the Samuel Murdoch estate

May 10, 1920

Dear Sam,

Billy finally managed to talk me into moving with him to Ottawa. We live in a house by the St. Lawrence. I like it, but there is no one to talk to. The people are pleasant, but not like my friends in London or New York. Billy has been watching me closely, ever since that pompous friend of his told him I was insane. I could only laugh and say, "Insane? If I am mad, how can I take care of my children or write books?" This man went on to say that Jack the Ripper could have been a physician. I told him I had been too young to be in London then, or I would have led Scotland Yard to the Ripper, indeed, as I did the Edinburgh police to the Workhouse Strangler! He just gave me a blank look and prescribed something for my hysteria. I still refuse to take the powder he has given me and Billy no longer argues with me about it. I remember you telling me about all the pills and powders the physicians wanted you to take when you were put in the asylum. I've never been put in a madhouse, but I might someday. There's a place here in Ottawa, part of the hospital where Billy works. Billy suggests I volunteer for the ladies auxiliary, but I might say the wrong thing to a patient or, God forbid, one of the doctors. I know of the things the doctors and nurses won't discuss with the patients, the ones who almost died and came back. I know how lonely that is, and it is shameful they cannot talk about it without being called mad.

I am being silenced in so many ways. Tomah has gone away and Billy doesn't want me to write more books, he believes it will ruin his reputation as a doctor. I told him that shouldn't matter as long as he stays in private practice. Come to find out, he is more ambitious.

I made some money from the books. There were people who didn't like my writing, and the Church at home discredited me, but I was living in London by then, so I didn't care.

I remember when Liam and I first arrived. I was sixteen and found a position as a maid at a boardinghouse where some of the boarders were prostitutes. One of them was an older woman named Dolly, who had known a woman killed by Jack the Ripper almost twenty years before. Tomah would want to talk about Jack in my dreams, when I fell into an exhausted sleep, after helping Mrs. Locke cook and clean the place. She only gave Liam and me a reduced rate on our rent, not free boarding. Liam would let me have the bed; he would sleep on the floor. He tried finding odd jobs in the city, but he was too young at eleven years old. Most children that age go to school, although Liam could read and write a little. He eventually found a job delivering papers. Later, Detective Ballantine helped him get a job through his brother-in-law, who owned a bakery. Liam baked bread for years. Tomah told me about the girls in Edinburgh, about the Workhouse Strangler, as he was later called. One morning, Liam dropped off the London Daily Telegraph for Mrs. Locke, and there was a front-page story about a murdered young woman who had been living at a workhouse in Edinburgh, found dead in a tin shack near some railroad tracks. Dolly, the old prostitute, saw the story (I read it to her) and exclaimed, "'Er froat cut! Jus' like ol' Jack! Mebbe he moved t'Edinburgh!" The other girls laughed but not me. Mrs. Locke, who also had a checkered past, once worked in a music hall as a young girl. The Yard detectives had come and questioned the girls about a man who was known to frequent the city's music halls, who favored the little-girl performers. One of these little girls had disappeared with her mother and the child's father had been looking for them. They were never found, but the police thought it was possible this disappearance was tied to Jack the Ripper.

I dreamed of Tomah that night. She led me to the tin shack and showed me the cut-up body of a dead woman, naked, her blood drying around her in a thick pool. Tomah told me I should go to this city, Edinburgh, where I had never been. I followed her out of the shack, away from the railroad tracks, into the city. She showed me the metal plaque bolted into the headquarters of the Edinburgh Police Department. The next day, I went to mass with Mrs. Locke, and that is how I met Detective and Mrs. Ballantine. Mrs. Locke, who I had confided in about my dream, told me I should tell the police. I told her I was afraid I would be laughed at. Mrs. Locke said she might approach Detective Ballantine, but she spoke to Mrs. B days later. Mrs. B, come to find out, was a secret believer in precognition. She wanted to meet me just to hear about my dream, but now I think of Mrs. B as a kind of angel, as eccentric as she may have seemed. She suffered a breakdown herself years before, when she miscarried a child and couldn't become pregnant again. She and Det. B never had children, a source of sadness for them, and I think that was why they took such a liking to Liam and me.

Well, enough about those days. I'll just say that I made a believer out of Det. B and the Edinburgh Police Department, although they would never admit it. Maybe that should be my next book, but I doubt Billy would approve. He approves of so little I do and say these days. When we first met, he wanted to know all about me, was proud of me. Now, he wants me to put it all away; for the children, for our future. I told him maybe I should go away, so he can marry a woman he could love. Then he gets quiet; he hates it when I get too emotional. I told him he should have married an Englishwoman, there's plenty of them in Canada.

You are lucky to have Thelma in your life, someone who truly knows and loves you. How is baby David? He must be the same age as my oldest. My boys are starting to show some talent and Billy is not pleased. I told him, when I was expecting the first baby, that my gifts could be passed on, just like my grandmother to my mother to me. My great-grandmother, Margaret Dowd, predicted the Famine, but no one listened. Her family lost their farm; my grandmother Megan was just a small child. Gramma Meg told us those stories about how people starved, going from town to town, some of my family going as far as Scotland, some leaving for the States. Her brother died of typhoid. What harrowing stories! When people are so poor, they think anything is better.

Tomah doesn't speak to me anymore. She went away, for whatever reasons. My loneliness is worse without her, because I thought she would always be there, whenever I needed her. I was hoping she would contact you again, in that city of Light, and you could ask her why she no longer comes to me, even in dreams. I need her now, I feel like the loneliest person in the world in this house by the river.

I hope to hear from you soon, Sam, and give my best to Thelma and David. I am grateful to have a few friends left from my days in New York, I just wish they weren't so far away.

Your friend,

Nedra Hart

Chapter Five

John waited until the children and Edna went to bed that night to talk to Molly.

They were sitting in the living room, watching the news and waiting for the Tonight Show. John managed to stay sober, drinking coffee and ice water most of the night. The humidity dropped outside with the dark, so the house had cooled down.

Molly was surprised to see John still awake; he was usually asleep on the couch by midnight. Edna would have to wake him in the mornings, so he could get to the office on time.

"We need to think more about what the house is doing to the children," John said. "It's hurting us, too, but I don't think moving out is the only answer."

Molly missed the bond she once shared with her husband. The rift between them had gradually widened over the last year, leaving Molly to wonder if there was another woman. She had spoken to Rita, who said she knew of no other woman. Molly still believed John loved her, but she knew there was more than love between them, there was the uniqueness they shared. She had felt, from the moment they met at the University of Michigan in 1966, they were meant to be.

Molly only experienced a few teenaged romances before John, and she had fallen hard for him, with his earnest, gentle nature. They ended up as part of a study experiment conducted by a Professor Hayden; both placed in the same room, separated by a dark curtain, with identical packs of playing cards. They picked out the same cards, completing the boring experiment for extra credit. Molly had played the same games with her sister Pauline when she was a child. When the professor called a break, John sneaked past the curtain to talk to her. He and Molly immediately became friends, considering their meeting more than a great coincidence. They had sex for the first time that night and this did not seem odd to either one of them. Molly was already on the Pill, and they married two years later, in 1968. Molly suffered three miscarriages until Will was born in 1972. During her second short pregnancy, she dreamed of twins. She hoped and prayed to lose that pregnancy, the thought of having twins terrified her, an imprint of her mother's horrible stories of incest and madness. Molly could hear the sound of her mother's voice, "Consider Pauline, she was a twin. Before that, your father's Uncle George Murdoch and his twin sister Blythe. They never married; they lived together until they died. They were crazy; they slept together, bathed together, as children. Edward and Cole Murdoch, identical twins, both gay. They got in trouble with those young boys..." These were the things Molly did not tell her husband, about that taint of the insane in her father's family.

"John, I don't want to leave this house, we can't."

"I know."

"And it's not just about the money. We won't be able to get away from this place; we would just end up dragging it around."

"We have to take control, Molly. We can't afford to be scared anymore."

"So...now what?"

"We need evidence, a real sense of John and April. If what Belinda says is true, that John Degan murdered his wife, we need to find out why he would do this."

"And if he did kill her, how did he dispose of her body? Did anyone else know she was pregnant with twins?"

"Do you see the twin pattern here?"

"I certainly do."

"We moved into this house because we needed more space to accommodate the twins. The ghost has tried to take out its hostility on Sam Sarah. Now, Belinda tells us April Degan had twins or was pregnant for twins when she was murdered. For some reason, we were brought to this house. It would seem like a coincidence to anyone else, but there are no coincidences for us."

"But why us? Yes, I see the pattern—"

"What about Pauline's book?"

"What about it?"

"Come on, Molly."

She looked down at her coffee cup, the white one with the sunflower design. "I don't remember that time very well. I was just a little kid; Pauline was twenty years old. She wrote that book while living in Scotland with her boyfriend, Dr. Campbell. Mom said it was forgettable, no different than a lot of books written later in the sixties."

"I remember you telling me Campbell put her under hypnosis. The past-life stuff."

"Right. Her book was about reincarnation. The title was _Birthmarks_ , and it was published in the U.K. I was surprised Shawn Rush would know about it."

"Have you ever read it?"

"No. Why are you interested? You don't even believe in reincarnation."

"Shawn Rush, someone we barely know, has read a book by your sister I have never heard of before, although we've been married for almost twelve years. You don't like to talk about Pauline, I suppose, because you are ashamed of her. So is Colleen. But I'll bet your mother has a copy of that book—"

"I'm sure she does. I just hope nothing bad happens for a while, John. The house is affecting the children too much; Belinda is going to have problems."

"I know, but all we can do is help ourselves. I also have the feeling that if we just moved out, whatever is here would follow us."

"There's something else we haven't talked about yet."

John looked away at the television screen, the TV being one of those wood-paneled deluxe models that rested on the floor. The Harts had hooked up to Cable TV years ago, and Johnny Carson came in sharp and clear, the volume down low.

John recalled reading an article about the connection to alcoholism and impotence in men. By refusing to sleep in the same bed with her, he made Molly think he was no longer attracted to her, but that was only half-true. Molly tried to get him to talk about how the sex had left their marriage, but he would avoid the subject, even if that meant starting an argument about something else–money, the ghost, the kids, his mother, her mother, anything but sex. He just did not want to discuss the loss of his sex drive with her, but he would have to, because she was not going to let it go.

Molly tried again. "We haven't had sex in a year. Long enough for me to think—"

"I've never been unfaithful to you."

"Then...what? What is it? It can't be my entire fault!"

John knew he was not the most attentive of husbands or fathers, so Molly's anger was justifiable. She might always be angry with him, they might divorce, their marriage another ghost to haunt this place. They passionately loved each other once, well into the ninth year of their marriage. They had shared the same goals. All that changed while Molly was pregnant for the twins and the last year had gone by fast.

"The last time," Molly said, "was in the summer of 1979. Before we moved here."

"You were pregnant, so you weren't in the mood. You were the same way with Will and Belinda."

"All right, but that doesn't explain why _you_ weren't in the mood anymore."

"No, it doesn't. All I've cared about is the next drink. I think I'm sick, Molly."

She knew he was being honest, not just humoring her. She could feel the knot in her chest letting go, the warm relief spreading into her limbs, her head. She put the coffee down; she was not going to need it.

He went on. "I go to the office, and I sit there. I still sell policies. I have the same customers and now their grown children come to me for policies. Most people could call me a success. But I drink because I hate my life, I hate myself. I love you, I love the children, but I don't know what I'm doing most of the time. And then there's the house; I have no control here. You're angry with me, so is Mom, the kids think I'm some stranger. Sam and Sarah run to Mom when they're scared—"

"That's my fault."

"It's our fault."

"So...you've been drunk and depressed all this time?"

"Yes. I'm usually depressed. Aren't you?"

"Well...yes. But it had more to do with us, not the house or the twins. If you could have helped, been more interested, noticing what I was seeing, it would have been easier. Why do you ignore the haunting, John? Are you afraid?"

"Not afraid, just angry. This was supposed to be our house, our home, our life together. All that has been taken away by this haunting. We were supposed to be normal, not like _them_ , we were going to have a normal life. But it was just our rotten luck to move into this hellish place, our children terrorized and molested."

"You're not the only one who feels helpless."

"This house wants my marriage, my children, and my self-respect. The only thing it hasn't taken is my business, but I really don't give a shit about insurance anymore."

Molly was so grateful at the prospect of having her John back; her earnest, sober John. She finally felt a glimmer of hope for them all. Maybe they could get control of the house, but the solution still seemed out of reach.

*****

Edna decided to go visit her sister for the weekend in Traverse City, her temporary absence providing John and Molly an opportunity to be alone together.

The day had gone smoothly, the children and the house well behaved. Will and Belinda played with Sam and Sarah in the back yard, running through the sprinkler.

Molly gave the children an early dinner. John arrived around five-thirty with flowers for Molly. They dropped off the children at Max and Rita's house in the station wagon, and headed for a local Chinese restaurant, Madame Hu's.

John and Molly did not drink any liquor, but found themselves relaxing and laughing for the first time in almost a year. They talked about when her father, the famous Samuel Murdoch, had been a guest on the Tonight Show back in the sixties. Colleen made her elderly husband wear a Nehru jacket, much to his embarrassment. He made some remarks about the war in Vietnam while being interviewed by Johnny Carson, and later received a surprise visit from the Secret Service when they returned home to Chicago. Old Sam, in his consternation, told the agents that President Nixon's underhanded ways would get the best of him; Tricky Dick would take himself out of the White House before anyone else could. The FBI had a file on Sam Murdoch until his death.

Molly was eating her second egg roll when John exclaimed, "Oh, I forgot to tell you what happened today!"

"What?"

"The Browns came into the office about their auto insurance."

"Yes?"

"Well, I asked them about the house."

Molly put her fork down. "You didn't!"

John smiled, looked around to see if anyone heard them. "Yes, I did."

"What did you say?"

"I said, with a straight face, 'Mr. and Mrs. Brown, did you ever experience anything strange while living in the house?'"

"And?"

"They didn't answer right away. The Browns have to be almost seventy and they live in that new apartment building for seniors. Mr. Brown finally says, 'What do you mean, strange?' and I said, 'Anything like doors shutting by themselves, or the lights switching on and off.' Well, Mrs. Brown doesn't say a word, she lets him do all the talking, I guess. Old Brown denies ever seeing anything like that, says I must be on dope or something. I said, 'No, sir, I don't use drugs, neither does the wife. But we don't have to be high to notice the stink in the cellar, or the banging in the attic.' Mr. Brown continued to deny it. He said, 'I lived in that house for almost thirty years, its only haunted by dry rot and old age. I can't believe you sell insurance, with that imagination!' He laughed, he was sort of good-natured about it, but his wife stayed quiet. We worked out the modifications they wanted to make on their auto policy and they left. Max was ready to bawl me out, thinking we were losing a customer. I told him to relax, they didn't seem angry, although Max hates it when I discuss stuff like that with the customers. I usually keep things to myself."

"The house wasn't haunted for them, was it?"

"Mr. Brown used to work at the old paper mill, Olsen-White's. He worked around the clock sometimes, and that's what he told me. His wife never worked, she spent the most time in the house with their children. I figured that out later, when she called me after I came back from lunch. She said she knew about the cellar stinking, but she never heard any sounds from the attic, although she sometimes thought she heard footsteps going up and down the stairs at night."

"But Mr. Brown denied it."

"Mrs. Brown didn't. I didn't tell her about the other stuff; the séance and the photographs–just the noises in the house. She told me to be careful, that maybe we should have a priest bless the house. She had wanted to do that, but her husband refused. He didn't want other people knowing about the house being haunted."

"Were their children scared?"

"She said no. But the Browns didn't have children like ours."

John and Molly finished their meal, the conversation switching from one topic to another, but they both tried to keep things relaxed. The mood only changed when they left the restaurant; they had ate dessert and lingered over coffee for another hour, not wanting to return to the house.

Molly was feeling bold when she put her hand on John's leg as he drove them home. After such an expensive meal, they could not afford the motel room, so the house was going to get a show, Molly would make sure of that.

Molly, when they returned to the house, started a bath. She joined her husband upstairs in their bedroom, where he laid on the bed, almost nodding off to sleep. She took him by the hand, dragging him off the bed. He had removed his jacket and tie earlier and he stood there in the bathroom, watching his wife undress in front of him, something she had never done in almost twelve years of marriage. He saw the changes in her body; some stretch marks, her breasts slightly larger, her hips wider. They were both in their early thirties now, and John even found a few gray hairs on his head, near his widow's peak.

He felt the warmth of her skin against his clothed body as they embraced. He kissed her for the first time in months, remembering the passion they once enjoyed, before the children, before the house.

Molly had always been more uninhibited then John and she was unselfconscious of her nakedness as she helped undress him. He sat again on the toilet lid as she removed his shoes and socks. He looked down at her submissive stance; at her bare neck and shoulders, her fuller breasts with their coral-shaded nipples, and the tiny mole on her upper lip, and saw her in a way he had not seen her in years. His erection sneaked up on him, pressing against the fabric of his underpants.

Molly noticed that John had not become flabby and bloated from his drinking, although it was starting to show around his eyes, from the years of hard work, worry, and depression. She found his skin still as smooth; he was never a hairy man. He smelled of deodorant and Max's cigar smoke. She searched him out with her hands and mouth. They found themselves attempting to have sex on the toilet, she on top of him, the tank rocking against the wall while the tub continued to fill with hot water. She quickened their pace, keeping him inside of her as he slid back, so he could thrust his hips. She came quickly, the sexual frustration of more than a year finally being unearthed. John was a tall man, his head almost banging against the tank lid. He did not care, he wanted to forget everything but this, because they needed to share their flesh, to remember that this was not a house of death. When John finally came, Molly thighs were trembling from cold and exertion, but her hands pulled at him, letting him continue to thrust against the slippery warmth inside her.

They were still catching their breath when Molly got off him so he could straighten out his body. She slowly walked over to the tub and bent over, turning off the hot water, which was already overflowing. The sweat on her skin was becoming cold. She stepped in carefully, hot water splashing on the floor as she sat in the tub. She reached down to pull the plug to let some water out, hearing the glug-glug sound as some of it went down. She pulled the plug away, and she looked over at John, who was still trying to straighten his back. "Come on, honey, before the water gets cold—"

Molly felt a tug at her left wrist in the water as she tried to pull away from the drain. She looked down through the water.

She tried to keep her voice calm. "John?"

"I see it, honey."

He bent over and saw the long, black root through the water, encircling Molly's left wrist.

"How did that get through the pipes?" John asked.

"I don't know!" Molly whispered. "But it hurts!"

John felt suddenly very vulnerable in his nakedness, his skin cold and clammy.

"It won't let go of me, John!" Molly yelled, no longer caring who heard. "This water is ice cold now!"

John pushed his hand into the water, touching the dead wood. Molly was right, the water was cold; he could see the goose bumps erupting on their flesh.

The buzzing noise entered the bathroom, descending like an angry swarm of bees. The sound reminded him of that day long ago, when his mother chased the bees away with a hose, leaving his flesh cold and raw from the bee stings. The cacophony began to fill the whole room. The toilet started rocking back and forth by itself against the wall. They could now hear a belching noise in the bathroom sink, the medicine cabinet door swinging against the wall, Band-Aids and bottles spilling out. The bathroom door flew open, almost knocking John over, the doorknob banged hard against his left arm. When he regained his balance, he called out to Molly, "Hold on, Molly, I'll have to cut—"

When he turned around, he saw that all of her face was immersed. His feet slipped on the floor as he scrambled over, wrapping his arms around her, pulling her small body out of the tub. Within minutes, she was coughing and gagging, trying to get the water out of her nose.

"I only turned away for a few minutes!" John yelled. "And you were drowning!"

Molly continued to cough as he led her cold, dripping body upstairs to their bedroom. He covered her in her favorite robe, and he quickly dressed in clean boxers and a T-shirt. Molly's teeth were chattering, although the bedroom was still warm from the day's heat. She continued to cough. "It must have...let go of me. But it was...pulling me in closer to the drain...it was spreading out!"

"Jesus Christ." John sat down next to her on the bed, his arms around her. "Belinda said she was fondled in the bathtub. Maybe this was what happened to her, maybe she misunderstood."

"Edna and I have given the twins baths in that tub and nothing happened. I didn't believe Belinda at first—"

"I'll get us some towels."

"I wonder if the toilet is broken."

"If I call the plumber, what will I tell him?" John asked, while walking down the stairs.

"We broke it having sex."

"Let's not tell him that, honey!"

Chapter Six

Molly, now dressed in her pajamas, looked at the red mark around her left wrist.

John was dozing off in bed next to her. She shook her head at the thought of them in the bathroom, having sex in a position not done since their college days. She ached a little; her body was unused to sex. However, she loved being that close to John again.

She knew if she fell asleep, she would dream of April. Edna also had a recurring dream about a dark-haired woman in a long dress, very large in pregnancy, being followed by two little boys in the field out behind the house. One boy is wearing an old pair of overalls. When Edna told Molly about this dream, she started having the same dream, except in hers, she could feel how tired, how heavy, April was with her twins.

John mumbled something in his sleep. He had called Max and Rita, and they said, yes, absolutely, the children could stay the night. The kids enjoyed being with Max and Rita.

Max had told them to just move out, to Hell with the escrow, get a loan from Mrs. Murdoch. Molly almost laughed, knowing John would never take a loan from her mother.

Max Henley had met John at a life insurance seminar at a Holiday Inn in Ann Arbor when John and Molly were still in college. Max was almost ten years older, working as an accountant, but was ready for something new. He and John went out to the hotel bar after the seminar, and John, while flipping through a deck of playing cards, told the unmarried accountant that he would meet a woman with blonde hair. She would play an unusual musical instrument and be a bad cook. Max had laughed, telling John he always liked blondes. He asked John how he would know these things, and he told the balding, stocky Max that he was psychic, he was a Hart. John was feeling outgoing after ingesting several shots of whiskey. He told Max about his whole family, including his redheaded girlfriend, Molly Murdoch. Max was already living where John and Molly would settle later, near Cadillac, Michigan. When John and Max agreed to go into business together, newly engaged John and Molly moved into the same apartment building as Max.

John and Molly were married in Chicago that summer. Molly suffered her second miscarriage after moving into their first house. Rita Horn, the blonde who played the ukulele and was hopeless in the kitchen, came along a few months later. She had come into the office, wanting to buy some auto insurance on her new Chevy van. Max impressed her with his knowledge of antiques and collectibles. They were married almost two years later. They would remain childless.

Max remained a loyal friend and business partner as John's drinking became worse and worse. Max would watch John become more distant and morose over the years, bored with insurance, taking longer lunches, sometimes drunk when he returned to the office. Max's brother Mike was in Alcoholics Anonymous and Max saw so much of Mike's past behavior in John, including the denial, along with blaming everyone but himself. He hid liquor in secret places. Max had called a plumber because the office toilet would not flush, and the plumber found a fifth of Jack Daniel's floating in the tank. The plumber gave it to Max, who threw the bottle away. John never said anything about it, and neither did Max. Max had tried to confront Mike about his drinking years ago and, until he joined AA and made his amends, Mike refused to speak to Max for years. Max did not want to lose his friendship and business with John, so he tolerated it.

John and Molly were both fond of liquor; it mellowed them out, took the juice out of the psychic fuses in their brains. The very things that had brought them together, their mutual gifts, their unusual families, were being drowned in liquor.

John and I blame this house, Molly thought, but we are to blame. I ignored John's problem so I wouldn't have to deal with my own–I'm afraid of the twins, my own babies. I do love them, but I can't hope for them or me. This house is going to bury us if we don't get control.

She knew that if their marriage were to last, she was going to have to tell John what he did not know about Pauline. He may have known about Dr. James Campbell and the hypnotism and the book Pauline and Campbell wrote, but he did not know about Pauline's near-death experiences and the pregnancies, resulting in abortions or miscarriages. Pauline had become pregnant by Dr. Campbell but he took her to London for an abortion, even though he wanted the baby. Pauline had been terrified of becoming a mother. Molly, however, always wanted children, since she was a little girl, as if a full house would somehow make up for the loneliness of her childhood. Molly felt like an only child growing up; her sister a lunatic, her half-brother living far away. At least her children had each other's companionship, if nothing else.

Samuel Murdoch was sixty-one when Molly was born, her mother almost forty. Molly always felt her arrival in the Murdoch family was unplanned and unwanted, although no one ever said those words to her when she was growing up. Pauline was a rebellious and mentally unstable sixteen year old. David was in his late twenties, working through medical school. He would later become a neurologist. He was the most 'normal' of them, hiding his psychic abilities behind those of a healer, a scientist. When Old Sam and Colleen did become wealthy, David was already married with children. David was a good man. Molly recalled his mother's name being Thelma.

Molly never told John about Vincent, who was Molly's imaginary friend until she was six years old. When she told Pauline, in her early twenties by then, that she had an invisible friend named Vincent, Pauline asked her where she had come up with that name, and Molly replied, "Vincent told me his name. He died in Mommy's belly with you. He died so you could live." Pauline ran out of Molly's bedroom, in that old townhouse in Chicago, screaming for their mother. Until then, Pauline had not known she was a twin and Colleen planned on keeping it from her for the rest of her life. However, Colleen was forced to explain, through gritted teeth, about Vincent. Pauline went into the hospital days later, Dr. Campbell flew in from Scotland to be with her. Molly remembered her mother telling David over the phone that Pauline had her stomach pumped. At the age of six, this seemed like an unfathomable thing to Molly, so she asked her mother what 'stomach pump' meant and Colleen told her to go play.

Molly shuddered when she thought of the dead wood reaching through the tub drain, wrapping around her wrist just as soon as she pulled the plug. John had seen it, touched it. When he was watching the toilet rock, the root started to spread quickly, new tendrils shooting out, over and under her legs as she tried to pull away. She screamed for John, but he did not hear, he was already on the floor. She kept trying to get out, but her legs were bound. She thrashed in the cold water, not seeing the next root coming out of the faucet until it was shooting out towards her face. She squeezed her eyes shut, only feeling it wrap around her neck, pulling her head into the water. All of this happened in a few minutes. By the time John rose from the floor, Molly had lost her breath from the pressure around her neck, her head and face floating in the water for several minutes. When John pulled her out, all of her restraints were gone, disappearing down the drain.

John was snoring now. They had not slept together in almost a year; she was unused to sharing this space with him.

Maybe things will go back to when we were first married, Molly thought. We would make love two, three times a day before Will was born. She was more experienced, and she taught him all she knew about how to please a woman, or at least what pleased her. He was so sweet to her then. He only became cold later, but she became cold after the twins, not wanting to speak of her fears to her husband, because she would have to explain so much more.

*****

Molly awakened to the feel of a warm hand on her belly, John's lips brushing against the back of her neck. She turned around, facing her husband, who was also half-asleep.

They undressed under the blankets, their hands tangling in their clothes. A large, square-shaped fan was whirring in the corner, the room was still dark. The bedroom window was opened, letting in the moist night air of high summer.

Molly's pajama bottoms and panties were tangled around her ankles. She pushed these off with her feet, almost kicking John in the back as he tried to remove his boxer shorts. They said nothing to each other; they were being quiet so the house would not hear them.

Molly was able to remove her pajama top when John pushed her back down, his hands on her breasts. His palms were damp, the tip of his tongue brushing underneath her left earlobe. He still smelled like the sex they had that night, his fingertips running gently up and down her nipples. His hand found her ribcage, belly, making the slow journey between her legs. His fingers gently nestled there, in her silky wetness. He already knew her taste, her smell, he wanted to return to every part of her. His strokes stayed at the same pace and she covered his wrist with her hand, directing him. Her hips met with his hand, her breath coming in pants in minutes. She let out a little gasp, her skin covered in a fresh sheen of sweat, her body trembling, as his mouth covered hers in a kiss that left her breathless.

Molly slid into his lap, her legs wrapped around his waist, his erection brushing against her bottom. She pushed his bangs away from his glistening forehead, her breasts in his face as she let him enter her, once again joined, but more comfortable than on the toilet lid.

The rattling sound from the window did not disturb them at first; maybe the cause was rain or the wind. John and Molly were hardly paying attention, even when a crack appeared in the glass, then another crack in the mirror attached to the dresser. Molly's loud cries drowned out the sound of the medicine cabinet mirror shattering downstairs, the pieces falling into the sink.

John and Molly had just settled into each other's arms when the bedroom window burst into tiny glass shards.

They were struck dumb, not moving or making a sound. Little bits of glass covered their naked bodies. They carefully crawled out of the bed, hoping the glass did not cut through their sticky skin. Molly turned the bedside lamp on and caught a glimpse of the dresser mirror. She saw the large crack move across, making that chilling sound. She knew what was next, the thought flashed into her head like lightening.

"John! The mirror! Move!" she screamed, pulling at his arm.

"Wait! I don't want to get cut!"

"We'll die in here—"

The mirror burst outward, into large pieces, landing on the dresser vanity and the carpet.

"Ow! Oh, shit!" John limped back onto the bed, a sliver of glass between his toes.

"I'll bring your slippers. Stay put."

She grabbed her robe off the hook behind the bedroom door, stepping carefully. She was covered when she came downstairs, turning on the lights above the staircase. She was in the area between the bottom of the stairs and the living room when she looked down at the floor. She saw more glass, little pieces, scattered all over. She noticed the living-room curtains blowing in the breeze, and the blanket of broken glass on top of the shag carpet, she had picked out that shade of green herself, which blended nicely with the russet-colored couch, loveseat, and easy chair. The framed pictures of her children had fallen from the mantelpiece above the fireplace, the glass from the frames cracked and splintered, as was the painted mirror on the wall above the couch. However, the earth-toned tapestries on each side remained undisturbed.

Everything breakable was broken; Molly's crystal knickknacks, the china cabinet in the dining room, every mirror in every room, the glasses in the kitchen cabinets. The wedding china and the two crystal goblets were chipped. Molly would later find her bottles of perfume in the bedroom were cracked as well.

John was pulling out the glass sliver between his toes with a pair of tweezers when she returned with his slippers, telling him all that she had seen.

"He got mad, John. He knew what we were doing—"

"How am I going to explain this to the insurance company?"

John pushed the slippers on his feet, getting up naked from the bed. Molly handed him a clean T-shirt and boxers. While he was dressing, she searched for a pair of his jeans out of the closet. "He didn't want us touching each other. We made Degan angry, just like in the bathroom."

"We still don't know if Degan has anything to do with this."

She handed him the jeans. "I believe Belinda."

"Well, so do I." John quickly slipped on the jeans, zipping the fly. "But what does he want from us? The children are not safe here, especially Sam and Sarah, and the house is just going to fall apart around us—"

"The house is already falling apart, John."

He sat back down on the bed. "Now we're going to need windows. I bought a policy through Oracle years ago, in case of a tornado or fire—"

"Not against something like this."

"This is going to cost a fortune without insurance. Every window will need to be replaced, in every room."

"All because we were—"

"Not just that. Degan hates the children most of all."

"We have to find the answer-soon."

She felt suddenly sick, drained. She sat next to John, knowing he felt the same way underneath his anger.

"Maybe we could try another séance, you and me," Molly said.

"That's crazy."

"What do we have to lose?"

"The walls and the roof."

"Degan can't destroy the whole house, where would he and April go?"

John could not believe this. Séances were for crazy people, like the Murdochs. Molly and Pauline used to have séances with their mother. Molly often told the story of how she had gone with Colleen and Pauline to a house in Colorado where a murder-suicide took place. A wealthy banker killed his family and turned the gun on himself when he lost everything with the stock market crash of 1929. Molly was a little girl, no older than three, when she saw her sister become possessed by the man who had lived in that house. Pauline was catatonic for days after, put under observation in some hospital in Denver. The local newspaper ran the story about Samuel Murdoch's daughter losing her mind in a haunted house.

Pauline could lose herself in trance, the entities crowding into her mind, making her almost non-functional at times. A few years later, in Scotland, Dr. Campbell put Pauline under hypnosis, and she recalled being in the womb with her twin brother, the anguish she felt when he stopped breathing, his soul departing, going away, leaving her alone to be a twinless twin. One psychiatrist, one of many, concluded that her unexpressed grief over losing Vincent caused all of her problems. Pauline had disagreed, stating that she not only expressed her grief, but also absorbed the grief of the living and the dead. She eventually discontinued the use of psychiatry. She claimed the hypnosis sessions with Dr. Campbell helped stabilize her, especially the past-life regression, which allowed her to accept herself as she was.

Molly had spoken to her mother a few days ago, asking Colleen to send her copy of _Birthmarks_. Colleen hesitated, telling Molly she had lost the book.

"Don't lie, Mom," she whined. "Just send it, please. The book could possibly help us with the house."

"The place doesn't have to be your problem, dear."

"Mom, this house is our problem; it can't be anyone else's."

"God, you sound like Pauline."

"But it's not just me, Mom. John feels the same way, so do the children."

"And you think that stupid book has any answers?"

"How do you know it was stupid?"

"It was mostly about Pauline's past lives, the stories she told under hypnosis. Campbell audiotaped all their sessions. She remembered over ten past lives, some of which overlapped with past lives your father recalled. I didn't discourage the past life regression, it made her normal for a while, but I think Campbell was taking her too far, and when he died, she was lost."

Molly remained silent long enough for her mother to figure out what she was thinking. She never could hide anything from her parents; she had few secrets, few private thoughts. Colleen even knew when Molly lost her virginity. She was still in high school, secretly dating tall, lanky Dennis Hellman, who was a senior. Dennis was also black, an interesting choice for a white, sixteen-year-old girl in 1964. Colleen had not been happy, no one telling Old Sam. However, Pauline already knew and laughed for days.

Molly waited for her mother on the line.

Finally, Colleen spoke. "You think this haunting in your house has to do with a past life, don't you?"

"Pauline once told me that people are sometimes drawn to certain places for reasons they can't explain. Remember when you went to Mexico with Daddy? You got sick and complained the whole time until you went to those Aztec ruins? You didn't want to leave that place, you said you felt like you had come home. Daddy drew pictures of a young Spanish man on a ship, sometime in the fifteen-hundreds, sailing to Mexico. You found a painting in Mexico City that matched Daddy's drawings—"

"Have you found anything like that in your house? Random things that seem connected somehow?"

"Through Belinda, maybe. Nothing that suggests a past life."

"What about this couple, John and April?"

"Belinda has told us about John and April. April was pregnant when he killed her."

"You don't know why?"

"No."

"That's where you'll find the answer."

"But there's a reason why John and I and the kids are stuck here, and it's not just about the money, it's about us. The tragedy of this place will follow us if we can't figure it out."

Molly had become impatient for answers. She knew she could find those answers outside of the house, which made her remember back on those days with John at college, the experiments they volunteered for. When she was a child, she played games with her mother and Pauline, including leaving her body when asleep, following Vincent miles away from home. However, her out-of-body experiences were followed by episodes of sleepwalking, so Colleen started locking her bedroom door from the outside after bedtime.

"You could freeze to death out there some night," Colleen had said, "or get hit by a car."

Molly knew that John, after years of suppressing his abilities, did not know what he was capable of. He could accurately read fortunes and was somewhat telepathic and sensitive to the energy left behind by other people. Molly had these talents also, but she felt a connection to the past as well as the present. This may have been due to the influence of her father and sister, considering their books on reincarnation and past-life regression. John, however, felt no inspiration from these things, and Molly, no matter how much she loved John, could not convince him that it was karma that brought them to this house.

"It's only bad luck, honey," he said, picking glass out of the quilt.

"But we can't walk away, so what else is left?"

"Remember that story I told you about the tornado? When I was a kid?"

"Yes."

"The tornado was random. It destroyed our next-door neighbor's house, but not my house. That's what tornados do."

"But tornados are natural disasters."

"So is this house. That's why something like a séance is a waste of time. Séances are based on the assumption that energy from every haunting has a sense of order, but this place doesn't."

"So is it demonic energy, then? Come on, John, now you sound like your dad."

"Not demonic, chaotic. You think the answer can be found in why John Degan killed his wife, but maybe 'why' isn't the right question to ask."

"Now you've lost me."

They had remained sitting on the bed, surrounded by the broken glass, watching the sunrise through the gaping hole in the room that used to be the window. John and Molly would spend the next two days cleaning the house, picking bits of glass out of the furniture, carpeting, and the children's beds. John would staple sheets of plastic over the window frames to keep out the insects and rain. Later, they would notice that the air conditioner, in spite of the exploding glass, did not fall out of the living room window, the unit secure inside the wooden window frame.

"Think about it, Molly. Ghosts are really leftover energy from people who have lived, not the soul of the person themselves. Nedra believed this—"

"So how come the leftover energy gets trapped in one place?"

"Because the energy is not aware of why it is trapped in that one place. It only knows what it is, where it is and possibly who it is. But when or why isn't part of the equation because the energy isn't aware enough."

"But it is intelligent, that can't be argued with."

"Yes, but intelligence can be a kind of energy because this ghost can express itself just like it did tonight. Degan's energy is trying to tell us something and we need to start listening better. He only scares us because his energy is chaotic—"

"But that doesn't explain why the Browns never experienced this kind of problem. They lived here for thirty years, Degan barely bothered them."

"We brought him out with the twins. April was pregnant for twins, remember?"

Molly nodded. "Then Degan was waiting for us. Maybe we were meant to come here. Relationships are karmic between husbands, wives, and children. Families live in houses and their energies leave a residue on each other. It's interesting how we don't hear about haunted houses that were populated by happy families; all we hear is the sad, tragic stories. We like the drama. The same goes for past lives, we hear the stories of someone who thinks she was Cleopatra in a past life, or Marie Antoinette. Who wants to remember dying of the Black Plague or in a Nazi concentration camp? Pauline told me that we couldn't possibly remember every past life, only those that apply to our present life. We've always felt lost in time."

"But bits of our own energy can continue to exist long after we are dead, that awareness either changes or it doesn't."

"But if that awareness doesn't go away, how does it change?" Molly asked.

"I don't know. Did your father ever touch on that?"

"He believed that the human mind was capable of more than conscious thought and felt that this leftover ghost-energy was really from the person's subconscious mind when that person was still alive, a kind of residue. The soul moves on to the Space Between."

"That could explain the disorganized, destructive tendencies of the ghosts in this house."

"What about April?"

"You think you saw her in the cellar?"

"Yes, and I thought it was her voice on that tape."

"He is ashamed."

"Ashamed of what?"

"He murdered his pregnant wife. That's shameful."

"Yes, and they already had two children."

"Maybe her murder had nothing to do with her pregnancy. Why didn't John Degan, if he wanted his wife dead, kill her sooner? Why then?"

"Maybe she became pregnant by another man."

John nodded, shrugged. "A common reason why a man would kill his wife is infidelity. But that would've left his two sons without a mother."

"He wouldn't have cared if he were angry enough."

"If he had been in a rage."

"She's in that cellar; I've known that for months."

"Let's wait before we start digging up the cellar, all right? Physical remains could prove the story of John and April, but not necessarily stop the haunting."

"You think we can stop it?"

"I'd like to think we could, but how? An exorcism? Only if our ghosts–and we–are Catholic. The church burned people like us as witches or put us in insane asylums; you and Colleen have told me that. Grandma Nedra spent time in an asylum, where she was treated like an animal. But I'm hoping that if we can get to the truth of what happened—"

"Once again, why did Degan kill his wife?"

"Maybe Belinda could find out before us."

"She claims April has been talking to her ever since she and Will went into the cellar. I have to watch her now, she wanders off by herself, and she doesn't listen to me. Her grades were slipping, although she passed the school year. She'll be like me at that age, more interested in the dead than the living."

"The twins are always afraid. Afraid to sleep alone, play alone. They never separate from each other, do you notice that? One is never without the other."

"I don't think the children should be here. But we can't leave, not until we know the truth."

Chapter Seven

Max and Rita were shocked to see every broken window from the outside of the Hart's house as they cruised up the driveway in their van. Will and Belinda initially panicked, thinking their parents had been hurt. They ran to the house, calling for them. The twins started crying. Molly met them on the porch, graciously taking the infants from Rita.

Max and Rita followed her into the house, and they found John sweeping up piles of broken glass. There was no way the Harts could hide this disaster, the haunting no secret to Max and Rita

John and Molly explained to their friends and the children about the windows, leaving out the more intimate details.

"We can't tell them this happened because we were having sex!" Molly cried, just minutes before Max and Rita had arrived. "I would die of the embarrassment!"

"Do you think I want anyone knowing?" John asked. "We'll just keep that part out, okay?"

Max, after hearing about Molly's near drowning, looked around the bathroom. He pulled back the blue shower curtain and bent over the bathtub, his fingers poking into the faucet.

He almost jumped when he felt someone behind him.

"He comes in here all the time," Belinda said. "I could be in the bath or on the toilet, but he's always watching. He wants us to be ashamed, too."

Max knew Belinda was a weird kid, but he had grown used to her since she was a baby. She was tall for a six-year-old, she would develop early, her looks becoming more like her father's.

Max turned around from his bent position. "Do you mean the man who lived here, Bel?"

"Yes, Mr. Degan broke the windows from the outside."

"Was he angry?"

"Yes. He's been here for a long time."

"Did you tell your mom about this?"

"No. I don't have to."

"Why wouldn't you?"

"It doesn't matter. Mr. Degan won't leave, and Mom and Dad won't, either."

"Do you want to leave?"

"No. But maybe Gramma Ed could take the twins, then Mr. Degan wouldn't care."

"Wouldn't you miss Sam and Sarah?"

"No, I wouldn't."

"You don't mean that, Bel."

"Mom didn't want twins. I dream about a boy—"

"Hey, did you find anything in there?"

Max and Belinda turned around to see John, with a staple gun in his hand.

"No," Max replied, "maybe you should get a plumber."

"Maybe. The new windows are going to cost enough as it is."

"Claim catastrophe."

"How do I make out the forms, Max? I can't claim fire, flooding, or a tornado. But something broke all these windows at the same time. It's going to take days just to clean it up."

Belinda left the bathroom to look for Will, who was helping with the cleanup.

Molly decided to take the twins upstairs for a nap, having already cleaned their room, making sure every bit of glass from their bedroom window was swept away, picking tiny bits out of their cribs. Belinda found the pieces of glass from her bedroom mirror all over her white and pink room. Her anger was not silent, she stomped her feet all the way downstairs, giving the twins a resentful look as Molly and Rita brought them upstairs in their arms.

Sam and Sarah had inherited their mother's strawberry-blonde hair and pale blue eyes of Samuel Murdoch. Belinda had been more than aloof to Sam and Sarah lately, even with Will, who did not seem to notice, he had new friends. He was a good-natured, friendly kid who played sports. He would spend the night at other kids' homes, but his friends did not come to his house. After what happened to Belinda in the bathtub, Will had stopped talking at school about the haunting, but his sister could not be silenced. No one believed her, including her teacher, and the other kids thought she was making up stories.

John had not yet covered the window in the twins' bedroom. Molly had earlier taken down the cute baby-yellow curtains with pink and blue polka dots, the glass landing on the hardwood floor. Molly did not feel particularly depressed until that moment, when she realized how disruptive and dangerous the house was for the children. Will was helping, as stoic as ever, like his father. Belinda would take care of her own room, too, as soon as she stopped being mad.

"Maybe we should put the twins down on Edna's bed in the hall," Molly said. "The glass didn't reach there."

Rita was standing behind her, holding Sarah on her hip. "When is Edna coming home?"

Molly rolled her eyes. "She called this morning. She told us she had a dream about a statue of the pregnant Virgin Mary on a pedestal above a fountain, and the water froze, then exploded into bits, becoming glass, blood coming out of Mary's eyes, like tears. She woke up terrified, covered in sweat." Molly giggled. "She was probably having a hot flash, if you ask me. John told her what happened. Of course, she cut her trip a day short to be here by tomorrow night."

Rita did not miss the sarcasm in Molly's voice. Molly sat down on Edna's bed, laying Sam beside her. She picked a book off the floor, a Golden book with Bambi on the cover. Sam grabbed the book and opened it, his little fingers gentle with the thin pages. He liked books more than his twin and he recognized this one, handing it back to his mother. Molly thought this book must be his favorite, the one Edna read to them.

Sam is seven months old and only now do I know his favorite book, Molly thought. Was I ever a good wife or a mother? Or was I just playing a part? But it's not just acting, it's all I know.

"I'm surprised Edna has stayed this long. She didn't even want to come here at first, but now we can't get her to leave. She's afraid for the children. I can't blame her."

"Yes, I understand why she would be concerned," Rita said. "But Max and I have wondered—"

"Why don't you just move out?"

"Yes, Molly, just move out."

"We can't. You read philosophy in college, right?"

"Yes."

"Comparative religion?"

"A little."

"Reincarnation?"

"Yes, in Buddhism."

"Transmigration, then?"

"Sounds familiar. Buddhists believe the soul migrates from life to life."

"Do you think the soul could be attracted to a place they lived in a previous life?"

"Maybe. Why are you asking me this?"

"Because I need someone to believe it besides me."

"But you've always believed in reincarnation. So did your parents. I remember one of your father's books, _Places in Heaven_ , was very popular on campus when I was at Kent State, although that's all I really know about it, from my college days."

"My sister Pauline wrote a book called _Birthmarks_."

"She did?" Rita knew about Pauline. "You never mentioned a book before."

"The book was published in the U.K. a long time ago. I've never read it, but Shawn Rush, that reporter I know, mentioned it to John. I had to talk my mother into sending me her copy, but it hasn't come yet. She probably didn't even send it out."

"Doesn't she want you to read it?"

"Probably not. Who knows? She gave up on Pauline a long time ago."

"Do you think this has anything to do with the house?"

"Yes, I do. I tried discussing it with John, but he doesn't believe in reincarnation. It's always been a topic of argument with us, since before we were married."

"I would think he'd have more of an open mind, being what he is."

"John can't accept what he is. Never could."

"Then why did he marry you, Molly?"

"Maybe he thought I was the only woman who would have him."

"What about those experiments in college, wasn't that how you two met?"

"Yes. You ever hear of something called remote viewing?"

"No. Something psychic, right?"

Molly nodded. "There was a psychology professor at Michigan, a Professor Hayden, who I think had worked for the government. John and I and two other psychic students were separated, and told to go to different places on campus. Then we had to describe where the person assigned to us was located. In my case, I was assigned to look for John. In an empty classroom in a hall at the west end of campus, I was put under hypnosis and then I was instructed to tell Professor Hayden where John's location was and to describe this place as clearly as I could. I told him John was at the library, on the second floor, sitting toward the back, where the art history books were stacked. I was successful in these initial experiments, so Hayden decided to take the experiment further with me. And that didn't just mean sleeping with him, but taking the remote viewing as far as I could go.

I was having fun at first; I wasn't engaged to John yet, although I thought I loved him. Anyway, Hayden had this idea of getting me to remote view someone else who was in another country. He showed me photographs of a young woman. He said her name was Linda. That was it, the rest was up to me. Hayden audiotaped our session, but I wasn't hypnotized this time, and I did manage to find her, somewhere in Germany. I could tell the location was Germany by the writing on the traffic signs and because she was driving one of those little Volkswagens. However, I didn't know where she'd been, in terms of where she started, or where her destination was. But I felt like I was in the car with her. I could smell her perfume and cigarette smoke. Music playing from the car radio, the song was some German pop song. On campus, I was sitting in a dark room, on a comfortable sofa, in a state of meditation I had learned over the years. My mind can relax itself in a way that's similar to drifting off to sleep. You know how relaxed you can be early in the morning, when you're sleeping in, and you may be drifting off again, after all of that dreaming through the night? Your mind starts flashing one dream-image after another, until only one dream reveals itself. During this time, I can hear voices, coming in very clear. As I was coming back from the German remote viewing, I heard my brother Vincent's voice, I was almost sure of it, although I hadn't heard his voice since I was a small child. He'd stopped coming around long before then."

"You haven't heard from Pauline in years."

"She wrote me a letter when the twins were born, so it's been seven months since I heard from her."

"Are you thinking about contacting her?"

"I don't know. If I let her back into my life, I have to let in her craziness, too."

"But she could be the one person who can help."

"Or maybe that one person is right under my nose."

"Belinda?"

"Yes. She reminds me more of Pauline every day. She knew about the Degans and how April was pregnant for twins before any of us could know or feel. But it makes sense, in a way. We moved here so we could have more room for the twins, and then all these other problems started, the disturbances in the house—"

"Coincidences?"

"Nothing is a coincidence with us, Rita. You know that."

"Yes, I do." Rita put Sarah down next to her brother on the bed, both babies falling asleep. "But what about these people, the Degans? Didn't that reporter tell you they still have family here?"

"Right. They do."

"Have you spoken to them, yet?"

"No. I've been meaning to call the woman. Shawn Rush gave me her phone number. But I don't want to spook her, I may need her."

"What do you think she knows that could help you?"

"I'm hoping she knows why John Degan killed his wife, although that might not stop the disturbances in the house. We might have to send the children away."

John came upstairs moments later, the staple gun in his hand. Will was behind him, dragging the roll of plastic. "Honey, UPS just dropped off a package. I left it in the kitchen."

*****

Molly eagerly pulled the hardcover book out of the flat, cardboard packaging while standing at the kitchen counter.

_Birthmarks_ was wrapped in an off-white slipcover, with what looked like the Moon and stars in a Renaissance design. The lettering was in a kind of antiquated script; a small publishing company had published the book. Below the title, Pauline and Dr. James Campbell's names were scribed.

Campbell. A psychiatrist with a background in paranormal research. A hypnotist. A tall, rugged fellow with blue eyes and a fair complexion. His hair was an auburn color, he wore it long. Molly could barely remember the sound of his voice, sort of low and husky, he was a smoker. Colleen was quite charmed by him at first; she and five-year-old Molly visited Pauline when she was living in Glasgow, where Campbell was a professor at Glasgow University, his alma mater. He loved Pauline and the relationship seemed to mellow her; she would laugh, she was happy, she had become a nice person. Molly and Colleen watched her as Campbell put her under trance; she had already recalled numerous past lives, enough to fill a book.

Molly remembered the drafty cottage with the fireplace where Pauline lived with Campbell. He was a married man, but left his wife for Pauline. Colleen had been unhappy about this, although she was elated to have a cheerful, civilized conversation with Pauline for the first time since she was a child. Pauline left home two years before, to live with a Murdoch aunt in West Virginia. When she turned eighteen, she asked her parents if she could attend art school in England. She met Campbell in London soon thereafter, and they began their experiments with past-life regression.

Pauline's looks had matured, her strawberry-blonde hair teased and sprayed, along with the orange-red lipstick and cashmere sweaters. She was a new person, and Colleen considered this a miracle of Campbell's doing, never thinking to give Pauline any credit. Colleen thought her daughter would spend her life in mental institutions, unmarried and unwanted. Colleen, initially, was grateful to Campbell.

Pauline and Campbell were putting together the stories for _Birthmarks_ during that visit. They were only in the early stages, Pauline transcribing her own sessions from the tapes, using an old manual typewriter. Under hypnosis, she would recall past lives in Sumeria, Greece, Rome, Japan, and France. Pauline had been a man in several of these lives, including a laborer in a crew that was building one of the Egyptian pyramids, her foot broken and twisted, a sad life. She had also been a sailor on a Viking vessel, when she drowned in a storm. Japan, killed in a battle against a rival clan. She would recall more than ten lives. She claimed the moles and scars on her body were consistent with the events she recalled under trance, including a birthmark in the shape of a half-moon, which she told Colleen was a 'cell memory' of her death in Japan, when an enemy sword stabbed her in the thigh.

Years later, Molly would read the books of Dr. Ian Stevenson, and be entertained by these stories of children in India and Sri Lanka who vividly recalled past lives. When Molly became a mother, she had not wanted to apply these theories to her own children, because they would not feel like her children anymore; their souls would belong to someone else, a Higher Power, and Molly wanted her babies to be hers, believing their little souls only existed because of her and John. She was self-aware and educated enough to know this was pure egotism on her part, but it would be hard enough to let them go when they became adults. Molly could almost get herself to believe in these things, as had her parents and Pauline. David, the neurologist, even believed. However, when these beliefs somehow infringed upon her personal happiness with John and the children, she wanted to dump it all before it invaded her life, before it could get in the way. Her ego would once again stifle the thirst for something truly spiritual, no matter how often the voices and images nagged her.

She sat down at the kitchen table, her back to the destroyed sliding glass doors, installed only a few years ago. John went into a silent rage over those doors; Molly was surprised he had not started drinking. The reinforced glass was cracked all over, but not shattered. When John tapped the right hand door in the middle, a large shard of glass fell out, dropping in pieces all over the patio. Molly was standing there when it happened, and managed to avoid John for an hour after, preferring to sweep up in the living room. Molly knew he was furious, she felt his hot anger burst into her head, seeping into her blood. She had not experienced that kind of emotional connection to her husband in years, making her frightened and excited at the same time.

Molly did not want to become distracted by the house as she studied her sister's book, the pages becoming yellow over the years. This was Pauline's story, a piece of her life, and every life before.

Molly, as she turned the pages, was reminded of all those past lives of Pauline's. There were also other people that had been interviewed previously by Campbell; a Frenchwoman from Canada recalled a previous life as an officer in Napoleon's army, of the agonizing trek to Russia and how she died there as a young man from pneumonia, suffocating from the fluid in her lungs. She was plagued with asthma in her present life, and claimed this condition was some sort of carryover, a 'cell memory' of dying from pneumonia in her past life.

Molly, as she skimmed through the book, started to feel disappointed. _Birthmarks_ did not have the answers she was looking for, just anecdotal evidence for reincarnation. Maybe she would finish reading it later, when they had cleaned away all the glass. The twins would be waking up from their nap. The children would be hungry.

She was shutting the book closed, letting the pages fall back in place, when she saw something in bold print on the second page, the place where all the copyright information was printed.

Molly quickly looked the words over:

For Belinda,

the past will live as long as you, in the space between.

Molly looked down at the year, 1956. Belinda would not be born until 1974. _Birthmarks_ was only printed once, by Kingston Book Publishing of London, England. In 1956, Molly was eight years old and had not seen Pauline in years, although Campbell would still have been alive then.

How could Pauline have known? she asked herself.

_Because we are supposed to be here_ —

I don't know that for sure—

Did Mom know about this?

She probably never read the book.

_Pauline could have known about this before anyone_.

*****

Rita was helping Will and John in Will's room when the twins awakened.

Sam and Sarah had napped for almost an hour, unafraid to sleep during the day. The night before, Rita put the babies into bed, sleeping with them in their only guest bedroom. Will and Belinda would sleep on the sofa bed in the living room.

Sarah was the first to wake up in her Gramma Ed's bed. When her pale eyes opened, the first thing she saw was the short staircase from the attic door descending from the ceiling, near Belinda's bedroom door. The ladder-stairs slid down so quietly, Rita, John, and Will did not initially hear any noise.

The footfalls came down hard and rapid as the steps started to shake.

Will and Rita were helping to keep the plastic sheet in place over a window, John securing the plastic with his staple gun, when they heard the noise.

"Go look, Will," his father said.

Will stepped into the hallway, looking to his brother and sister, then to the attic stepladder.

He noticed the cellar smell right away, although the air was getting hot and stuffy upstairs. He had never detected the odor in this part of the house before. Sam and Sarah remained in the bed, half-asleep.

He wondered where Belinda was, he knew she was not in her room. His mother was downstairs, opening that package from UPS, Aunt Pauline's book. Max was outdoors, cleaning up the glass from the patio. Will decided to go downstairs to check on Belinda.

*****

Four children and two adults lived in the house at 1225 Gable Road, but there was only one bathroom, so everyone had to take their turn.

Belinda flushed the toilet, pulling her shorts up around her thick waist. She was going to wash her hands when the overhead light blinked for a few seconds. She looked up at the light, but the blinking stopped. A thumping noise came from underneath the bathtub, making Belinda almost jump. Water started to spray out of the tub faucet in a steady stream, although Belinda did not see the hot or cold water taps turn. She stepped closer to the tub, the shower curtain pulled back.

She heard Will politely knock on the door, "Hey, Belinda, are you in there?"

"Yeah, I'll be right out!" Belinda continued to watch the water pour, then she saw the plug on the floor, brushing against her bare right foot. The water, as it filled the tub, smelled like the cellar.

"Belinda, I gotta pee!"

"Wait!"

Belinda turned her head for only a moment to yell through the door at Will. When she turned back, she saw something through the water, at the bottom of the tub.

A red barrette.

She had been wearing a plastic red barrette that day in the cellar. She bent over, her right hand reaching into the water.

Maybe it fell out of my hair when I was taking a bath, she thought.

"Belinda! Come on!"

Her hand was now immersed in the cold water up to her elbow, the barrette between her two fingers, when she saw something that made her look ahead of her.

The root had appeared silently and rushed towards her.

The water splashed on the floor as the root tightened around her neck, pulling her into the tub. Belinda weighed more than the average six-year-old girl, but her bare feet slipped on the floor and she fell forward.

Belinda tried to hold her breath, her eyes bulging underneath the water. She watched the root tighten, grow shorter, coming from the faucet. Another two came shooting out, thinner and longer than the one already choking her. These were fast-moving, resembling the soft, flexible twigs on a sassafras tree. No matter how much they were bent, they did not break. The first wrapped itself around her left wrist, the other pushing against her belly.

Will, who could no longer politely wait, opened the bathroom door. He was embarrassed at first, because he thought he had walked in on his sister taking a bath, but then he noticed that she was still clothed, wearing her loose pink T-shirt and dark blue shorts that came to her knees.

Belinda was face down in the water, her hair tangled in something that looked like tree twigs.

The boy was afraid to get close, he did not want to go near the tub alone. He ran from the bathroom.

The first person Will found was his mother, bumping into her.

"Mom, Belinda's in the tub!"

Molly dropped the book to the floor. She had been on her way upstairs to talk to John.

No one should be in that tub, Molly thought. I told those kids, they don't listen to me...

Molly continued to berate herself as she followed Will to the bathroom. Belinda was face down in the icy water. The strong roots, some sporting green leaves, were tangled in Belinda's hair and around her waist and legs..

Molly pushed her son towards the door. "Will, go get your dad!"

Will ran upstairs as Molly tried to pull Belinda out of the water. She saw the twig around Belinda's neck and the veil of red in the water around the girl's legs. One of the roots was wrapped between her chubby thighs, going up around her buttocks.

Molly tried to raise Belinda's head to get her mouth and nose out of the water, as John had done for her. She could not recall when the roots let her go and John was able to pull her out. For some reason, the roots had released her, but were not budging now.

Because I'm not Belinda, she thought.

John was the first to enter the small bathroom, kneeling beside Molly on the wet floor. Max was behind Will, and they all saw Belinda wrapped in roots, leaves, and twigs.

"We need something to cut her out!" Max yelled.

Will turned and ran out of the bathroom. He went into the kitchen and found a pair of scissors in the overstuffed junk drawer. He carefully carried these to the bathroom, his fingers around the blades. He passed Rita, who had followed the noise downstairs, with both twins in her arms.

The boy pushed past Max and his mother and father to Belinda. He chose a place to begin, trying to get one of the scissor blades underneath the root around Belinda's wrist. When he pressed on the handle, the thick fibers quickly snapped back, like a rubber band. All of the binding roots rapidly let go, pulling back into the faucet. Belinda's body fell all the way into the tub, causing more water to splash.

John and Molly grabbed her, finally pulling Belinda's head completely out of the water, dragging her heavy body out of the tub. Max had gone to the kitchen to call an ambulance.

John and Molly laid her face down on the floor. None of them knew CPR, so they pounded on her back.

Will brought some towels and a blanket. He remembered Belinda telling him that she had been afraid to take a bath lately, taking showers instead with the door cracked open, Gramma Ed standing by. They were also keeping a closer watch on the twins, ever since Belinda's news about April's pregnancy.

John discovered a smear of blood on the towel as he rubbed Belinda's legs with the fabric. "What is this? Was she cut?"

Molly stayed silent as Max gently rotated the child's one arm, then the other. Her pulse felt strong, she most likely passed out. He recalled the conversation he and Belinda shared when he checked the faucet. She said Degan had been here for a long time, he possessed a kind of energy that made him powerful.

Belinda, still face down on the floor, started to make a wheezing sound. Her eyes opened, followed by a small gush of water that came out of her mouth and nose. Before the adults could help her, she turned herself around, still coughing, on her back. Molly put her arms around Belinda and helped her off the wet floor to the living room couch, where she sat shivering, more out of shock than cold. Rita sat next to her with the twins. Will covered his sister with a blanket.

"You'll be all right, Bel," he said.

"What happened in there?" John asked.

"You know what happened," Molly said.

"I already called 9-1-1," Max said.

"How are we going to explain this?"

"I'll tell the truth," Belinda said.

"The Hell you will!"

"I'll tell them I slipped and fell in the tub while I was running a bath."

"Then you're lying," John said.

"I know, but they wouldn't understand."

*****

A journal entry written by Belinda a few days before her death, in a journal found by her roommate Pam months later, hidden underneath Belinda's mattress.

February 9, 20—

_I make no excuses about the kind of person I am. I turned thirty-two the other day, but I'm not horrified by it. I would like to think I spent my twenties just_ _sitting around, staring at my fat thighs, but not really. I went to_ _college, fell in love, had an abortion, traveled a lot–all those things you do in your twenties. I have no regrets about not being married, because I would pity the man who would want to spend the rest of his life with me. I've had a few lovers, and that's all I deserve, because I have no business having a family, my children wouldn't_ _be normal._

I paid the therapist, and she said I suffer from so much guilt and self-loathing, that I wouldn't be able to sustain a relationship until I learned to love myself. She meant well, but I only saw her twice. I wish I had a James Campbell, but I never found someone like him. I've seen pictures of Aunt Pauline when she was young, and she was pretty, she was thin. Mom and Sarah resemble her. I don't think men like me; the therapist said that I didn't 'bond' with my father, but he didn't want to bond with me. For him, it was always about Mom and their problems. When the haunting stopped, they just had another baby and acted like nothing happened. I almost died in that house and no one wanted to talk about it. My grandmothers were too far away, and I only saw Ethan a few times growing up. I went to school, got good grades, had few friends–I always felt lonely, and I still do. The only time I didn't feel that way was when I was with Ethan or Michael.

I am psychic; I can detect illness in people or animals, I have precognitive dreams, I can see and hear the dead in their state, and I just 'know' things. That's why I didn't have to study hard in school, picking up Spanish and French was easy. But I didn't know who Michael really was, and neither did Ethan, at first. Grandma Colleen and Old Sam raised Mom, but the baby boy was given to a family in California, friends of Uncle David's. The baby was named Michael, and he was my second love, after Ethan. Ethan knew Mom had a twin, he just didn't know that twin was Michael Page, a psychic researcher who taught psychology at Stanford University. I didn't find out until after the first time we made love. I dreamed in our bed, in that hotel room in Key West. A hospital. Doctors and nurses in white. Some of the patients staggered in the halls, heavily medicated. I was in a mental ward. I could smell the chemicals used for cleaning. A few of the patients were being noisy; one was swearing profusely, another crying and moaning. I felt sorry for these people. I came to a room; I saw a man in a white uniform, possibly an orderly, almost on top of a patient, who was bound by the wrists to a bed. I couldn't make out what he was doing, but as I came closer, I saw his hips moving back and forth, the patient's knees banging against the bed side-rails. I couldn't see her face; I assumed she was medicated or unconscious. She didn't know she was being raped. I caught a glimpse of her hair. Strawberry-blonde, like a Murdoch.

_I thought this rape dream was brought about because I had some anxiety from the beginning about my feelings for Michael. He was another much older man, like Ethan, and I'd told myself I would not repeat my mistakes. But the dream disturbed me so much, I woke up sobbing. I told Michael it was only a nightmare. Michael had experienced his share of psychic dreams, but didn't_ _press the issue. I called Ethan instead, and he finally told me the story of how Pauline had become pregnant. She was put in a private psychiatric hospital when she was fifteen, after a violent suicide attempt. She was raped by an orderly. She tried to hide it, but she eventually had to tell her parents. She gave birth to her twins while staying with Uncle David in California. Baby Molly went home to Chicago; Michael went to Uncle David's friends. I told Ethan this was a strange coincidence, because I had met a man named Michael while vacationing in Key West. We met on the beach my first day, and met for dinner that evening. He told me his life story; he was psychic, divorced, and had been adopted as a baby, but he never knew his birth parents. Ethan reminded me that few coincidences exist in my family. Weeks later, I found out I was pregnant. Michael reluctantly returned to Stanford before I spoke to Ethan, and we promised to keep in touch, telephoning and writing to each other. There was little chance, judging by the age difference alone, that we would last. Michael was a beautiful man; he could very well have been a Murdoch, with those blue eyes. His hair color had faded to gray when I met him; he was in his early fifties, and he sort of resembled Old Sam. I needed more proof, but I couldn't take any chances. I told Ethan about the pregnancy, and he met me in Orlando, accompanying me when I had the abortion. If circumstances had been different, I still wouldn't have wanted children. No matter how much I loved Michael, I could never be a mother..._

Chapter Eight

John and Molly were predictably mortified in the hospital emergency room, the situation going from bad to worse. After giving her half-baked story of slipping into a full tub of water, Belinda managed to convince the paramedics and the emergency room doctor. However, the drying blood on her shorts was evident, and the E/R doctor, a woman, insisted on further examination. John and Molly knew what the doctor was thinking, but did not argue with her. The nurse brought a hospital gown for Belinda into the examining room. John walked out, leaving Molly under the suspicious gaze of the doctor.

She thinks Belinda's been raped, Molly thought. And those vines were wrapped so tight—

_But Belinda would've known if she had been penetrated_ —

No, she wouldn't. She doesn't know much about sex, she hasn't expressed any interest in the subject, and I haven't explained about how her body will change as she gets older, I thought it would be too soon to talk about those things.

Molly held Belinda's hand as the confused child lay on the metal table, her bare feet in the stirrups. The doctor was gentle and patient; she looked to be about fifty, her hair in a bun, little or no makeup. She reminded Molly of Edna, who would be home tomorrow.

"All right, Belinda. You can get dressed now." The doctor removed her latex gloves, smeared with blood, and dumped them into the garbage. "Mrs. Hart, could you come with me? I can send a nurse to help Belinda."

"All right."

Molly followed the doctor to a vacant examining area, a curtain around them.

"Mrs. Hart," she said softly, "I don't want you to be alarmed, but it looks like Belinda has started menstruating. Considering her age, this is unusual, but not uncommon. You may want to take her to your OB/GYN, but I think she'll be all right. She may have the occasional period for the next few years until her cycle becomes more regular as she gets older. If the bleeding doesn't stop, or if there are other complications, don't hesitate to bring her back."

Molly could feel herself relax as she let out a long sigh. "So, she wasn't...injured?"

The doctor shook her head. "There was no tearing, her hymen is intact."

"Jesus."

"I'm sorry, but I'm obligated—"

"I know. I understand, Doctor."

"You will have to explain to her, about why her body is doing this, if she doesn't already know."

"She doesn't. But I'll tell her."

Molly was using her fingers to wipe away her tears when she found John in the E/R lobby. She took him to a quiet corner and explained the situation quickly. She felt the tension, the anxiety, seep out of him.

"I knew what you were thinking, Molly."

"I'm sure you did."

"He might be just evil enough, you know. He had...touched her in that tub before."

They spoke in whispers. The E/R was busy that evening and a few children sat in the lobby with their parents.

"He did this to scare us," Molly said. "He wants us to think he could harm our children—"

"But we can't afford to be scared. This was too close, Molly."

"So what do we do now?"

"You're not going to like this, but I think we should take the children out of the house. I also have an idea that might help."

"What's that?"

"Max suggested bringing a psychic into the house that we're not related to, someone who could be objective."

"To find out what?"

"If Belinda is right."

"You know she's right."

"Belinda is only six years old, how can we distinguish between what she is intuiting and what she is imagining? We need to consult with an adult—"

"But Shawn Rush came to the house, and saw nothing, not even in the photographs. I showed those same pictures and played the tape for Max and Rita, and they saw and heard nothing, too. But after today, Max saw what was in the tub; those roots, vines, wrapped around Belinda's body. When those things snapped back into the faucet, he was a believer, and Rita will believe him—"

"But they're not psychic."

"What difference does it make?"

"We need someone who can understand the house like we do, but with less of an emotional connection."

"You mean, karmic?"

"I mean, our mortgage, and how are we going to pay for new windows?"

Molly almost laughed. John was such a pragmatist. "All right, you want to find a psychic that isn't related to us, who will come to our house, and tell you it's a classic haunting, when we both know it's not?"

"I don't want to argue about this here, okay?"

"Okay. But if you want another psychic, I can get you one. Mom has a lot of friends."

"I know she does. I just want to take Belinda home, and we can talk about it there."

"I don't think the children should stay."

"Max and Rita have already agreed to take them for a while longer. Mom won't like it, but she'll just have to understand."

*****

The children went with Max and Rita that night, and Molly called her mother.

Molly explained Colleen about the windows shattering and Belinda almost drowning in the bathtub the next day. Colleen was alarmed, but not surprised. They all knew, at some point, the house would no longer be safe for the children.

Molly then asked her mother if she knew a psychic outside of the family she trusted, that could come to the house.

"Why do you need another psychic?" her mother asked.

"John thinks it might give us a more...objective take on things. All we have to go on, regarding the history of the house, is what Belinda has told us. She's the one who is really plugged into this place, more so than the rest of us. She knew John Degan murdered April, who was pregnant for twins. We also believe Degan was the ghost who...molested Belinda in the bathtub, and somehow his energy is causing those roots, vines, to come out of the tub faucet. His energy is intelligent and destructive at the same time. But it has no sense of order. It's so hard to explain, Mom—"

"You don't have to explain to me, I know."

"If we have a karmic link to this house, then we can't really be objective, can we? Another psychic could give us a clearer picture."

"But could another psychic possibly understand the house the way Belinda does?"

"I don't know. That's what we want to find out."

They were both quiet for a few moments when Colleen finally came to the subject that Molly knew her mother would pounce on given the chance. "Did John file the insurance claim on the windows?"

"No."

"Why not?"

"He doesn't know how to explain to Oracle what happened, Mom. If he lies on the claim forms, he's committing insurance fraud, but he knows the company won't believe the truth."

"No, they wouldn't..."

"It's so embarrassing, you know. John and I can't be intimate in this house. Now we're afraid to use the bathtub or the toilet. But we have to, we have no choice."

"How are you going to pay for new windows, then?"

"Our credit isn't bad, so we can get a loan. I'll have to get a job."

"Where will you get this loan?"

"A bank. Where else?"

"I could give you the money."

"No, that's all right, Mom."

"No, really. I could just subtract it from your trust; you could have the check in days."

"John doesn't want that money, he won't take it."

"The trust was left to you by your father, not me."

"You know what happened when I tried to use that money before; John almost called off our wedding."

"He might feel differently this time."

"Why?"

"Remember Ethan Ward?"

Molly paused. "Um...yes. What about him?"

"He lives here now, in Chicago."

"Really?"

"If you take this money for the windows, I can get Ethan Ward to come to the house. If not, you're on your own."

Molly wanted to slam the phone down, but she knew confrontation was the best way to keep Colleen off-balance. "Damn it, Mom! Ethan is very gifted, but John won't go for it!"

Molly heard the amusement in her mother's voice; she must have known Molly would take the bait. "If there is some karmic link you have with that house, Ethan will find it."

"Ethan studied Daddy's life, his work. He knows us, Mom."

"But he isn't related to us. I think he can help you."

"Yes, he could."

"The money?"

"I'll talk to John about it. I'll get back to you soon."

*****

"I told you I would never take money from your family!"

"This isn't just about you, John; it's about the house and the children. I think Ethan Ward can really help us."

"I can't stand Ward!"

"Oh, he's okay."

"He was a hanger-on, Molly. He wrote his book—"

"It was only a biography about Daddy."

"He fooled around with your mother."

"Oh, shut up!"

"Old Sam was in his seventies! Ward saw his chance—"

"Look, Mom is willing to give us some money out of my trust for the windows. It's not a loan; a bank would ask us questions we might not be able to answer."

"Molly, I would consider it, but throwing Ethan Ward into our problems doesn't make it more tempting for me."

"Besides Nedra and a few others, my father didn't have much to do with other psychics outside of the family, but even he was impressed with Ethan."

They were lying in bed, the house quiet without the children. Edna arrived that evening, only to leave for Max and Rita's house to see the children. John and Molly gave her a quick explanation of what happened. Edna remained calm as ever, but the details regarding Belinda's near-drowning had left her shaken.

John turned himself over on the bed, so he was facing Molly. "Ward believes in reincarnation as much as you do, Molly. He'll come right into this house and tell you what you want to hear. All this talk about a karmic link to this house bothers me. Not because I don't believe, but what if this link is more like a chain? We won't be able to get away from it."

"Karmic debt isn't exactly like that."

"Debt is always exact, dear."

John could hear noises from upstairs, his mother getting ready for bed. The drive back from Traverse City had been long and she was too tired to argue about the children anymore.

"I don't disagree with you about taking the children out of the house," Edna said that evening, sitting in the dining room. "But when will they be able to come home? When will this house be safe for them?"

"I don't know, Mom," John replied. "Molly and I want to learn more about the house, maybe bring in another psychic."

"A violent murder happened here, John. The activity is a classic haunting—"

"Not after what happened with Belinda, Ed. This has been unlike anything I've experienced," Molly said. "Degan has been here for too long; he's inside the walls, in the floors, the pipes, the wiring. Belinda says he can go outside of the house, which was how he made the windows explode from the outside. He wants our attention; to make it clear that we can't push him around. He never bothered the other families that lived here before, but he's been waiting for us. He needs us."

"Are you hoping this Ethan Ward can find out why Belinda is the focus?"

"Yes," Molly replied, "but John can't stand Ethan."

Edna turned to her son. "Why?"

John sighed, staring at the plastic sheet where the kitchen window used to be. "I met Ward twice; at a Christmas party and later at a Murdoch family reunion. Both times, Ward told me not to marry Molly, because our children would have problems. I didn't appreciate those remarks, so I told him to mind his own business. Old Sam was on his last legs and I thought Ward was taking advantage of this by charming Colleen. He'd take her out, spend time with her, becoming her confidante. Old Sam was too old and ill to be a husband to her—"

"Oh, come on!" Molly exclaimed.

"Ward wanted the money, Mom. Colleen was going to own a fortune from the health products. The fortune, at that time, was around three million dollars, not including the homes, cars, and art collection. Ward wanted a piece of the Murdoch pie."

"But was he wrong?" Molly asked.

"About what?"

"About our children."

"No, he wasn't wrong."

Edna was too tired to listen to their bickering. She decided to visit the children, taking the station wagon to Max and Rita's. She was gone for almost two hours. When she returned, she went upstairs to bed. She was not afraid; she could sleep up there alone.

Molly knew John was dozing off, but she would not let him go to sleep until he agreed to let Ward visit. "Hey."

"What?"

"Can I tell her to send him?"

His eyes quickly snapped open. "Oh, Jesus, Molly! You know, you're stretching it with the money as it is! Besides, you know your mother is just manipulating you again—"

"I know. It's just the way she is. But Ethan won't manipulate us—"

"Are you sure about that? I think he was the only person who could manipulate Colleen, Queen Manipulator."

Molly almost laughed at that last remark. "All right. Look, if you don't want Ethan here, I'll let you find the psychic."

He had already turned his back to her, taking most of the blanket with him. "Aw, forget it."

"I love you."

"Shut up."

Molly waited, her eyes open in the dark room.

"Let me sleep on it, okay?"

Colleen's check came in the mail a week later. John did not want Ethan coming until the windows were installed; this was part of the deal between him and Molly. She accepted it, knowing John would live up to his end.

The children continued to stay with Max and Rita. This was a time when Belinda and the twins started to bond more. Will was playing baseball, his aloofness becoming more pronounced. However, he would be the most persistent about wanting to come home; he did not want his friends from school knowing that he was not living with his parents.

The cost of the windows would be around ten thousand dollars. The very thought made John's blood pressure increase, because that was only a small fraction of what Molly held in trust through her father's estate. However, he wanted to avoid a conflict because things seemed to be getting better between them. The house was quieter since the children left, so there were fewer disturbances to get on their nerves. The nights were calm, they could sleep. Molly's depression gradually lifted and she applied for a few part-time jobs. Because of this, John was willing to bend just enough to let Ethan Ward into his home.

Edna suggested taking the children with her to Traverse City, but John and Molly refused. John would have let his mother take the children for a while, but Molly did not want them too far away from her. Edna chose to go home alone. Molly was relieved to have her mother-in-law finally go, although they both knew she had become very close to the children, but Molly wanted a chance to take care of them. If she got a job, she could hire a babysitter.

The workmen came to install the new Armstrong windows, which took almost a week. The house needed a window in every room; even the small window in the attic needed to be replaced, along with new sliding glass doors. John and Molly fabricated a tale about a possible break-in and vandalism, but they were not home when it occurred. The Harts wanted to avoid removing the broken glass from the attic, so Molly, feigning illness, was able to talk two of the workmen into cleaning up the mess. John was gone at work all day while Molly kept a cool distance by going to a different part of the house or went to see the children.

One afternoon, Molly took her children to the park. They all piled into the station wagon; Belinda in the front seat with Molly, Will in the back with Sam and Sarah.

"What has the house been like, Mom?" Belinda asked.

"Sort of quiet."

"Gramma Ed went home."

"Yes, she has."

"I miss her."

"Gramma Ed shouldn't have to take care of you kids all the time. Your dad and I should be."

"But you won't let us come home, Mom."

"I can't. The house isn't safe."

"Mom?" Will asked.

"What?"

"Can we move back in before school starts? The bus can't pick us up at Max and Rita's."

"Your dad and I hope you can move back before then."

"The house is quiet because I'm not there, or Sam and Sarah," Belinda said. "That's what he wants, he won't be mad if we're gone, out of his house."

Molly did not reply right away as she merged the station wagon into traffic. "Degan doesn't own the house. We do. It is our home."

"But Mr. Degan was there first," Belinda said. "He built the house, you told us that. They lived in a tent by the weeping willow while he built it—"

"How do you know that?" Molly asked.

"The old metal stakes are still there," Will said. "We found them before the windows were broken."

"She was going to have a baby then," Belinda said. "She had two little boys. Later, a baby girl that died. She didn't have the twins in her belly until later, after the house was all built. Mr. Degan buried the dead baby girl by the weeping willow. It was wintertime, the ground was hard. April was sad; there was a lot of blood, like me—"

Molly had to be careful not to slam into the Jeep in front of her; she could not concentrate on her driving. She was never a particularly good driver; her mind would wander, just like when she was a child in school. "How do you know these things, Bel?"

Belinda picked at a scab on her dimpled knee. Her mother noticed her clothes were getting tighter; Belinda was gaining more weight since coming to stay with Max and Rita. Molly would now have to find bigger sizes for the girl, ordering through catalogues for her school clothes, just like she did last year. The child pulled her fingers away from the scab, straightening her shorts. "I dream and then I find things that match the dream, like the metal stakes by the tree. The jar in the cellar was like the one in Will's dream, with the babies inside—"

"There were no babies in that jar," Will said. "It was just something I saw, okay?"

"Okay, Will," Belinda said. She had a smirk on her face her mother did not miss.

Will no longer liked to talk about the things he saw or heard anymore. Belinda could be 'weird' all she wanted, but not him. He had friends and interests. His best friend from school, Troy Weiss, was still at summer camp. Will would sometimes spend whole weekends at Troy's home, Troy being an only child who lived with his parents in a new split-level house near their school.

"Daniel and Patrick are John and April's sons," Belinda said. "Daniel was killed in the big war, the one with the Nazis."

"World War Two," Will said.

"Yeah, that one. Patrick was there, too. He flew a plane."

Chapter Nine

Ethan Ward seemed almost like a character out of a Hemingway novel. He served in the military during Vietnam, was a boxer, worked as a Hollywood stunt man, and psychic through it all. He met Sam and Colleen Murdoch when they were guests on the Tonight Show in the late 1960s, around the time when John and Molly were engaged.

Ethan Ward, née Eddie Wood, grew up dirt-poor in Indiana, the military his only alternative after high school. He was three years older than John and Molly, but had established a quick friendship with the elderly Sam and Colleen, who was almost in her late fifties by then.

Ethan told them of his psychic experiences in Vietnam, including being raised off the ground by someone or something, just in time to avoid a firestorm of artillery in the jungle. Another time, Ethan was standing next to one of his fellow soldiers. In seconds, the young man's warm blood and brains were splattered as his body collapsed against Ethan, and the young psychic felt him die. That night, Ethan had his own out-of-body experience, following his dead war buddies to a place, almost like a holding area, made of pure light, where they were waiting to move on; this place being peaceful and full of love, where conflict and destruction did not exist. A woman who looked almost Asian or Polynesian in appearance approached him. He could only recall her face and long dark hair. Later, Ethan would travel to the Philippines and find women who resembled her. She identified herself as his spirit guide/control Evangeline, and this was the first time she made direct contact with him, appearing time and again as he completed two tours of duty.

He was discharged in 1966, and tried going to college for a while, but dropped out after a year at Indiana University. He tried boxing as a lightweight, but found himself working as a stunt man in Hollywood. By this time, Ethan was trying to understand his psychic abilities through meditation and study, reading books by the famous medium/healer Samuel Murdoch. When he was told that Mr. Murdoch and his wife were in Los Angeles, he found out they were staying at the Biltmore Hotel, and asked at the front desk to see Mr. Murdoch. Ethan was hardly a stalker, only a kindred spirit looking for some advice and direction. Sam Murdoch was happy to mentor the young psychic, not aware of his wife's almost instantaneous attraction to Ethan's rugged good looks, his sensitivity and intelligence, and his need for a woman who could make him feel important, as important as a Samuel Murdoch. Colleen eventually invited Ethan to their home in Chicago. He stayed with them for the Christmas holidays, and this was the first time he met John and Molly.

John picked up on Ethan's immediate interest in Molly and his closeness to Colleen. Colleen's mind was not yet made up about John. Her psychic abilities could only be outweighed by her snobbishness and, although the young man was a Hart, the grandson of Nedra Hart, no less, he had not distinguished himself. He seemed unimpressed by them, although Old Sam had been friends with Nedra, and read her books about the tunnel and the light. Sam Murdoch often saw a city of light in his dreams, where the spirits of the dead existed as light, traveling by energy and vibration. He met many spirit beings there, which were the guides of living people, including Nedra's Tomah and Ethan's Evangeline. He claimed to have met Evangeline before he ever met Ethan in Hollywood.

Old Sam was modest about his famous appearance on the Tonight Show, even if Colleen could not shut up about it, showing everyone at the Murdoch home her photographs of herself and Sam with Johnny Carson. Carson had to speak up when he asked Old Sam questions, because the old man's hearing was starting to deteriorate. He wore a suit Colleen picked out for him, the brown Nehru jacket looking strange on Old Sam, who tended to usually stick with suspenders and bow ties. He looked like a cross between Mark Twain and the Beatles in their India phase, although he silenced the audience and Carson, when he made those statements about President Nixon and the war in Vietnam, stating that the President would resign before the war would end. This elicited some nervous twitters from the audience, and the show cut to a commercial.

John became drunk on the combination of rum and eggnog while he watched the Hemingway-esque Ethan Ward flirt with Molly. The three young people sat by the fireplace, the Christmas tree blinking, while Colleen helped the servants in the kitchen and Sam took a nap upstairs. Pauline did not come home for Christmas that year, James Campbell had become ill. David was in California with his family.

Ethan bored John with his stories of Vietnam, his psychic experiences, and being a Hollywood stuntman, working for TV shows such as _Gunsmoke_. Ethan visited a haunted castle in Scotland, looked for Big Foot in the forests of the Pacific Northwest, and blah, blah, blah. He was also writing a book.

Big deal, John thought. Any psychic who can spell eventually writes a book.

"Have you ever tried LSD, Ethan?" John asked.

"I wouldn't dare," Molly said.

"Have you?" Ethan asked John.

"Yes, I did."

"You did?" Molly asked.

"When I was at boarding school."

Molly knew John had hated boarding school; he was there only a year when his best friend Roger committed suicide. John had managed to pique her curiosity because she was afraid to use drugs; she never so much as smoked a joint in her life. However, she did not think the consumption of alcohol counted, so she would get drunk, as would John and their friends. Molly was also surprised that John chose this moment, in the presence of the arrogant young Ethan, to tell her of something he had been keeping from her.

"Did you have a good trip or a bad one?" Ethan asked.

"It was intense," John replied. "My senses changed, sharpened...I was more than alive, because I felt as if I had left my body. I was outside of it; I could see myself as I lay on the floor in my dorm room. My friend Roger was there, but he was asleep in bed. He slept a lot. His father died that year, he was depressed. The acid was his; he knew how to hide his stash in way that it wouldn't get found by the headmaster. He had these little compartments in his suitcases. That night, I couldn't go to sleep, I was bored, and I took the stuff he had given me. I didn't have to wait long for the LSD to kick in, then I left my body.

I saw the top of the dorm building, floated over the grounds, the whole area. I could feel the cold, smell the outdoors, of smoke and the woods, everything. I knew I wasn't in my body, so the cold didn't bother me. But then I sort of panicked, because I started thinking, is this what it's like to be dead? To know, to feel, but to be...removed, just floating. Everyone wants to know what it's like, to be dead and at peace. I was like this for hours, until morning. I made my way back to my room and saw Roger shaking me. I entered my body easily, but I didn't like it. I was suddenly cold and shivering. My body ached from being on the floor all night. I did come around, though. I got up, dressed, and went to class. I told Roger about it later. I thought about trying acid again, but I was afraid that if I did, I might not come back to my body. Roger seemed very interested in my trip, always asking me questions. He knew about the books my Grandmother Nedra had written, about death and the After-Life. I didn't talk about that stuff with the other boys because I didn't think they would understand. I didn't know why Roger wanted to know so much."

"He was suicidal," Molly said. "You were so young, you just didn't know..."

"Your friend killed himself?" Ethan asked.

"Yes, shortly thereafter."

"I'm sorry."

"Thank you. I think I'm drunk."

They laughed at John's little joke, it took the edge off the tension between the three of them. They ate a quiet dinner with Old Sam and Colleen. The evening remained pleasant until Colleen pulled out her old deck of Tarot cards. John did not want more psychic fun and games, switching to coffee during dinner. He was sobering up, his irritability slowly returning.

"John is very good with the cards," Colleen said.

"Really?" Ethan asked.

"Yes, John can use any cards, can't you, dear?"

John could not believe Colleen was doing this to him. He never mentioned anything to her about his card-reading abilities.

"How about I do a reading for you?" Ethan asked.

John did not understand at first, his thinking was still fuzzy from the rum. He thought Ethan meant he wanted to do a card reading for Colleen.

"John?"

"Yes?"

"Can I do a reading for you?"

"Um...all right."

"However, I don't need the cards, Colleen. Give me your hand, John."

"Which one?"

"Your left."

Molly made a switch from rum and eggnog to Irish coffee with dessert, so she had become quite drunk, with only Old Sam and Colleen being sober. The servants had left for the night, the five of them the only people in the small mansion in Evanston, not far from the campus of Northwestern University. Colleen, whose family could not afford to send her to college, once hoped her younger children would want to attend Northwestern. David was the only one to finish college, as a med student in California. Molly later insisted on attending the University of Michigan, and Colleen, still mortified over Dennis Hellman, was glad to see Molly go for a while. Then Molly brought home John Hart, who she seemed very much in love with. Just why, Colleen was not sure. She had hoped Molly would be interested in Ethan, they were close to the same age, and she was fond of Ethan.

John noticed that Ethan kept his fingernails somewhat long and manicured. His hands were big, and John's hands seemed delicate compared to this man's. John once again thought of Hemingway, as he hunted for lions, and the sheer ego of the man. John imagined Africa, the Serengeti Plain and native warriors, with their shiny, dark skin. He could see Ethan there. He looked into Ethan's dark eyes and saw layers of humanity. He might not like Ethan, but he could not doubt the man's strength, his presence. Ethan Ward was a force of nature. John only felt himself to be a spirit stuck in time, just half-alive, except for when he was with Molly.

"You and Molly...are going to marry?" Ethan asked.

"Yes, we hope," Molly answered.

"Maybe you two should wait."

"What for?"

"Do you want children?" he asked, looking at John.

"Of course," John replied.

"The children will be...talented but troubled. Don't hurry to marry."

"Now, Ethan," Colleen said, "you can't always stop fate."

Ethan let go of John's hand, he smiled sheepishly. "You're right, I'm sorry. If two adults want to be together, they should be. But the children from two people as gifted as yourselves would be...interesting."

"I can only imagine," Molly said.

"Do you believe that we choose our own parents before we're born?" Colleen asked. "Like the Buddhists?"

"That would be the only thing that could explain the way some people treat their children," Molly said.

"I think we return to the same families over and over, it's just the type of relationship that changes," Ethan said. "A man and woman could be husband and wife in one life, and the next, father and daughter."

"Doesn't that seem sort of...incestuous?" Molly asked.

Old Sam shifted on the couch, strands of white hair stood up from his thinning scalp, his pale eyes sleepy. "But our consciousness and bodies separate at death. However, emotional ties from past lives are never completely forgotten..."

John's gaze, as he set down his empty cup, was drawn into the knotty pine design of the coffee table, reminding him of the rings inside an ancient tree trunk.

Old Sam is like that, John thought, a tree with too many rings.

The table's design in front of him changed by the cup. In the dim light, offset only by the twinkling of the Christmas tree lights, a pine knot turned into a woman's face.

John wanted to think he had consumed too much rum and eggnog, but the woman's face continued to form; her hair dark, eyes slanted. Her lips and chin were small. He stared for a good five minutes as she remained there. He did not hear the others around him, even Molly, who started calling to him.

John did not consider himself in any kind of trance, but he was, and the others became silent, staring at him.

Sam, his elderly voice a whisper, asked, "What are you seeing, John?"

"A woman. In the table."

"Can you hear her?"

"No."

"What does she look like?"

"Asian, maybe?"

"Your guide?" Ethan asked.

John had seen that face before as a child. He never knew her name. He would dream of her sometimes, as a boy, when he lived in the house overlooked by the tornado. She wore a black kimono and sandals, standing on a beach. He would follow her to the water. She would tell him things he would forget after awakening. He did not want to know her name, but to think of her gave him a feeling of longing, to return to that beach, to consider it home. All of his life, while living in Michigan, a state almost surrounded by lakes, he felt no real interest in boating or water sports. However, to stand on the sand, in the dunes, and look out at Lake Michigan was one of the most calming experiences he ever had. Molly did not always understand his need for stillness, she possessed an energy that thrived in chaos, she craved the excitement. They were a case of opposites attracting, their polarized energy feeding off each other. When that failed, the liquor was a handy replacement later, especially for John.

"She isn't your guide. Her name is Keiko. She is, was, Japanese."

John snapped out of his trance when Old Sam spoke those last words. The old man was smiling. "She's a past life memory, son."

Old Sam knew John did not believe, but he would remain gentle and patient with this seemingly bland young man Molly was so passionate for. John Hart feared himself, just the opposite of his grandmother Nedra. She reluctantly retired young, at the urging of her husband, the doctor. Her gifts had been incredible. Sam Murdoch could still recall meeting Nedra Hart almost fifty years ago with his first wife, Thelma. Nedra, with her gray eyes and black hair in that braid, took the young Murdochs aside at a party in New York City and informed them that Thelma was quite ill. The petite and blonde Thelma, in spite of her embarrassment, admitted she was bleeding between her menstrual periods. David was still an infant, Thelma's mother was caring for him so Sam could meet with the publishing company that was handling his first book. Sam and Thelma received a surprise invitation to an informal gathering held by the East Coast Psychical Society, a group not uncommon during the Spiritualist Era. Nedra, one of the Society's biggest supporters, was accompanied by her husband. This was a dark age for women's medicine, and Nedra suggested that Thelma get an examination by Dr. Hart. However, Sam Murdoch already knew his wife was seriously ill, and would only live a few more years. Dr. Hart did examine her, as did many other physicians. Treatment was not then available for women with uterine cancer; people simply lived with cancer and died of the disease, whether young or old. Nedra stayed in touch with her new friend, maintaining a correspondence with Old Sam for years.

John Hart was not like Nedra at all. Nedra had been outspoken in that Irish way, her favorite phrases being, "Shame on them," or "They should be ashamed." Years later, when John listened to his son's audiotape from the cellar, when he heard, "He is ashamed," in that Irish lilt, he then knew for sure his grandmother had been with Will and Belinda.

*****

John returned early from the office the day Ethan arrived. Molly cleaned the house thoroughly, taking special care with dinner and her appearance.

Ethan arrived around six-thirty, the cab dropping him off at the front of the house. He carried only one small suitcase. He paid the taxi fare and, as the cab drove away, he looked up at the house, not unlike Edna when she first came to visit. His gaze dropped from the little attic window, to the second story, then to the porch swing. Maybe it was the wind, but the swing was moving on its own, back and forth. The day was hot and humid, hardly any breeze. Now, the temperature outside was cooling off, but there could not have been enough breeze to move that old swing, the white paint chipping away. Ethan watched the rusty chains pick up speed, the swinging becoming faster.

Molly met Ethan on the porch, not noticing the swing at first. When she did, she quickly looked away and raised her arms to Ethan for a quick hug.

John smiled and shook Ethan's hand as he entered. Nothing about Ethan had changed, although the hairline was receding a bit, but it only added to his manliness, the thick dark hair would be replaced by a shiny bald head. His brown eyes were surrounded by a few lines, the boxing scar remained over his right eyebrow, and he had grown a thick Tom Selleck moustache. His broad-shouldered, athletic frame was still trim in a blue polo shirt and khakis.

He must be trying to make up for what he's losing on his head with that moustache, John thought. Then he'll grow a beard and look like he's wearing his head upside down.

"Colleen told me you've had some disturbances here," Ethan said, setting his suitcase down on the floor.

"Yes, ever since we moved in two years ago," John said.

"Does the noise scare the children?" Ethan asked.

"Oh, yes. They're staying with friends right now," Molly said.

"Are you very frightened?"

"Yes. Yes, we are."

*****

Ethan sat with John in the living room while Molly finished making dinner. John made a martini for their guest, but stuck to his Coca-Cola, which did not go unnoticed by Ethan, who had cut back on the liquor over the last few years. "When did you realize the house was haunted?"

"Almost right away, within a few days of moving in," John said. "Doors would open and close by themselves, lights would blink—"

Ethan put his drink down. "Would it be all right if I could take a walk through the house before dinner?"

"Sure. Follow me."

Ethan followed John up the creaking stairs, the air hot and stuffy, although the new windows were open.

"Have you spoken to the previous owners?" Ethan asked.

"Yes, we looked into that," John answered. "The previous owners had no serious problems; lived here for thirty years."

"You must hate it here, John."

John turned around to face Ethan at the foot of the stairs. "It's not very peaceful, if that's what you mean."

Ethan started to brush his fingers against the wall in front of him, the gesture almost sensual. "Let me be more direct. Why do you need me here? Colleen said that you and Molly wanted a psychic from outside the family to come here. I agreed, but I couldn't help but wonder, because of you and Molly's talents, why you needed someone else to come in. I'll bet the two of you already know what is haunting—"

"We know what it is, but we can't seem to figure out our part in it—"

"Do you think I can figure that out?"

"We need you to find out whether this is a classic haunting...or something else."

"It's only a classic haunting on the surface," Ethan said. "You and your family were brought to this house for a reason. A murder occurred here decades ago, before the previous owners. These people had children, too, but they weren't bothered. The energy seems only drawn to your family."

"This house is trying to control our lives, Ethan, that's how bad it is. The children have to live with our friends, we argue—"

"Face the truth; know what this place wants from you."

"The truth is...it wants my children dead, my marriage destroyed."

"But why _your_ children?"

"I don't know. Belinda has a kind of connection to it all—"

"Only her?"

"Mostly. All of us have had some isolated experiences, but Belinda is very talented."

"Can I talk to her while I'm here?" Ethan asked.

"It's all right with me."

"Can she come back here with us?"

"She was almost drowned in the bathtub the last time she was here. The ghost has become more aggressive lately."

"Please, tell me the whole story. I can only help you if I know what I'm walking into."

*****

After dinner, John and Molly took Ethan to the cellar.

The Harts shared the whole story with Ethan, who found it extraordinary, but not shocking. The only thing he could attribute the ghost's strength to was that Degan had been waiting for a long time, long enough to become fully aware of what he is.

Molly explained that Belinda was supplying all of the information on John and April Degan; April had been pregnant for twins, they lived in a tent by the weeping willow, her remains in the cellar.

Molly retrieved the flashlights and Ethan followed John and Molly out of the house through the back door.

Ethan was not prepared for how cold the cellar would be. The weather was just starting to cool off outside, the inside of the house still warm from Molly baking Cornish hens for dinner. The cellar was a refrigerator in comparison, but the coldness was wet, clammy on the skin. The sun only began to set by nine o'clock, so the flashlights were not a necessity.

The Harts had not come down here since Shawn Rush visited back in June, just a few months ago. The jar remained on the cellar floor, the cool stillness making all three of them uneasy.

Someone has been waiting, Ethan thought. Down here, longing for the peace in the Space Between.

"John, you said this energy is chaotic, which is typical of a poltergeist. But this is intelligent, concentrated energy. It is tired of waiting. He wants you to know his story and Belinda has been relaying most of it. You all need her, but Degan needs her, too. Why?"

"We have been asking ourselves the same thing, Ethan," John said. "All roads lead back to Degan and Belinda."

"Can I meet Belinda this evening?"

"If you want," Molly said. "But she can't possibly understand..."

"I think Belinda is the karmic tie to this house."

"How?" Molly asked.

"I think you already know, Molly. Let me regress her."

John shook his head. "Wait a minute—"

"April isn't haunting this house. Only John Degan. He never left. She did, but he didn't, and I think Belinda might know why."

Chapter Ten

John knew he was outnumbered, but this fact did not keep him from disagreeing about using hypnosis on Belinda.

"My mother dreamed about April," John said. "So did you, Molly. Belinda dreams about her, too. None of that proves Belinda has been reincarnated."

"Ethan said Degan is the only one haunting this house—"

"But you saw April in the cellar with your mother—"

Molly shook her head. "It was Degan. He did it on purpose. He wanted us to think we were seeing April. He's that smart, he pretended to be her!"

Molly and John were standing outside the cellar doors with Ethan, who was relieved to get away from the bizarre cellar-stench.

"Remember when I told you I thought someone was watching Mom, Ed, and me?" Molly asked. "I looked up from the cellar, the doors were open, and someone was looking down at us from up here. It was Degan, he had us fooled! We haven't seen April's ghost since, because her ghost never really existed. He didn't want us to know he was here alone."

"Her remains are in the cellar, but her soul passed on," Ethan said. "Why would it be so hard to believe that April had to come back here as Belinda so she could make Degan pay off his karmic debt?"

John became quiet then, knowing he could not win as long as Molly was backing up Ethan. John suddenly felt sick, repressing the urge to scream at his wife and their overbearing guest. He had lost his last ounce of patience, and it would take a long time for him to remember that he loved Molly, loved their life together once. Looking at Ethan's smug face left him defeated. He would repress his anger, like usual, and would not argue the point anymore.

"John?" Molly asked.

He kept his gaze on the weeping willow tree, taking in the mossy, drooping branches, the fireflies just barely discernible in the heavy August evening.

I'm never going to leave this place, so what difference does it make? John asked himself. Maybe we were supposed to come here, to live here, to let the house own us—

"John...honey?"

John snapped out of his trance, and calmly said, "If she is willing, go ahead and do it. What harm can it do?"

"None. She should be fine," Ethan said.

"All right," John said. "But you do it at Max and Rita's house, not here."

"Are you okay with this?" Molly asked.

"I'm fine with it. If it can somehow bring peace to this house, I'm willing to try."

Molly was surprised he would surrender in this way, and in the presence of Ethan. Something had happened to John that she did not understand. Later, she would wonder what she had overlooked.

*****

John drove Molly and Ethan to Max and Rita's home. Ethan was introduced to their friends and the Hart children.

The somber Belinda was put at ease by Ethan and her mother, who began to explain to the child what Ethan wanted to do, including a quick explanation of reincarnation.

"You mean, like when Will would dream about the babies in the jars?" Belinda asked. "He thought he might have been a doctor a long time ago."

Will, sitting nearby on the couch, remained quiet. He would not argue with his sister about his dreams at that moment, but all this talk about previous lives made him uneasy. Will was not a believer, so he did not see why he had to be, it made no difference to him. The eight-year-old boy could accept that their house was haunted, but he did not see his part in the solution.

"Your Aunt Pauline believed she had lived many lives," Molly said. "Her friend Dr. Campbell would put her under hypnosis and she would remember a past life. Do you know what hypnosis is?"

"Is it like going to sleep?"

"Yes. Do you think you could let Ethan put you under hypnosis?"

Ethan was standing next to Molly by the easy chair she sat in. Max and Rita were in the kitchen with the twins.

"Why?" Belinda asked.

"Because we think it might help us understand what's going on in the house."

Belinda looked over at Ethan, with his deep eyes and rugged face, and she felt reassured. He was different from her father; he was not a cold man, he was interested in her, he had commented on how talented she was, how special. She was so used to being treated as a nuisance and a nobody by almost every member of her family except for Gramma Ed and the twins, who would creep and crawl to their older sister ever since they had come to live at Max and Rita's. Rita would pay attention to her sometimes, but Sam and Sarah fascinated the woman. Belinda, when she looked at Ethan, felt a calm and warm sensation in the pit of her stomach. She would have very few moments in her life of feeling truly valued. She would equate this with Ethan for the rest of her short life, right up until their last encounter in Las Vegas. Belinda would remain in awe of him, never hesitating to do what he wanted.

The girl also did not need the motives of the adults explained to her. She was not only mature for her age, in being able to understand what made them tick, she was psychic. She had not been surprised by what her mother and the rest of them were thinking; it made some kind of sense to her.

"I thought April was trying to speak to me," she said. "On the tape, in my dreams. But the voice on the tape was Dad's Gramma Nedra. And what about what happened in the tub? In the cellar? How did I know she was going to have twins? Or Daniel and Patrick?"

"You know because you already remember those things," Ethan said.

"If you make me go to sleep, I might see Mr. Degan. He scares me. He killed April."

"He can't hurt you here," her father said.

"But that doesn't mean he won't know, Dad!"

"Maybe," Molly said. "But whatever you remember under hypnosis could stop Mr. Degan from ever hurting you or us again, Bel. We could live in the house without being afraid."

"We can make him go away?"

"That's what we're hoping."

*****

Ethan and Molly were the only adults present while Ethan began to regress Belinda. Ethan had brought a small tape recorder with him that he placed on the armrest of the couch, near where Belinda was laying. John left with the other children, taking them out for ice cream with Max and Rita. The house was quiet, the only noise coming from the window air conditioner, a steady hum.

Ethan patiently took the child through her first six years of life, including when she was molested in the bathtub, which only added to Molly's guilt because she did not believe her daughter at first. He then took her farther back, when the Harts first moved into the old house, before the twins were born; her first day of school, when one of the boys in her kindergarten class made fun of her, calling her a fat retard, and the other kids laughed; when she dreamed of a woman named Keiko, who wore a black robe with white flowers on it. Keiko told Belinda she had once lived in a city of light, where it was never cold and everyone was nice to each other, and she lived there until her soul left to be born, to be a baby again.

Keiko. A woman in a black robe. Molly had heard that name before, but she could not remember where or when.

"Where is Keiko?" Ethan asked.

"A beach. It feels warm, the sun is out. I can see her, she sees me."

"What is she saying?"

"I don't know. I don't understand her."

"Let's go farther back, Belinda. Back and back..."

"I see an old house in the city. There are horses, people in buggies. The men are wearing tall hats!"

"What do the women look like?"

"Nedra!"

"Is Nedra there?"

"No! The ladies look like Nedra! Long dresses with the funny boots!"

"Do you know this city?"

"No. The houses are brick, lots of people. I live in this house."

"Are you going in the house?"

"Yes. I'm walking up the steps. The door is big, round at the top. There is a metal sign in the door. I can read it...Dr. Kidner, D.O., 3132 Astor Street. The door is unlocked. I walk in, and the hallway is dark. A lady, a big lady, is coming up to me. She talks funny! She sounds like that movie, _My Fair Lady_!"

"What is she telling you?"

"She is saying, 'April, wash up and get your lunch.'"

"April?" Molly whispered.

Ethan ignored Molly, wanting to keep his eyes on Belinda. "Are you April?"

"Here I am..."

"Do you know the woman's name?"

"Maggie. She is our housekeeper."

"Where do you live?"

"Philadelphia, Pennsylvania."

"What year is it?"

"Eighteen hundred and ninety-two." Belinda had gone deeper into trance, she was forgetting herself as Belinda, remembering herself as April.

"What is your last name, April?"

"Kidner."

"Who else lives with you besides Maggie?"

"My father, Dr. Kidner, and my sister Ruth. She's not well. She will have to go away...to an asylum."

"What is the matter with her?" Ethan asked, keeping his voice low and gentle.

"She was very sick with a fever when she was little and it ruined her mind."

"How old are you, April?"

"I am six years old."

"Where is your mother?"

"She died when Ruth got sick. I was just a baby. Ruth almost died, too. Papa took care of them."

"Your father is a doctor?"

"Yes."

"Do you go to school?"

"Yes. The Prescott School for Girls. Miss Walters is my teacher."

Ethan stepped away from the couch, came over to Molly and, his voice just a whisper, said, "Belinda is six years old, and she is remembering being April at that same age. As April, I want to regress her forward, at the time she married Degan. But I think the story in between is important, too. If April was in Philadelphia as a child, the daughter of a physician, how did she end up in this town, married to a laborer?"

"I don't know. I tried finding a marriage license or a certificate of death, but I found nothing. This is probably the only way we can get some dates that could lead us to some helpful documentation," Molly said.

"All right. I'll move her ahead by a few years and see what happens."

Ethan returned to Belinda, knelt by her on the couch. "April, let's move ahead by just two years. You are eight now, and the year is eighteen hundred and ninety-four..."

"Ruth is gone now."

"Did she go to the asylum?"

"Yes. When Papa died."

"When did he die?"

"In October."

"Had he been ill?"

"His heart stopped, he fell down the stairs."

"Where did you go, April?"

"To my aunt and uncle in Michigan."

"What are their names?"

"George and Wilma Shafer. Aunt Wilma is Papa's sister. They grew up in Michigan. Papa went to school in Philadelphia, and stayed there."

"Let's go ahead eight years, April. That would be 1902. How old are you?"

"Sixteen."

"Do you go to school?"

"No. I work on the farm."

"Do you know John Degan?"

"Yes, I do."

"Where did you meet him?"

"At church."

"Are you engaged?"

"Not yet, but soon."

Molly noticed the change in the child's voice; the tone was no longer that of a six year old, but a teenager, a young woman.

Ethan went on. "April, take us to your wedding day..."

"March sixth, nineteen ought-four."

"Where do you and John live after you are married?"

"We bought property. A loan from the bank."

"Do you live in a house?"

"Not yet. John wants to build a house."

"Where is the property?"

"On Gable Road. John works for Mr. Dukes, it was his property. He never did anything with it, so John offered to buy it."

"Are you living somewhere else?"

"We have a tent on the property. John's brother Tom is staying with us, helping John with the house."

"You could not stay with relatives?"

"No. They didn't want us to get married."

"Why?"

"My people are Catholic, John is a Protestant."

"But you married him, anyway?"

"Yes. I was...pregnant. But John works; we'll be all right."

Ethan walked back over to Molly, who had become spellbound watching Belinda. She was reminded of Pauline, who would speak fluently in other languages, such as Japanese, Swedish, or Russian when she was under hypnosis.

"Do you want me to take her farther ahead?" Ethan asked. "She most likely married Degan when she was around eighteen years old, gave birth to two children within the next few years, and then became pregnant for twins. She would have been about twenty-one when Degan killed her."

Molly knew what Ethan was getting at. He wanted permission to take Belinda, as April, to the day she was murdered by her husband. Belinda was under hypnosis, it was not likely she would be traumatized if she did remember, but Molly wanted to be certain. "What could be gained if Belinda tells us what we already know to be true? We have known for some time that John Degan killed April."

"Yes, but she could tell us why."

Ethan was dangling the carrot in front of her and she knew she would not be able to resist.

She wished John had stayed. He would be able to appeal to her guilty conscience, to tell her to slow down and think. Ethan was just waiting for her to give him permission, and she could imagine him writing that book, the one she had wanted to write for years.

"Ethan, I don't think we have to make her relive the whole experience. Just ask her why," Molly said. "If April is ready to tell us, she will."

"You want me to be that direct?"

"Yes. It's worked so far, hasn't it?"

"Molly, there's a certain kind of routine—"

"We don't need it. Just ask her."

"She might become confused; I won't be able to get her out of the trance—"

"I'll do it, then."

Molly gently pushed past him, kneeling by her daughter. "April?"

Belinda did not immediately answer.

"April, tell me when you died."

The child remained still, her eyes closed, wearing the V-necked T-shirt and pants bought in the women's department. Molly had noticed that Belinda was getting taller, looking more like a nine year old, like her brother, than a child her own age. Her early menstruation meant her body would develop sooner, those awkward years coming like an unwanted visitor.

Finally, Belinda spoke. "I begged him to let the boys live. It wasn't their fault. It was our fault."

"What was your fault, April?"

"I couldn't blame him for being angry. I knew my aunt and uncle did not want me to marry John, they told me for the religious reasons, but his father would not lie."

"What did his father say?"

"We were an abomination, and so were Daniel and Patrick."

"Abomination? Why?"

Belinda started to shake her head from side to side. "Here I am. John isn't here; he's there. He can't go home. I went home."

Molly recalled Old Sam and Pauline saying these things while regressing. Home was the Space Between, the city of light. The Other Side. John Degan did not go there, he was trapped in the house, but April was able to go home. Her remains were somewhere in the cellar, but her soul had been freed.

"April, how can I help John go home?"

"Find Patrick. I want his father with me."

Molly turned to Ethan. "Take Belinda out of trance, Ethan. April doesn't need to talk about her murder. She wants us to lead him out of the house."

*****

John recalled that when they moved into the house, nothing was put into the attic, including the boxes of Christmas decorations or Molly's gallery of unfinished crafts. All of those things were banished to the garage, the attic ignored until the sounds came, the heavy pounding that would awaken them every night. Ethan, during his visit, did not ask to go up there, which alerted John, because he thought Ethan would be eager to discover whatever energies might be in that space.

The children had stayed away from the attic, even Belinda, and Will's bedroom was very close, but he did not speak of any unusual sounds or sights except for the nocturnal noises they all heard. After the children left, every night was quiet; John and Molly could sleep peacefully, even though John was sleeping on the couch again.

John let all the disastrous scenarios, such as a house-fire or destroyed plumbing, play out in his head that evening when he took the stairs up to the attic. Unlike Molly, John did not fear being alone in the house, and someone had to let Degan know he could not intimidate everyone who lived here.

The upstairs remained hot and stuffy; John could feel a trickle of perspiration running down his back through the fabric of his white T-shirt. He reached up and pulled down the ladder steps to the attic. A thin layer of dust rested on the steps, undisturbed.

He took a deep breath and carefully stepped up to the attic.

John could feel a change right away. The small space felt as if an air conditioner was running all day on High. Cold and moist, like the cellar.

He gently laid his right hand against the nearest wall, moving his palm slowly across, dust flaking to the floor. Early dusk showed itself through the new eight-sided window.

John was starting to feel foolish with his hand on the wall, wondering why he had been so afraid of this space.

The house is like that, he thought. Seemingly harmless, but Degan knows all the hiding places...

"John Degan?"

He would ask himself later why he offered the greeting.

He pulled his hand from the wall, stepping closer to the center of the room.

The windows were replaced weeks ago, but two workmen returned with the new attic window and replaced it without incident. They did not even comment on the dramatic difference in temperature.

Those men were not psychic, John thought. Molly never took a step up here. I can't blame her.

He noticed the approaching sunset through the small window; the room steadily became darker, shadows from the trees reflected on the walls, branches and leaves becoming a strange kind of wallpaper. John followed one of these branch-shadows towards the ceiling and discovered the thin chain hanging from the attic light, where the remains of a broken light bulb were embedded in the socket. John recalled Molly telling him that two of the workman had swept up here.

John turned to go downstairs for a flashlight when he felt a stinging sensation on his left arm. He absently brushed at it, assuming a mosquito had found its way to the attic's cold and moist environment, but his fingertips snagged against something hard that fell away. He then felt something in his hair, hanging from his bangs, and his fingers encountered another tiny, hard object. When he looked up, he saw several small pieces of glass flying towards him from the right hand corner and ceiling. He looked around the floor, the room, but detected no other presence.

A piece of glass pierced his arm, near his wrist. He yelped in pain when another clipped him on the ear. He rushed to the attic steps, wasting no time getting out of there, feeling the tiny bits of glass in his back, through his shirt. His legs were protected by his jeans. However, before he bolted, he saw a thin blanket of glass, the pieces joined together, dragging itself from one corner to another, trying to get closer to him.

John did not take a breath until he was out of the attic. He lifted the steps, shutting the attic door.

The sneaky bastard, he thought. He knows what we're afraid of.

John did not tell Molly for years about what he experienced. He felt it would make no difference in dealing with Degan, and he especially did not want Ethan knowing.

*****

Ethan knew better than to stay at the house, so he checked into the only motel in town, the Spartan Inn. A modest one-story structure, Ethan took the last room at the right side of the building.

Ethan relaxed as he sat on the bed, changing channels on the television with the remote control that was bolted into the nightstand. Colleen asked him to call her when he arrived, but he was in no hurry. He was not inclined to be her spy and Molly hid very little from her mother, anyway. Colleen already knew the house was haunted, but she may not have known how clever Degan was. Ethan wanted to compare Degan's energy to that of a demon, but the poor soul deserved to be pitied. However, the living Degan had murdered his wife.

If Molly had let me take Belinda to the day when April was murdered, Ethan thought, maybe we could have found out why.

He knew there could have been a number of reasons. Possibly, Degan wanted to be with another woman, no longer wanting to care for his wife and children, but Degan and April already had two sons before she became pregnant for twins, so Degan had not lacked a sense of commitment to his family, he built the house they lived in with his own hands.

He wanted April, he wanted his family, Ethan thought. Something, while April was pregnant for twins, went sour between Degan and his wife.

Ethan and Molly had discussed these things while she gave him a ride to the motel.

"Do you think there was another man?" Molly asked, as she backed the station wagon out of Max and Rita's driveway. John had returned with the children and Max was going to give John a ride back to the house.

"I don't think so. Belinda made it sound as if April really loved her husband," Ethan replied.

"His brother Tom was there during the building of the house."

"But I don't think he was around later, after the children were born."

"Shawn Rush gave me the address and phone number of one of Degan's descendants. The woman lives here in town."

"Go see her. She might be of help."

Molly eased the station wagon onto the expressway. "I just don't know how to approach her, Ethan. How do I explain all this to her?"

"Tell her the truth. Those two boys survived, although they must have been toddlers when their mother was murdered." Ethan rolled down the window on his side, letting some cool air into the car. "And Degan never left that house after he killed his wife. My guess is he killed himself afterward."

"One of the first things I did was go to every cemetery in this town," Molly said. "I didn't find an April or a John Degan buried in any of them."

"Cremated?"

"There are only three funeral homes in this town and they had no funeral records for John or April."

"They may have been buried on the property. That wasn't uncommon back then."

"Especially if Degan was a suicide."

Molly followed Ethan as he checked into the motel. She offered to carry his suitcase for him, but he snatched it away before she could reach for it by the front desk.

Molly did not want to annoy Ethan, but she knew something was different about him.

She thought the change in Ethan's personality was due to maturity, he had to be around thirty-five now. However, he had not mentioned Evangeline once, and this was odd. Her father never mentioned having a spirit guide, but he knew them and devoted a whole book, _Beings of Spirit_ , to them. He mentioned that it was not uncommon for a spirit guide to consult with one human for that human's whole life, but they were not always consistent and could disappear for long periods of time. They would usually go away for the benefit of that human, because this person had to learn something on their own, without spirit guidance.

Evangeline has gone away, Molly thought. He doesn't know what he is without her. He is lost, depressed. Not even my zoo of a haunted house can get him interested all that much.

Molly sat on the edge of the one bed in the room while Ethan used the bathroom. The room smelled musty and of cigarette smoke. The comforter on the bed was an ugly brown and gold pattern.

Ethan came out of the bathroom, looking for the ice bucket.

Molly had not seen Ethan in almost thirteen years and was uncomfortable asking him personal questions. She had caught up with his life during dinner, when he told them of his paranormal research and his journey to Tibet, where he spent some time at a Buddhist monastery. He was hoping to devote more time to the Tibetan cause, of raising support to protect the monks from the Chinese government. John even listened with interest.

Ethan's life was as adventurous and Hemingway-esque as ever; the man did not let boredom or inertia enter his life. Molly knew both all too well; it was the very reason why she had become depressed.

But why would an Ethan Ward be depressed? she asked herself.

Ethan smiled, giving her a knowing look. "I stopped drinking, too. I have diabetes."

"I thought it might have been related to your health."

"It?"

"Your depression."

"A lot of interesting things have happened over the last five years. I told you about Tibet, and the book; but it was only when I stopped hearing Evangeline and was diagnosed with the diabetes, that I started feeling blue. Sometimes, I would get a little sad, but I always had Evangeline. I haven't heard from her in almost three years."

"That's a long time, Ethan. What's going on?"

"I don't know. The last time she spoke to me was before I left for Tibet."

"Is diabetes the only condition you have to deal with?"

"I have hypertension. Inherited, like the diabetes. I follow a healthy diet, exercise, all that. I've become more aware of my mortality; as if my experience in Vietnam didn't do that already, or all the life after death research. My mother had all of the same health conditions as me, and she died of a stroke by the time she was fifty-one."

"Wasn't she an alcoholic?"

"Yes, she was."

Molly knew better than to ask him too many questions about his miserable childhood in Indiana. He always made his life seem like it did not start until he was sent to Vietnam, although Evangeline had always been in his life, since he could remember. A family friend, a black woman, encouraged him as a boy to talk to Evangeline, thinking her an angel. Molly heard that story from Colleen, not Ethan.

"Would you like something to drink?"

"No, thank you."

Ethan sat down on the bed next to her, keeping a friendly distance. "So...how do you cope in that house?"

"Oh, we just cope."

"How about John?"

"I think he is more unhappy than I am. Actually, we're both pretty miserable."

"You could move out."

"We couldn't move out if we wanted to. Our credit is bad, so we can't get a loan, even if we could sell that house—"

"There's always your trust, Molly."

"That money was supposed to be released to me after my twenty-first birthday. John and I got married the year before, shortly after I turned twenty. I didn't tell him about the trust until we became engaged, after I lost the first baby. Mom visited me in the hospital, and said, 'Well, at least you two won't have to rely on John's income,' or something mildly insulting like that. I had already contacted the bank about getting the money early, something else John did not know. But I only wanted to make things easier for us. He didn't see it that way, and threatened to break off our engagement if I so much as used a dime of it. Finally, after all these years, he let me take out enough from the trust to pay for the new windows."

Ethan did not want to carry on with that topic, the endless battle of the wills between Colleen and John. "Can I ask how your credit became bad?"

"Too much debt and John can't seem to earn enough money. We have too many children. Our house payment was raised; everything has become more expensive. Our property taxes also went up, but the actual property value has increased in the area over the years. Our house is unlivable, unsafe for all of us, but we're going broke trying to stay there—"

"If your credit is already bad, just let the bank foreclose."

"Where would we go? It's bad enough the kids are living with our friends, and John wouldn't hear of moving in with my mother. I don't want to live with Edna in Traverse City, we just got her to leave."

"All right, you have to stay."

"I'm sorry, Ethan. I don't mean to sound like such a whiner."

"You've been through a lot this year. But if you're going to stay, then a confrontation with Degan is inevitable. You'll have to find a way to get him out of your house."

"I wish John would help me more."

"He's losing his family. You'd think he would put aside his prejudices to help you and the children."

"He can't. I used to think the two of us could do anything together. But I'm tired of trying to convince him of what I believe to be true."

"Then you'll have to prove it to him. And it's not about him being wrong or right, John has never been that immature. What he fears is the truth, because the truth will make him face what he fears in himself."

"His own abilities."

"His ability, coupled with yours, has produced Belinda, an extraordinary child. And God only knows how gifted the other three are. The children alone are enough to remind him of what he has tried to avoid in himself."

"I know, it's all up to John and me..."

Chapter Eleven

Molly returned home alone. The house was almost dark, with only the porch light on and a lamp glowing in the living room. She noticed that John was not sitting in his old, olive-green recliner. The television was turned off.

John could still be at Max and Rita's house, Molly thought.

"Did Ethan hit on you?"

She turned around, her husband standing at the threshold between the living room and the kitchen. He was jealous. "No. We just talked for a while. I haven't been gone an hour, John."

"Yeah, okay."

"Have you been drinking?"

"No. Sober as a judge."

"All right."

"I listened to Belinda on that tape..."

"What do you think?"

"It was quite detailed. What she recalled, that is."

"Do you believe now?"

"Whatever you want to do, I'll help you. I can't promise to believe in this stuff, but I want our kids to be able to come home. Degan has to go."

"I agree."

"Come on, I want to show you something." Molly took John's hand before they approached the staircase. "When I was a kid, my dad used to go dowsing; you know what that is?"

"Doesn't it have to do with looking for water?" she asked. "If someone wanted to dig a well?"

"Right."

John and Molly stood in the hall upstairs, near Will's room. "Your dad took you dowsing?"

"Yes, but he didn't need a water witch."

"He could sense the water under the ground?"

"Dad sensed a lot of things; when a tornado or a blizzard was coming. Dad would make some comment, and we, meaning Mom and I, would forget about it. But he was right nine times out of ten. The rain, tornado, or snow came. My dad knew when that twister, the one that split the neighbor's house, was coming a good eight hours before it landed. He got up that morning, called in sick to work at the auto plant, something I don't think he'd ever done, and waited for the weather, which was sunny that morning, to change. He told me to put some things in the cellar, our valuables. He'd never been this serious before, so Mom and I did what he told us. Mom took a cooler full of food down there, sandwiches and water. The storm came, and it was one of those August thunderstorms; the sky was so dark, black and gray. The air was hot and heavy, no breeze. That is what I sense in this house, a heaviness. Did you notice that up here, even with the windows open, or no windows? I've always known there was something wrong up here, but I would blame it on the weather or the age of the house. But that's not it, Molly."

John raised his left hand, resting his slim fingers against the wall. Molly had painted this whole hallway white when they moved in, including the stairs, before her prescribed bed-rest, when she had become too large with the twins. John pushed his fingers into the wall and Molly could see the paint flaking away above John's fingers, the place in the wall gently giving way. When he pulled his fingers back, Molly could see that he almost made a hole where the wall was weak.

"You never told me you could do that," Molly said.

"I haven't tried since before I met you," he said. "The summer before I left for college, I had a buddy who just bought an old car, a '56 Plymouth, and we were out riding with his sister and younger brother. The boy was only seven years old, I was sitting next to him in the backseat. He was feeling playful and he punched me in the arm. Not very hard, so I laughed, and then I punched him in the arm. But when I did it, I felt something wrong about that kid. I had not punched him hard enough to make a bruise, but I knew then that he would have a bruise and that made me feel really guilty. I told him to stop fooling around. He thought he was getting on my nerves, like little brothers do, so he ignored me, and started kicking the seat in front of him, to piss off his brother, who was driving. But I knew that kid was sick, it had something to do with getting bruises. My buddy's sister liked me, she wrote me letters after I went off to U of M. That's when I learned that her little brother was diagnosed with leukemia. One of the symptoms is easy bruising. He died a year later."

"Your father could sense illness in other people, Edna told me," Molly said. "But what does this have to do with the house?"

"I can sense illness in this house. Degan has infected it. The walls could be weak because the house is old, but I feel as if he is inside everything; in the plumbing, the electrical, when he made the light bulbs explode. He hasn't done that in a while, I think he got bored with it, or maybe it was demanding too much energy from him. But how do you get rid of an infection, Molly?"

"You get it treated."

"How."

"With antibiotics, usually."

"What do antibiotics do?"

"The infection is drawn out, pushed out."

"That's what we need to do, honey, draw Degan out."

"How?"

"I think this woman, the one Shawn Rush told you about, can help us.""Jean Larabee?"

"We've been putting off that visit for too long. We need to see her now."

"What if she can't tell us anything?"

"What she can't tell us, we can find out." What he said next would have shocked Molly, if he had not been in such a good mood. "Ethan should come with us."

*****

Ethan was happy to come with them; so much so, he volunteered to call the woman first, and explain the situation.

Ethan did have some celebrity, but had not appeared on television for almost two years; his last appearance was on the Merv Griffin Show, promoting his book on out-of-body experiences. However, Ethan knew how to use his talk-show persona when it mattered; he could be charming, witty, and well informed. He had learned to curb his cockiness until it disappeared with maturity. His psychic ability, coupled with his quicksilver intelligence, served him well, making him irresistible to most women.

Ethan had not wanted John and Molly to know how reluctant he was to make this call after he said he would. Possibly, the woman knew nothing about John Degan, or might resent strangers digging up family secrets. Ethan had been in that situation before, and was lucky to have avoided outrage and litigation.

Maybe I could appeal to her by mentioning how unsafe the house has become for the children, he thought. I need her sympathy, not her belief.

Ethan found himself dialing the phone while he sat at the edge of the bed in his motel room.

The phone rang three times before she picked up. "Hello?"

"Is this Jean Larabee?"

"Yes, it is."

"Hello, my name is Ethan Ward, and my friends John and Molly Hart live at 1225 Gable Road. I was told that your grandparents, John and April Degan, used to live at this same address?"

"The one with the weeping willow?"

"Yes."

She was quiet for a moment.

"Ms. Larabee?"

"I'm still here, Mr. Ward. Um...I don't mean to be impolite...but I'd like to know why you're interested in my grandparents?"

"Ms. Larabee, Mr. and Mrs. Hart moved into the house a little over a year ago. They experienced some occasional disturbances, the doors would open and close by themselves, lights would come on and off—"

"What are you telling me?"

"Months later, Mrs. Hart gave birth to twins and the disturbances became worse, much worse. They didn't know what else to do but look into the history of the house. The previous owners, the Browns, had experienced no serious problems, but the Harts have been plagued, including their four children, by a force in that house. They can't figure out why they have been targeted, so to speak, except for the fact that Mr. and Mrs. Hart are psychic. The oldest girl, Belinda, claims a woman named April speaks to her in her dreams. Belinda told us of John and April's sons, Daniel and Patrick, and how April was pregnant when she died in the house."

Ethan took a breath after finishing that monologue. He waited for the woman to reply.

She did not take long.

"What are you trying to pull, Mr. Ward?"

Her voice, however, sounded more weak than angry. "Nothing, Ms. Larabee. My friends just want help. The house has become unsafe; the children have had to go live with friends. Belinda was almost drowned in the bathtub, not to mention the damage done to the house. The Harts are at their wits ends."

Ethan could hear her sigh on the other end. "Well, I don't see how I can help..."

"Oh, I understand. However, would you object if Mr. and Mrs. Hart could visit with you?"

*****

Molly knew John was purposely driving slowly. A drive that would have taken fifteen minutes took twenty-five, John finally cruising the station wagon up the main drag of the Black Creek Mobile Home Park.

Ethan Ward sat in the back seat and kept an eye out for the ridiculously named Putty Lane, where Jean Larabee's trailer home was located. John turned a right, and they spotted Jean's blue trailer with white trim, a concrete slab as her driveway.

"So she really agreed to this?" John asked, for what had to be the third time.

"Yes," Ethan said. "She was willing to hear us out. The interesting thing was, she didn't argue with me or think I was a kook."

"Really?"

"Yes, really."

Molly detected the sarcasm in John's voice, although Ethan may have chosen to ignore it. The tension between these two men would always be there, as long as she was around. John was convinced Ethan was infatuated with her, although she had told him about the Chinese woman Ethan met in Tibet, who had been aiding the monks and spent time in a Chinese gulag because of her religious beliefs. Ethan had helped her get out of the country, reuniting her with a brother who lived in Canada. John said he thought Ethan was fabricating the whole story to make himself look like the romantic hero. Molly did not argue further, she knew she was lucky John had come around to believing that Belinda lived a past-life as April Degan.

And how are we going to explain _that_ to Jean Larabee? Molly thought.

*****

The first thing they noticed about Jean was her size. She was a very large woman, her breathing labored as she opened the door to let John, Molly, and Ethan into her home. She balanced her immense bulk on a metal walker as she smiled and welcomed them.

Molly saw that the woman must be about the same age as her, Jean had no lines on her face or any gray hairs that could be seen. Her ash-blonde hair was cut short and permed. She wore something like a muumuu in a navy-blue, and she was barefoot. She looked well groomed; no body odor could be detected. Her face was round and pleasant-looking, her eyes an olive-green; she would have been quite attractive aside from her weight.

Jean's trailer home was clean and neat, Molly assuming that someone must help the woman with housekeeping.

Molly tried not to stare, and she knew John and Ethan were sensitive enough to mind their manners, but Molly soon realized what they might have already known.

She wanted to see us because she has so few visitors, Molly thought. It has nothing to do with whether she believes us or not, she just wants someone to talk to.

Jean settled into one end of her couch, with Molly sitting next to her, and John and Ethan nearby in matching easy chairs. "Well, Mr. Ward—"

"Call me Ethan."

"Ethan, you told me as much as you could over the phone about the house on Gable Road. After I was done speaking to you, I called my father, Patrick Degan. He's in his seventies now. I asked him about his parents, as I have many times before. He was just an infant when his parents died and he would never want to talk about it. When I told him about you and Mr. and Mrs. Hart coming to visit me, he asked if he could be here. I said yes, it was all right with me. I don't think he would have been interested, except for something you said about the girl knowing his mother was not only pregnant when she died, but was pregnant for twins. Dad did not know about any twins, but twins run in the Degan family. I have a twin sister that died at birth, so Dad did not find the idea of his mother being pregnant for twins unbelievable. The rest, I think I'll let him tell you. He should be here soon. I put coffee on. Would you all like some?"

Molly, knowing the woman would have to painfully raise herself off the couch, volunteered. "I can get it."

"Would you?"

"Yes, no problem. John, could you come with me?"

John rose and followed his wife to the small kitchen. The Mr. Coffee, with a full pot of fresh brew, was sitting on the counter next to the stove. Sugar and coffee cups were nearby.

Molly whispered to John, as she poured the coffee into the ceramic cups, "This is providential, honey. I didn't think it could be possible that either one of John and April's sons were still alive."

"Don't get too excited," John whispered back. "He might not remember much, and Jean did say her father was an infant when April died."

"But I think Patrick is our antibiotic, John."

Before John could reply, they all heard a vehicle cruise up by the trailer.

"That must be Dad now," Jean said.

*****

A dramatic contrast to his daughter, Patrick Degan was a small man. He was completely bald, his head peppered with age spots, the skin taking on the tissue-paper texture of old age. However, Molly could see some resemblance between Patrick and the April she had dreamed of. The shape of the nose and lips were like his mother's, and the small chin. She also noticed, as she handed him a cup of coffee, the irregularity of his eye color; one eye was brown, the other blue. She found this momentarily fascinating, but looked away as she stood behind the chair her husband was sitting in. John offered his seat to her earlier, but she had refused.

The elderly Patrick Degan sat next to his obese daughter on the couch.

Patrick had drove himself to the trailer park, and seemed spry for his age. However, he had some difficulty hearing, so communication required loud voices.

Ethan was the first to speak up. "Mr. Degan, Jean told us that she explained to you why we're here—"

"She said you think the house on Gable Road is haunted."

"What do you think of that, sir?"

The old man suddenly looked vulnerable in his white T-shirt with beige pants and suspenders. He was looking down at his coffee cup. John gazed at Patrick's hands, which reminded him of his father's, with the bumps of arthritis in the knuckle joints. Patrick had done hard physical work, like Robert Hart.

Working that hard makes you old before your time, John thought. My dad used his need to take care of his family to distract him from something else. Everyone has secrets, and some people are willing to work themselves to death or drown in a sea of martinis just to put some dark thing behind them.

_I think he knows something_ —

John tried to sneak a look at Molly, but she was focused on the old man. He found Ethan's gaze instead, looking from Patrick to him.

_Ethan is thinking the same thing_ —

Patrick looked up, his two-colored, unsettling gaze resting on Molly. "Throughout my life, there were two versions of the story about what happened to my parents. And when I say there were two versions, I mean there was the one version my brother and I were told and the one that was the truth. But the first one even had a kernel of truth to it."

"Your aunt and uncle kept the truth from you?" Molly asked.

Patrick shrugged, his bony shoulders pushing into the fabric of the T-shirt. "It was not uncommon. Hiding the truth sometimes makes it easier to deal with, and Danny and I were as naïve as children are. Aunt Lily told me, as a young boy, that my parents both became ill and died. I believed that for years, until I was sixteen, when my Uncle Tom's sister-in-law, Aunt Alice, got drunk at Christmas and told me my mother had been pregnant when she died. This information wasn't exactly surprising, but it was in the way Aunt Alice told me, she kept saying something about my eyes, the different colors. She said no one else in the family had eyes like mine. She was talking her drunken talk as we danced in the parlor of that old house, Christmas music playing on the phonograph. Uncle Tom lost his patience and told her to shut up. She apologized to me later, explaining that she just had too much to drink and was talking nonsense, and she did that a lot, so I forgot about it. Only later did I realize how close I had been to knowing."

Jean remained quiet at her father's side. Molly wondered if Jean already knew all of this or was hearing this story for the first time.

"I returned from the war in 1945. I had made a career out of the military. I was almost forty by then. Danny had done the same thing, but the Japanese shot him down in 1942. When I came home in '45, I wanted to know the truth. I was married, with two children by then. Jean is the youngest. My wife and I would have four children all together. Only one of them, Bill, was born with my eyes. My children have had many different problems. Jean was the only healthy one then. My three boys; Richard, Bill, and Matthew, were all sick one way or another. Richard had bones that broke easily; he was also a hemophiliac. Matthew was a bleeder, too, and would have epileptic seizures. Bill would tire easily, he had heart problems. None of my boys lived to be thirty years old. Matthew was a suicide. Richard had leukemia. Bill, heart failure. By then, I knew the truth, but I never told them. I only told Jean last year. I never even told my wife, I was that ashamed."

What did his sons' health problems have to do with his parents? Molly thought.

Patrick continued with his story. "My son Matthew was born in '46. My mother's Aunt Wilma Shafer came to visit. I hadn't seen her since I was a boy. Wilma was elderly by then, in her eighties. Her son, my cousin Clyde, brought her over. She was the only one who would have known anything. Clyde must've been in his sixties by then, he fell asleep sitting on the couch, and I was alone with Aunt Wilma. I kept looking at her, and she would smile at me. Clyde didn't wake up when Aunt Wilma, like a little child, reached over and whispered in my ear. She told me everything in three sentences, 'Your father murdered your mother, then killed himself. They were brother and sister. My brother, Raymond Kidner, the doctor, was their father.'"

Molly almost lost her balance behind the chair, she gripped the back of it, and John quickly turned around to face her.

"H-how? How could that be?" Ethan asked. "Dr. Kidner lived in Philadelphia."

"Yes, he did," Patrick said. "But he only moved there when he was in his early twenties. He was from this town, and he met my father's mother, Pearl, when he was eighteen or nineteen, I think. She became pregnant for my father. For whatever reasons, Raymond did not recognize the boy as his own, and my grandmother Pearl married Clarence Degan, my father taking that last name from his stepfather. Raymond Kidner had moved to Philadelphia, became a doctor, and got married. His wife gave birth to my mother, April, in 1887. When her father died, April came here to live with her aunt and uncle. She met my father, John Degan, and they fell for each other, I suppose. But no one wanted them to get married, and these people, including Uncle George and Aunt Wilma, wouldn't explain why. They were too embarrassed. It was bad enough John never knew he was another man's son, but he was also unknowingly in love with his half-sister. But no one would tell them the truth."

"Even after you and your brother were born?" John asked.

"Especially then. We didn't get too many visitors. That is, until my father, unintentionally, found out the truth for himself."

"Who told him?" Ethan asked.

"His stepfather became ill that year; my Grandmother Degan had died years before. As I mentioned earlier, my father never knew that Clarence Degan wasn't his real father. But Grandpa Clarence was very ill, he had what we would now call Alzheimer's disease and, in his dementia, he spilled the beans. This is what Aunt Wilma told me later, on that day she came to visit, and she tried to help me fill in the gaps. She tried writing things down, but it exhausted her. Besides, she had told me enough, because she told me the truth. It couldn't all be a lie, and why would anyone lie about something like that?"

The rest were struck silent.

Now I understand, Molly thought. But every family has some genetic defects that could be passed to the children—

— _but the defects are doubled if the parents share some of the same genes_ —

Oh, God. Did April know?

"Did your Aunt Wilma tell you why, or did she even know why, your father murdered your mother?" Ethan asked.

"I believe my parents died on the same day Grandpa Clarence told my father the truth; his real father was a man named Raymond Kidner, a doctor from Philadelphia. My father knew Dr. Kidner had been April's father, and maybe he thought Grandpa had it mixed up in his mind. That's when, I would guess, Grandpa went into the detailed story of how my Grandmother Pearl met Raymond Kidner and became pregnant for my father, years before April was born.

Father was leaving Grandpa's house when my Uncle Tom approached him, and asked him if anything was wrong, my father seemed like he was in shock, but he wouldn't tell Tom why. He went away all day; no one knew where he was. Uncle Tom had some idea of what happened next, even though he wasn't there that night, when my father came home.

Danny and I were in bed asleep, we slept upstairs—"

Where my children sleep, Molly thought.

"—and I have no recollection of this, I was too little, so was Danny. But a possible scenario was that Father came home drunk, told Mother what Grandpa Clarence told him, and they argued. He lost control and shot her dead. She was pregnant for twins, you say, and I don't disbelieve that. He did something with her body, I don't know what."

The cellar, Molly thought.

"He went up to the attic. He shot himself there. In the morning, Uncle Tom came by. He came into the house and he found a bloody mess, in the kitchen, on the walls. He said his boots stuck to the kitchen floor..."

My dining room, Molly thought. The séance with Mom and Edna.

"He called for my parents, but all he heard was Danny and I crying. He went upstairs and found us in our pajamas. He saw the open attic door. He went up there, found my father's body, the rifle, and the blood on the walls. Uncle Tom grabbed Danny and I and went to Grandpa Clarence's house. I never went back there again."

Molly looked over at John, who was still staring at Patrick.

"Were your father's remains buried at a local cemetery?" Molly asked. "Because I've been—"

"He was buried on the property. The family wanted to keep it quiet," Patrick said. "People in town were told April died in childbirth and Dad went out of town to look for work. But Dad had a job with Mr. Dukes. Uncle Tom also worked for Dukes Dairy for years. Mr. Dukes couldn't understand why my father would just quit his job and move away, with Danny and I to care for. But he didn't pry, no one did. Danny and I lived with Uncle Tom and Grandpa Clarence until Grandpa died. When Uncle Tom married my Aunt Lily, he sold Grandpa's house and we moved out of town, about thirty miles from here. Uncle Tom and Aunt Lily took care of us until we were grown."

"What did you think when Jean told you that we thought the house on Gable Road was haunted?" John asked.

The old man took a sip of coffee. "I guess I should have thought it was nonsense, that you were trying to pull a scam. But I'll have to give you the benefit of the doubt, Mr. Hart, because I know what happened in that house. I've had a few experiences of my own. I don't know if psychics are real, or if I believe in reincarnation, but I do believe that we don't cease to exist after death. Something remains or moves on. No one can convince me otherwise."

A kind of spirituality could be sensed in Patrick, a man who had wanted nothing more than the truth his whole life; underneath the hard-working, average guy was someone who believed in the life of the spirit. John recognized some of his father in Patrick Degan, and he wondered if the two men even knew how great they were.

"Mr. Degan, will you please come to our home?"

Chapter Twelve

Patrick took in all of the changes inside the house on Gable Road. When he thought of the house, which he had no real memory of, his imagination did not include modern appliances, carpet, and indoor plumbing. However, the house did not feel strange to him, the sense of déjà vu was almost expected. He had lived here, but only as an infant, yet this is the house his father built, where he and Danny were born, and where his parents had died. He dreamed of this house, drove past it for decades, peeking through the trees, through the long driveway, wondering if he could glimpse the shape of his mother or father, but he would never turn off Gable Road, to embrace their ghosts, until now. His only solace was in knowing, unlike most other people, that the ghosts were real.

He was convinced of his sanity. Ethan Ward and the Harts were not crazy. John and Molly, by coming to him and telling him of the house and their children, awakened the part of Patrick that had been asleep for too long.

Molly showed him the photographs and played Will's tape. Much to their relief, Patrick could see the white shapes in the photos and hear Nedra's voice. Molly explained Belinda's past-life memories under hypnosis, Ethan playing that tape for Patrick as well. The four of them sat in the dining room, drinking iced tea, as Patrick listened to some child he never met recall his mother's short life.

Molly watched the man, fascinated by his stoicism. I would have lost my mind, she thought. His children died from too many secrets, their health and hope buried under the weight of one tragedy. And who was to blame? Raymond Kidner, for being a selfish young man? Or Pearl and Clarence Degan, who kept their secret of John Degan's paternity in order to avoid scandal? Or the rest of the family, the aunts and uncles, for not telling John and April they were brother and sister before they got married? Too many secrets, too much to hide for so long.

"I have no grandchildren," Patrick said, still looking through Molly's photographs. "My sons did not father children. Jean never could get pregnant. She got divorced years ago. She was always heavy, but she didn't get that large until she had to take prednisone, a steroid, for Crohn's disease. Her body had a severe reaction; she gained another one hundred pounds. But I thank God I have no grandchildren." Patrick stopped at one photo. "Is this Belinda?"

"Yes, that's her," Molly said.

Patrick smiled. "She's chubby like my Jean was at that age. Poor kid, it's worse for the girls."

Molly tried to ignore that remark, even though she did not disagree. "Our children are staying with friends right now."

"You told me it's not safe for them here."

"It's not. Belinda almost drowned in the bathtub."

"You think...my father caused that?"

"I don't know, Patrick. But he's the only entity here."

"Why would he want to harm your children?"

"I think he wants attention. He wants us to know he is a part of this house, he needs to be helped."

"But where do we begin?" Patrick asked.

"I think we should begin in the cellar."

"We don't exactly know where April's remains are down there," John said.

"Belinda would," Molly said.

"You want to bring her here?"

"Yes, I think she would be all right, as long as she isn't alone. Besides, I want Patrick to meet her."

"I can pick her up," Ethan said. "If I can borrow the station wagon."

John handed Ethan the keys across the wobbly dining room table.

"Maybe we can take Patrick upstairs while we wait," Molly said. "Would you be all right with that, Patrick?"

"Yes, please."

"Okay," Molly rose from her chair. "Follow me. We have the windows open, but it gets hot up there."

*****

The buzzing noise could be heard from downstairs. John, Molly, and Ethan had heard the sound when they entered the house earlier. Patrick, because of his hearing loss, may not have immediately picked up on it. By the time they reached the attic, the sound of hornets swarming filled the walls, making John's skin crawl.

"Sounds like you have a nest up here," Patrick said, his breath a little short from climbing the staircase.

John reached up, pulling on the door to the attic, the ladder steps sliding down.

The attic looked like any other; too big to be a crawlspace, too small to be a potential bedroom. Several years from now, the upstairs ceiling would be removed, the attic merged into an upstairs addition consisting of two extra bedrooms and a bathroom. The unusual attic window would remain, as part of the new bathroom.

Molly now wondered if she and John had always known, from when they first moved in, that something tragic had occurred in the attic. The disturbances began there, the starting point for Degan's terror campaign.

I can map it all out now, Molly thought. Every step Degan took the day he killed his wife; a reenactment every night, when he would wake us up, his steps pounding on the stairs, followed by the noise in the kitchen.

"I'll go," Patrick said. "I'm not afraid of my own father."

Molly and John did not know how to reply to that remark, because they already considered Degan a monster that had once been a man, existing in the walls, plumbing, and wiring. He was the thing in the cellar, attic, and the bathroom.

He was a man, John thought. Is this what can happen to any of us?

Patrick scratched his head. "Yep, sounds like a hornet's nest."

"Maybe we shouldn't go up there," Molly said.

"He'll try to hide from us," John replied. "He knows what—"

The attic stairs folded up swiftly on their own, just a few yards from them, the door slamming hard, making the ceiling shake.

The old man stared for a moment, John and Molly stayed quiet.

"I don't understand what the noise is. Do you have problems with bee's nests in the summer?"

Molly tried not to laugh, he reminded her so much of her father in that moment. "That noise is year 'round, Patrick. We have checked for bugs, holes, the ventilation system, everything. The children were the first to notice it; Will's bedroom is right over here. We were awakened every night at about two-thirty in the morning, the sound of footsteps coming from the attic all the way downstairs. We had not experienced a peaceful night's sleep until the children left."

"There are so many things, since we moved here, that we can't explain," John said. "Our marriage, our children, so much has been affected—"

"Why didn't you just move?" Patrick asked.

John looked to his wife; she could answer this time. "A lot of people have asked us that," Molly said. "And there's not only our financial situation to consider, but I think John and I–and you–can't really move on until we have dealt with what is in this house. Who knows? Maybe the house would be safe enough for our children to come home."

"But I don't really know how I can help, Molly. I don't know what he wants from you, or me."

"He wants to be released, I'm sure of it. John and I don't really believe in exorcisms, but we're hoping your presence...can draw out your father—"

"Judging by what just happened, when that door slammed shut, I think he knows you're here," John said. "He recognized you."

"Do you still want to go up there?" Patrick asked.

"Do you?"

"Not really."

"If we took you down to the cellar," Molly said, "he might pull the same stunt. He's been here for so long, he feels threatened."

"But my mother's...remains are there, right?" he asked.

"Belinda says April is buried there, yes."

"God, why did he do that?"

"He must have been so angry, so disturbed, that to kill her made some sense to him," John said. "She was pregnant, and the idea of more children sent him into a rage, because she was now his sister."

"I can understand that kind of rage," Patrick said. "My children had so many problems and death was a relief for them, really. This will all end with Jean and me. That's really why I'm here, to end it. And if I can help you and your children, so much the better."

"We really appreciate that, Patrick. We understand how painful this must be for you," Molly said. "There are layers of pain in this house, like old coats of paint. The Browns had few problems here, but we brought it out, because he was waiting for us, he needs us."

"Why you?"

"Well, we told you about Belinda. If your father recognizes you, so will she and then an explanation won't be necessary. That is another reason why we couldn't just move out. Our karma would follow us anywhere, and Belinda, as April, was murdered in this house. We have to stay here for her."

*****

Ethan returned with Belinda, who was initially shy around Patrick. He was almost the same age as her Grandma Colleen, who was also in her seventies, making Patrick one of the oldest people she had ever met. He did not seem familiar to her at first, then she saw the scar above his right eyebrow. She thought of the planes and the war that happened thirty years before she was born.

"You were put in a prison," Belinda said, staring at the bottom of her glass, the sugar and drops of lemonade collecting there. "But they weren't Nazis, they were different."

"The Japanese," Patrick replied. "I was in a P.O.W camp towards the end of the war."

"Your brother died there."

"Yes, he did. But he was shot down while flying over the Philippines."

"That scar, they gave it to you, didn't they?"

Patrick's fingers flew up at the small scar. "Yes...a bayonet. A Japanese soldier struck me while I was in prison."

Belinda's chubby, flower-like face was very serious. "My Gramma Ed says war is evil. She went back home to Traverse City."

Belinda had finished her peanut butter and jelly sandwich at the dining room table while sitting across from Patrick. Her parents and Ethan sat nearby, waiting for the house to react to Belinda's presence. So far, silence prevailed. The buzzing sound had gone away.

Belinda had already shared the story of her past life regression with Patrick. Her knowledge of details about his mother's early life left him stunned; for instance, he did not know his mother had a sister or that she attended a private school in Philadelphia.

Her life would've been so different if her father had lived, Patrick thought. She would never have had to come here, to this town, and live with her aunt and uncle. She'd never have met my father—

"Karma isn't punishment," Belinda said.

"That's right, honey," her mother replied.

"April had to come here, to meet Mr. Degan, for the same reason we are here now," Belinda said.

"Yes, it was meant to be," Molly said. "My father used to talk about how when the world was formed. God, as a source of energy, shot off smaller forms of energy, which were separated, and became our individual souls, millions of them. Some of these souls were similar to each other and would be drawn together again and again through each life. The last life would be forgotten by the conscious mind, so the next one could be lived." Molly smiled at the perplexed look on the old man's face. "Have you ever met someone for the first time, but felt like you knew him or her before?"

"Yes. When I met my wife."

"I felt the same way when I met John. From our first conversation, I felt I had known John all my life."

"Did you go into the cellar?" Belinda asked.

"Not yet," Molly said. "We were waiting for you."

"Why?"

"Bel, do you know where April was buried down there?" John asked. "The exact place?"

"Closer to the wall, by the shelves. Those shelves weren't there then, the Browns built those. April kept her jars upstairs. Can I go down there with you?"

"No," her father said. "It's not safe."

"If it's not safe, then why am I here?"

John ignored her question, looking to Ethan. "Do you want to help dig, Ethan?"

"I'd be happy to."

"I want to help," Patrick said. "I want to see her for myself."

John hesitated before he answered, but he knew there was no sense in arguing with the man. "All right, Patrick."

Molly reached over, touched the old man's hands. "If we find your mother's remains, will you be able...to deal with it?"

He nodded. "I think so; I'm dealing with it now."

"Okay."

"Patrick?" Belinda asked.

"Yes, dear?"

"He's not going to like it, so be careful."

*****

John owned a pick ax, a crowbar, and some shovels. A jackhammer would have come in handy, considering how rock-hard the cellar floor was.

Ethan helped John pull out the two rotting bottom shelves from the wall. They decided to start there in the crack between the wall and where the floor began. They would be able to loosen the hard floor and dig from that spot.

The afternoon was hot, but the clammy coldness of the cellar was constant. John had briefly explained to Patrick about the cellar, including the rotten smell. The old man remained quiet since coming down to his mother's secret crypt, this place where his father, in his rage and insanity, had hastily buried April, making her as much a prisoner as he to the house. However, April transcended the secret grave, escaping to the Space Between, returning as Belinda Hart. John Degan had remained here, making 1225 Gable Road his fortress, and was not leaving without a fight. They all knew this; their task was going to be difficult, if not impossible.

John's crowbar managed to get a large chunk of hardened dirt away from the wall. Ethan pushed the blade of the pick-ax at the new cracks while Patrick pushed the mess away with the shovel.

John, in those moments, recalled when the septic tank was cleaned, just months ago. The only comment the plumber from Roto-Rooter made was about how root-bound the ground was as he dug into the septic tank, located behind the garage.

The roots, the damn roots, John thought. That's what came out of the bathtub faucet—

— _her remains will be root-bound—_

—don't think about it. We can still get to her; it will just take more effort. We can't stop now.

*****

Molly was in the kitchen when she first heard the gurgling noise coming from the sink. Belinda was sitting on the kitchen floor, playing with her new Malibu Barbie. Belinda kept the plastic legs in place while changing one denim outfit for another, then straightening the straw-like blonde hair. Molly would not let the girl be too far away from her, she knew they were taking a chance in permitting Belinda to be here at all.

"Mom, what's that noise?" she asked.

"The pipes, Bel." Molly turned the faucet on, letting the cold water run for a moment, then shutting it off. However, the gurgling continued.

Molly had just pulled her hand away from the faucet, when a splash of water came up from the drain, landing on her bare arm. The water was very cold and she brushed it away with her fingertips.

The counter to each side of the sink started to shake, the gurgling sound replaced by a rumbling. Water started to spray out of the faucet at the same time the cupboards above the kitchen counter pulled open, bowls and plates and glasses taking flight. Baking pans fell on Belinda's head and Tupperware bowls bounced to the floor as her mother reached for her hand, pulling the child up and out through the back door, quickly avoiding contact with the sharper utensils.

The bastard is going to fight, Molly thought. He's going to tear this place apart before we can push him out.

"John!"

He could hear Molly yelling for him from the open cellar doors. He raised his head to see her and Belinda standing there. "Yes, dear?"

"He's starting up in the kitchen! How far along are you?"

"We've broken through part of the floor. There's a lot of roots. This could take a while."

"Well, all right. We can wait up here. But we're staying outside."

"Good idea. Just stay in a safe place."

John, Ethan, and Patrick continued to pull at the dirt floor. They had managed to tear apart half of it, digging the shovel into the layers of soft dirt, unsurprised by the sight of so many mangled roots. They were able to rip through these with the shovel and the pick-ax, but some were thick and stubborn. Ethan could feel his nose starting to run from the coolness in the cellar. He was pulling a handkerchief out of his pants pocket when he noticed Patrick, who had stopped digging for a moment. The old man was looking up towards the cellar doors.

"Do you hear the buzzing?" Ethan asked.

"The bees are back."

"It's not bees, Patrick. It's the same noise from the attic. He wants to come down here. He's starting to figure out what we're doing."

John, like the others, wondered what Degan would try next. As he was thinking about this, he felt his sneaker-clad foot sink into the root-bound dirt. His right knee started to itch and when he reached down to scratch through his jeans, he saw some of the roots, in a spider-like movement, crawl through the dirt. His foot was buried deeper when he moved and John realized he had overlooked something important.

"We have to get out of here," he said. "He has us right where he wants us. He was waiting for this."

"Can you move your foot?" Ethan asked.

He tried to move his foot, but the roots would only tighten more. His other foot remained free, on top of what was left of the cellar floor. "I can't. It's stuck."

"Maybe Molly can get something to cut—"

"Molly!" John called.

The ground was becoming softer underneath them; Ethan and Patrick could feel themselves sinking into the dank-smelling earth, the roots were changing position.

Ready to attack, Ethan thought. Degan wants to bury us. How can we fight back if we can't move?

The men found themselves gradually dropping at least six inches, Patrick being the shorter man, his legs buried up to his knees. Ethan was close to him, but the old man was the first to feel something against his left knee. He pushed his left hand down into the earth, already knowing what might be there.

Ethan saw what Patrick was doing and hesitated, not wanting to put his arms into the dirt and roots. John was trying to maintain his balance; one leg trapped and sinking, the other free. However, Ethan needed to prove, if only to himself, that Belinda was right. He bent his upper body closer to Patrick, hoping his legs would move a few inches, but a root tightened around his right calf. Ethan pushed his hands and arms up to the elbows into the dirt, searching along with Patrick. He could feel his fingers brush against something that felt like fabric.

"The tent," Ethan said. "He wrapped her in the tent."

John had given up on trying to stay balanced, his body tilted at an odd angle. "There's no way you can pull it out. Maybe we should just leave it."

Patrick was not so discouraged. He chose to push deeper, finally gripping a corner of the fabric and pulling it towards him. He was surprised at his own strength, the adrenaline pumping through his elderly body; he would see this, even if it made him go blind. Ethan picked up on the old man's determination and helped pull at the tent, feeling the fabric give way against the roots, feeling the ache in his arms and shoulders. The exertion was difficult for him; he wondered what it was doing to Patrick.

The men all knew the roots could choose to tighten at any time, keeping April's remains underground forever. They also did not think their situation could get any worse. When the buzzing noise stopped, they thought of it as some kind of reprieve. John, however, wondered if Degan had merely changed positions.

*****

A letter from Colleen to Pauline, postmarked March 1968, sent from the Murdoch home in Evanston to Pauline in London

March 3, 1968

Dear Pauline,

I hope you are doing well, your father and I were worried about you. Our friend Ethan found this address through Kingston Publishing. Ethan had a lot of respect for James and his work. How are you getting along without him? Not easily, I would think. Sam liked him so much, although he would've preferred–as I–that James could've married you. But that can't be helped now, can it?

I've been wondering about you, but my purpose in writing to you was to let you know that Molly is getting married. Her fiancé is a fellow student at Michigan, John Hart. Does the name sound familiar? John is the grandson of Nedra Hart. She was famous in her time; she supposedly helped solve the Workhouse Strangler case back in Edinburgh, around the turn of the century. Remember when I asked you and James to look up a few things for me about it? But you two found very little, most of the files had been lost or destroyed. As the story goes, the man Nedra said was the Strangler was put in a mental institution or he may have disappeared, I'm not sure. Nedra retired in her late twenties, when she married a doctor and later had children, one of her sons is John's father. I have yet to meet his parents, but they're actually middle-class types, his father has worked in several different automobile plants in Michigan. John was an only child, intending to become a teacher or a psychologist, but has dropped out to sell insurance for Oracle. Molly saw this as a reason to also drop out, so none of my daughters will earn a college degree. Sam and I have given our children the best possible, but they reach a certain age and we have our sacrifices thrown in our faces. I don't mean to sound bitter, but raising children can make you that way. Molly may be pregnant as I write this letter. John is a decent enough fellow, Molly loves him, and now I have to love him, too, because–somehow–he knows the truth.

I told Ethan a long time ago, but he swore he didn't tell John. Neither did Sam. He approached me so politely, after Christmas Day, in the kitchen late one night. You know my habit of getting up and eating something in the middle of the night! I was eating some ice cream, in my robe and slippers, and here comes skinny John Hart, asking me for a glass of milk. I brought him the milk and he sat down across from me. He looked at me very intently, but gentle, with his gray eyes, and asked, "Does Molly know you are her grandmother? Pauline is her mother, right?"

I was stunned, but I'm not sure why. He is as psychic as any of us.

" _Right. And Molly doesn't know."_

The expression on his face, so serious, only confirmed what I knew; that he really loved and accepted Molly, if not all of us. "Mrs. Murdoch—"

" _Call me Colleen."_

" _All right...Colleen."_

" _Do you want to tell her?"_

" _No. Do you?"_

" _No. There is no need."_

" _All right. I agree."_

" _Do you want to know how it happened?"_

" _No. I prefer not to know."_

" _Do you still want to marry Molly?"_

" _Yes, absolutely."_

We politely parted and I did not approach him on the subject until after New Year's Eve, when they were going to drive back to campus. The night before they left, I asked John to meet with me in the kitchen after Molly and Sam went up to bed.

John had been sleeping in a separate guestroom during their stay, although I knew he sneaked to her in the night. I chose to overlook it, knowing the argument would be pointless. She would end up pregnant in her wedding dress, whether I liked it or not. That's why Ethan tried to talk me out of this last meeting, but I wanted to at least try, because I just couldn't imagine John being able to keep this kind of secret from Molly forever. Besides, it was possible she might not be pregnant.

Molly just turned twenty; her money will be hers soon. If John breaks off the engagement, the worst thing that could happen is Molly will go back to college. If she is pregnant, I may end up raising a great-grandchild, and I am too old for that now.

John sat down with me at the kitchen table, Ethan sitting next to me. I know John didn't appreciate Ethan being there. John doesn't like Ethan; he thinks Ethan plans on climbing our backs to achieve fame and fortune. The truth is, Ethan doesn't really need us. He has the gift and the confidence to get what he wants. Maybe that's what John doesn't like, that confidence. John isn't a confident man, although his abilities are impressive. He could be a legend like Sam, an intuitive healer. But he will hide, like his father.

I offered him twenty thousand dollars and he turned me down, laughing.

" _Colleen, I don't believe this! If you disliked me so much, why didn't you just say so?"_

Ethan looked uncomfortable, I hadn't told him of my plans. Yes, I tried to pay off John Hart. In his own gentle way, he told me to go to Hell. I tried raising the amount as high as thirty-five thousand, and he still turned me down flat, even Ethan blinked at the thirty thousand mark.

" _Molly is pregnant, isn't she?" I asked._

" _Yes, she is. The baby is due in August."_

" _Do you still promise not to tell Molly...about her mother?" Ethan asked._

" _Yes. In return, I expect Molly and I to be left alone until after the wedding. She wants to get married within the next two months, before she starts to show. Also, I won't tell her you offered to buy me off. I think she would be very hurt if she found out, don't you, Colleen?"_

I had to back down. I asked him if he had bought an engagement ring, and he said he would soon. I knew better than to offer to buy the ring. I would have to leave them alone, but fate almost worked in my favor. Molly miscarried in February and, when I visited her at the hospital in Ann Arbor, I offered her the sum of her trust fund, knowing this would be a good time to bring it up.

I knew about the experiments with Professor Hayden, and we discussed remote viewing and how the government would have more and more uses for psychics. Sam had been approached during the war, but he didn't want to leave us during that time. He had just been released from the hospital in Cincinnati, when we left Ed and Cole's farmhouse. I told Molly I could release the money to her, that she and John could use it to buy a house. John said he knew nothing about a trust and Molly said she would explain later. When Molly was released and went back to her dorm room, I returned home to Evanston. Most of my time has been taken up looking after your father. He tells me that he feels closer to the Space Between; Thelma has been coming to him, getting him ready for death.

David has been here for a visit, bringing his new wife with him. Regina is foreign, Italian or Greek, I think. Why he married her, I don't know. She doesn't speak much English. But your father found her fascinating, claiming that she was a priest of some sort and a learned man in a previous life. Regina is very female, quite attractive, in that dark Mediterranean way, and didn't seem upset or surprised by your father. David explained to her, in her language, what Sam had said. I think David prepared her before they came.

David would like to hear from you. He just had a birthday; he's not getting any younger. None of us are. I don't know what you do in that flat in London all day. You didn't want to write any more books, and I'm hoping you will find someone else. I know you loved James, he accepted you, helped you. You prefer to hide away, but I think you would be better off sharing your gifts with the world, like your father has done.

I received an interesting phone call from Molly last week. She said she and John had talked about her money, and he told her that if she accepted it, took one dime, he would call off the wedding, which is still set for August twelfth. She asked me, through tears, if I could hang on to it, to keep it in trust? I said, of course. John is poor, he knows their lives together could be made easier with this money. He can't be that stubborn, no one is.

Ethan called Molly a few days ago and she told him something about John that I had been wondering about. John's draft number came up and he had to go to the local recruitment office, which is located on the University of Michigan campus. He proceeded to tell a Commanding Officer about his family; his grandmother, parents, and himself were all psychic. He went on to sketch examples from his own childhood, including his boarding school days. The things I had to pry out of him, he freely told this CO! Days later, he received a letter informing him he had been excused from service, more or less based on a failed psychiatric evaluation. But Molly told Ethan that she thinks Professor Hayden may have helped.

So the wedding is still set for August twelfth. If the date changes, I'll let you know. We would certainly like to see you there. The ceremony will be held at an Episcopalian church here in Evanston. I hope to hear from you soon. You can always call.

Love,

Your Mother

*****

The wedding was as lavish as Colleen wanted; John was willing to give her that much. Max would remember, decades later, the arrival of the Murdoch twins, Uncle Ed and Uncle Cole, Old Sam's younger brothers, now in their seventies, accompanied by Pauline. Ed and Cole had remodeled and sold the farmhouse, moving to a large apartment in Chicago, provided by Old Sam, who intended on supporting his little brothers, who had never married. However, Max would not be able to recall the name of the church where John and Molly were married. He remembered the building was quite large, an old place. He had been invited, but was not sure if he could make it until the last minute, taking the train from Michigan early that morning, knowing he would be the only person, besides John's parents, that were close the groom. Everyone else there would be Murdochs or connected to the Murdochs, like Ethan Ward, who Max would not see again, until that summer in 1980.

Molly wore the dress picked out for her, featuring a long train, puffed shoulders that became tight sleeves just past the elbows. Her strawberry blonde hair was styled in an upsweep, covered by a modest cap and veil. The dress had a high, lacy collar; a blue cameo pinned at the front. The dress was tight, Colleen suggesting she wear a girdle. Molly, who was nervous enough, had the misfortune of having to wear all of this for an August wedding, the church hot and stuffy. The guests and the minister were wiping their foreheads with handkerchiefs, some were fanning themselves. The anxious bride licked the sweat and waxy lipstick from her upper lip. Her feet were sweating in her white pumps as her eighty-year-old father walked her slowly, so slowly, down the aisle. Her brother David had offered to walk in his place, but the old man stubbornly refused.

The wedding song ended before they made it half-down the aisle. Molly heard a few nervous giggles, and wished, for a moment, that she could just disappear. Then, she took a deep breath and smiled at her father, her elderly guru. He was dressed in a suit appropriate to his age, so no Nehru jacket, thank God. He may have walked slowly, but he stood tall.

Max thought father and daughter looked like they were frozen in time, something out of the Victorian age.

Pauline was sitting next to her Uncle Ed and Uncle Cole in the pew behind Colleen and John's parents. Max was sitting in the pew behind them.

Max overheard a few words of the conversation between Pauline and her uncles,"...I don't think she's well...she hates that dress...she wanted one of those hippie ones with the drop-waist, but Mother said no. It's really hot in here..."

Pauline had only been in her mid-thirties at the time; she was slim and attractive, in spite of her nervous, fluttery mannerisms. She reminded Max of Mia Farrow. He was close to her age and attempted to get her attention, but she was too preoccupied. John said she was crazy, but she seemed harmless. She wore a navy-blue suit, her hair was also pinned-up. Max had a fetish for pinned-up hair on women. He also liked high heels and he stared at the shiny black straps on her ankles, her feet small and feminine as a ballet dancer's. She smelled like Chanel No. 5 and Max squirmed a little in the hard pew. Her dapper uncles, who were watching their older brother make his Herculean efforts down the aisle with poor little Molly, were dressed identically in tuxedos.

Molly met her groom eventually, John wet from sweat and trembling in his summer suit. He did not know whether to reach for Molly's hand or help Old Sam to his seat. David, a tall, handsome fellow in his late forties, rose and assisted his father back to the front pew, next to Colleen.

The ceremony continued uninterrupted, the minister taking everyone through the prayers and vows perfectly, the only unusual thing being that there was no best man or bridesmaids. John and Molly had few friends and Max did not think to ask John about it. He took the time to look around and noticed the church was only half-full. Many Murdoch cousins, business associates, and friends had tried to fill the place, and an announcement was made in the Chicago Sun Times, thanks to Colleen, but this wedding would remain a private affair, just as the bride and groom wanted, no matter how much money was spent.

John and Molly, after the ceremony, greeted each guest in a long line, leading from the foyer and running into the chapel area. John's face was red from the heat and excitement. Molly maintained a graceful stance in spite of how very uncomfortable she was. Max was standing in line, somehow ending up near the back pews, when he felt a tapping at his shoulder.

He caught a whiff of Chanel No. 5 as he turned around, and there was Pauline. "You're John's friend, right?"

"Right. My name is Max, Max Henley."

He shook Pauline's hand, and regretted it almost immediately. She was as psychic as the rest of them.

Oh, great, he thought. Now she knows what I was thinking—

Pauline smiled at him in a good-natured way, her brown eyes bright and sad at the same time. "My uncles rented a car, and I thought you might like to ride with us to the hall, Max."

"Oh, yes, thanks."

*****

John and Molly took the inevitable drive around Evanston in the Murdoch's Lincoln, with John driving. They wanted some time to themselves, the conversation beginning with how hot and miserable they were. Molly told John that she was pregnant again. John said he already knew. He also knew she would miscarry, although he kept that news to himself.

John greeted Max at the hall, shaking his hand, thanking him for coming. His face registered a look of surprise when he found his friend at the table with Pauline and her uncles. Molly hugged Ed and Cole, then Pauline. The bride and groom moved on to the other guests, and Pauline ordered the first round of drinks.

Dinner was formal, roast chicken. John and Molly cut the three-tiered wedding cake, and Max and Pauline were into the third round of martinis by this time. A local band of musicians, made up of Northwestern students, played songs by everyone from Dean Martin, Frank Sinatra, Elvis Presley, and the Beatles. The uncles danced with any female at the reception, as did Ethan. When the band started their rendition of 'I Saw Her Standing There,' Pauline managed to talk Max into dancing with her. Ethan was on the dance floor with the young daughter of one of Old Sam's associates, and the four of them made an entertaining sight, amusing the other guests in their seats, who clapped along. Max did not know how to dance, but Pauline took him through every step she knew, and they stumbled a lot, making the others laugh. John and Molly, at the long bridal table, were relieved some of the attention was taken away from them. The day had been exhausting and Molly was eager to leave for the honeymoon in Quebec.

The uncles and the young people kept the reception interesting. Ed and Cole were always funny and managed to come up with spur-of-the-moment speeches and jokes. They were good dancers. Max and Pauline were officially drunk three hours into the reception. Between drinking and dancing, they conversed a little. Pauline mentioned James Campbell, who passed away the year before.

"He had a heart attack, died on the kitchen floor," she said, her speech slurred. "That's where I found him."

"Oh, I'm sorry," Max replied.

"And his bitch wife, Roz, wouldn't let me come to the funeral! Anyway...care for a fuck?"

Max could answer yes or no to that offer. Instead, he laughed, his face flushed from heat and alcohol, his jacket on the floor under his feet, his shirt soaked in sweat. "What do you have in mind, Miss Murdoch?"

"Fucking, Mr. Henley."

They were both laughing now, and they were seated alone together, the uncles were back on the dance floor with Colleen and one of David's daughters. Pauline had also slipped off her jacket, makeup slightly smeared, smelling like a musky cross between the Chanel and sweat. Her bound-up hair was askew.

"Follow me to the ladies' room," she said.

Pauline left the table first, heading for the restrooms. Max waited about five minutes, then headed for the men's room, followed by a quick detour to the door marked 'WOMEN.' If he was caught, he would plead drunkenness, it was an accident. Instead, he found himself alone in a stall with Pauline.

Pauline's pantyhose and panties were hanging on a hook attached to the stall door. The legs of the pantyhose flopped around his face and head as Pauline wrapped her legs around him, her knee-length skirt hiked up around her hips, the pearl buttons on her white blouse being quickly opened by Max. He used one hand to unhook her bra, the other gently pawing at her breasts as their tongues met in a kiss. Her hands found his belt, and he loosened his pants, her fingers pulling at his chest hair, then caressing his neck and shoulders. He hastily entered her and they were achieving a pleasurable rhythm by the time someone else walked into the restroom. Their bodies froze to a halt. They heard the clack-clack of heels past their stall, to the next one, the door shutting and locking. Pants were unzipped and a woman eased herself onto the toilet, followed by a tinkling sound.

Pauline almost immediately detected the women's scent invading over her own. Shalimar.

_Mother_.

Max stayed perfectly still, his gaze locking into Pauline's. He did not know that was Colleen next to them, but it hardly mattered. He would be ashamed by anyone catching in this situation, but his erection inside Pauline remained.

The woman next door flushed the toilet and left the stall. She washed her hands, then exited the restroom.

Max's back was starting to ache. He was thinking about pulling out of her, but Pauline tightened her hold around him, ready to finish what they started. In spite of the slick sweat between their bodies and the cloying smell of Chanel No. 5 and Shalimar, Pauline came first, Max gently covering her lips with his hand when she wanted to cry out. Max gratefully climaxed minutes later and Pauline pulled him out. She continued to stroke him with her wet hand as she licked a drop of sweat from the tip of his nose.

Chapter Thirteen

Molly stood by the weeping willow, staring out at the open cellar doors. Belinda was playing underneath the drooping branches with her doll, which she had been holding when her mother dragged her out of the house.

Molly was thinking of her father, something she had been doing a lot lately. How would he have dealt with this?

Thinking of Old Sam made her think of Pauline. As a child, Pauline had taught Molly how to go out of her body. Years later, Professor Hayden had also encouraged Molly to perfect her skills of astral projection, but she put that talent away, marrying John and becoming a mother instead.

She was five years old when she left her body for the first time. She could see her body in bed, moving down the hallway of the mansion in Evanston, drifting off in the dark to her parents' room, watching them sleep. She was not afraid, she felt happy and peaceful, in spite of the fact that she had no control over when or how far she could go.

Her father knew she was in the room.

He was looking straight at her in the king-size bed, his prophet's eyes blazing in the dark. His eyebrows had thickened and grayed with age, he was almost sixty-five years old. Many people, when father and daughter were out in public, had assumed Molly was his granddaughter. Like a grandfather, Old Sam felt no obligation to discipline Molly, leaving that responsibility to Colleen, who still possessed the energy to keep up with a precocious little girl. Old Sam became more of a guide to his daughter, pointing her often in the right direction and, in her awe, she listened to him without question. He was not just her dad, he was her guru.

"Molly," he whispered, "go as far as you can, you'll find your way back."

She remembered those words, although she had kept the memory locked away. She did not tell her mother, because what her father said was just the opposite of what Colleen would have said. When Molly started to sleepwalk, she became confused between the two states–out of body during sleep, and in her body sleepwalking. Colleen started to lock her bedroom door and Molly never went out of her body again until college.

Molly sat down under the tree near Belinda, her back against the tree trunk. She was tired, hot, and thirsty. She did not dare go back in the house, or bother the men, they would have told her to keep waiting.

The afternoon heat was making her drowsy and she began to relax, sitting her legs straight in front of her. She was not sleeping well at night, since before the children left. John had returned to sleeping on the couch, afraid to touch her. At least he was staying sober, so she felt obligated to do the same. Their depression had turned into frustration, and the summer heat was only adding to their irritability.

The house can't be destroyed, she thought. We would have nothing; we've sunk too much into this house, yet it doesn't belong to us...

_If only I could approach Degan on his own level, we would be equals_...

Molly could only go out of her body if she was fully relaxed, and the weariness and boredom was enough to send her into a semi-sleep. The noise of the yard, along with Belinda's Barbie-chatter, filtered away to silence.

Molly could literally see the air move around her as she looked down at herself sitting close to the Weeping Willow. She saw the top of Belinda's head, the shiny dark hair pulled back with a blue Alice-band. The air moved as Molly did, away from the tree, to the garage, past the cellar, and through the back door.

I need to be careful, she thought. The silence. I'm not hearing a damn thing...

She found herself at the bottom of the stairs, watching the dust particles floating in the rays of sunlight coming from upstairs, through the new windows. The air moved once again, the floating dust taking on a shape. Molly soon saw the head, shoulders, and arms. She had not seen Degan this clearly since that night in the cellar with her mother and Edna. As he continued to reveal himself to her, his hair and face becoming more distinct; she could make out his fingertips with the short, ragged nails. His sandy-colored hair was parted to one side. He was tall, with long arms and legs. John Degan had been handsome, not any older than twenty-five. His features were still soft from youth, but his expression was somber.

Molly could not hear the creaking stairs as he stepped down, his feet in an old pair of work-boots, pants patched at the knees, the button-down shirt clean and white, suspenders in place over each shoulder. She saw the shine of his wedding ring on his left hand.

There's nothing he can do to me, she thought. He can't harm me.

He faced her, just two steps away from her on the staircase.

I know your story, Mr. Degan. Are you ready to leave this house?

He shook his head at her, his expression fixed.

What are you afraid of?

He opened his mouth, and the peaceful silence ended, a startling intrusion. "She is not there."

You will not be alone there. You will not be punished.

"I am being punished."

Your punishment will end, but only if you surrender.

"I would've surrendered long ago, but the Light only wanted April."

I can help you, John Degan. Let me.

"How?"

Molly did not immediately see the shift in the layers of air around Degan; she was too focused on communicating with him. She knew this spirit was malevolent; he had terrorized and molested the children, she and Belinda were almost drowned in the bathtub, the windows smashed. However, Molly knew she had to help Degan, because if he was at peace, the house was theirs.

John, I can bring the Light to you—

Degan started to lose shape in front of her; he was fading out, or she was.

She heard noise; she was outside the house, back in her body.

"Mom!"

Her eyes opened. Belinda was shaking her.

"Dad was calling for you! They're stuck in the cellar!"

Molly felt herself shudder all over; she was uncomfortable back in her body. "Stuck? How?"

"The roots. They can't move."

Molly pushed herself up as Belinda took her by the hand. When they reached the cellar, Molly looked down and saw her husband sort of twisted; one half stuck in the dirt, the other on the remaining cellar floor. Patrick was buried to his knees, as was Ethan.

"John?"

He looked up at her. "Molly! Get something to cut these roots! The hedge clippers or anything you can find!"

"Hey, what's that?" She looked closer, seeing the frayed fabric pulled halfway out of the ground.

"We think these might be April's remains!" Ethan called out. "But we can't get them out any further! The roots are holding us!"

"You mean—"

"We need to cut ourselves out!"

"Okay, I'll be right back!"

Molly ran, with Belinda following, to the garage to find the hedge-clippers. She pulled the tool off the cluttered, dusty workbench. Mr. Brown had built this garage and the Harts used it for storage, keeping the station wagon outdoors.

She ran back to the cellar doors, Belinda close behind her. "John, I can't just drop these down there! I'll have to take the steps!"

"All right! But only go halfway! I don't want you getting stuck in here with us!"

Molly carefully climbed down the first few steps. Belinda handed her the clippers as Molly tried to stay balanced on the ladder steps with one hand.

"Bel, go back and play by the tree."

"Can I wait here until you come back up?"

"Okay."

Molly made it halfway down, but was still not close enough to help the men. "John, I won't be able to reach you with these. Maybe I can just stay on the floor, away from the dirt—"

"I guess you'll have to."

Molly eased off the last step and on to the floor, only about ten feet to the front and sides of her, the rest torn up and mixed with the dirt and twisted roots. It had not occurred to Molly the cellar was root-bound.

This all belongs to him, Molly thought. But he won't go without her...

Ethan was the closest to Molly and she awkwardly handed Ethan the hedge-clippers. He carefully started cutting at the tight roots from the top of the dirt, working his way down. He was trying to get closer to the worn, encrusted tent fabric, Patrick maintaining a grip on it with his hands, the joints gnarled from arthritis. In the dim light, Molly could see his flushed and sweaty face.

He's not well, she thought. This is too much for him.

"Patrick?" she asked. "Are you all right?"

He coughed, turning his head to the side. "Yes. I just feel a little tired."

"Okay," John said. "But as soon as we're free, we'll take a break. We found what we were looking for, anyway."

"What about John Degan?" Molly asked. "His remains may be on the property, too."

"But how can we know exactly where?" Ethan asked.

The next ten minutes were devoted to freeing April's remains. John was able to get a closer look at the tent cover, the color a faded blue. Ethan cut away at the roots squeezing around his ankles and calves. He accidentally cut himself with the pointed end of the clippers, but he chose to ignore the pain. Molly took him by the hands, out of the dirt, and he was able to step up to the cellar floor ledge. He dragged the frayed tent towards him. By this time, Molly had handed Patrick the clippers, and John helped him cut at the roots cuffing his knees. Ethan and Molly helped the old man up; John was the last to be freed. When he joined them on the ledge, a good twenty minutes had gone by, and the adults did not notice Belinda wandering away above them.

Belinda had been through enough over the last several months to lose some of her innocence along the way. Whatever went on now, she would be ready and watchful. She no longer trusted her body or her mind, although she was still a typical six-year-old, who wanted to keep some childish things, and this included her toys.

Belinda, in her navy-blue shorts and red T-shirt, stood less than five feet away when she saw the hole open up in the dusty ground at the base of the weeping willow. She saw her Malibu Barbie fall into the collapsing dirt, revealing the gnarled root that grabbed for Barbie's blonde head. Belinda had changed the doll into her swimsuit, white with pink polka dots, and was going to take her for a dip in the birdbath in the backyard. Instead, Barbie was facing a premature burial.

The child thought for a split-second before deciding to get her toy back, and she ran, her sandals kicking up dust as she made a dash for her doll's tiny feet, holding on with both sweaty hands in an iron-grip, the ground giving out underneath her weight as the tree's roots embraced her.

Molly was the first to emerge from the icy, clammy cellar, her body breaking out in warm goose bumps when she felt the heat on her cold skin. She looked to the weeping willow, and saw nothing unusual until she came closer.

"Belinda?"

She saw the back of Belinda's head in the upturned dirt, the child's back and legs almost completely buried, one sandal lying nearby.

Molly started to pull at the child, but she seemed to be sinking deeper, her arms could not be seen.

"John!" she screamed.

In her panic, she ignored the familiar buzzing sound.

Molly did not feel the first sting from the wasps enveloping her and Belinda, although she did feel the second and the several thereafter. She was stung on the ear, shoulder, arms, and hands. She did not try to bat them away; it was senseless to anger them.

John had heard her scream, noticing the swarm of wasps come out of the ground from the bottom of the tree. Ethan helped Patrick up the cellar steps, then went back down to get April's remains. Patrick helped himself the rest of the way and staggered to a shady place near the back steps.

John ran to the back of the house, turning the spigot on, the water filling the coiled green hose in the grass. The spray nozzle was already attached.

Molly, wearing a sleeveless pink T-shirt and denim shorts, was wet with sweat, and some of the wasps had created a small island on her back as she tried to dig Belinda out from underneath the tree.

She shrieked when the cold water hit her. The wasps became angry, but John sprayed at the swarm until almost every wasp was driven away. The water soaked the dusty ground and he caught a glimpse of Belinda's partially buried body behind Molly.

Ethan arrived with two shovels from the garage. John dropped the hose and took a shovel. Ethan ran back for the hedge-clippers.

Molly continued to dig around Belinda's head with her hands. John gently pushed her away, digging with the shovel. Molly picked up the other where Ethan left it. They did not know how long Belinda had been in this position, or if she was still breathing. As they cleared away the dirt, they saw the spindly root wrapped around Belinda's neck, another around her waist under her T-shirt.

"Where did Ethan go?" Molly asked.

"He went to get the clippers," John said. "We left them in the cellar—"

He turned for only a second and glanced at the old tent cover, then to Patrick, who was staggering towards them, his face flushed and wet. He was rubbing his chest with his right hand.

The old man is sick, he thought. He could have a damn heart attack right here.

"Patrick! Are you all right?"

"I told you it was bees!"

"Patrick, you need to rest."

"He's buried here! He won't let her go!"

Ethan emerged from the cellar, quickly pulling himself out, gripping the clippers. He happened to glance at the tent cover, noticing something John had not.

The cover was moving.

When John and Ethan had dragged the tent out of the ground, they did not exactly hear the rattling sound of human bones, but they did see the round shape of what could have been a skull. The men carefully moved the bundle, not wanting to see what was in there. When Ethan laid it on the ground, it had been very close to the cellar entrance. Now the bundle was several feet away.

Ethan broke into a run to get to Belinda. He kneeled down by her head and pushed away more dirt, trying to find a place where the clippers could get at the root wrapped around the child's neck. John crouched at her other side, grabbing the clippers where Ethan left them on the ground by Belinda's head. He found a place, just below her left ear, and hooked one clipper blade underneath the root. He squeezed the handles with his trembling, sweaty hand, and felt the root snap away from Belinda's neck. The root disappeared back into the ground. John lifted Belinda's face out of the dirt; he wanted to check to see if she was still breathing. He felt for the pulse at her neck, but could not find it.

"Get the one around her waist!" Molly ordered.

Ethan calmly moved down and hooked the clipper blades around the root at the front of Belinda's shorts, where the rest of the root. Ethan only squeezed lightly, and there was no snapping sound as this root released the child, raising another cloud of dust as it escaped back into the ground.

Patrick had sat down nearby. He could no longer ignore the pain and dizziness.

"Dad, let her go," he said, whispering to himself. "Please, she's just a child."

The adults pulled Belinda out of the ground, laying her on her back. Ethan knew CPR and pumped Belinda's chest and performed mouth to mouth resuscitation.

Patrick's gaze wandered to his mother's remains. He now saw what Ethan had chosen to ignore. John, Molly, and Ethan did not see him get up from the ground, practically crawling on his hands and knees. When Patrick reached the tent bundle, he looked for where the frayed edges came apart, bound together in the dirt for over seventy years, smelling of mildew and the cellar-stink. The old man continued to pull at the fabric, knowing he had to set her free. The pain in his left arm persisted, spreading through his chest. However, the dizziness slowed him down the most.

I could not help them before, he thought. I was just a baby, but now I am the only one left.

Patrick, remaining on his hands and knees, pulled back the tent just enough to see his mother's remains. The bones were not exactly dry and clean, but Patrick tried to ignore his dread and disgust as he unfolded the tent.

Ethan continued to work on Belinda, covering his mouth with hers, blowing air into her lungs, making her cheeks puff up with each attempt at CPR. John and Molly did not think to look too closely from where they had lifted her body. In their panic, the only thing that mattered to them was helping Belinda, anything concerning John Degan momentarily forgotten. However, Patrick was now moving the whole tent, gripping a corner with one hand, staying on the ground, his breathing labored. The pain was spreading past his left arm and shoulder to his upper back and neck. His vision was becoming blurry from the sweat dripping from his bare scalp, slipping into his eyes. Molly had asked him if he thought he was strong enough to go through with this, to confront what his father did. He said yes, but now he realized how difficult this was going to be. He also knew that if there was to be any peace, his parents needed to confront each other.

Patrick had stopped with his task for a moment, trying to catch his breath, when Molly noticed him. She did not want to leave Belinda's side, but she knew she should get to a phone in the house and call an ambulance. She rose from the ground to do this, but saw the spread-out tent, with the remains of April Degan almost completely exposed; dirt, mold, and other debris sticking to the delicate-looking arm and finger bones. She blinked a few times, but the tent was slowly moving.

"Molly, call 911!"

"John, look!"

He turned and saw the old man crawling on the ground. "Patrick? What are you doing?"

Ethan, who stopped administering CPR for a moment, also saw the tent, which was sliding effortlessly over the dusty ground and yellow grass, heading for the weeping willow. "Where's Degan? Under this tree?"

Patrick coughed, nodded. "Where Belinda was!"

Molly scrambled over to the muddy hole, several wasps dying in the water, buzzing angrily. She grabbed the shovel, starting to dig quickly. "They buried him here!"

Ethan resumed his efforts at getting Belinda to breathe. John ran into the house to call an ambulance. Patrick fell forward in the dirt. Molly dropped the shovel and grabbed the tent, dragging the bones to the unmarked grave.

Molly was able to get the stiff cover as close as possible to where she was digging. Soaked in water and sweat, she kept pushing into the dirt, well aware that the roots could return.

She must have been digging for five minutes or more before she saw something in the muddy hole that was not more dirt. A thick layer of roots held a long bundle in place, wrapped in a rotting blanket.

Molly momentarily stopped. She looked to Ethan, who was backing off of Belinda.

"Don't stop, Ethan!"

"I can't get her to breathe! I'm sorry—"

John ran out of the house, the storm door slamming behind him. "They're coming! Molly, what—"

"I found him! Grab the clippers!"

John picked up the clippers and joined his wife in the muddy hole. The roots tightened around the bundle. He cut at the thick twigs, loosening John Degan from his grave.

Ethan was attempting CPR on Belinda again and, as he pumped her chest, he looked to John and Molly, who were trying to pull the half-decayed sheet out of the ground, bringing John Degan's remains closer to daylight. With their heads down, they could not see what Ethan did in those moments.

"John, Molly!" he called. "Her—"

April's bones were sliding off the cover, dragging the decades-old dust and decay into her new grave. The tent, on an angle, was being lifted off the ground to accomplish this, but the lifted end was in the air, being supported by something unseen. The tiny finger bones of April Degan, her wedding band still sticking, landed in the mud, along with every other bone, the moldy skull last. Molly almost screamed when the skull bounced against her leg. John grabbed her hand, pulling her towards him, and the tent cover almost fell on them, enveloping the grave. When they crawled out of the ground, closer to Ethan and Belinda, more roots emerged from under the tree, wrapping around the tent cover, pulling April's remains closer to those of her husband's.

Molly turned around to see Ethan pounding on Belinda's chest with his fist. John rushed over to the child, opening her mouth and covering it with his, again blowing air into her lungs. Molly stood there for a moment, then looked over at Patrick Degan, who remained on the ground, his head turned away. She found herself giving in to the shock and exhaustion.

If Belinda is dead, she thought, it's my fault. I wasn't watching her. I guess I'm the one who always makes the wrong decisions. But I just don't care anymore. I can't do this. I can't believe my father lived his whole life in this darkness, this chaos. No wonder he had breakdowns. What were John and I thinking when we thought we could raise children, have a home, a life, together? We were so goddamned naïve...and selfish.

She looked back at her husband, who was still breathing into Belinda. She did not want to tell them to stop, so she said nothing. She heard, minutes later, the sound of the ambulance siren blaring down Gable Road. Molly sat on the ground, her head pounding as she looked out at the overcast sky. The siren was coming closer and closer.

Chapter Fourteen

Molly did not want to give Belinda a funeral when she returned from Las Vegas, but John talked her out of it. He made arrangements with the local funeral home, Baxter's. John had provided insurance for the Baxter family over the years, and young Timothy Baxter, who now ran the business, met with John that morning before Molly's flight arrived.

Tim Baxter had gone to high school with Belinda. He remembered her as an overweight, quiet, unhappy girl. He had not been so popular himself, the oldest son of a family that owned a funeral home. He was considered some kind of ghoul at one time, and tried to offset it by seeming as 'normal' as possible, playing boys' basketball and participating in debate and class politics. Belinda Hart made no attempts to conform and she did not always seem to care what the other kids thought of her. Tim recalled the whispers in school or around town about the Harts, that their house on Gable Road was haunted. They still lived there, even after Belinda almost died one summer and Will Hart had been involved in a motorcycle accident with some other boy. The Harts never moved, no matter what bad things happened there.

John Hart's hair was now completely gray, deep crow's feet surrounding his eyes. He still possessed that sensitive but intense quality about him. Like Molly, he had remained calm at the news of Belinda's suicide, choosing not to unbury the old sadness he felt about his children. He had lived in this way for so long, something like the death of his daughter was almost expected. The usual first three components of grief–denial, anger, and bargaining–did not apply to John and Molly, who simply skipped to depression and acceptance.

Tim Baxter's impression of John Hart was that of the typical 'nice man'; polite and slightly repressed. He wore a white shirt and a pinstriped tie that matched his pants. His black loafers were unscuffed, as if he shined them himself. Tim remembered his father, Dan Baxter, telling him that John Hart was an alcoholic, but had stayed dry for years. Dan knew this because he was also an alcoholic, once getting drunk at some of the same local bars John frequented in the late sixties, along with his partner, Max Henley. Max and Rita retired to Florida last year, but were flying in for Belinda's funeral.

John made out the paperwork and Tim took him to the casket showroom. John picked out a modest blue coffin with a white satin lining.

John would drive next to the airport to pick up Molly. He had already called the children. Will was flying in alone from Colorado. Sam would leave work early. Sarah and Amy were at the house waiting for John and Molly to return.

He was back in his car, the Chrysler sedan, on his way to the airport, when he heard his cell phone ring. John turned on the dashboard speakerphone.

"Hello?"

"Dad, it's me, Sarah." Her voice was more like her mother's every day. "Aunt Pauline called, asking for someone to pick her up at the airport."

John almost slammed on his brakes. Pauline? He and Molly had not heard from her since Colleen died almost ten years ago.

God, she has to be seventy by now, he thought. Molly must've called her.

"Okay, I'll find her, too. Maybe she's already found your mother. Her flight was supposed to have landed by now."

"How did it go at Baxter's?"

"All right. Your mother told me to pick out a blue coffin, and I did. They're just...waiting for Belinda."

"Yeah. Okay, Dad, I'll let you go. See ya later."

"Okay."

She hung up, and John turned off the phone. Sarah, like her father, was not the most affectionate of people, although her looks were definitely Murdoch; Old Sam's pale blue eyes and their mother's strawberry-blonde hair were bred into Sam and Sarah, who were striking in their own way, looking so different from their older brother and sister. Being twins, they had received the most attention, at least until Amy came along.

Amy was born in November of 1982, a calm baby at a calm time. The house was at peace; John Degan choosing to wait a little longer, he and April's remains still under the weeping willow.

John had buried the remains before the ambulance roared up the driveway, making sure every inch of that tent was covered. The paramedics did not take much notice while attempting to save Belinda and Patrick's lives. Patrick could not be saved, but Belinda was brought back with a shot of adrenaline. Questions were asked and the adults were consistent with their story. Belinda was climbing the weeping willow and she fell from the tree. The adults had not been watching her because they were tearing up the cellar floor to do some remodeling. Mr. Degan was a friend of the family who was helping in the cellar and he suffered a heart attack. Belinda had wandered away, tried to climb the tree, but fell, the shock making her heart stop. Jean Larabee would later back up the story and the police did not ask why the other Hart children were not present. Social services declined pursuing an investigation, choosing to believe the Harts' story. Belinda was released from the hospital days later, and the other Hart children returned home. During that peaceful time, Amy was conceived.

The house was remodeled after a few years; new siding, paneling, paint, and roof. Two bedrooms were added on, along with another bathroom. The cellar-stink disappeared gradually. Molly went to work in the registration department at the local hospital, full-time. When Colleen died, Molly came into her inheritance, which included the long-ignored trust and these funds were used to pay off the mortgage. Molly cut her work hours down to part-time. By then, Amy was twelve years old. More people had moved into the Gable Road area, property values soared, and the house became worth almost double its original purchase price. From then on, it appeared the Harts were enjoying an upper-middle class life, and Molly's inheritance would continue to grow. However, they were still Harts and the children could not help what they were. John would sometimes catch Belinda, as she was growing up, looking out through the storm door on a summer day, staring at the weeping willow. She would always remember the experience of her past-life regression, her life as April.

She told her parents, as she again sat in the same examining room at the local E/R, that she had moved the tent, making April's bones slide into the ground. John Degan told her to do this while she was out of her body. She saw Ethan giving her CPR, her mother digging at Degan's grave, and Patrick dying. He went into the Light alone. John Degan would not go without April, and he knew April was Belinda.

His wait is over now, John thought.

He did not notice how tight he was gripping the steering wheel, the tension vice-like in his head, neck, and shoulders. Later, standing in the shower, he would let himself cry for Belinda.

*****

A letter to Pauline from Molly, written shortly after Colleen's death

Nov. 3, 1994

Dear Pauline,

I don't think we will be hearing from each other for a while, I'm sorry to say, but I know you wouldn't want to remain in Chicago. I can only hope that we will stay in touch.

I don't know how you expected me to react when you told me you were my mother. I was shocked, I suppose, but the shock didn't seem to last long. I think you may have thought I would be angry with you, but I wasn't. I only felt betrayed by the fact that everyone kept it from me for so long! Pauline, I am forty-six years old, you could have told me years ago! I guess the only reason you didn't was because everyone had become so used to me not knowing, even John. No, I wasn't too happy with him for keeping it from me, too. He tried to cover his ass, like usual, by blaming Mother, that he only kept the secret because Mother would not let us get married otherwise. Well, I was already pregnant, so what could she do but cooperate? When we got back from Mom's funeral, after you told me, John admitted he had no real excuse, except to say that it was typical of my crazy family to keep a secret for over forty years for no real reason. I could be mad at him, but he probably thought I was better off being raised by my grandparents instead of you. Of course, so much can be explained now; why Mother never spoke much about her supposed pregnancy for me, her 'change of life' baby, why she was reluctant to give me a copy of my birth certificate, and all the other bullshit, especially about Vincent and why you left home. The only thing I really feel sad about is not knowing my twin brother. I think about the years I felt so lonely growing up, playing by myself in the townhouse in Chicago or the mansion. Later, I would want to invite friends to sleep over, but Mother didn't encourage those things. My kids are close in age; Will and Belinda played together when they were little, as did the twins with Amy. I had imaginary friends, like Vincent. You didn't know about your twin brother until I told you, so I guess we're even. I'm done being angry about it.

Now that I've had time to adjust to you being my biological mother, the question of my paternity follows. I could only wish that my father was James Campbell, but I know that is not true, because you did not meet him until I was almost two years old, when you went to Europe. I know there may be painful memories about my real father, because I also figured out that you must have been fifteen when you became pregnant. I get the feeling the experience was not a teenaged romantic interlude, like something out of a Natalie Wood movie with James Dean or Warren Beatty. More like something out of Hitchcock, I would think.

I can be patient; you'll tell me when you're ready. If not, I'll trust that it's not important. Belinda asked me once, that if I was psychic, how could I have not known all these years? I couldn't answer her, although John knew as soon as he met my family for the first time. Maybe I wasn't meant to know until now, for some reason. Sometimes, you have to trust, to have faith that God is taking you where you should be. I'm not ungrateful for anything, being a Murdoch was sometimes a strange, lonely experience, but also special and magical. I try to explain these things to my kids, that their gift is a responsibility, they can't run from it or hide like John and I tried to do. I wonder if it would have been better for ourselves or our children if we had lived on the West Coast, like David does, and raise our children in some New Age-hippie fashion, traveling and writing books, turning ourselves into media figures, like Mother did to Dad. But that was not the life John and I wanted. Consider Ethan; he's still out there, in India, the last time I heard. He got married to Layla, his sweet young thing, in Hawaii, but the marriage didn't last long. After all, she was almost twenty-five years younger than he was. He didn't make her sign a pre-nup, so she took a big chunk away from him when they divorced. Remember the book he wrote about the two of them? He claimed they knew each other in past lives, that Layla was his soul-mate, but a soul-mate wouldn't take everything you have in a divorce, would she? Marriage is always a risk, soul mates or no. I told Will and Nicole that, but their ears are deaf, so let them find out on their own.

I guess the kids are pissed at me, because I won't let them have their money until they each turn forty. There will be more money after we finally sell the mansion. The real estate broker said he could get us a good price, around a million and a half. John and I have paid off our mortgage, with plenty left over for retirement. We can also help Belinda more with her college expenses. Did I tell you she's going to the University of Michigan? And guess what? Professor Hayden still teaches there, Belinda took Psychology 101 with him. She introduced herself on the first day of class, and he asked how John and I were doing. He had just returned to the University to teach after leaving in the seventies to help counsel Vietnam vets. Belinda didn't think he was telling the truth, she thinks he may have been working for the government somehow. But she didn't press the issue and he gave her an A for the class. She's been hinting around about law school, and I think she would make a fine lawyer, no can argue a point like Belinda! But she learned from John and I, who always argue.

Will and Nicole want to get married next year. They've been working very hard, but Nicole can't stop Will from doing what he wants with the money he earns. I don't know what he's using now, but Belinda says it might be cocaine. His behavior hasn't been this obnoxious since he was a teenager. He had a fit when we refused to loan him money anymore. In return, Nicole got mad at us, because she thinks we don't want to help them and that was why she was pissed about me keeping the money from Will until he turned forty. I figure, by then, he won't piss it away on drugs.

John is well, so are the twins and Amy. I'm still working at the hospital, in pre-registration. I might go back to school, maybe take some clerical courses. I like my job, but I may ask for fewer hours during the summer.

I hope you keep in touch. I love you, Pauline, and that won't change. You and David are all the family I have left, besides a twin brother and a father I don't know. I'm hoping that someday we can find them together.

Love,

Molly

*****

Molly almost did not recognize Pauline, who was sitting in the lounge of the small airport when she walked by, a travel bag in her hand. The flight had been long, she was tired. She walked past her sister twice, until Pauline called out to her.

"Molly?"

She stopped and looked. "Yes? Hello?"

The woman rose from her seat and Molly looked closer, almost dropping her bag. The face was more lined, the hair white and in a shorter style, and she was much thinner. Molly also noticed the weakness on the left side of the face, a sagging in the mouth and eye. "Pauline?"

The woman nodded.

"Well, Jesus, Pauline!"

Molly dropped her bag, and hugged her sister.

*****

Molly sat with her sister in the back of the Chrysler while John drove.

Pauline explained the circumstances behind her stroke. "It happened on Christmas Eve, two years ago. I was working at a local rescue mission, in Las Cruces, New Mexico, where I was living at the time. I was volunteering to help serve Christmas Eve dinner, and I had been feeling tired and sort of dizzy all day, but I ignored it. I was standing behind a big bowl of sweet potatoes, serving some on a tray, when I lost all feeling on my left side. I ended up collapsing into the sweet potatoes. In the ambulance, one of the paramedics was picking little marshmallows out of my hair!"

The story was so typically Pauline, John had to hold back his laughter. The woman could not even have a stroke like anyone else.

John had assumed Molly called Pauline before she left for Las Vegas, but that was not so.

"Belinda came to me in a dream, just last night. She said she wasn't in the Space Between yet. She told me she was dead and that I should come to you," Pauline said. "She said something about Ethan Ward, but I can't seem to remember it all."

"How come you didn't call me, or have your doctor contact me?" Molly asked. "I'm the only family you have left."

Pauline unbuttoned her navy-blue sweater, which covered a beige, button-down blouse and jeans. "What could you do? My recovery was fairly quick and I went home. I knew I should've let you know, but...I don't know."

"So...was that all Belinda told you?" John asked.

"She mentioned John Degan, and I do remember his name," Pauline said. "Molly, you told me at Mother's funeral about the Degans, about your house. Are the remains still under that tree?"

"Yes."

"Belinda should've died that day."

"I can only thank God she didn't..."

Pauline shook her head. "The old man died in her place, but it only bought her some time. I know you wanted to save Belinda, but you never owned her."

John held his tongue. Like Molly, he believed loving was a kind of ownership, because love was one of the few lasting things in life.

"Belinda will always be your daughter, but she wanted to go for a long time," Pauline said. "She went away to college, moved to other places, not to find herself, but to lose herself. Either way, she was going in circles because the karmic link wasn't broken."

"Is it broken now?" Molly asked.

"Because Belinda was a suicide, she will most likely reincarnate in order to rediscover that link, so she can find a better solution than suicide. Unlike Degan, her soul has gone on to the Space Between, I'm sure of it."

"Why do you think he never left? Why was he stuck in our house for so long?"

"I recall something you said about when he found out his wife was really his half-sister. This must have been devastating; he just couldn't accept it. He wouldn't be able to leave her, they already had children, and she was pregnant for twins. Hopefully, that kind of tragedy won't be repeated."

"Degan spoke to me about how the Light wouldn't come for him."

"He wanted to wait for April. He may still be waiting now. He was making a statement when he told Belinda, when she was out of her body, to push April's bones on top of his. He knew he couldn't leave with Belinda that day, because she wasn't going to die, even if it seemed she would."

"What can he do now?"

"Nothing. Belinda will have to bring the Light to him."

"Will she?"

"I think so. Her business isn't finished yet. But neither is anyone else's."

Chapter Fifteen

A letter from Ethan Ward to Professor Robert Hayden, shortly after Belinda's death

April 12, 20–

Dear Professor,

My name is Ethan Ward, and I am a friend of the Hart family. John and Molly Hart were former students of yours, in the late 60s, at the University of Michigan. Molly's unmarried last name was Murdoch, and she and John have told me of their involvement with experiments led by you, some of which had to do with 'remote viewing.' Later, I was to learn that Belinda Hart, John and Molly's late daughter, had also been one of your students around 1994 at Michigan. She told me you had returned to the University after a long absence, counseling Vietnam veterans.

I have been a friend of the Murdochs and the Harts for many years, and enjoyed a close friendship with Belinda until her suicide last February. The family has been devastated by Belinda's suicide and is looking for answers why. Families, as I'm sure you know, sometimes feel the need to dig deeper, looking for some secret, or someone to blame, in order to find peace. I wrote this letter for them and Belinda, because losing Belinda was not just about losing someone I had known since she was a child, but she was also like a daughter to me.

I have a few friends who have worked for the government; one is a FBI agent, retired, and the other worked for the Defense Department during and after World War II. I went to Tibet in the 70s, and bumped into my old FBI friend later in China, who told me he had read my book about past-lives, The Search for Mary Kilcormac. The book centered on a Scottish girl named Nancy McPherson. By the time Nancy was five years old, she could clearly recall a past life as an Irish girl named Mary Kilcormac, who died at the age of six from typhoid fever after her family had left Ireland for Scotland during the Potato Famine. Nancy, born in 1943, was able to show her parents where Mary was buried in a graveyard outside of Edinburgh, although Nancy lived miles away in Glasgow, and had never visited Edinburgh.

My FBI friend, over dinner in Shanghai, went on to tell me that he had known of experiments conducted in the U.S. involving past-life regression. I told him that I knew about the remote viewing, but nothing about past life regression experiments. I asked him why the government would be interested in using past life memories, when so many people still refuse to believe in reincarnation? He said the experiments were more about exploring the subconscious, and that these kinds of subjects became more interesting to certain military psychiatrists after they started hearing the stories of different near-death, or out of body, experiences of soldiers after the war. I believe that Vietnam veterans were also a part of these studies, and my friend mentioned a Professor Hayden, who was part of a government-funded project code named Last Life. Last Life was conducted in two different cities; Albuquerque, New Mexico, and Seattle, Washington. I later met a psychic subject who lived at the Seattle building, which had been converted into loft apartments, where the subjects could live, although they were not allowed to enter or leave without a government escort.

The Albuquerque branch of Last Life lived in a large old house on a ranch outside the city. In the 1970s, Pauline Murdoch, Molly Hart's older sister, lived at this house and was part of Last Life. Her memories are very fuzzy; she was drugged most of the time, possibly with some kind of tranquilizer. Pauline didn't like the way the drug made her feel, she would sleep for days, have dreams that felt more like hallucinations, or the other way around. She would feel paranoid in her waking hours, when she felt 'awake.' She was part of Last Life for two years, and she can recall some of the past-life sessions, although she was drugged or under hypnosis most of the time. One day, in 1976, she woke up in a hotel in northern Washington, near the Canadian border. She did not know how she got there, although her mind felt clear, as if the drugs had worn off. Later, some of the paranoia returned, but she didn't trust anyone in the mental health community. Instead, she went to live with her brother in California, but returned to New Mexico a few years later, to look for the ranch house where she had lived. Pauline and her brother, Dr. David Murdoch, spent days looking for the house, but all they found was the burned ruins of a house that could possibly have been the one Pauline was held prisoner in for two years.

I told my FBI friend about Pauline's experience in Last Life, and he said the drug might have been called Reladin. I tried looking up the existence of Reladin, through the FDA, but no luck there. My friend recommended contacting the fellow I used to know who worked for the Defense Department, who I had met while trying to put together a book about U.F.Os a few years before I left for Tibet. When I returned to the States, I managed to find him.

The Defense Dept. man knew about Last Life, for whatever reasons, and he told me that his superiors, during the seemingly never-ending war in Vietnam, were considering alternative weapons in the fight against communism. More Cold War paranoia, Professor? Yes, I suppose so. Would you believe me if I told you that other psychics who were a part of Last Life have come forward, and have told me about a Professor Hayden, from Michigan, who injected them with Reladin? You haven't been photographed much, but Molly found a photo from her college days, in an old U of M newsletter. She showed that photo to Pauline when her sister was staying with her at the time of Belinda's death, and Pauline recognized you, although by the time she met you in the 70s, you were heavier and had grown a beard. She also remembered you as the doctor that regressed her to a terrifying past life during the Jewish pogroms, although she couldn't be sure, she was so heavily drugged.

I haven't written you to torment you about Belinda. You were close to Molly, and Belinda became friends with you as well. You know the kinds of gifts Molly, Pauline, and Belinda possessed, and I can't stand by and know that these women were exploited somehow, and that others could be as well. Molly has tried very hard to have a normal life, but with her sister's mental problems and Belinda's suicide, the Harts have been left with more questions than answers. Please, Professor, if you have any information about Belinda, come forward. I saw Belinda the day before she killed herself, and I know of a romantic relationship she ended months before, but I can't help but wonder if there was more she wasn't telling me.

I have included my phone number, but please feel free to write back.

Sincerely,

Ethan Ward

*****

Amy Colette Hart's arrival came during a peaceful time for her family, something she had been aware of most of her life. However, being the youngest Hart kept her out of the distant past; including the events of the haunting inside the house she grew up in. Will and Belinda could clearly recall that time; when the twins were born, Dad drank too much, Gramma Ed was living with them, and Belinda almost died–twice. For Amy, growing up on 1225 Gable Road had been like walking into the tail end of a movie, then having to sit through the inferior remake created by her imagination.

Her brothers and sisters would occasionally talk about it, but only if she asked. Her parents would end up floating on to a different subject, usually about the problems of their other children. Amy would become impatient and decide not to bother with it for a while, believing in her mother's concept of karma.

Amy's abilities were strong and, like her father, she could find a haunting by touching the inside walls of a house or any building. Slowly, the story would be revealed to her, through dreams and connecting images in her conscious hours. She was becoming more and more comfortable with her intuition as she got older. She was now in her twenties, and resembled her mother at that age. Will and Belinda looked like Harts, the twins and Amy like Murdochs, although physical resemblances had very little to do with bonding, and Amy found this out, as she did several times in the past, when she looked out the kitchen window and saw her brothers and sister Sarah talking in the backyard, just the three of them.

Amy used to see these meetings as a kind of rejection, as if her brothers and sisters purposely did not want to include her, but she knew they were all lonely, bored, frustrated people. Will was working as a police psychic, but his real job was as a security guard in Aspen. Sam, still single, sold used cars. Sarah, currently unemployed, had flirted with Tim Baxter at the funeral home. Typical of Sarah. Amy even noticed Tim was handsome, in that Boy Scout/choir-boy way. Sarah did not usually go for that type. Molly was trying to help her get a clerical job at the hospital. Amy already worked there, in pre-arrival and registration.

The whole family breathed a sigh of relief when Nicole did not accompany Will back home, although John and Molly would have welcomed their grandchildren. Nicole was an unhappy woman who had butted heads with Molly one too many times, and purposely kept John and Molly from seeing their grandchildren. She would blame all of them before she would lose Will.

Amy completed washing the dishes and, as she was drying her hands, decided to join her brothers and sister outside. John and Molly were upstairs, most likely trying to get some sleep.

Amy, when she stepped out the back door, activated the sensor light outside. The light shined on Will, Sam, and Sarah at the weeping willow, Will sitting at the base of the tree with a beer and cigarette, his rear-end resting on the Degans' grave.

The Degans belong to all of us, Amy thought. And we belong to them.

No one had shared the details with Amy about the day when her dad, Ethan Ward, and Patrick Degan were trapped in the cellar. She only heard about the old man before Sarah left for college, when her mother had shown the twins Jean Larabee's obituary in the local newspaper. Sarah shared what she knew with Amy before she left, but the twins were only babies then, and they only learned about the Degans from Will and Belinda.

John and Molly did not talk about the Degans with any of their children after the haunting was over. Belinda would try, but her parents wanted to put it behind them. Everyone else complied, including the grandmothers and Max and Rita. Molly did discuss the haunting with Aunt Pauline when Grandma Colleen died, and they all went to Chicago for the funeral. Amy was twelve years old, and recalled wearing a black dress made out of a velvet material with a white lace collar. They stayed at the Evanston mansion, a huge place utterly foreign to Amy.

Amy had imagined her aunt as an almost-mythical figure, a woman who traveled the world and lived with a married man. She wrote _Birthmarks_ , which Amy sneaked out of her mother's closet and read several times. Pauline was supposed to be beautiful and ageless, but at the funeral home in Chicago, she had definitely aged, and did not seem to give a damn about it; from her white hair, sagging skin, and nervous, but gentle mannerisms.

Two summers ago, Amy laid her hands on the trunk of the weeping willow, feeling for something. Her father had taught her how to listen to stillness, along with how to use a water witch and told her stories about his grandmother Nedra. John experienced more of a bond with his youngest daughter than he did Belinda or Sarah. Amy seemed like the most normal child he and Molly produced. Because of this, they protected her more. Will followed their lead, as did Belinda, protecting and spoiling her, and the twins were jealous, especially Sarah.

Sarah, although she would never admit it to anyone, always wanted to be famous. Her need for endless attention started from birth; she was unique, she was a twin, she was a Hart and a Murdoch. Attractive and talented, she majored in theatre at Michigan State University, but dropped out two years later. She spent an unsuccessful year in Los Angeles, trying to sell a screenplay written by her boyfriend, but the idea was hers. She ended up returning home; waiting tables or bartending. She was trying to write a treatment for a reality show that would feature herself and Sam, much to his horror.

She would move out of her parents' house, then come back. She was disorganized and selfish; if Amy envied her anything, it was her almost magical way of attracting men. They all found her fascinating, except for her brothers and father. Sarah could not get her father to take much interest in her, being sandwiched as the middle sister between the always-troubled Belinda and sweet Amy, his baby girl. Will was John's favorite son, and Sam belonged to Sarah and their mother.

Amy was thinking on these family dynamics as she watched Will smoke and drink his beer, his prematurely graying hair freshly cut for the funeral. Years of drug use aged him early, and his wasted youth was a source of sadness for the rest of the family. Will sometimes still coped like the boy who wanted to solve everyone's problems, which left him depressed. Drugs and alcohol took him away from that, but also provided an escape from his psychic abilities, just as his father had done. Nicole acted as her husband's enabler for decades. The Harts could complain about Nicole taking Will away from them, but he had taken Nicole from her family as well, creating distance because they were both afraid to change. If they did, they might lose each other.

God forbid, Amy thought. Just like Mom and Dad, afraid to be left. I like being alone. I don't want to be smothered.

She was approaching them at the tree, and they did not acknowledge her presence as she came closer. Sarah puffed on a cigarette; she was not allowed to smoke in her parents' house. She wore a short skirt with a sleeveless blouse under a leather jacket. Her strawberry blonde hair was piled up carelessly on her head, some strands framing her face, her eyes that intense blue of their grandfather's, with Sam resembling him the most. Sam always found those photos of his grandfather unsettling, because he knew he was looking at himself as an old man. Sarah once told her brother she was going to look like Old Sam in drag.

Sam, in spite of that intense gaze, kept his abilities as repressed as possible, as John attempted to do, but his gifts would find a way to pop up at the strangest moments. This was especially embarrassing when he was trying to sell a used vehicle at work, and he would make some innocuous comment, such as guessing the number of children a customer had, or whether a large-from-pregnancy female customer was going to have a boy or a girl. Sam tried to keep his abilities a secret from his co-workers, and whatever bad news he picked up on, he would keep to himself. He did not want to be held responsible for someone else's bad fortune, such as when a co-worker was in a crash while delivering a vehicle out of town. The vehicle, a used Honda SUV, flipped over three times and the woman's back and neck were injured. Before the accident, Sam saw the vehicle change color right in front of him, and stayed that way, fading from a gold metallic shade to a glossy black. He chose to ignore it. He wanted to keep his job; the dealership was the only place his mother and sister would leave him alone.

Sam never moved out of his parents' home on 1225 Gable Road. Amy noticed he was still wearing the clothes he wore to work that morning, which was unusual. For a bachelor who still lived with his parents, he took care of himself, preferring to wash his own clothes, ironing his shirts, keeping his room neat and tidy. He just could not seem to find his way out.

"She didn't even leave a goddamned note," Will said. "And I know Ethan Ward went to see her in Vegas just days ago. She was always hung up on him, but—"

"She was worse after she came back from Florida last year," Sam said. "She found out something about Aunt Pauline, that had to do with Vincent—"

"Something to do with twins," Sarah said, turning to Amy. "Will dreamed about that jar with the twin babies in it."

Will's work as a police psychic had significantly sharpened his abilities, and he was now the least shy of his brothers and sisters to use and talk about his talents over the years. His work, combined with his almost-constant sobriety, gave him a kind of focus he was trying to apply to the rest of his life.

"Aunt Pauline and Vincent?" Amy asked.

"No," Will said. He rested back against the elm. "The jar looked different, the size and shape, but there was a girl and a boy twin. Then I saw Aunt Pauline, and she's with a much older man, but he's not Ethan. He was some other guy; tall, with gray or light-colored hair. He was not a stranger to Bel or Pauline. The three of them were walking down a trail near some palm trees. It looked like an island, because I could see water, but I'm not sure."

"Belinda, Aunt Pauline, and a strange man?" Amy asked.

"Right. I told Mom about it, but she drew a blank. Aunt Pauline said Bel never went traveling with her to an island. But Bel would go off with Ethan all the time, and I think he knows why she killed herself. She found out something about Aunt Pauline. Mom always said Aunt Pauline never had children, but I'm not so sure."

"You think she had a baby?"

"Twins run in the family, Amy. There are twins for every generation of Murdochs. Dad told me about the uncles that came to their wedding; I think their names were Eddie and Cole. They were Old Sam's younger twin brothers. There were others. That man in my dream is somehow linked to the twins in our family, I'm almost certain."

"How?"

"I know that man was a Murdoch. He looked a lot like Mom, and Old Sam. Same height, coloring, those eyes. He was _family_."

Chapter Sixteen

A letter from Belinda to her brother Will, written on the University of Michigan-Ann Arbor stationary

Dec. 5, 1995

Dear Will

_I was talking to Mom on the phone today, and she asked me if I thought you and Nicole would be home for Christmas. I said I wasn't sure. Mom and Dad try to be nice to Nicole, but she seems to resent it. I don't think it's just about the money. If it is,_ _then you have a long wait ahead of you, and Nicole may not want to wait, either. I never told anyone about Grandma's millions, because I never felt like the money belonged to me. I think Dad preferred it that way._

Dad never wanted anything to do with the Murdoch money, he didn't want to owe Grandma Colleen anything, he was too proud. Did you ever hear the story of how Grandma C. tried to pay Dad off to break up with Mom? This was back in their college days, and Dad turned Grandma down flat, telling her that Mom was pregnant and he was going to marry her. I think she offered Dad around forty thousand dollars. Ethan told me, he was there when Grandma made her offer. But that's Dad for you, he's always been strong-willed.

I think Dad had more to do with the decision Mom made about the money. The Murdoch estate was worth about twenty million dollars. Since Mom was executor of the estate, she chose to split everything three ways; between Uncle David, Aunt Pauline, and herself. They all walked away with over six million each, so Mom had some financial planning to do. She took one million for herself and Dad, and split the remaining five million into individual one million dollar trusts for the rest of us. This was convenient, considering she has five heirs, but she also chose to keep the money from us until we individually turn forty years old. Of course, Dad will be too old to argue about it by then, and I think Mom knows that. I guess Nicole wasn't pleased by this, she expected us to have the money in the near future. Mom knows there's a good chance we would just piss it all away. When you were in the hospital, after the accident, Nicole hardly spoke to Mom and Dad because she wanted someone to blame. In a way, I know she blames them for your problems with drugs as well. Yes, Will, you have a problem, and that's one thing Nicole and the rest of us agree on; you will only continue to get into trouble as long as you use drugs. You've been keeping your distance, I can tell. You're not home when I call, Nicole doesn't know where you are on some days, and you can't go far, you don't have a car anymore.

_I'm finishing up the fall semester here. I've chosen philosophy as a major, only because the mathematics requirement is easier. The psychology major required college algebra and probability and statistics! Too many damn numbers! Just two more years, and I'll be finished. I don't know what I'll be doing after that. Ethan has offered to take me on as a kind of prot_ _é_ _g_ _é_ _, but I don't know if I want to be a professional, the idea makes me feel pressured. Mom is giving readings now, much to Dad's displeasure. That kind_ _of contact with other people makes me uncomfortable, I've always been shy. I could write books, but what would I have to say that hasn't already been said? Ethan wanted to write a book with me about the haunting, but Mom and Dad practically begged him not to. They still live in the house, and they don't want strangers coming around and gawking, like the Amityville house in Rhode Island. Dad just couldn't stand that kind of attention; he'd have a nervous breakdown._

Remember after the accident happened? The police came, Shawn Rush came later, and the insurance investigators from Oracle, which really pissed Dad off. No one left us alone for a while, and you were in the hospital in a body cast. Moral to the story? Don't drop acid and ride a motorcycle, you might get hit by an oncoming car, which is exactly what happened to you.

The police wanted to know If Drugs Were Involved. Dad checked your Harley and turned your room upside down. He found your little box with the pipe and marijuana, and got rid of it. We didn't know where your other junk was, but drugs were found in the other boy's car. The police found a bag containing some crack in his glove compartment. He was younger than you, he was seventeen. Chuck Olsen. He was friends with a group of boys from school who used to bully me. Chuck's brother Josh, who was always 'slow', killed himself last year. Carbon monoxide poisoning, they said. Chuck, the mean little prick, went to prison.

Mom really wants you to come for Christmas. Think about it. I mean, if you have to eat turkey with Nicole's white-trash kinfolk, why can't she drink eggnog with us freaks on Christmas Day? Fair is fair, in my opinion.

Love, Belinda

*****

Will, when he became an adult and was married to his wife Nicole, would talk very little about his childhood.

He was always aware of how much Belinda hated herself. He did not really understand Belinda's particular kind of self-punishment, which consisted of losing and gaining the same fifty pounds for most of her life. He preferred to get wasted for days at a time, but it was all the same; he and his sister would want to disappear and reappear when they wanted. Fat people stay fat because they want to, and addicts stay wasted for the same reasons.

Will was not one of those addicts who blamed his parents or anyone else for his habit. He did not even blame peer pressure, because he wanted nothing more in his early school years than to feel accepted like a normal person. Unlike his sister, Will had the ability to make friends with people he did not really care for. He would be the first to check on a sick friend before he would call his mother on her birthday. When he and Nicole and their two children moved from Michigan to Colorado, he was the first to introduce himself to their new neighbors. He eventually knew the business of every person in that suburb, because they let him in. He was a nice guy and he was psychic; all they had to do was shake hands with him, or just sit close by.

Will, for instance, knew his wife's friend and co-worker, Eva, was in love with him. He was not interested in her romantically, and tried to ignore her unrequited feelings, although she was attractive, with her thick black hair, olive complexion, and long legs. He also knew she was the one who would call and hang up on nights when Nicole would be working at the Sugar Snow Resort where she worked as a bartender. They had not hooked up a caller ID to their phone, Will thought it unnecessary.

Will was unemployed again, and he was bored. He looked after their two children; six year old Kelsey, with hair the color of her Gramma Molly's, and eight year old Bruen, who resembled his father with his large gray eyes. Will had little to do while they were at school. He would apply for jobs, but there were few interviews. Like most unemployed people, Will would fill his days with unimportant errands or try to avoid the calls from the collection agencies. Nicole's paycheck went mostly towards the house payment, so there was little left for food or extras. Will needed to find a job soon, but hid his anxiety behind a philosophical veneer. The Narcotics Anonymous meetings were a help. He would usually go to a meeting that was held in the early afternoons at a local church. He could be back before the children came home from school and Nicole left for work. If Nicole's sister had not loaned them some money, Kelsey and Bruen would not have enjoyed much of a Christmas. The mysterious evening phone calls ended around that time, but Will did not take notice.

January came, and with it, some shocking news. Eva's body was found on the slopes near the resort building, stabbed several times. Her body was shipped back to New Mexico for burial, but she started coming to Will in his dreams, admitting she had been calling him all those nights, thanking him for not telling Nicole, because she liked Nicole. She asked him to find her killer.

He still did not tell Nicole about Eva's feelings for him; he thought it no longer mattered, anyway. When the children were at school, and he had no NA meeting to attend, he would frequent the places Eva would go, such as her favorite stores or restaurants. In Will's mind, Eva's life had become the map to her death, and her killer the missing key. Will asked Nicole if she knew if Eva had a boyfriend. Nicole said no, Eva never mentioned a boyfriend.

Will dreamed of the bar where Eva had worked. Nicole was there, mixing drinks. In the dream, three young men entered the bar, in their coats and boots. Only one is wearing a red ski mask, he is keeping it on indoors for some reason. Eva approaches them to take their drink order at the table. The guy in the ski mask wants her to pay attention to him; the other guys are laughing. She says something to him about taking off his ski mask, and makes a joke about the Phantom of the Opera. She departs, then returns with the drinks, continuing to talk and laugh until Will woke up.

The dream only frustrated Will more. A lot of guys on the slopes wore red ski masks. However, this young man was with two others, and Will would try to remember what they looked like.

Will applied for a security job Nicole told him about. He remained frustrated. Nicole drew a blank when he quizzed her. She had little patience with his dreams, even the ones that made sense. He was acting like a Hart; psychic and annoying. Or selfish and strange, like Belinda.

"Will," Nicole asked, "why don't you let the police find who killed Eva?"

"Maybe I can help them."

Will contacted the Aspen Police Department, which was small and unused to homicides. Not since the murder of ski champion Spider Savage in the 1970s had the APD dealt with such notoriety as the stabbing death of Eva Cortez, a cocktail waitress, a nobody, although the story received some national coverage because of its very brutality.

Will stood by his theory of Eva being murdered by a boyfriend. He was lucky to meet a detective at the APD that did not dismiss him as a kook. The detective, a large woman in her late thirties named Sharla Sprague, had worked with psychics before when she worked for the San Francisco Police Department. She wrote down Will's information, telling him she would stay in touch, and he should contact her if he received anything new psychically about the case. He thought she was just being polite at first, but she did, over time, involve him in the investigation.

The first suspect, a married man in his twenties, was dismissed because he was at the resort with his wife and children which provided an alibi. The second suspect, a divorced man with a large strawberry-colored birthmark on his face, passed a polygraph, eliminating him from suspicion.

Will, as the months passed, realized that his boyfriend theory could be incorrect. He thought about the ski mask again, and wondered if the guy was hiding something from Eva. Did he want her to think he was someone he was not? Maybe he needed to cover up who he really was.

The rich would come to Aspen and spend their money. They supported the local economy and provided a living for many people in town. Will felt his imagination was starting to take over, but maybe Eva's killer was a con man.

Will was finally offered a nighttime security job at the resort in October, months after applying. He believed Nicole may have put in a good word for him. While driving around the resort in the Jeep, Will finally intuited when Eva's killer would be found.

Eva knew her killer. She had been more reserved around strangers, but she laughed with these men. This was a theory the police already considered, but Eva did not have a lot of friends, and all of them were eliminated as suspects.

The resort, during the Holidays, would invite locals or special guests to parties and celebrations. Will had been stuck, over the last few days, on the Phantom remark in his dream. He thought about the movie, about the Phantom's mask, and that led him to thinking about Halloween masks. He thought maybe Eva's killer might be found sometime between Halloween and Christmas.

Will was hired at the resort the third week of October. Eva had been killed last January, in the thick of the ski season, which would be picking up again, the regulars coming back. Maybe Eva's killer would return.

Not knowing what else to do, Will called his mother.

Molly had not enjoyed an easy relationship with Will since he married Nicole, whose family was more odd than the Harts, Nicole and her siblings having to endure abandonment, abuse, and their mother's alcoholism. Nicole and her sister Hayley had to go into foster care after being sexually abused by one of their mother's boyfriends. The oldest brother, Scott, ran away, and Shawn went to live with their grandmother. Nicole's mother, Cathy, was a highly functional drunk, who managed to keep a demanding job at the local post office. It was not uncommon for Nicole and Hayley to cook and take care of household chores. Nicole had to grow up fast, and she sometimes became depressed and took her bitterness out on other people.

Nicole Fleming was born in Michigan, but moved with her family to Wisconsin, then West Virginia, where her parents finally separated. Cathy took them to Florida, then Texas. Finally, they returned to Michigan. Nicole was twelve years old by then. When she started seventh grade that fall, she met Will Hart at her cousin Jeff's house while babysitting. Will was fifteen, and a classmate of Jeff's at the high school. Will started spending a lot of time with Nicole, who seemed five years older than she was.

John and Molly disapproved at first, but only because of the age difference. Nicole was twelve, she was still a child, and Will could not be a good influence. Will had been a problem for the last two years, falling into drug abuse after he almost drowned in an outing with Troy's family at Lake Michigan. Since the Degan haunting, Will had been running from his psychic abilities, leaving all of that to Belinda and his mother. He had wanted so much to be perceived as normal, and he thought it was still possible until he was lost in that undertow. Troy and his father pulled Will from the water into their boat. He had stopped breathing, he was rushed ashore, and Mr. Weiss attempted CPR while they waited for the ambulance. Will finally started breathing after numerous attempts by the two male paramedics.

He had been outside his body, watching them, just as Belinda had experienced years before. She said she had felt free of her body, free of everything, but safe at the same time. Will would understand what she meant, although Will, unlike Belinda, did see the Light through the murky waters of Lake Michigan, as he struggled for breath. Later, he would try to remember all of it, but he could only recall the Light getting bigger, coming closer, until he started breathing again on the beach.

John and Molly, after getting the horrifying news that their son almost died, brought him home from the hospital. He did not want to talk of his near-death experience, he was too angry about it; he felt undermined, he lost the control.

He stopped getting along with his parents and siblings. He froze out Belinda, which was not surprising, but he almost stopped talking to John and Molly. Troy had already introduced him to pot, and access to a joint was easier than trying to get any kind of liquor. Jeff's older brother Nick sold dime bags of marijuana from their home and Will was at the house as a paying customer when he met Nicole.

Will, over the next school year, became known as the kid who would ingest anything. Marijuana was followed by hash, LSD, mescaline, and ecstasy. Will knew more about psychedelic drugs than his Baby Boomer parents would ever know. Will started to welcome the alternate reality he could escape to, but he was still a Hart. After one terrifying trip while fooling around with friends at a local cemetery, when he thought he was hearing the voices of the dead, a whispering and crying mass of sound, he gave up hallucinogens. By this time, he had flunked out of his junior year of high school. He refused to go back, getting a job at a local fast-food restaurant co-owned by Max, who saw the signs of drug abuse in Will as clearly as he saw alcoholism in John years ago. Max did not hesitate to mention it to John and Molly, but they seemed helpless as Will reached his eighteenth birthday.

Nicole only occasionally used drugs with Will, she was very sensitive about being considered 'white trash' by her schoolmates, not wanting to add 'stoner' to her bad image. Besides, she was still in junior high school, and the other girls could be vicious, although most of them were just jealous because they did not have a boyfriend like Will Hart.

Nicole was originally in awe of the Harts. She did not exactly want to read Old Sam's or Nedra's books, but she was young enough to be taken in by the wonder of these people. Later, after they were married, she would think of Will's psychic abilities with more disdain than his drug habit. She grew to resent the Harts, because she blamed them for Will's problems. If he weren't psychic, he wouldn't need drugs to mellow out, would he? Why did John and Molly bring five freaks into the world, anyway? The secure, comfortable adult life she had imagined as a girl never really happened, not until she dragged her husband to Colorado.

She was a child when she met Will, and she stayed with him through the drugs, the jobs, the motorcycle crash, his weird family, the children, and the addiction to painkillers that almost made her leave him. Instead, Will went to live with his parents, and John ended up driving his son to a treatment center to detox off alcohol and Vicodin. Nicole let him come home, and he had stayed clean and sober since.

Nicole, after almost ten years of marriage, had done her worst to the Harts, keeping John and Molly from seeing their grandchildren for years, because of some silly dispute over a bounced check.

Will wrote the personal check, in the attempt to pay back Sam some money he borrowed, but the check bounced. Molly, thinking Will was trying to deceive Sam somehow, got on the phone and ended up getting into an argument with Nicole, who was very much aware of Molly's favoritism towards the twins, let her mother-in-law know that she should get her head out of her ass and realize what she had done to her kids, that Will would not be a lying drug addict if his childhood had been half-way normal. Molly returned this outburst by telling Nicole that at least Will grew up in one place, and she did take good care of her kids with a good husband.

Nicole could hear John's voice in the background. "Oh, shit, Honey. Don't start. Leave it alone."

Nicole hung up on Molly, their Cold War just beginning. Nicole knew what Molly meant; the woman never thought Nicole was good enough for her son. She was not gifted or special enough by anyone's standards. Molly had punched a hole in Nicole's ego, and she would not be readily forgiven.

Will could hear the tension in his mother's voice as soon as he identified himself. "Mom, I need some help."

"What kind of help?"

He wondered if she thought he was going to ask for money. He decided to plow ahead. "A woman Nicole and I knew was murdered last January, stabbed to death. I went to the police, and they didn't think I was crazy, so they're letting me help with the investigation. But I'm having a hard time, it's like all of this information is mixed up in my head, and I can't find the man who did this..."

"I think I read about it, or saw it on the news. She was found on the slopes, right?"

"Yeah, the newspapers covered the story until it stopped being interesting."

"What was her name?"

"Eva Cortez."

"And you knew her?"

"She worked with Nicole at the resort."

"Is there any way you can find a possession of hers? It might help you."

"All of her stuff was shipped back home to New Mexico. I already think Eva's killer was someone she knew."

"How do you know for sure?"

"I just know, Mom."

"Good, good. Any dreams?"

"I had a dream, shortly after her death. She's at the resort, waiting tables in the bar. Nicole is there, mixing drinks. These three guys come in; one is wearing a red ski mask. She's talking and joking with the masked man. She makes some joke about the Phantom of the Opera."

"Masks make me think of Halloween..."

"I was thinking the holidays, too."

"He would be far from the resort by now. He won't kill again, he will be really careful. This is the first and only time he has done something like this."

Will had been waiting for his mother to get him just a little closer to Eva's killer. If anyone could, it was Molly, and he never mistook her ramblings as imagination. Nine times out of ten, she was right. "What do you think he looks like, Mom?"

"I'm not sure. I think he's Mexican or Hispanic, like Eva. Yes, she definitely knew him. I think he's addicted to drugs, he's become a good liar. He would have to be."

"I know what that's like."

"Yeah, well..."

"So...how are things at home?"

"Good. Amy had some kind of flu, but she's fine now. Sam is still selling cars, Sarah's getting unemployment."

"Belinda?"

"She's still in Las Vegas, I think. She hasn't been in touch. Ethan would let me know, but he hasn't heard from her, either."

"Wasn't she staying with Aunt Pauline?"

"She stayed with Pauline out west, and then she went to Europe with Ethan for a while. She wanders."

"She can always visit us—"

"Nicole doesn't like her—"

"Aw, Mom..."

"It's all right. I know we're not perfect, Will, but neither is she."

Will knew this was the closest he would ever get to an apology from his mother. "Thanks, Mom, but I have to go to work soon."

"Okay. Let me know if the police make an arrest."

"I will. I love you."

"I love you, too."

*****

Will waited through the Holiday season while he worked at the resort. However, the holiday theory was starting to wear thin when Will realized that Eva was killed in January, well after Christmas, so it was possible the killer had been any guest at the resort. The weapon was analyzed, but the knife could not be connected to the resort in any way, such as from the kitchen. Eva's body had been thoroughly examined, as was the crime scene. She died in hard-packed snow, which can collect the tiniest of trace evidence. Will had discussed these things with Detective Sprague many times, but he knew he was not a scientist, he was a psychic, so he would have to try harder.

Will was bored with his job. Being a security guard during the off-season was very dull, and little crime occurred in Aspen, so Will had a lot of time to think as he monitored the grounds in the resort Jeep or snow mobile. With the extra money, he and Nicole were able to make the down payment on the small suburban house; three bedrooms, two baths, and a garage. Nicole was happy with the house, an attractive prop to fit her into the middle-class, white-fence life she always wanted. Soon, she would talk about going back to community college again, to become a paralegal. Will left her alone to dream of these things, whether it was at the resort while she mixed martinis and daiquiris for rich people, or at home while she balanced the checkbook. Christmas was coming, so it was time to use a credit card to buy Kelsey and Bruen new toys and clothes. Will had been a drug addict for so many years, he would usually leave most of the responsibility to Nicole, and things just stayed that way. Besides, he was sure he still loved her, and he certainly loved their children. Will knew he had made a big step by staying employed, not to mention clean and sober. His children, who were still young enough to be forgiving, were enjoying this new version of their father. He took them skiing and secretly discussed with his son Bruen about his psychic ability, after the boy gave the description of a vivid dream he had one night, about walking through a jungle, and all these dead men were floating in the water, they looked like Army men. He said he was dressed in the same way, in uniform, although it was very hot in the jungle. He could hear other people in the distance, but they were speaking a funny language, like the cleaning ladies at the resort.

"You mean, Spanish?" Will had asked.

"No, like Mrs. Phan."

Mrs. Phan was from Cambodia. Will told his son that people sometimes had nightmares, and it was all right, but to tell him if he kept having the same dream.

Just my luck, Will thought. My kid is dreaming about Pol Pot, just like I dreamed about the babies in the jar.

He was reminded of when they all still lived in Michigan, and they attended an antique car show with his father. Kelsey was three years old, and Bruen was five. John liked old cars, and Kelsey seemed impressed with them, too. John took her hand as they looked at each car, some from the 1920s and 1930s. However, the ancient Ford Model-T made Kelsey the most excited.

"That's my car, Grampa!"

"Is that your car, Kelsey?"

"Yeah, it got buried in the duster!"

John should have seen that coming. He took her hand, and gently led her away, back to her parents. John told Will about it later, and they shared a good laugh.

*****

Will had used his share of LSD and other hallucinogens in the past. Because of this, he suffered the occasional flashback. He did not discuss these dream-like hallucinations with anyone, or the brief blackouts. Will had learned to accept them, along with the mood swings and other long-term effects of drug abuse. Sometimes, this would compromise his performance on the job, although he managed to stay out of trouble at work.

Until Christmas Eve.

The Colorado night was cold but calm, the perfect night for a Christmas party. Will and Nicole were both working, much to their displeasure. They would have preferred to spend the evening with their children, but the resort put on a big party every year for the guests. Will's job consisted of keeping an eye on the grounds and if any alcohol-induced fights broke out.

A scuffle happened, not in the ballroom, but on the grounds near the slopes. Will and two other security guards were called to break it up.

The fight had a comical look. Two very drunk young men, one in a green Christmas elf suit and the other dressed as Santa Claus, were beating the daylights out of each other in the snowy courtyard, although the two managed to cool down when they knew security was coming.

Will was inside the building when he received the call on his walkie-talkie. He passed the ballroom to the courtyard exit, the first to arrive, taking in the strange scene. Will noticed that Santa Claus was clutching his nose, white beard streaked with blood, and the elf was doubled over, as if punched in the stomach.

"All right, what's going on?" Will asked.

Santa replied, "It was nothing. We just got mad. It's personal."

"Is your nose broken?"

"I don't think so."

Will looked over at the elf, who was staying quiet, although he could see the fellow had a hurt expression on his face, but not from being beat up. "You all right?"

"Yeah, I'm okay."

The two other security guards showed up, and the police had been called. Santa and his elf were not arrested and they did not press charges against each other. They both left the resort, refusing to talk about the reasons behind their fight.

Will went back inside the main building as the party continued. He turned a corner in the hallway outside the ballroom when he saw Eva standing there in her waitress uniform; black pants and a black polo shirt with the resort's insignia sewn in gold thread, along with her nametag pinned above the insignia.

Will had never seen the dead while awake, only in dreams. Sometimes, he could hear voices in his waking hours, but he kept that to himself. He did not want anyone thinking he was crazy along with all of his other problems. He later thought seeing Eva was some kind of flashback, but she looked just as she did in life, working her shift at the resort.

Will did not know if he should speak to her out loud. If what he was seeing was a flashback or not, he was the only one who could see her, and he did not want to be caught talking to himself. For a while, he just stared.

Will recalled his mother telling him about how John Degan had spoken to her, but it was only a kind of telepathy because Molly had been in a trance and out of her body. Eva was communicating differently, in his head. He stood still, letting her tell him what she wanted, hoping no one would come around the corner.

Those men were his friends...

_My brother was addicted_...

Money...

_He was my Angel.._.

He was wearing the ski mask because I didn't _want_ to see him, Will thought. In my dream, I wanted to distance myself from Eva's brother, because I know what he is. He wanted money for drugs, Eva refused, and he killed her. Santa and his elf know all about it.

He was my angel...

Angel Cortez.

*****

Will contacted Detective Sprague and asked her if Angel Cortez had been questioned. Sprague informed him that Angel had not been found and that she did not consider him a suspect because he was not at the resort at the time of Eva's murder. Will told Sprague that he met the two men from his dream, Santa and the elf, and he was sure they knew something.

Detective Sprague almost laughed when he said Santa and his elf could be potential witnesses, but Sprague said she would look into Angel Cortez. Meanwhile, the APD would look for Santa and the elf.

The two men were found and brought in for questioning. They both confessed that the fight had been about an unpaid debt. Mike Moore, who was Santa, and Donnie Barber, the elf, were seasonal employees at the resort. Mike went on to tell the police that he knew Angel Cortez, and it was possible Angel killed Eva, although it seemed to him that Angel loved his sister too much to hurt her. However, Donnie said otherwise. He knew Angel was addicted to meth, and his personality could be strange, his moods erratic. Donnie thought Angel possibly had a mental illness to go along with his addiction. Both men also thought Angel left town days before Eva's murder.

A search began for Angel Cortez, who was found back in New Mexico, living with his mother. Mrs. Cortez, a widow, did not know Angel had been in Aspen only days before Eva was killed. She explained that her son was an addict, so she did not always know what Angel was doing or where he was. Like most drug addicts, he gave off an air of mystery while attempting to hide his habit. When Will heard about that, he almost laughed.

Takes one to know one, he thought.

Angel Cortez failed a lie detector test and the Cortez home was searched. A credit card receipt was found. The day before her murder, Eva Cortez used her Visa card to pay for lodgings at a local hotel in Aspen. The police went to the hotel and found out the room had been reserved under Angel's name. This was the proof the police needed to prove Angel was in town when she was murdered.

The murder trial came to Aspen. Will was interviewed in the local newspaper and he sent a copy to his parents. Molly cried when she read it, knowing Will was going to be all right after all, because he had stopped running, and he was using his abilities to help other people, just like Old Sam.

Chapter Seventeen

John and Molly tossed and turned in bed for most of the night. John may have slept for a few hours between one-thirty and three in the morning, but he would not remember later. By four-thirty, he was sitting up in bed in the dark, gazing at the glowing red numbers on the bedside digital clock.

The day before had been eventful; John made three trips to the airport. The first was for Molly and Pauline, the second Max and Rita, then Will. After Belinda was prepared for her coffin by the undertaker, Tim Baxter's Uncle Roger, there would be one visitation that evening at the funeral home.

Sarah and Amy went to a local boutique in the mall to find a dress for their sister to wear in her coffin, along with a slip and a pair of panties. The two Hart sisters had not seen Belinda in over a year, and did not know if she had lost or gained weight in her never-ending war with her body size, so they bought everything in a Large.

The family, as a whole, was not prepared to see Belinda laid out. The sleeves of the dark blue dress, looking too matronly for someone Belinda's age, covered the bandages wrapped around her wrists. Her hair was loose around her shoulders; she wore the typical makeup of the dead, and no jewelry, because Belinda never favored jewelry. She also had not worn dresses very often, and Molly did not like that dress, she would have picked out a pant suit. However, what proved most disturbing to everyone present was how young Belinda was, lying there in her coffin.

A few friends showed up, but Belinda did not have very many friends at home or anywhere else. By the end of the visitation, only the family, with Max and Rita, were there. Ethan was out of the country. Her grandparents were all deceased. John had picked out a plot near where he and Molly had theirs reserved at Forever Peace Memorial Gardens.

Death was a business, and even John, after all his years in insurance, was put off by that. He found the motions impersonal and rather oppressive. By the end of the visitation, he was exhausted and bored.

No one felt like eating when they returned to the house on 1225 Gable Road. Will, Sam and Sarah, and Amy watched television before Will and the twins had wandered outdoors. Max and Rita checked into the Spartan Motel. Max said a polite hello to Pauline, but she seemed not to remember him. Pauline retired to a vacant bedroom upstairs, with Molly following her. They stayed upstairs for the evening. John watched TV in his and Molly's bedroom, but he could not pay attention. He wandered to the kitchen and made a sandwich. Will came inside, and they sat and talked for a while, discussing Will's involvement as a police psychic in another murder case in Aspen. John went on to bed. Molly later joined him.

John had spent the many years after the haunting thinking about his family's connection to the Degans. He and Molly still continued to argue about the subject of reincarnation, among other things, although John could still find no other explanation for Belinda's memories under hypnosis about being April Degan as a little girl. Also, nothing else that went on in the days that followed could be easily explained, either. Ethan had wanted to write a book, but John and Molly pleaded with him to keep it all quiet, they did not want to lose their children. However, the children would grow up, coming into their own abilities, with questions that John and Molly would try to answer, although so much remained a mystery.

John was still staring at the digital numbers. Molly had finally dozed off, exhausted from the whole day. She could not sleep on the plane during the eight-hour flight to and from Las Vegas, although she said Belinda tried to communicate with her, but Belinda's voice was too far away to hear.

John was considering getting out of bed when he saw a movement in the corner of the bedroom, near the dresser. The dresser mirror soon reflected a tiny flash that grew into a shimmering shape against the mirror and the wall. The shape made no sound, but was making a steady pace towards the bed, a soft contrast against the darkness of the room.

John grabbed for his glasses by the clock. He looked to Molly, who continued to sleep peacefully.

The light was now closer, almost on top of Molly. John felt his heartbeat quicken as he stayed quiet, not moving at first. The glowing, fluid light came closer to him. He found himself raising his hand, curious to touch something of substance.

He felt the warmth against his fingers, then in his hand, wrist, and arm, a tingling sensation that felt like a tiny volt of electricity, but also gentle, sensual. The warmth spread through his whole body from his arm, chest, through all of him. The feeling was phenomenal, he was stunned. He could not compare it to anything in his life, even his love for Molly and the kids. This was that love, magnified by a thousand.

A voice, which felt so familiar, spoke to him.

"Do not fear. I love you. You are a magnificent spirit."

He knew that voice, just as he did decades ago on the audiotape Will had recorded in the cellar. The Irish lilt, the softest whisper. She had come then, trying to explain Degan to them, but John would not listen, or believe. However, she had been patient with him. This great love he was feeling from her, from Nedra, was complete and unconditional. John wondered what it would be like if he took just a little of this extraordinary thing and gave it to everyone in the world. Heaven would definitely come to earth. Everyone would believe. John felt so relieved to know that Belinda was in the Light and she would be safe. All of them; Nedra, his parents, Colleen, Old Sam, and now Belinda. Degan could even go now. The link that Pauline had spoken of was now up to someone else, the power behind the Light, and John could accept that truth, as would Molly. The weight would be off their shoulders.

"Thank you, Grandmother," he said.

THE END

###

About the Author:

Laura A. Ellison was born in Muskegon, Michigan in 1972. She is a graduate of Grand Valley State University, where she majored in English. _Karma House_ was originally published in paperback in 2010. She is also the author of the ebooks _The Last_ _Girl_ , _Time Immortal, A Foreign Body_ , and _Blood In Trust_. She lives in Muskegon. She can be contacted at Twitter, Facebook, Google +, and Smashwords.com. Her author website is http://spiritimmortal.weebly.com
