Page 44
Story: I'll Be Waiting
Jin continues, “She was on the front page because the police had just arrested a serial killer who’d murdered two young girls. The girl in the picture was one of his victims.”
“Damn…” I say.
“My grandmother was beside herself, thinking she had the chance to save that girl. Then the neighbor, who can read the whole article, asks whether she’s sure the girl she saw was the blond one in the photo, not the brunette. Absolutely sure? She was. The woman stares at my grandmother… and then saysthatgirl has been missing for a year. And all the police found of her was her bones.”
“So she’d been dead…” Shania begins. “She was dead before your grandmother saw her.”
“A chang,” I murmur. “Someone killed by a predator, who then lures other victims to their deaths.”
“Yep,” Jin says. “My grandmother was convinced that’s what she encountered. The spirit of the first victim, who was doomed to lead other little girls to her killer.”
Shania shivers. “And if she hadn’t gotten a bad feeling, she would have been the next victim.”
“That is a fascinating account,” Cirillo says, leaning forward. “Might I ask you for details later?”
“You’d need to ask my grandmother.”
Cirillo pauses, and Jin lets out a laugh.
“No, I’m not telling you to contact her ghost, Doc. My grandmother is still alive. Ninety-two and sharp as ever. She remembers every bit of that story. Whether she’ll tell you is another matter, but I can ask.”
Cirillo thanks him and makes a few notes before announcing it’s time for the séance.
I’m sitting on the sofa. No one is beside me. That’s Anton’s spot. It would feel more natural if the others were in the armchairs. Instead, they’ve brought in kitchen chairs so they can pull right up to the table where Cirillo is working. That leaves me at an awkward remove, feeling half like an observer and half like an experimental subject.
I don’t argue. I get what Cirillo is doing. Jin and Shania are here to assist him. Conduits and welcoming faces. I’m the main attraction.
Come sit on the sofa with me, Anton. Curl up by the fire. Just the two of us.
I’ve been to a lot of séances in the last eight months. I’d rather not say how many. More than five, less than twenty. Most have a very standard routine that calls to mind Victorian spiritualism. Sit in a circle. Hold hands. Light candles. Maybe burn incense. Set out somethingfor the spirit to communicate through, whether it’s a Ouija board or an old-fashioned spirit board or a pad of paper and a pen, should the medium be seized by the urge to start “automatic” writing.
Except for the semicircle of three people around a table, this is different. There is only a single candle, which Cirillo explains is to detect drafts in the room. If the room is drafty, that would explain sensations of cold or breezes. There are also mechanical devices to measure everything from room pressure to temperature to motion. Those allow for quantifiable proof of environmental changes. A microphone is set up, too, though it’s for amplifying sound rather than recording it.
All this is very rigorous, reminding us that Cirillo is a man of science.
The other items are the ones that remind us that this is a ritual intended to reach beyond science. These are the items I brought. Touchstones to Anton’s life.
A row of three small framed photos sits on the table. The first is Anton as a child at Disneyland with his parents. The second is him in his twenties, skiing with friends. The third is us partying after our wedding. Three stages of his life. Three happy memories.
In front of each photo is a memento from that time of his life. A gold medal from a math competition. The key to his first apartment. His wedding band.
And in the middle of the table… the wooden box that contains his cremated remains.
I’m supposed to get comfortable on the sofa, which makes me feel even more uncomfortable. I’m dressed in clothing I’d worn the first time I came here with Anton. It’d been early enough in our relationship that I’d forgone the vacation-certified sweatpants and comfy sweaters, instead opting for my clubbing jeans and a cashmere sweater that hugged what few curves I had. Under it I’d worn some of the undergarments I’d rush-bought when it seemed like a good bet that our next dinner date would end in bed. It’s not like mydrawers had been full of granny panties and shapeless graying bras. Just because I hadn’t dated in a while didn’t mean I was celibate. But I wanted to go the extra mile for Anton.
Now I’m wearing those jeans and that sweater and even a sexy matching bra and panties. I’m sitting demurely on one end of the sofa with my legs tucked under me, but I still feel as if I’m sprawled here like an offering.
Come get me, big boy. You know you want to.
The others don’t notice anything amiss. To them, I’m just curled up in the corner of the sofa, primly waiting for my dead husband to pay a visit.
“Anton Novak,” Cirillo says. “We’d like to welcome you to join us this evening. Nicola is here, and she’s waiting for you.”
Oh, yeah. Come on, big boy. I’m ready and waiting.
I bite my cheek to keep from laughing, but I know Anton would definitely see the humor in this, and if I actually said that, he’d be more likely to respond—with a laugh and a lewd comment—than he would to Cirillo’s polite invitation.
So I let myself smile, and I let my thoughts wander into the ridiculousness of this setup, and that’s what relaxes me. I imagine Anton really there, flopping onto the sofa and lifting my feet onto his lap.
Table of Contents
- Page 1
- Page 2
- Page 3
- Page 4
- Page 5
- Page 6
- Page 7
- Page 8
- Page 9
- Page 10
- Page 11
- Page 12
- Page 13
- Page 14
- Page 15
- Page 16
- Page 17
- Page 18
- Page 19
- Page 20
- Page 21
- Page 22
- Page 23
- Page 24
- Page 25
- Page 26
- Page 27
- Page 28
- Page 29
- Page 30
- Page 31
- Page 32
- Page 33
- Page 34
- Page 35
- Page 36
- Page 37
- Page 38
- Page 39
- Page 40
- Page 41
- Page 42
- Page 43
- Page 44 (Reading here)
- Page 45
- Page 46
- Page 47
- Page 48
- Page 49
- Page 50
- Page 51
- Page 52
- Page 53
- Page 54
- Page 55
- Page 56
- Page 57
- Page 58
- Page 59
- Page 60
- Page 61
- Page 62
- Page 63
- Page 64
- Page 65
- Page 66
- Page 67
- Page 68
- Page 69
- Page 70
- Page 71
- Page 72
- Page 73
- Page 74
- Page 75
- Page 76
- Page 77
- Page 78
- Page 79
- Page 80
- Page 81
- Page 82
- Page 83
- Page 84
- Page 85
- Page 86
- Page 87
- Page 88
- Page 89
- Page 90
- Page 91
- Page 92
- Page 93
- Page 94
- Page 95
- Page 96
- Page 97
- Page 98
- Page 99
- Page 100
- Page 101
- Page 102
- Page 103
- Page 104
- Page 105
- Page 106
- Page 107
- Page 108
- Page 109
- Page 110
- Page 111
- Page 112
- Page 113
- Page 114
- Page 115
- Page 116
- Page 117
- Page 118
- Page 119
- Page 120
- Page 121
- Page 122
- Page 123
- Page 124
- Page 125
- Page 126
- Page 127
- Page 128
- Page 129
- Page 130
- Page 131
- Page 132
- Page 133
- Page 134