The Listener
Page 21
“They played a Catch-22 game with Mark, enticing him to cooperate with false promises of returning home. One of his captors at the time was a former agent, once part of the group that broke away from the Bureau’s studies; his name was Foster. Foster accused Mark of killing his accomplice, Caleb West, a remote viewer also once with the FBI program.
“Mark had discovered a hidden unique ability known as telepathic intrusion, and when he focused it on Caleb, it resulted in his death from a cerebral hemorrhage. Foster decided to eliminate Mark, whom he now considered to be a liability or loose cannon.
“When Foster tried to kill Mark, Mark responded as a soldier and defended himself, or at least, what he describes in the letter is self defense. Mark killed Foster, as well as another accomplice, a woman named Myra. And so the blackmail continued for years.”
“I’ve come to a conclusion on my own, Agent Wiley,” Sidney spoke up. “I think Hadley, not understanding this thing called telepathic intrusion, caused my own episode. We know now that he was listening to us, remotely, the night of Tracy Kimball’s accident; my headaches began shortly after that.”
“Sidney, he would never have intended—” Susan said.
“I know,” Sidney said. “But isn’t it ironic that he died the same way as Caleb?”
“He’d been trying to get inside my mind,” Ryan said, nervously. “As he was trying to read my thoughts, something happened to him; the blood just started flowing from his nose, like something stopped him.”
Silence filled the room as they all looked at the boy, realizing that the strange inheritance had been passed on, and that what went around had come back around.
“I wonder what it was,” he said.
“I have a very good idea what, or who, it was,” Leah said. No one said another word.
* * * *
After the meeting was over, Wiley bid his goodbyes to everyone, and Annie thanked him one last time for finding her son.
“You stay safe, Ryan.” he said. “Don’t let this bring you down. Keep up your work with the team and Dr. Logan. They will help you through this.”
“He will,” Annie said. “I’ll make sure this time.”
The three of them left the hospital, and as Annie and Ryan drove home, the boy broke the awkward silence that seemed to be setting in everywhere.
“Mom, you know what I think? I think Dad somehow saved me. I wasn’t hearing him for awhile, but I think he was there.”
Annie smiled at how smart her son was.
“I think so too, Ryan. I really do.”
* * * *
Susan and the rest of the team, including Ursula, gathered in Sidney’s room. Dr. Talbot had just given Sidney the news that he could be released the next day, so long as he abided by the doctor’s orders of complete bed rest, no stress, and to keep all of his ensuing medical appointments.
The team assured him that they would look after Sidney, and Talbot left the room. Then, they motioned for Dylan to make the respective announcements.
“Susan,” he said. “I have heard word from the society’s sponsors, as of today. They, along with the rest of us, are unanimous in concluding that we would like you to assume the position of the society’s coordinator. We feel that you are the best choice to lead our efforts.”
Susan looked at them.
“You mean, replace Roman Hadley?”
“That’s right,” Dylan said.
“I accept.” Her answer was quick, assertive.
“Also, I’d like to congratulate Ursula,” Dylan said. “We have asked her to come and work and explore with us, and she has agreed.”
A light applause was directed at her.
“Thank you,” she said. “Though I’m sure between my studies and work, my attendance will be sporadic, but I am thrilled and excited.”
“We are happy to have you,” Dylan said.
“That’s right,” Sidney said. “And now that I’ll be going home, maybe you can come over with the rest of the team and fill us in on your story?”
She agreed, and Susan noticed as three kids parading in costume for the patients entered Sidney’s room and called in a not-so-loud voice...
“Trick-or-Treat!”
“Halloween, already,” Susan said. “I’m so glad that we can call an end to this horrible month once and for all.”
And all agreed.
Epilogue
Leah was grateful, relieved to be back in the plush comfort of her own bed. Recently, the days seemed unending, and tonight she was sure to sleep soundlessly, or so she thought.
She couldn’t actually recall falling asleep, as the day’s events seemed to merge with the past, as she lay immobile. But in the dream state, it all played out for her again...
She’d been in Cedar Manor; it was just as she remembered, as though time had never passed. She was chasing the runaway spool of yarn that unwound down the hallway, running after it as it moved on its own to some predestined location. Then, she saw Agnes in the rocker; they smiled at each other.
She jumped, ran, and played, reliving the playful joy of childhood. Suddenly the lights flickered on and off, and she heard the sound of her father’s voice calling out to her...
“Leah, where are you?”
Her mother’s voice came next...
“Leah! Stay away from that mirror!”
In the dream, she could see and hear the ticking of the grandfather clock...
Tick, tock, tick, tock,
The swaying of its second hand back and forth was interrupted by flashing visions: the basement, then the clock, the face of the dead woman murdered by Agnes’ son, the clock, her mother’s feet swaying beneath her skirt as her body hung from the swaying noose tied to the balcony, the clock, silence except for the ticking. Then, she heard the breathing again, and the rapid, grating, respiration grew louder, causing the frightened little girl to run as she heard it nearing.
She ran down the hallway, faster and faster, closer and closer toward the mirror. She wasn’t allowed to go near it, but something was drawing her there. She was amazed at how quickly she covered more ground than usual. The breath heaved faster and harder as the little girl now faced the mirror and looked inside. There wasn’t anything there...
Then it leapt out at her. The ghastly, Hellish reflection had been hiding off to the side, somewhere inside the mirror. Its misshapen face was deformed, decayed from what looked like death and decomposition. The hair was a long rotten mane, lifeless like straw. The breathing was coming from it, and it was staring at her with a cold, dead, discolored eye, as though it meant to find her. The breath became faster. It knew her; it had found her, and it was waiting for her, its breath heaving loudly.
She shot up from the bed, shedding sleep, her heart beating wildly in her chest, and the sound of the breathing now belonged to her. The sweat poured down her face, and she felt it soak her nightshirt. She switched on the light as quickly as possible.
Reality didn’t seem to bring the same relief that it normally did; the nightmare was vivid, fresh, the details etching into her mind. She couldn’t live this way anymore, and realized in the bright waking light of her bedroom what must be done. It was time to confront it. One way or another, it was time to go back into that house...
CITATIONS
The Moody Blues, “Nights In White Satin” from Days of Future Passed. Justin Hayward. Prod: Tony Clarke. Derham Records.
About the Author
Christopher Carrolli is a full-time writer, who lives in Western Pennsylvania. He is a graduate of University of Pittsburgh at Greensburg and holds a BA in English Writing, and an AA in English. He has also won the Ida B. Wells Prize in Journalism. The Listener is Chris’ second novel and second installment in The Paranormal Investigator Series. He is currently writing the third installment, The Third Eye of Leah Leeds.
Facebook: www.facebook.com/ccarrolli
Blog: www.christophercarrolli.blogspot.com/
Email: carrollic@aol.com
Goodreads: w
ww.goodreads.com/carrollic
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