Possessed

The idea of it made Cass laugh. Her on Larry King Live? On the Late Show with David Letterman? On the Oprah Winfrey Show? No, it didn’t work. Not her style.

Still, that didn’t mean that they couldn’t be friends. That they couldn’t do more than exchange Christmas cards once a year. Cass could visit her if she wanted. Vaguely, she wondered if this sudden need to reach out was nothing more than a reaction to losing Dougie. But maybe it went deeper. Maybe she was starting to realize that she’d cut herself off from people. All people. Even the ones who cared.

No time for self-evaluation. Remember, dead monster on the loose.

Shaking her head to clear her thoughts, Cass made her way down the hallway to Dr. Farver’s office door and knocked gently. She heard the “come in” and opened the door to find him sitting behind his desk in a gray turtleneck, studying the contents of a folder. Probably the results of a test for his two-thirty.

Tall and whipcord lean, he sported the salt-and-pepper hair typical for a man in his fifties, but his trimmed beard was all white. To say that he looked like the stereotypical fussy professor would be unfair of Cass, as he was the only professor she had ever known. But she wouldn’t confuse him with a rock star.

“Hey, Doc.”

He flapped the folder shut. Unlike Mad’s, his face didn’t undergo any transformation. It registered total surprise and it stayed that way.

“I didn’t think…”

“I’m sorry about not returning your calls. And for not letting you know my new number.”

“Your number was listed but not your address. There was a book I wanted to send you.”

“I’ll give you my new address before I leave,” Cass offered as an olive branch.

He pursed his lips and set the folder down on his desk. “You don’t have to feel obligated, Cassandra.”

She made a face at the use of her full name said with all the authority of a man who used to get to tell her what to do. It had been his right since he was the one who had rescued her.

Cass remembered the day vividly. He’d shown up at the asylum talking with each of the patients who had been segregated into the nonviolent wing of the hospital. He’d spoken to them, asked them a few questions and moved on. Cass had assumed he was just another doctor coming in to figure out what made them tick.

He’d stopped in front of her bed; she’d been sitting in the chair next to it. He’d asked her why she was there and she had told him because her grandfather had sent her there. Because he didn’t believe. He’d asked her what it was that her grandfather didn’t believe and she had told him. Then he’d called to an assistant who had been tagging along behind him making notes. Dr. Farver had wanted to know if she sensed anything about the assistant.

It was the first time she’d ever been asked to prove her gift. For a moment she’d been so rattled that the only thought that had emerged was escape. Then she opened herself and used some of the skills that she’d recently learned from others who had been labeled “nuts.” His aunt had come through. A favorite aunt who had passed away the week before who wanted him to know that she’d always treasured her music box with the dancing Cinderella on top and wanted him to have it.

The assistant had gone white and Dr. Farver had nodded solemnly. He’d appealed to the state to have Cass released into his custody. Since she’d had no history of violence, drug abuse or a criminal record and since she would soon be eighteen and of legal age anyway, the court had allowed it and she had gone to live at the institute.

He’d been her hero. Her imaginary long-lost father. And for a time her very first crush. Until she saw George Clooney.

“I know I’m not obligated. I just…I think I took things a bit too far.”

“Yes. So you came all this way to apologize.”

“No,” she said slowly.

“Excellent. I have a new subject that you absolutely have to meet. She’s quite exceptional. Maybe almost as talented as…”

“No. Doctor, I didn’t come here to get tested or to test with anyone. I was-this is going to sound really awful, but I was hoping maybe you could help me.”

Clearly deflated, he leaned back into his office chair and steepled his fingers together. When Cass said nothing, he indicated the chair in front of his desk where he wanted her to sit, then went back to steepling his fingers, as was his habit.

“What do you need help with?”

Cass sank into the plush seat and tried to formulate a way to say what she needed to say so that he would believe her.

“There have been some changes,” she began cautiously.

“With your talent?”

“Yes.”

“Do you mind?” He opened a desk drawer and pulled out a mini-tape recorder that she knew he always kept on hand for just this purpose.

“No.” Cass wasn’t thrilled with the idea of being recorded, but it was how he worked and she was here for his help.

“Explain.”

“I don’t know that there is any point in explaining.” Not when he wouldn’t believe her, anyway. “I guess I just hoped you could help me figure out the extent of the change. How do I go about cataloging it? What kind of tests should I do?”

“Cassandra, I can’t possibly begin to help you figure out how to test these changes until I know what they are.”

“I had an encounter. A physical one. There was a voice in my head and a picture.”

“That’s typical for you.”

“Yes, but this time I couldn’t keep it on the other side of the door. It got inside and I couldn’t stop it and…it attacked me.”

She watched his face carefully but only saw his lips press together in a pensive line.

“You’ve used your room as a tool for control,” he stated.

“Yes.” Cass leaned forward, eager to make him understand. “The fact that I couldn’t keep it out scares me. What if they start using me? What if I lose control to whomever is making contact? I couldn’t bear it.”

Dr. Farver shook his head almost sadly. “They?” he questioned. “You mean spirits.”

“Yes.” She sighed, leaning back in her chair.

“Cassandra, how many times do I have to tell you? You are not hearing or seeing dead people. They’re just thoughts. The memories of the person’s mind you are reading. And thoughts can’t hurt you. You’re not a medium. You’re a telepath.”

Chapter 11

It had been a mistake. She shouldn’t have gone. She knew he would probably never believe that what she did was make contact with the other side. A devout scientist, Dr. Farver likely didn’t even believe the other side existed. For the six years she’d lived at the institute, he’d tested her regularly, always believing that her gift was the ability to read other people’s minds and extract their thoughts and memories.

Cass curled up in her train seat thinking how horrible such a gift would be. It was bad enough that she freaked people out by letting them know what their late aunt Sally had to say to them, but to read their minds? To know their intimate thoughts? People would run from her as fast as they could. Hell, if she were ever confronted with a telepath, she would run, too.

But telepathy, unlike clairaudience, was grounded in scientific theory. A belief that thoughts were nothing more than energy. That the mind was part of a shared network of them. A single consciousness. Dr. Farver believed that some people were born with antennae that allowed them to tap into the network and to access the thoughts of others they came into contact with.