Aftersight Page 17

  I waited for what felt like several minutes, trying and failing to keep my breathing steady. The spirits seemed to be drawn to me like moths circling a porch light, but none were willing to venture too near. Like the other girls in class, who hadn't had much success today, I wasn't doing much better.

  "Try to relax," said Piper, our willowy, brown-haired instructor. Her soft, British accent was light and playful. "Cringing won't help put the spirits at ease." The other girls in class giggled. "All right then," she went on, "Nicole, why don't you have a go?"

  The tension inside me drained away. As usual, that's when something happened.

  "I'm lost," someone said in barely a whisper. A young girl's voice. Maybe a teenager. "I'm so afraid. Won't you help me?" My senses were flooded with the overpowering stench of smoke. Not cigarette smoke but like a campfire. Or a forest fire. I shivered through my trembling.

  "There's a young girl fixin' to get our attention," Nicole explained to the group. "She's standin' behind Becky."

  Whoever had spoken before was sobbing quietly. A wave of complete loneliness and despair enveloped me like a cold patch of air. Tears flowed from my eyes and spilled down my cheeks.

  "No one pays attention to me anymore," the girl continued. "I'm in service. I'm supposed to do my duties, but everyone ignores me." The girl's voice sounded both English and foreign at the same time. Her pronunciation was barely understandable.

  "Tell us about her," Piper prompted.

  "She's maybe thirteen or fourteen. She's wearin' a wool dress and rough leather shoes and she's got somethin' like a bonnet on. Seems like she's been here a long time." In a soft voice, Nicole asked the unseen presence. "You okay, honey? Can we help ya?"

  The crying continued from behind me, broken now and again by a hoarse cough, as if the young girl's lungs were congested beyond her ability to take in air. She wheezed and wheezed, as if trying to catch her breath. Gradually, the sound and the overpowering smoky smell receded.

  "Okay, she's gone now," Nicole said. "She was coughin', but I didn't get the impression that she'd been sick. Seems to me she crossed quite sudden."

  "I was getting smoke," I added. "A smoky smell."

  "There was a fire on the property a long time ago," Piper explained. "Not on this site but in the vicinity. The old manor house burnt down and many servants and a few family members perished in the smoke and flames. We'll occasionally get a lost soul in here who still doesn't quite know what happened to them, but they never stay long." She hummed thoughtfully. "All right then, you can open your eyes. You did quite well for your first day, what with being in a new place with people you're not quite comfortable with. It'll get easier. You'll see."

  I opened my eyes to take in our young, pretty instructor. I admired Piper's refined accent, her poise and confidence. She reminded me of Catalina Romero, the Waltham graduate I'd met in Connecticut the night I'd been introduced to Sir Alex. Like Catalina, Piper made me think that I could have that confidence someday, too.

  Piper walked us through the energy technique that would bring our class sessions to a close in the weeks and months to come. We needed to return our full attention back to our bodies and clear out any residual energy that we might have picked up from the entities we were trying to contact. In the back of the room, David — Piper's assistant — stood near the door, his eyes closed meditatively, monitoring the room for anything unsavory that might be lingering behind. He was acting as control, making certain the room was well-grounded and protected.

  We spent several minutes calling our personal energy back to ourselves. I guess it shouldn't have surprised me, but as images of Mom and home filled my head I realized that much of my energy was still back in Connecticut. Wow, I sure did miss those guys! I hated to let them go and bring all of myself back to England, but Piper emphasized how dangerous it could be if we weren't fully present and in the moment.

  It was almost dark by the time class finished. The west-facing windows showed Waltham's park-like landscape in varying shades of grey. The rain had stopped but the wind continued to play in the leafless trees, making them look restless and unsettled. It made me think of the young girl standing behind me during our session and I wondered what it was like to feel so lost and confused. Scratch that. I know pretty much what that's like, don't I?

  "Well, honey, we survived our first day." Nicole joined me at the window. "What did ya think?"

  "It was... it was okay, I guess." I wiped a light crusting of tears from my face. "A little scary, but okay."

  "It'll get better," Nicole promised. "You're just startin'. You'll get the hang of it."

  Piper and David began turning on lamps and the room filled with a warm yellow light.

  "I was thinkin', maybe we should head back to our rooms before supper and—" Nicole paused in mid-stride. "Charlie's tellin' me somethin'."

  "Charlie?"

  "Charlie's my spirit guide."

  I'd heard her talk about Charlie before. Nicole had explained about her spirit guide during dinner our first night at Waltham but she'd never mentioned him in present tense like this.

  "Follow me."

  Nicole led me to the far end of the room, where an antique shoji screen partitioned off a cozy little area. Beyond it stood two floor lamps, a sofa, and a pair of reading chairs. Nicole walked directly to the narrow table behind the sofa, where a large leather book had been prominently placed. The cover read Heavenly Sweetness.

  "This," Nicole declared. "He wants me to see this."

  The tome was as thick as a library dictionary. Nicole took the cover between her long fingers and gingerly opened it. It turned out that it wasn't a book at all but a box made to look like a book. Its hollow insides were filled with rows of chocolate truffles wrapped in shiny violet foil. A rich chocolate scent mixed with the aroma of roasted hazelnuts drifted from the box.

  "I like this Charlie character," I said. "I want a spirit guide."

  "Oh, honey, everybody's got a spirit guide," Nicole replied, picking out a pair of chocolates and handing one to me. "I'm sure they'll be a class here at Waltham on how to get in touch with 'em."

  The ball of chocolate lingered on my tongue for perhaps five seconds before disintegrating, releasing a cloud of liquid that tasted faintly of toasted hazelnut. "Oh, dear, that is heavenly sweetness." I looked around to see if anyone else had witnessed our discovery. "Okay, hand me another one."

  When we finished our third truffle, we plopped down on the sofa, happy and satiated.

  "Thank you, Nicole. For the chocolate and for everything. I would be so homesick if it wasn't for you and the other girls. I am homesick, but being with you guys makes it okay."

  "Think nothin' of it, June Bug. It'll be okay. You'll see."

  "Listen, can I ask you about something? How long have you known Cali?"

  "'Bout six months. We met just after I moved."

  "And, she's, you know, okay?"

  "Oh, Cali's a little rough around the edges, sure. But don't let that fool ya. She's like these chocolates. Full of sweetness."

  "Okay. I'll take your word for it."

  "I expect you’re a little off kilter with all this new stuff comin' at ya. But don't worry 'bout it. We're in the right place. I knew it the moment I stepped out of the car night before last. We're supposed to be here. This isn't a coincidence. Charlie's been telling me for months that somethin' big was gonna happen. And he's tellin' me still."

  Chapter Seventeen

  Cali

  Waltham Manor

  February 19

  Sometimes I feel like everything I do is destined for the dumpster. For six months I couldn't stop the out-of-body experiences, no matter how hard I tried, and now that I've traveled halfway around the world to learn how to do it right, I couldn't flipping get out of my body to save my life.

  I looked up from my journal and across the parlor at Nicole, who was sitting behind the grand piano. I was suddenly taken aback by the wall of living sound that rose from the instrument. Th
is was one of my favorites in Nicole's catalogue of songs, something quiet and a little sad. For a few seconds I let go of my frustrations and allowed myself to feel the music. It was gentle, like a soft breeze. I'd never liked classical music, but I'd never really listened to it before. What amazed me about it now wasn't so much the sound itself but the beauty that seemed to emerge from Nicole when she played. It was as if Nicole's soul was on display in musical form. Something sorrowful and exquisite and haunting.

  Gusts of wind and rain hurtled against the windowpanes, invisible in the darkness. Across from me, Becky sat in a cushy chair, her eyes closed, meditating quietly. It was getting pretty late. A few students from our class had made the trek to our little isolated corner of Waltham to hear Nicole's impromptu concert, but they'd headed off to bed. Tomorrow was Sunday, so I wouldn't have to wake up before the butt-crack of dawn to practice astral projection. No morning meditation session, either. But I didn't think I could stay awake much longer. Between early classes and the all-night racket from our upstairs neighbors, I felt hazy and heavy-eyed.

  One thing drives me on, I wrote. Chris is here. Or, if not here exactly, then somewhere close by. Some part of my brother lives on. Hints of it are all around me, but I want to be sure. I want to see him for myself. Hear him. Feel him. And I know if I only try hard enough, it'll happen.

  Nicole brought her sonata to a close with three near-silent chords, each quieter than the last. Becky opened her eyes and smiled. "That was lovely."

  "Come here, June Bug, I want to show you somethin'." Nicole patted the bench beside her.

  For a moment I thought Nicole was talking to me, but it was Becky who popped out of her chair to join Nicole at the piano. Something in my chest crinkled like a discarded wad of paper. It was like that mixture of excitement and humiliation I used to get in high school when a cute guy waved to me and I'd waved back, only to realize that he'd been waving to someone behind me. Why did Nicole's friendship with Becky bother me? It was idiotic, but it didn't take away the lump in my throat or unravel the knot in my chest when I saw them together.

  Under Nicole's direction, Becky was plunking out a slow melody on the piano. Each note was like a shard of ice digging into my shoulders. Sometimes the hardest part about all this meditation stuff, I scratched in my journal, is keeping my energy to myself.

  "I've discovered my soul mate!" Sara announced as she burst into the parlor. "He is Nigel P. Huffington III. I didn't want to say anything before now, not until I was sure, but now I know. We've got so much in common. I love animals and anyone can see from the amount of stuffed animals he's brought with him that he loves animals, too. His favorite color is pink. My favorite color is pink! And, like me, he loves to comb and style hair. He was keen on being a hairdresser before this psychic thing came along. Why, it can't get any plainer than that! We're meant for each other."

  I clapped a hand over my mouth to smother a surge of laughter, swapping good-natured glances with Becky and Nicole. It was Nicole who finally managed to say something. "I'm… sure… y'all will be very happy together."

  Sara had just returned from what she was calling her first ever date. It took place with Nigel in the common room, where a movie was being shown for anyone who wanted to see it. As we composed ourselves, Sara dove into an in-depth, nonstop account of her date with Nigel, from dinner and ice cream to the movie that capped off their evening together. And while Nigel hadn't kissed her — he was a gentlemen, after all — it had all gone far better than Sara had hoped.

  I yawned against my will. "I'm sorry. I'm not bored with your story, I promise. I just can't keep my eyes open. I've about had it. I'm going to bed."

  "I'm knackered, too," Sara admitted, "but I don't know how I will actually sleep after making such a discovery. I mean, it's not every day you discover your soul mate."

  We moved into the main corridor and down the short hallway to our rooms next door. The maids had drawn the curtains of the sitting room and turned down our beds. Our bedside lamps and a few reading lights filled the room with a soft, cozy light.

  As soon as I latched the door behind us, a heavy thud crashed overhead and what sounded like a bowling ball rolled across the ceiling toward Sara and Becky's bedroom and gradually tapered into silence.

  "Here we go." Becky groaned.

  The nightly commotion upstairs that had started the night we'd arrived had continued through our first week at Waltham. After that things had quieted down. Whoever had the rooms above ours had probably only been guests, there for the first week of the new term and then departed. By then we were getting used to the time change and, combined with the quiet, were getting our first good night's sleep.

  Then earlier this week, our third full week here, the noises had started again in the early hours of the morning with what sounded like the collapse of a fully loaded dining table crashing overhead. We'd all stumbled out into the common room and crumpled onto sofas and reading chairs, blinking sleepily. The room had been freezing, despite the embers still glowing in the hearth.

  "This is ridiculous," Becky had complained, settling sideways into a pile of cushions.

  "It's just rude," Nicole added. "Rude. Don't they know it's the middle of the night?"

  "We gotta report these jerks or we're never going to get any shuteye," I said. "Find out which one of the waitstaff is on duty tonight and tell them to shut these guys up."

  "Me?" replied Sara. "Have you lost the plot? It's the middle of the night."

  So we'd just sat there, listening to the random thumps and thuds overhead, burying our heads in pillows and throw quilts until eventually, one-by-one, we returned to our rooms to get whatever sleep we could before early classes the next day. The following evening we'd made a half-hearted attempt to find our neighbors' room, but we couldn't locate the flight of stairs leading up to the fourth floor. Even Sara, who knew Waltham's layout best, had been stumped.

  That had been three nights ago. Sitting in the same room now, with similar bumping and grinding noises echoing overhead, I had to admit that, while we'd looked for our upstairs neighbors' room, we hadn't tried very hard. At the time I'd been too tired to care much and hadn't felt good about a confrontation, especially here at Waltham, where everyone was so nice. Whoever was making the noises would probably be horrified when they learned they'd been disturbing us.

  At the same time, as more nights of around-the-clock crashing and thumping followed, something started nagging at me: What kind of idiot bangs around so late? Something told me that a person like that might not be too happy when we told them to put a lid on it.

  Heavy footsteps stomped across the ceiling, stopped, turned around and stomped back. "Maybe if we get a broom and stood on a chair, we could whack the ceiling and holler at them to pipe down," Nicole suggested.

  "Forget the ceiling," Becky said. "If we had a broom, we could whack the neighbors."

  "Okay, screw this!" I pounded a side table with my fist. "I'm finding these jerks and getting in their faces."

  Sara clapped her hands together excitedly, as if eager to witness the hostilities.

  The girls followed me into the hallway and together we marched up and down the corridors, resuming our search for a way up to the fourth floor. This time we were more determined and wandered farther afield, hoping to find a staircase leading up and not down. Sara and I even started opening doors into empty bedrooms and studies, occasionally stumbling into a broom closet or storage area, but without success.

  Just like the first night we'd searched, the north half of the mansion was deserted. During the day there were rare appearances of students traveling to distant classrooms, or cleaning and waitstaff making their normal rounds, but after dark the place was like an old art museum closed for the night.

  Eventually, exhaustion beat out our aggravation and we returned frustrated to our rooms. Nicole settled into bed, trying to go to sleep, but she winced every time a fresh thud banged down from the ceiling.

  Man, this flippin' torques me of
f! It's personal now. It's not good enough to just tell Mrs. Apple or one of the other instructors. This jerk is mine.

  I snapped off the bedside lamp and flopped down into my pillows, physically spent but mentally awake. No, not just awake. I was fuming. Eventually, the noises from upstairs settled into occasional footsteps, as if whoever was up there was making slow, restless circles around their room.

  It was about an hour before I settled down and started to doze. I was just drifting off when a quivering sensation moved through my insides and down into my legs. My body grew heavy and I felt myself sink into the bed. The heady sense of rocking made the mattress seem like a raft caught in heavy seas. For the first time since I arrived at Waltham, I was having an out-of-body projection.

  I felt myself slipping toward the foot of the bed. It was like wearing silk pajamas and sliding on silk sheets. I tried to grasp the sides of the mattress, but my arms didn't respond. I kept drifting, past what I knew to be the edge of the bed, and with a trembling shiver and a sound like the soft crinkle of paper, I separated from my physical body and floated out into the darkness of my bedroom. For a few seconds I hung suspended in the air before teeter-tottering like a feather and settling onto the floor.

  I felt weak, weary, and insubstantial. I tried to raise myself up off the floor but lacked the energy to do anything but lie there. That's just great. Perfect. I'm stuck.

  A faint draft flowed along the ground, tickling my backside. My spirit body, or whatever it was that was stuck on the floor, started to drift across the room, moved by the gentle wind in the direction of the window. I drifted slowly at first, like a leaf caught in a breeze, then faster, in fits and shudders. There was a faint resistance as I passed through the wall of plaster, brick, and ivy, like pushing through a soft but tangible layer of mist; then I was outside, looking up into the night sky.