Aftersight (35 page)

Cali

East Barnet, Northern London

May 7, 10:00 p.m.

The driver held the door open for us and Sara, Becky, Nicole, and I stepped out into the darkness. It was still raining. The sound of falling water filled the gloom. The driver closed the door and stood dutifully by the car, waiting for us to go into the house. We'd arrived at the Humphreys' home at ten o'clock, exactly as we'd been told, and driven directly to the back of the house, where no one from the street would see us come or go.

We studied the rear of the house for signs that someone was home. All the windows were dark except for a faint glow from the first-floor window farthest to the right — Lord Humphreys' study — and a gleam through the lace curtains in the kitchen.

Nicole knocked on the door, waited, and knocked again. A gust of wind shook the trees with a ghostly whoosh and we were hit with an icy wall of spray from the saturated leaves overhead.

After a while an enormous shadow crossed the kitchen, filling the kitchen door window. Lord Humphreys opened the door and walked away through the shadows. Once we were inside, he paused at the doorway to the dining room. The under-mounted cabinet lights cast eerie shadows up into his face. He held up an index finger. "One night. One night only." He turned around and disappeared into the gloom.

We marched into the lounge, where Emily was watching television with her mom. Emily stood when she saw us and raced across the room to squeeze Becky. "I knew you'd come back. I knew it."

We said goodnight to Emily's mom and followed Emily upstairs to her bedroom. It looked different without the paranormal investigators' camera equipment. It was less cluttered, easier for us to move around. When Sara and Emily sat on the bed, Nicole gave me a nudge and nodded toward the door. As we disappeared into the darkened hallway, I heard Becky say, "Listen, Emily, I need you to do something really important..."

Just as Tyson had promised, the table and cot were still sitting at the far end of the attic. Nicole twisted the knob on the table lamp. "It's kind of cold in here. Are you gonna be warm enough?"

"It might be nice to have a blanket or two," I said, sitting on the cot and bouncing up and down a few times.

"I'll see what I can do. How long do you think it will take you to get out of body?"

"Well, since I haven't exactly been able to do it on
purpose
yet, I'll have to get back to you on that."

Nicole held out her hand and pulled me up out of the cot. "I love you, sweetie. You know that, right?"

She put her arms around me and held me, a gesture she'd made with Becky a thousand times, but somehow now it seemed different with me. Did she feel how hard my heart was beating? Did she hear my ragged breathing? I closed my eyes to her embrace, afraid to do anything but stiffly reach my arms around her and pat her gently on the shoulders.

"Please be careful," I said.

"I will."

"If all goes well, I'll see you in a few."

Becky

Lord Humphreys' Residence, East Barnet

May 7, 11:23 p.m.

I moved through the hallway in the dark, making my way down the stairs with nothing but my small flashlight to guide me. The envelope felt strangely heavy in my hand. Emily's mom had gone to bed about five minutes before and except for the light from under the door of Lord Humphrey's study and the lamps under the kitchen cabinets, the house was completely dark.

I was moving across the lounge as quietly as possible, trying not to disturb Lord Humphreys, when the nearby piano played by itself. Three chords and no more, three chords that sounded incredibly loud in the silence that preceded and succeeded it. And they weren't just any chords, either. They were the first three chords to "Clair de Lune."

I'd immediately jumped three feet back, dropping the envelope with a thud. Somehow I managed to stifle the scream that tried to fight its way out. For a full minute I stood there, one hand holding the flashlight toward the piano like a weapon, the other with my palm pressed up against my chest, as if keeping it there might somehow settle my labored breathing.

I half expected to see movement in the shadows, but nothing appeared. I waited a full minute, not daring to move, but nothing more happened. If something had been there, it seemed to be gone now.

Without taking my eyes off the piano, I stooped down and picked up the envelope. I felt better when I reached the half-lit kitchen. The door to the basement was open but there weren't many lights on down there, just the ones over the clothes washer throwing a dingy radiance over the finished half of the basement. I could hear the dryer down there, busy with a load of laundry. Clothes tumbled, zippers and plastic buttons clacking and clicking against the metallic chamber.

I made my way down the steep steps before I had a chance to lose my nerve. Nicole was exactly where I expected, sitting on a folding chair facing the dark side of the cellar. I couldn't tell for sure, since her back was to me, but I think her eyes were closed in meditation. My arrival didn't seem to faze her.

"Becky, is that you?"

I opened the door to the dryer until it shut off, then closed it again. Except for the hum of fluorescent lights over the washer, all was quiet now. "Yeah, it's me."

"I don't s'pose it was you playin' the piano up there."

"No, it wasn't me."

She opened her eyes and turned around in her seat. "I didn't think so."

"He's nearby, huh?"

She nodded.

"Here." I pressed the envelope into her hand. "Emily was able to get it for us. You gonna be okay down here by yourself?"

"I think so."

I hugged myself and rubbed my arms up and down to get warm. "It's freezing in here."

"I know. It's gotten worse."

It was as if a subterranean doorway had opened, letting in an ice-cold draft from the deep, wet darkness. I thought of what Nicole said yesterday when we'd first come down here together.
This is where it manifests. This is where it comes in.
You could almost feel something there in the dark with us. Then we heard it, the unmistakable scrape of shoes on pavement.

Then a second sound broke the silence. A rapping noise. A fist on thick wood.
Knock
,
knock
,
knock
. A pause.
Knock
,
knock
,
knock
.

Nicole stood, ripped open the envelope, and deposited the contents into the palm of her hand: a tarnished key. She moved to the side of the basement near the cleaning supplies, fit the key into the padlock there and pulled it away. The heavy wooden door yawned upon with a rusty creak, letting in a swath of rain and a showery gust of wind.

"Hey there, Scarlett. Thanks for lettin' me in."

"Tyson, so nice of you to drop by."

"Ty," he whispered back, slipping in from the night. "My friends call me Ty."

"My friends call
me
Nicole."

"I don't know. Scarlett seems to suit you so much better. Hey there, Jailbait. Let's get the party started."

"Don't you think you'd better lock the door behind you?" I asked

"Naw, probably not. Never know if we might need to get out in a hurry."

Cali

Lord Humphreys' Residence, East Barnet

11:28 p.m.

I took off my shoes, loosened my belt, and removed my lip ring. It wasn't guaranteed that jewelry could prevent me from having an out-of-body experience — it had never stopped me from projecting before, when I
didn't
want it to happen — but removing jewelry had been a routine precaution Arika and I took in class and I didn't want to take any chances.

I lay down and covered myself with the blankets that Emily's mom had dropped by. Putting head to pillow, I closed my eyes and for several minutes I listened to the rain drumming on the roof overhead, trying to let it lull and relax me. There was pressure for me to get out of body, but the key was not to
feel
the pressure. If I was going to be successful, I'd have to be perfectly relaxed and mentally at ease. Any tension in any part of my body and the projection could stall or fail completely.

Despite my intentions, the face of the old man, the priest, appeared from the murkiness of my closed eyelids and with it the memory of the previous night's violent grab, the pressure of fingers tightening around my forearm — I had the flipping bruises to prove it — and the crazy white eyes looming in the darkness. He'd tugged me close, pressing what felt like his lips into my ear.

"There's a price for betrayal,"
he'd rasped, his breath cold and strong in my ear, tickling me in a disturbingly erotic way that made me shiver, my hair stand on end.
"You think Chris can save you? You're beyond redemption."

I shuddered at the memory, trying to shrug it off with the protection techniques I'd practiced over the past three months at Waltham. It took a while before I was able to lose myself in the repeated pattern of slow, deep breathing. My mind cleared. Centered. My body grew heavy and my center of balance shifted subtly. As usual, time seemed to distort. Fifteen minutes could have gone by, or two hours. It was impossible to tell.

Rain clattered overhead, but it was distant. It sounded hollow, as if I was hearing it from inside a barrel. My thoughts began to wander, a sure sign that I was nearing the border of sleeping and waking, the ideal state to project out of body.

I started one of the mental projection techniques that I learned was supposed to trigger an out-of-body experience. I'd learned and practiced it over these past weeks, giving movement and focus to a point well beyond the borders of my physical body. To my great pleasure and relief, a soft, silvery tingle passed up from my feet and legs, through my torso, and out the top of my head. A sudden sense of falling moved through my solar plexus, but I knew to relax and fall with it. A few seconds later, the forerunner to the out-of-body experience, the long-wished-for vibrations, filled my body with a powerful electric tingle.

Becky

Lord Humphreys' Residence

11:57 p.m.

Emily and I sat on her bed, a chessboard between us. I'd just surrendered my queen's rook and was fending off Emily's determined attacks along the left side of the board. I'd been too busy protecting my king and queen to answer with any kind of rational strategy to pressure Emily's defenses. The little brat was good. At least the game kept her preoccupied.

Sara sat cross-legged on the floor near the door in a meditative posture. Next to her sat an open, oversized book,
Grumpp's Illustrated Guide to Dog Breeds
. Her back straight, her eyes closed, she breathed deeply again and again.

"What do you think these boys, the ones who are bothering me, were like in life?" Emily asked distractedly, her fingers balanced on top of her king's bishop's pointy little head. "Is there any way you can find out?"

"I can try, if you're willing to help."

Emily lifted her eyes from the board, the game seemingly forgotten. "Just tell me what to do."

"How many of these boys do you think there are?"

"I'm not sure. I've never counted."

"Guess."

"Five or six." She shrugged.

"Can you tell the difference between them?"

"Some of them. I think so."

"And do you think you can hold one of them in your thoughts without getting scared?"

"I can try."

I straightened my back, put my hands in my lap, palms up, and closed my eyes. "Go ahead. Think about one of them. Good. Like that...

"Okay. This one seems to be a soldier. I'm seeing a helmet and what looks like a long stick with one of those pointy things at the end."

"A halberd," Emily suggested. "Or a lance, maybe?"

"Sure. Either one sounds good... yeah, he's a soldier but he seems like only a boy to me, my age or younger."

"He seems old to me."

I peeked open my right eye. "That's not funny." Closing it again. "Wow, this boy — I'm not getting a name — he's homesick. He misses his mom and his baby brother. Makes me want to cry just thinking about it. Looks like he passes away in a muddy camp. It's not a violent death. It almost feels like he might have received a very slight wound but that it got infected and that he died quietly, lying down. Hmmm. But he doesn't want to go. He doesn't want to cross over. He wants to find his mom and brother." I opened my eyes. "Who else?"

Emily pursed her lips thoughtfully. "Okay, what about this one?" She closed her eyes in concentration.

"This one — I see him dressed in rags almost — he's like a little street urchin. No parents. No family. He's just a little guy when he falls in with these older boys, like a gang, and he steals for them. It's like... hmmm. It's like he's this sweet little boy who wants someone to love him and these bigger boys, this gang, use him to do their dirty work. But they accept him and it's the closest thing to love he's ever had, so... so it's all he has. So he follows this gang around and grows up with them. But he always has this sweet side." I grimaced at the next images. "He's running away from someone he's stolen from and it looks and
feels
like he's tangled up with a moving wagon wheel and is crushed to death. Ew. Yuck."

I opened my eyes to see Emily looking up at me with an unsettled expression. "Should I go on?"

"Please."

"Think of another one." I closed my eyes again. "Wow, this boy..." A tear spontaneously traced down my cheek. "He's just so sad. There's a park near here?"

"Yes. Oak Hill Park."

"Yeah, it's like this one might have hung himself."

"Hanged," Emily corrected. "When you've been strung up by the neck you've been hanged."

"Well, this guy seems to have done it to himself. It's like he was just so sad all the time that he wanted the pain to stop and he thought putting a rope around his neck would end it. But it's worse now. It's only makes the sadness go on and on."