Jo studied Rachel’s face and read the genuine concern in her worn features. “You can relax, Dr. Perry. It’s true that this voice might speak again soon, but this process can’t be rushed. We might have to listen for days, even weeks, before we hear the faintest whisper. If we catch anything at all.” She turned the little ball radio on, and was relieved to hear the strong crackle of good batteries.
“All right, you guys can stop talking about me behind my back now.” Becca shouldered open the door from the kitchen and brought in a plate of lavishly frosted brownies. “Were you telling Rach about me throwing up in your lap after I saw that mannequin, Jo? That was my favorite part of the day.”
“I was telling Dr. Perry that we may have to be patient moving forward, Becca.” Jo fiddled with the ridged circular dial of the radio. “These voices can be subtle and quite elusive, and it might be a long time before we hear—ˮ
An ear-splitting crack of static erupted from the globe in her hand, and Jo almost dropped it. An equally piercing shriek followed.
“BECCA, RUN!”
Becca dropped the plate and it shattered, brownies scattering across the floor. Her face drained of color and her eyes were enormous. She bolted, racing for the entry and through it, and slammed out the front door.
The radio went silent in Jo’s shaking hands, not even whispering the dead air space that lay between stations.
“What are you waiting for?” Rachel said sharply, her hand pressed to her heart. “I can hardly run after her. Go!”
Jo went.
And so it was that Joanne Call chased madly after a fleeing Becca Healy for the second time in one week, she thought grimly as she ran down the steep driveway. She skittered to a halt, spying the briefest flash of Becca’s blue blouse in the distance. Across the street. Becca had run directly into Lake View Cemetery.
Jo followed her through the ornate wrought iron gates, hoping for sparse attendance among the day’s visitors. There were several people wending their way over the sunny paths or lingering by gravestones, so she relied on speed over yelling Becca’s name. She ran hard past the stately memorial to AIDs victims and beyond the red rock scattering of stones honoring Civil War dead. She slid around a corner and stopped abruptly on the graveled path. Becca was leaning against the Lady of the Rock.
Jo walked to her slowly, fearing she’d find the same eerie trance that took Becca when she was triggered by the mannequin. She was bent at the waist, one hand on the base of the statue, one braced on her knee, her drifting blond hair obscuring her face. She was panting, pulling hard for air.
“Hello?” Jo tapped her thighs. She had no earthly idea what to do at this point, except try to catch Becca if she fainted again. Her brain was exploding with the ramifications of that extraordinary transmission back at the house, the shriek that still rang in her ears, and she had to work hard to focus on Becca. “Are you all right?”
Becca lifted one hand in reassurance, put it back on her knee, and went on panting. Jo moved closer cautiously.
“Well.” Becca’s voice was muffled. “At least we learned one thing from this. I’m an obedient daughter. Sheesh.”
Becca straightened, and her face was blotched with red where it wasn’t cheesy pale, but her eyes were clear and sharp. Jo huffed out a breath of relief.
“If she’d screamed ‘Becca, cook,’ I’d have a four-course dinner on the table right now.” Becca slid bonelessly into the grass at the base of the statue and sat leaning against it. “Good Lord, Jo. Have you ever heard anything like that?”
“Actually, I have, yes. Warnings are a fairly common theme in transmissions.” Jo wondered if a scholarly approach would be more helpful to Becca now or a nurturing one, and hoped for the former. “I admit I’m astonished by the volume and clarity of the message. That small radio should be utterly incapable of producing such a blast.”
“Yeah, it was impressive.” It was taking Becca too long to catch her breath after a relatively short sprint, and Jo realized how shaken she was. “Is Rachel all right?”
“She was fine enough to pitch me out the door after you. Are you…yourself again?”
“I’m getting there.” Becca squinted up at her and shaded her eyes. “Would you please sit down before my neck goes into spasm?”
Jo would have sat on the ground where she was, but Becca patted the grass next to her. She glanced up at the Lady’s implacable face as if asking for guidance, then lowered herself carefully beside Becca. “You did take that command rather literally. It was your mother’s voice?”
Becca shrugged. “It was a shriek. It’s hard to hear a voice in a shriek, especially a voice you hardly remember.” She hesitated. “But yes, it was her.”
Jo nodded. “Your mother is proving to be remarkably reticent. ‘Not true.’ ‘Becca, run.’ It seems we can’t count on her for more than two words at a time.”
“I sure didn’t inherit that tendency.” Becca sighed and ran her hands through her hair. “I’m sorry, Jo. Normally, I’m not a big fan of drama, but I seem to keep drawing you into some very theatrical scenes.”
“Well.” Jo sat back on her hands and crossed her legs in the grass. “What’s listening for the voices of the dead if not high drama? A chase scene or two probably goes with the territory. But I’m a little surprised that you ran here.”
“The cemetery?”
“Yes. Didn’t you say this place scared you?”
“When I was a kid, sure.” She nodded at the serene statue above them. “But my mom brought me here sometimes, to visit the Lady. I was never scared when she was with me.”
“Really? Are you referring to some kind of psychic summons?”
Becca laughed. “No, I mean she brought me here when I was little, for picnics. It’s green and quiet and peaceful here, like a park. It’s one of the few clear memories I have of my mom — sitting under the Lady, eating peanut butter sandwiches.” She glanced up at the cloaked woman. “I’ve always loved her, Jo. She’s one of the few lifelike images that doesn’t trigger me now. I’m not sure why. Maybe because she was familiar to me before the…trauma happened. She’s obviously a mother, the way she comforts the girl kneeling beside her. I’ve always felt safe here.”
“The Lady means a lot to me, too,” Jo found herself saying. “This is my favorite spot in the cemetery, maybe in all of Seattle.”
“You’re kidding.” Becca sounded both surprised and pleased. “I love that you and the Lady are friends. It’s a good character reference. For you.” She leaned so her shoulder bumped Jo’s lightly. “I’m glad she’s able to bring both of us a little peace.”
Jo felt a warm pulsing on her shoulder where Becca touched her. She realized how very little space separated them. Jo was swept with a distinct, tactile memory of the feel of Becca in her arms days ago, holding her after she’d fainted, looking down into her face. She thought fast. “Are you concerned about the content of your mother’s message?”
Becca sobered and leaned back against the Lady. She still looked wan, and her expression reminded Jo of the young girl above them, resting her head in the Lady’s lap. “Well, I wish she could have been more specific. She could have mentioned a destination I should run to, or at least a direction I should run in.”
“Becca, you need to take this seriously now.” Jo was surprised by a flare of impatience that felt strangely protective. “I’ve told you that messages received through EVP are rarely factually false. We need to be aware that your mother perceives some danger to you. She’s warned you to run.”
“But from what?” Becca’s brow furrowed. “Gaining two pounds from Rachel’s brownies? That’s the only threat I know of.”
“If your mother didn’t pull the trigger that night, someone else did.” Surely Jo was pointing out the obvious; Becca must have considered this. “Forensics indicates it wasn’t your father. So it’s possible there’s still a murderer out there who the police didn’t have the wit to consider.”