Callie did a quick scan of the room: Nothing was out of place; no one had interfered with Rose’s things. Good. She set the bowl on Rose’s bedside table and then moved the table to the middle of the room, to center it as best she could within the four walls.
After striking the bowl to create a vibration, she slowly drew the spatula around the rim until the sound built and the bowl began to sing. She kept circling until the ringing grew loud enough to ripple the surface of the water in the pitcher by Rose’s bedside. She could see the tiny waves in the half-empty IV bag that hung by Rose’s bed, and she could feel the rolling sensation as the ellipse formed and began to move around the room. There was only one window. It was a small one and high up, barely interrupting the expanse of wall. With the door closed, the sound was contained by the four walls of this square room, playing off their smooth surfaces, creating what felt like an eternity of sound. She imagined she could see the sound moving, see the colors it created as it passed over and through Rose’s still body. For just a moment, she thought she saw Rose shiver, and then, as quickly as a blink, Rose’s body went still again as the door opened. Standing there were the day nurse and the aide. Behind them, the officer stood tentatively.
“Come in or go out,” Callie said to them as the sound began dissipating. The nurse and the aide stepped inside, but the policeman went back to his post, closing the door behind him.
Callie once again pulled the spatula around the rim, and this time the bowl was primed. The newcomers watched openmouthed as the sound built until it was almost unbearable, then circled the room once more. Callie put down the spatula and watched Rose. She could feel the scar on her palm begin to throb where she had held the tool. Unconsciously, she rubbed it, never taking her eyes off Rose.
The shiver she had seen earlier, if that was what it had been, did not return. But the vibration continued for a long time, longer than Callie imagined it could, and far longer than the first time, before the door had been opened. Neither the aide nor the nurse moved until the sound had faded and disappeared.
The aide spoke first. “What is that supposed to do? Is it meant to heal her?”
“It’s intended to balance her,” Callie said, without turning away from Rose.
“Fascinating,” the nurse said, not meaning it.
She went back to the front desk; the aide remained, looking from Callie to Rose and back. Finally, she turned and walked out.
Callie could see no sign that the shiver she thought she’d seen earlier had been real. Rose appeared exactly the same. “Come on, Auntie Rose,” she whispered, as much prayer as command. “Come back to me.”
She walked over to the door and closed it again, sealing the room.
Once again, she began to play. It took a while for the vibration to build, but when it did, Callie could feel it, not only in her fingers but in every bone and muscle.
She played until her wrist throbbed and her back muscles ached from bending over the bowl. Then, just as she was about to give up, she saw the shiver again. She circled the rim once more, forcefully, leaving a trail of rubbery dust around the edge of the bowl. She joined the sound with voweled tones, creating a shifting harmonic as it moved up and down the scale: om, ah, ee. Finally, her voice found Rose’s home note, weak though it was, and held the tone. The volume circled and built until it was so loud, Callie had to will herself not to cover her ears. At its peak, she stopped and stood perfectly still, letting the sound fade to an extended silence, a stillness sound healers consider sacred.
Rose blinked. Callie stared at her as the silence held, wishing someone else was with them to bear witness. “Rose?”
Rose coughed once. Then, looking straight ahead, she began to speak.
“I am a cipher.”
Callie stared.
“I carry no weight, no worth, no influence. I represent nothing. I do not exist.”
It was as if Rose were speaking to someone—or something—beyond the realm of sight. Then, slowly, she sat up in her bed, tripping an alarm that had replaced the restraints. The aide and the nurse burst into the room, pushing past Callie as they hurried to Rose’s bedside. “Careful,” the nurse said, holding Rose to support her. “Let me help you.”
Rose pulled back as if stung.
“It’s okay,” the nurse said. “You’re okay.”
Rose hissed at the nurse, pointing a witchy index finger. “You turn away when you pass me on the street.” The guard was now standing in the doorway. Rose turned to the aide. “You run from me when you should embrace me.”
The aide took a step backward.
“But remember this as you flee: You brought me into existence. I am not the cause, I am merely the effect.”
The aide stepped back, and the nurse let go of Rose. “I’m going to call Dr. Finch.”
The policeman stayed by the door, as if nailed there.
Rose turned to look at Callie, staring for a long moment. Then, slowly, her eyes filled with tears and she reached for Callie’s hand.
It’s outrageous that she hasn’t been charged. It’s time for this town to ditch that witch.
—@TRUTHSEEKER247
Rafferty chewed an antacid tablet. Since Rose’s awakening, he’d given up his usual four cups of coffee and had started living on this stuff, sometimes forgetting to eat until the end of the day. The news had traveled fast, HIPAA laws be damned, and someone had shared it with the press. It could have been his own guard for all he knew. At any rate, someone had talked, telling people the crazy pronouncements Rose had made. Now he was fielding several angry calls a day from good citizens wanting to know when he was going to charge her for what had happened to the boy and for the Goddess Murders twenty-five years ago. Propelled by Helen Barnes’s petition, more and more Salemites were in favor of exhuming the Goddesses. It was ghoulish.
He’d expected seven more boxes of evidence from the archives, but only six had arrived this week, bringing the total he now had to twelve, all neatly sealed and labeled from 1 OF 13 on up. Number 9 was missing. He’d called daily to remind them that he was still waiting for it, had even gone down to the archives himself to locate the missing carton, but it was nowhere to be found.