Jimmy’s shoulders hunched. He looked young and uncomfortable, as if he held anger barely in check. His occasional glances toward Laverne were filled with loathing.
Evelyn’s strong face was untroubled, her hands quietly folded on the table. She had a magisterial dignity. Disdain was evident in the faint downward curl of her mouth.
Shannon sat stiffly, her face somber. Her eyes flickered uneasily toward the somnolent woman on the couch. When Laverne’s breathing became labored, Shannon’s hands bunched into fists.
No one was seated in the slightly turned chair at the place with horn-rimmed glasses, legal pad, and fountain pen.
Ronald stood by the door, clearly visible in the golden light from a nearby wall sconce. In a cobalt blue shirt with white collar and cuffs and cream slacks, he was at ease, assuming the role of host. With his silver hair and Vandyke beard carefully groomed, he was magazine-model perfect. He glanced at his watch. “It is almost time to begin, even though several of those expected tonight have not yet arrived. Laverne is slipping deeper and deeper into the reverie demanded by the spirits. She shall soon be connected to the beyond.” He spoke in the hushed tone affected by television golf commentators.
Diane began to push back her chair. “I’ll call them.” She was desperate to make certain nothing impeded a connection to James.
He held up a hand. “There must be no sudden movement, no noise. If necessary, we shall start without them.”
Diane sank back onto the seat. She looked close to tears. “They said they’d come.” It was as if she spoke to someone unseen.
“Quiet.” Ronald spoke in an urgent whisper. “Laverne must not be disturbed.”
A muffled rap.
Ronald opened the door, held a cautionary finger to his lips.
Alison Gregory’s confident entry was in stark contrast to the stiff reluctance of the Dunhams. Margo Taylor followed and Ronald shut the door. Ronald pointed peremptorily toward the empty seats opposite the family. “Take your seats. No talking.” He had the air of a funeral-home employee directing mourners.
A low moan issued from Laverne. She rolled from side to side, as if in pain.
Shannon gave a gasp. “What’s wrong with her?”
Ronald looked toward the chaise longue. “The spirits are near. Laverne is in their possession. Please remain silent. She loses contact if there is distraction.”
Alison gave Ronald a contemptuous glance as she slid into a seat as far from Laverne as possible. She murmured softly, “That would be a shame.” Her elegant face looked as if she saw something repugnant.
Gwen and Clint Dunham took the chairs across from Diane and Jimmy. Gwen’s lovely face was rigid. She stared straight ahead, her hands tightly clasped. She looked like a woman awaiting doom. Clint’s big face had the hurt, bewildered appearance of a wounded animal, suffering and without the power to alleviate the pain.
Margo was the last to be seated. She brushed back a strand of hair, covertly watching her daughter.
Ronald slowly closed the door. He waited a moment, then walked toward the recumbent figure of his wife. His steps were measured, the
Laverne’s stertorous breathing sounded loud in the strained silence.
I wondered if Ronald had any sense of the forces he might unleash. Not figures from beyond. They were not at the beck and call of Ronald or Laverne. This dim room seethed with here-and-now emotions of suspicion, fear, anger, hope, despair, and malevolence.
Malevolence.
One of those who watched and waited was as dangerous as a marauding tiger and as ready to destroy. A hard shove and Jack Hume had crashed to his death. Steady pressure on a crowbar and a vase had plummeted down toward Kay.
I had warned Ronald. He refused to see what he was doing. He had made his choices, consciously, greedily, manipulatively. I could not change them.
Laverne rocked back and forth. Words came in spurts, her voice deep and leaden. “…the Great Spirit is here… Great Spirit, we beseech you…James, where is James?…” Laverne breathed spasmodically, then slowly the gulping eased. “…torn from happiness…”
The last phrase was in a different voice, a lighter, tenor voice with an unmistakable Adelaide drawl.
“…no longer can we delight in our happy days…the night of the wedding…you were beautiful…”
Diane drew a handkerchief from her pocket, stifled a sob.
Jimmy turned toward his mother, shook his head angrily. “That’s not Dad.”
Laverne wailed, a high eerie cry that faded into loud, irregular breathing.
Ronald took five quick steps to the table. He loomed over Jimmy. “Outbursts such as that may end the session. Her spirit is not her own. If she is pulled back, there can be damage.”
Diane gripped her son’s arm. “Hush, Jimmy.” Her whisper was anguished. “Daddy’s here. I know he is. I can feel him in the room. Oh, please, Jimmy, please.”
A furious scowl twisted Jimmy’s face. He glared at Ronald, awkwardly patted his mother’s shoulder.
Ronald waited a moment more, then returned to his station behind Laverne. She twisted and turned, her dress rustling with the jerky movements. He murmured, his voice low and soothing, “All is well. Be at peace. Welcome James, bring him back.”
