I don’t have to be afraid of Anya.
She’s not trying to hurt me.
She’s not trying to scare me.
She’s trying to tell me something.
And I think it’s time to bypass the middleman.
15
The next morning, I tell Teddy that Adrian is coming to the house for a lunchtime pool party, and we get to work preparing a mighty picnic feast: grilled chicken sandwiches, pasta salad, fruit salad, and fresh-squeezed lemonade. Teddy proudly carries everything out to the pool deck and I open the patio umbrellas so we can dine in the shade.
I’ve already briefed Adrian on the plan, and he’s agreed to babysit Teddy while Mitzi and I attempt to use the spirit board. He arrives promptly at noon, dressed in a swimsuit and a red Scarlet Knights T-shirt, and Teddy runs across the pool deck to welcome him. Even though Teddy is less than four feet tall, he’s somehow figured out a way to open the child-proof gate. Then he puts on his ma?tre d’ act, welcoming Adrian to our “restaurant” and escorting him to our table.
Adrian marvels at all the food on display. “I wish I could stay here and eat all day! But El Jefe only gives me an hour. After that he’ll come looking for me, and that won’t be good for any of us.”
“We’ll eat fast so we can swim,” Teddy tells him. “Then we can play Marco Polo!”
I give Adrian a ton of instructions. I repeatedly remind him that Teddy must wear his floaties, that the water’s too deep for him, even in the shallow end. I’m too nervous to eat anything. I keep glancing over at the cottage, where Mitzi has been working for the last hour or so, preparing for “the gathering.” She’s not positive the plan is going to work. Under ideal circumstances, she says, Teddy would sit beside us at the spirit board. But she agrees that having Teddy some twenty yards away might be close enough, and that’s the only shot I’m willing to take.
Teddy is anxious to swim, so he eats only half a sandwich and says he’s not hungry anymore. And Adrian knows I’m ready to get started, so he eats quickly, then uses a single arm to scoop Teddy off the ground.
“Are you ready, Mr. T?”
Teddy shrieks and screams with delight.
Now for the tricky part:
“Teddy, would you mind if Adrian watched you for a little while? I need to do something in my cottage.”
As I expected, Teddy goes totally bananas. He runs to the far end of the pool deck, waving his arms like a maniac, absolutely thrilled that Adrian—Adrian!!—is going to babysit.
“Please watch him carefully. You can’t let him out of your sight. Not for a second. If anything happens to him—”
“We’ll be fine,” Adrian promises. “It’s you that I’m worried about. Is this your first time using a Ouija board?”
“First time since middle school.”
“Be careful, okay? Yell if you need anything.”
I shake my head. “Don’t come anywhere near the cottage. Even if you hear us screaming. I don’t want Teddy to know what we’re doing. If he tells his parents, they’ll flip out.”
“But what if there’s a problem?”
“Mitzi says she’s done a hundred of these things. She says they’re totally safe.”
“What if Mitzi’s wrong?”
I assure him everything’s going to be okay but I’m not sure I sound very confident. Mitzi has already called my cell phone six times today, alerting me to important precautions and restrictions. She’s forbidden me from wearing any jewelry or perfume. No makeup, no hats or scarves, no open-toed shoes. She’s sounded more and more manic with every conversation. She explained that she uses THC to “unblock” her neural pathways, and I worry all the cannabis has made her paranoid.
Teddy comes running back in our direction and slams into Adrian’s knees, nearly knocking him into the pool. “Are you ready yet? Can we swim now?”
“You guys have fun,” I tell them. “I’ll be back in a little bit.”
* * *
By the time I reach the cottage, Mitzi has finished her preparations. There’s a stack of reference books on my kitchen counter and she’s hung heavy black fabric over the windows to blot out all the sunlight. When I open the front door, blinking my eyes to adjust to the gloom, I catch her peeking outside and watching Adrian pull off his T-shirt. “Oh my my my. Where did you find this handsome Scarlet Knight?”
She doesn’t seem to recognize Adrian without his landscaping gear, doesn’t realize he’s the same man she profiled as a rapist just a few weeks earlier.
“He lives down the street.”
“And you trust him to watch the child? We won’t be disturbed?”
“We’ll be fine.”
I close the door, and it’s like sealing myself inside a tomb. The air is thick with the woodsy smell of burning sage; Mitzi explains this will reduce interference from unfriendly spirits. She’s placed a half dozen votive candles around the room, giving us just enough light to work by. There’s a black cloth draped over my kitchen table and the wooden spirit board sits in the middle, surrounded by a ring of tiny granular crystals. “Sea salt,” Mitzi explains. “Kind of an excess precaution, but since it’s your first time I’m not taking any chances.”
Before we start, Mitzi asks if she can review all the drawings I’ve received. At this point I’ve amassed quite a collection; earlier that morning, I’d awakened to find three new ones on the floor of my cottage, as if they’d been slipped under the front door.
Mitzi seems particularly troubled by the last drawing, by the profile of the woman’s face. She points to the silhouette on the horizon. “Who’s this person walking toward her?”
“I think she’s walking away from her.”
Mitzi shudders, struck by a chill, then shakes it off. “I guess we’ll just have to ask. Are you ready?”
“I don’t know.”
“Do you have to go to the bathroom?”
“No.”
“Is your cell phone turned off?”
“Yes.”
“Then you’re ready.”
We take seats on opposite ends of the table. There’s a third chair between us—left empty for Anya. In the darkness of the cottage, it feels like I’ve left Spring Brook behind. Or rather, it feels like I’m in and out of Spring Brook at the same time. The air is different; it’s thicker, harder to breathe. I can still hear Teddy laughing and Adrian shouting “Cannonball!” and water splashing in the swimming pool but all these sounds are slightly distorted, like I’m hearing them over a bad phone connection.
Mitzi places a small heart-shaped planchette in the center of the board and invites me to rest my fingers on one side. The bottom of the planchette is equipped with three small wheels on tiny brass casters; the slightest touch makes it roll away from me. “Steady now, you don’t want to push it,” Mitzi says. “Let the tool do all the work.”
I flex my fingers, trying to relax them. “Sorry.”
Mitzi rests her fingers on the opposite side of the planchette. Then she closes her eyes.