I signed in at the school office, where the psychologist met me.
'I'm Dr. James Parker,' he said. 'Call me Jim.'
I nodded and planned to call him Dr. Parker.
Fortunately, I had been warned by Joseph not to let the psychologist's 'fashion sense' put me off. He wore a short-sleeved flowered shirt and pink tie with a long gray sweater vest. I estimated that the sheep that had produced the sweater had been dead for at least seventy years. Perhaps the same sheep had produced the wool socks that puffed out under his sandals. But the man had inquisitive eyes, and a cheerful smile peeked through his beard; I suppose the world looked very rosy to him, given his tinted glasses.
He led me to his office and soon proved himself a skillful reader of people. He gestured to the sofa first, then quickly changed his mind and pointed to a stiff-backed chair, which was fortunate, because I had no intention of getting comfortable. He chose a wheeled chair for himself, which he pushed back a half meter, putting a little more distance between us. For a moment we simply looked at each other.
'So you are a friend of Joseph Oakley.'
'I knew him twelve years ago, when he and my mother took care of Ashley Westbrook. This is the first time I've been back to the States since then. I met up with him last week and he has been helping me, listening mostly.'
'I hope he hasn't been telling you tales from our college days,' Dr. Parker said.
I suspected he really hoped that Joseph had. 'No, sir.
'Joseph and I were two locals-'farmers' are what the dorm kids called us. We were hopeless-neither of us jocks, both of us lousy at cards. Joseph was good at music, but he didn't listen to rock. We were about as un cool as you could get, until he got that great car-a used Jaguar. Even used, it cost him a bundle, but it was worth every penny.' Dr. Parker laughed. 'A lot of kids wanted to ride around in that Jag.'
I smiled, trying to imagine Joseph and this late-blooming flower child cruising in a British sports car.
'So tell me what has been happening, Kate.'
There was a lot to recount. I was grateful that he didn't interrupt me, though I wondered from time to time whether he was thinking with his eyes closed or taking a short nap.
'Interesting,' he said, when I had finished. 'Extremely interesting.' He opened his eyes and took off his glasses, glancing around as if surprised to see the world less pink, then put the spectacles back on. 'Tell me, Kate, how do you account for these events?'
'As I said a few minutes ago, I have two theories. Either someone in the family is setting things up and seeding Patrick's fears, or there is an actual ghost-but I don't like either theory. I don't believe in ghosts, and the fact is, I don't see or hear something that might be considered the ghost of Ashley. But when Patrick speaks of her, when he speaks the same words she did and does the same things she was daring me to do, she feels so alive. In the beginning he claimed that she liked me, but that is changing. Patrick is distancing himself from me, sometimes acting afraid of me, and I think it is she who is causing this. It is as if he is possessed by her. I don't know how to protect him.'
'And you feel as if you need to.'
I stiffened. Was he turning this into a psychological analysis of me? 'When it results in something as dangerous as standing on a diving board over an empty pool or walking on thin ice-yes!'
'There is nothing harder to do than to protect another person from himself.'
From himself? I thought. 'If you are saying Patrick is making this up, I don't believe it,' 'I'm not suggesting that he is making it up, but that he is making it possible.'
The psychologist stood up and walked around. The two deep-silled windows in his office bloomed with plastic flowers, a contradiction to the bag of 'All Natural' health food sitting by his briefcase. He picked up a bouquet of faded roses and shook it, creating a cloud of dust.
'Based on what you've told me, I would be very surprised if Ashley is a ghost the way we normally define ghosts, i.e., a spirit from the other side, the personality and soul of someone who is dead. For one thing, no one else has seen her. Now, you might be particularly insensitive-' 'Excuse me?'
'Insensitive to the spiritual world, but I doub't that everyone on Mason's Choice is that way. And yet no one has admitted to seeing her. I would very much like to talk to Patrick.'
I bit my lip. 'I don't think I can arrange that. I am certain Adrian would not give his permission, and while I, myself, can come here without telling Adrian, I don't have the right to bring his son without him knowing it.'
'I understand, but I can't offer you an opinion on Patrick without an evaluation of him. I don't venture opinions on what I haven't examined myself.'
I thought quickly. 'I don't want an opinion, just a hypothesis I can test out. I'm not asking for a diagnosis of Patrick but a theory about Ashley, whom no one can examine.'
I was trifling with words, for it all amounted to the same thing, but I needed Dr. Parker's help. Perhaps he saw my desperation. I found it interesting that this man, who studied the mind and other unseen things, looked so carefully at my face and hands, depended on the physical to give him clues. He returned to his chair.
'Theoretically,' he said, 'it is possible that Patrick is tuning in to a psychic imprint left behind by Ashley.'
'A psychic imprint?'
'A record of her thoughts and emotions. He is the same age as she was when she died, correct?'
'Yes. Seven.'
'He lives in the same house, in the same room, and in the same emotional environment, spoiled by his parents, aware of the hostility that members of his family bear toward him.'
Dr. Parker's wheeled chair edged forward. 'It is possible that what Patrick perceives is not something happening now, but something that happened twelve years ago. Being on the same wavelength as Ashley, he may have access to the psychic trace of her thoughts and feelings-some very powerful ones — and is perceiving them as if they are occurring in the present.
'In a way, it is like reading an autobiography in which you strongly identify with the hero. The events happened in the past, but you, when involved in the book, experience them as if they are occurring now. Or, it is like perceiving stars that are light-years away. That light was shining eons ago, but you see it now-at least, those people with the right equipment and focus perceive it now. Others cannot. Do you understand?'
I think so. . but then-then there is nothing I can do to change what he is perceiving. It was set twelve years ago.'
The doctor nodded.
I rubbed my arms, chilled by the idea. Ashley's childish perceptions, selfishness, and quick anger were not a world inside which I wanted Patrick trapped.
'What about the cat?' I asked. 'How do you explain that?'
'I don't explain anything. I offer theories, possibilities, nothing more.'
'And one theory is?'
'Of course, you cannot rule out coincidence. A cat's life could easily span the twelve-year period, and cats, especially half-wild ones, will wander in and out of people's lives. Still, the timing is striking.'
1 made my fingers still, though they wanted to tap with impatience.
'In folklore, cats have long been associated with the paranormal-with witches, for instance. They may have a certain sensitivity to psychic elements. If Patrick is experiencing Ashley's thoughts and feelings, the cat may be sensitive to those it recognizes as belonging to a little girl who cared for him.'
'So November won't hurt Patrick.'
I don't guarantee anything. I offer theories, possibilities' Yes, I know.' I stood up, weary of his theories now, wanting answers, needing to know exactly how to help Patrick. I walked over to one of the windows filled with artificial flowers, then picked up a box of plant fertilizer.
'Just a little joke,' Dr. Parker said.
I set it down. 'What can I do to help Patrick? You have to understand-Ashley was a daredevil. She was often angry and mean-spirited. If your theory is correct, it scares me to think of Patrick being imprisoned inside her thoughts and feelings. Isn't there some way to get him free of her?'
