AUDREY ANSWERED THE door. Either I had a grim look on my face or she had a genuine obsession with the “House of Evil.”
“I knew something terrible would happen,” she said.
“Come in, child. As soon as I finish with the family’s dinner, we can talk.”
“Nothing has happened,” I told her. “I just want to speak to Zack.”
“Who is it, Audrey?” a man called, and a moment later emerged through a door beneath a sweeping stairway.
“Hello.”
He had the same body structure and the same basic coloring as Zack, though his hair was a shade lighter and his blue eyes lacked the haunting depth of Zack’s. Those differences and a slightly rounder face made him pleasantlooking rather than handsome. “I’m Dave Fleming, Zack’s dad. You must be Anna.”
“Yes, how did you know?”
“By the”—he hesitated—“chestnut-colored hair.”
Zack must have told him about that. “I’ll come back. I don’t want to interrupt your dinner.”
“It’s not an interruption, it’s a visit. Come in, come in,” he said, gesturing toward the door through which he had just come. “Have you had dinner? We’ll set another place at the table. Audrey’s a fabulous cook.”
“Thanks, but I’ve already eaten. I just need to speak to Zack for a second.”
Audrey exited through a small door. I was hoping Dave would call Zack, but instead, he led me through the door beneath the curved stairway. We emerged into a dusky, high-ceilinged dining room. Zack and Marcy sat at the far end of a polished table that looked long enough to bowl on.
Both of them appeared surprised, the flickering candlelight exaggerating their expressions. Zack put down his fork and rose politely to his feet, which made me feel as if I were in a Jane Austen novel. His father strode ahead of me and carried a chair over to the table, setting it next to Zack’s.
“Really, I’ve had dinner, sir.”
“Dave,” Zack’s father corrected me, smiling. “Call me Dave.”
“I’m just staying a minute.”
“But you can’t,” Dave protested. “I’m the only one in the family who hasn’t gotten the opportunity to know you. Marcy sings your praises. Zack tells me. . a few things.”
“Dad,” Zack said with a note of warning.
“According to Audrey, even Clyde has conversed with you — in dog language.”
Marcy rolled her eyes.
“And a goat, too, apparently.” From a drawer in a massive sideboard, Dave drew out a place mat and silverware. “If you’ve had dinner, I’m sure you would like dessert.”
“Thanks but—”
“Strawberries and whipped cream, guaranteed to contribute to heart disease and—”
“Dearest,” Marcy interrupted, “Anna knows what she wants and doesn’t want.”
“Oh. Well, then, I suppose that is why you two get along so well,” he said, gazing lovingly at his wife. He turned back to me. “Please sit down. Perhaps you would like something chocolate instead. I’m sure we have—”
“Dad,” Zack said, “she’s not hungry. She doesn’t want to sit down. Let her talk.”
“Of course.” Dave sat down at the same time as Zack and waited.
“I’ve changed my mind. I’d like to go to the party tomorrow.”
In the candlelight Marcy’s eyes glinted. She probably thought I had joined the army of girls chasing Zack. But Zack didn’t; the expression on his face was guarded, thoughtful, as if he was deducing my motive.
“I mean, if you haven’t asked someone else,” I added.
“I haven’t.”
“Well, then, that’s settled,” Dave said, jumping into the awkward moment. “It’s always good to meet new peopleZack to meet you, you to meet others, that kind of thing.”
Zack took a sip of water from his cut-glass goblet, barely hiding his smirk. “I’ll pick you up at seven forty-five,” he said.
“Since it’s catered, we’re supposed to arrive on time.”
“I’ll be ready.” I took a step back. “Nice meeting you. .
Dave. I really have to go. Don’t anyone get up. I know where the door is.” I pivoted and almost took out Audrey, who had entered through a side door. “Sorry.” I gave her a little wave, then exited.
When I returned to the house, Aunt Iris and her gold car were still absent. I was uncomfortable with her there, and yet just as uncomfortable with her gone. I couldn’t say whether it was Iris’s safety I feared for or the safety of those she might become angry with, including me. She was strong. And I had seen firsthand how easy it was for her to disconnect with reality. It wasn’t as simple as believing, the way Marcy did, that Iris wasn’t the kind of person who could harm someone; psychotics turned into other kinds of people.
I needed to do some research, and Uncle Will’s collection of books would provide a good start. I pulled from his shelves several of the books I had noticed earlier and carried them upstairs, trailed by one of the two cats I had hired as lookouts. As soon as I set down the books, the little silver tabby leaped onto my bed. I let her stay, liking the company, hoping she didn’t have fleas.
I began with the book on famous psychotic criminals, paging through it, studying the pictures. Some of the men and women looked nearly possessed, but others appeared as normal and pleasant as Dave Fleming — well, that was reassuring! I read a few case histories and, after a particularly gruesome account, set the text aside. Opening a book on the paranormal, I surveyed its table of contents: Telepathy, Clairvoyance, Precognition, Psychokinesis, Outof-Body Experiences, Mediumship — I backed up. Out-ofBody Experiences — meaning experiences when you didn’t seem to have a body? Experiences when your hands were as transparent as jellyfish? I quickly flipped to the chapter.
I turned on the lamp and for the next hour read that chapter and a similar one in another book, reading the material twice, amazed by the accuracy with which the writers were able to describe my own weird experiences.
Having a name for the occurrence, which was often referred to by the acronym O.B.E., made it seem less frightening.
According to the authors, vibrations and electrical sensations were commonly reported in the early stages of an O.B.E., as was the temporary paralysis I had experienced. Some people heard electrical sounds, others, loud rushing noises, which were attributed to the spirit leaving the body through its “chakras.” There was one notable difference between the experience that most people reported and my own: I hadn’t had the shock of looking down at my own body sleeping. Nor had I enjoyed flying and choosing where I would go, an experience that some people described to researchers. It was as if the moment I let go, I was launched on a mission — as if I had been summoned by someone and was under that person’s guidance. Uncle Will? There were stories about O.B.E.s in which the “astral traveler” saw relatives who had died.
Parapsychologists believed that, when out of body, people perceived with their minds, not their physical senses.
However, they often interpreted their perceptions the only way they knew how, as if they had five physical senses. Out of body, without physical limitations, their minds “saw” 360 degrees around them, but since humans aren’t used to seeing that, the images seemed to overlap and became confusing when the perceiver tried to interpret them. Also, they saw things that physical eyes couldn’t see — other forms of energy — which produced distortions in the mindscape.