"She's your mother and she's concerned about you."
I bite my bottom lip so I won't burst into tears. Already did that enough during what was left of the nighttime, knowing what I'd face this morning.
"You're damn right, I'm concerned," Mom says emphatically. "Kendall, you're inviting evil spirits into this house, and I will not have it."
I sit forward on the couch and plant my hands next to me. I have to make them understand. Make Mom understand. "Mom, I'm not inviting any—" I stop the additional words from leaving my mouth.
Mom holds out my dowsing pendulum to show my dad. "Father Ludwig says this is used to contact spirits. It's a form of divination. Deuteronomy 18:10 says that none among you should use divination. And yet you sit in your bedroom under my roof and do that? You tell me, Kendall."
I reach for the pink quartz and nearly teeter off the couch when Mom yanks the pendant away from me and tucks it into the pocket of her bathrobe.
"It is used to communicate with spirits—" I admit.
"See?" Mom interrupts.
"I can't battle Bible quotes with you because you know more than I do," I say in my defense. Why would God give me this gift if I couldn't use it? "I just know what I'm doing is not a bad thing. We have a ghost here in this house and I was just trying to talk to her and find out what she wants."
Dad sets his cup on the coffee table, which is the only barrier between Mom and me. "Kendall, you're not actually buying into all of the ghost stories here in Radisson, are you? It's just a waste of time and energy. Don't get sucked into that vortex, kiddo."
How can I get them to believe me when I only just recently started believing myself? "I swear, Dad. We have a ghost. I've seen her and heard her. I was communicating with her last night and asking her questions about if she knew she was dead and how she died and other stuff."
Mom's hand flies to her mouth, and her eyes mist over with tears. "I don't understand. Any of this. Not at all. I've raised you to be a good Christian girl, Kendall. And you repay me by ... by ... by dabbling in the occult!"
Oh my God. She did not just go there!
I bolt up and run to her side. "Mom, it's not like that at all." Hot, gushy tears obscure my vision as I try to explain myself. I put my hesitation aside; I've got to make my parents understand. "I didn't conjure this up. I'm not in a cult or trying to worship Satan or anything. You've got to believe me. This is why I can't sleep. First it was too quiet, and then I started hearing a voice through the white-noise machine, and now, I'm just hearing the voice in my head."
This makes Mom cry even more. "I knew you needed medication. I'm taking you in to see Dr. Murphy today."
"Please don't! It's not anything mental at all! I'm telling you guys, I've come into an awakening. At least, that's what Loreen calls it."
"Who's Loreen? An imaginary friend?" Dad asks. His eyes shift from me to Mom and then back to me.
"No," I say emphatically. "Loreen's the lady who owns Divining Woman in the Square. What do you mean, imaginary friend? I'm almost seventeen, Dad."
He sits back and fidgets with the rim of his glasses. "When you were a little girl, you had an imaginary friend."
"David ... don't."
"I so did not." This just doesn't seem like me. I never did anything you'd expect a little kid to do: I never sucked my thumb or wet my bed. I didn't play with Barbies or baby dolls, so I certainly wouldn't have had an imaginary friend. Would I?
"You did too," Dad continues. "Never knew her name, but you said she sang to you and taught you songs. Your Grandma Ethel always said it was just angels watching over you."
Awww ... that's really cute. Mom even has a wistful look on her face; however, it quickly morphs back into the concerned-parent scowl.
"I don't remember that," I say in my defense.
"After Kaitlin was born, you quit talking about your friend," Dad says. "So we never thought anything of it. It's normal enough for children to do that."
Right, because children have pure souls and they can see things that adults don't recognize. They accept unexplained things in their lives and are more sensitive to their sixth sense. At least, that's what I've read on all these websites that Celia and I have been trolling. Could I have been talking to spirits or ghosts way back then? Of course, the thought of me sitting in my room thinking someone named Tony was living in my head, a la Danny from The Shining, kind of creeps me out. Since my Sixth Sense reference didn't work on my parents, I highly doubt that telling them I "shine" would do much good either. They're not very cinematic.
I need for them to believe me, even if I don't quite understand this myself. "You guys, I'm telling you. I've developed psychic abilities."
"That's just absurd, Kendall," Mom snaps.
Kaitlin chooses that moment to butt in. "You've got what?"
Dad turns. "Kaitlin, this is between your sister and us."
My sister sticks her tongue out. "You're a freak, Kendall."
Dad points at the stairs. "Kaitlin, enough! Go get ready for school."
"Well, she is a freak," she mutters as she runs up the stairs.
"Just wait until your awakening," I scream out. "It's hereditary, you know."
My parents look at me like they've just seen a ghost. My mother has gone completely pale, and Dad's eyes are dilated.
"You're going for Communion this afternoon," Mom announces. "We haven't been to Christ the Redeemer Holy Episcopal Church yet, but Father Ludwig said he'd call the priest and do an introduction for us."
"Mom, this has nothing to do with religion. It has to do with my awakening." I feel like I'm practically begging here.
She leans closer to me. It's like she's aged ten years over-night because of her concern for me. I hate that I'm causing her pain and confusion. How does she think I feel?
"Who told you about this awakening you keep referring to?" she asks.
"Loreen. Loreen Woods. The lady at the store in the Square. I told you."
Dad pauses. "What kind of store is it? Divining Woman?"
I swallow hard and bite my bottom lip again. "It's uhhh, an, ummm ... New Age store." Then I jump to defend Loreen. "She's a psychic/sensitive/intuitive herself, so she understands what I'm going through." I try explaining everything Loreen and I talked about. Especially how my sensitivity is a gift. "It is, Mom. It's something special that God has given me." Although, at the present moment, it seems like a curse. "I'm not making this up and I don't need mind-altering medication. This is real."
Dad pulls Mom aside and lowers his voice. I can hear him plainly, though, thanks to my sensitivity. "Sarah, I'm sure this is how she's coping with all the change. This move can't have been easy for her or Kaitlin. They're each adjusting in their own way. They need our love and support more than anything."
"I always provide that to my children," Mom says quickly but quietly. "I will not have some strange woman giving my child guidance on how to cultivate psychic abilities. It goes against everything I believe in. It goes against the Word of God. You go to work, David. Trust me to handle this."
I watch as Dad gives Mom a quick kiss and then winks at me. "We'll talk when I get home tonight, okay, Kendall?"
"Okay, Dad." Not like it's going to do any good. They think I've gone off the deep end. And I haven't even gotten around to telling them about my ghost hunting with Celia and Taylor. That's something I'm going to have to keep to myself for now. Mom would blow a gasket.
She won't look at me when she speaks. "Go get ready for school, Kendall."
"Yes, Mom," I say, not wanting to push her any further.
As I pass by her, she takes my elbow to stop me. "One more thing, Kendall."
"Yes, ma'am?"
"I forbid you to see or talk to that Loreen Woods woman anymore. Is that understood? You're not to call her or go into her store or anything. You will stop all of your unusual behavior at this moment. Am I understood?"
My chest constricts, making it hard to take an adequate breath. Mom's words slice thro
ugh me, bisecting my life into compartments labeled normal and abnormal. All I wanted was to fit in here in Radisson. So I have psychic abilities and I see ghosts. And I have friends that appreciate that. Aren't those good things? I guess not.
I echo my previous words. "Yes, ma'am."
"Good." She hugs me and kisses the top of my head. "I love you, Kendall. I'll protect you against anything in this world."
Yeah, but what about the other world? Can she protect me from spirits? Can she shelter any of us from what I've seen and heard? Can she shield Dad from the harm that's possibly going to come to him?
The ghost huntress in me knows she can't.
"Thank you for the pizza, Mrs. Moorehead," Taylor says. She's as perky and vivacious at eight thirty at night as she is during the school day. My mom's eating it up, though. And there's been absolutely no reference to this morning's family discussion. It's like it never happened.
Mom beams at my friend. "Glad you enjoyed it, Taylor. Since I lived in Chicago so long, making deep-dish pizza is second nature for me."
"It was really awesome," Celia chimes in.
I get up off the floor and move to escort my mother out of my room. "Thanks, Mom. Really. We're all set."
"I'm baking chocolate chip cookies," she calls out. Who is she, all of a sudden? Some genetically engineered combination of June Cleaver and Betty Crocker?
"Mooooooom," I moan, like Kaitlin.
She smiles warmly. "I'm going." Then she lowers her head and whispers, "Isn't this much more fun, Kendall? Hanging with normal girls and making new friends?"
"Right, Mom." Little does she know about our shared interest.
It's like these are Mom's first friends, too, and she doesn't want to leave. I have to remember, she lost her close friends—
like I lost Marjorie—when we moved here. "What are you going to do? Watch TV, listen to music?" she asks.
"Talk about boys," I say, knowing it's the perfect teenage answer she's expecting.
"How fun! Enjoy!"
I close the door as Giggly McGiggleton—a.k.a. Sarah Moorehead—goes down the stairs to tend to her baked goods. Love the woman, but she seriously needs to give me some space.
"Your mom is trop adorable pour des mots,"Taylor says with a heavy French accent.
Sorry, I only know a few German and Spanish curse words. "She's what?"
Taylor's eyes shine. "Too cute for words."
Celia wipes her mouth with a napkin. "Can we get down to business, ladies?"
"Oh, come on, Celia. It's a slumber party. We should talk about boys first," Taylor says. She reaches into her purse and reapplies her shiny lip-gloss that had been eaten off with her pizza.
Celia opens her laptop and starts it up. "I don't want to talk about guys. We've got to start focusing on our ghost hunting and what our plan is."
I wouldn't mind talking about guys if we talk about one in particular. I'm sure Taylor could give me all the scoop on her brother. However, I don't want her to think I'm just friends with her because her brother is a mad-hot cutie any more than I want her to think we're only friends because she's the school's best photographer. And Celia's certainly not interested in the opposite sex these days, even though she was doodling some guy in her notebook. So I decide not to push the guy issue right now.
"We'll dish dirt later," I say. "First, let's get all of our equipment set up and then start thinking of places we can investigate after we rid my house of this floaty woman."
An hour later, we've got all three laptops juiced up, the sound equipment recording, and the infrared cameras strategically placed around the room. Funny, Mom was so exuberant about bringing us her homemade chocolate chip and pecan cookies, she didn't even notice that we weren't painting our nails, doing each other's hair, or gabbing about guys, but instead were all peering at the screens of our respective computers.
As Celia is demonstrating the EMF meter to Taylor, I suddenly experience a swirling of energy coming into the room like a fine mist. I don't see anything, but that familiar heavy chest pain is back.
I reach over and touch Celia's arm. "I'm feeling something."
Expeditiously, she turns the EMF toward me, and the meter starts flashing red. "This means there's a strong electromagnetic energy present," Celia explains. "Can you reel it in, Kendall?"
Taylor's mouth forms a perfect, round O. "Reel what in?"
The tingling sensation in my fingers sparks out all the way to the tips. We're totally not alone here. I just know it. Taking a deep sip of breath to steady myself, I say, "We have company."
Celia moves the meter around me, concentrating on the readings it's giving off. "Direct me to where it is, if you can."
I sit still on the floor and breathe as regularly as possible so I can withstand the ache in my chest. It's as if my heart isn't right. If I had to explain it to a TV reporter or something, I'd say it's like someone has a fist around it and is squeezing the shit out of it.
"It's ... everywhere," I say. "I just feel the energy around me and in the room."
"You should take some pictures, Taylor."
She jumps to her feet. "Oh, right! That's what I'm here for. I'm the photographer. Should I use infrared or digital?"
"Digital right now," Celia instructs. I watch a smile break out on her face. "This is pretty cool."
I nod in return, not wanting to break my concentration.
The sound of Taylor's digital camera clicks and beeps around me. She's got one of those models with all the bells and whistles, literally. Maybe she should put it on the museum setting and not scare away the floaty woman.
"I'm going to kill the lights," Celia says. "You know, to, like, encourage the spirit."
"Ooo, I've got goose pimples!" Taylor stretches out her arm to show the tiny mounds all over. I know exactly what she means, as I've also got chill bumps dancing all over my skin.
"Let's try to make contact," I say.
"Excellent," Celia exclaims, then shushes herself. We certainly don't want the Happy Homemaker busting in on us and totally wigging out. It would be the final nail in my custom-built parental coffin. Something like this would put Sarah and David over the edge and have me sent off to a convent or, worse, a mental institution.
I reach in my pocket for my pendulum and remember it's not there. "Shit!"
Taylor's eyebrow arches when she pulls the camera away from her face. "What is it? You're not possessed or anything, are you?"
"No, Mom took my pendulum."
"Double shit," Celia adds. The EMF meter is raring red for all to see. "Something big is here and it wants to make contact."
Think fast.
I look over at Taylor and take note of her silver heart pendant hanging from a chain. "Hand me your necklace, Taylor. I can use it as a pendulum."
Her hand moves to her neck and she balks. "It's Elsa Peretti."
"Will she mind?" I ask.
Taylor giggles. "Mon dieu, au contraire. Elsa Peretti. She designs for Tiffany and Company."
"Oh. I don't care. It'll swing, won't it?"
Celia interrupts and points to my dresser. "Do you have anything in your jewelry box?"
Yeah, Taylor's not budging on her designer necklace. I don't blame her. If I had something name brand and expensive like that, I'd tell people to piss off too.
But wait, I sort of do have something that nice. Well, sentimental, at least. Following Celia's suggestion, I rummage through my jewelry box and pull out a very personal black velvet bag.
"What's in there?" Celia asks.
Taylor snaps a few pictures, nearly blinding me with the megaflash she's got on that thing. "Sorry, I should warn y'all next time." She slants toward me. "Oh, Kendall! That's gorgeous! Très magnifique!"
"Shhh! I don't want my mom to hear and come in. I already told you guys I'm in big trouble."
I slowly draw the family heirloom from its protective place. It's a long silver chain with a pristine crystal teardrop on the end of it. Grandma Ethel left it to me in her
will because I used to always want to look at it whenever I visited her house. She told me it was made from angels' tears.
"This'll work perfectly."
The three of us return to the middle of my room, and I take a seat on the floor. Taylor scurries around snapping pictures—and saying "Flash!" beforehand—and Celia monitors the computer. There are spikes on the sound equipment that make me think she's picking something up on the recording. I try and tune in to my subconscious to see what, if any, messages I'm getting. I'm not exactly thrilled with this, but Loreen told me that I've got to conquer my fear because the spirits will feed off it. Sort of like that thing about dogs knowing when you're afraid of them and charging you. That happened to me in sixth grade when Marjorie and I were walking home from getting frozen yogurt. A neighbor's Doberman pinscher got loose from his chain and damn near chased me up a tree because I screamed and ran when I saw him. Stupid dog was just after my chocolate-vanilla swirl, but he sensed my terror.
I can't let the floaty woman—or any other spirit—key in to that, so I stuff my emotions deep down into the pit of my stomach, to be digested along with the pizza and cookies. My job as a psychic intuitive is to make contact at all costs.
I hold the necklace like I would my pink quartz pendulum. The quivering of the chain tickles at my fingers and I'm ready.
"What does that do?" Taylor asks. I give her a quick Dowsing for Dummies explanation and continue with my questions.
"Are there any spirits with us?"
The crystal drop moves slowly at first, clockwise.
"That's a yes, isn't it?" Celia asks.
I nod. Taylor takes a picture.
Suddenly, I'm ice-cold, like I've been sitting in a deep freeze.
"Y'all, it's way cold in here," Taylor whispers.
Celia agrees. "Cold air just rushed around my feet." She takes a small black meter from her pocket and points it at the floor. "Fifty-eight degrees."
"In here?" Taylor questions.
"Right here," Celia says. Then she points the temperature gauge over by my bed. "Seventy-two."
"That's quite a change," I say with a tinge of excitement in my voice. Sure, I want this creepy ghost out of my house and away from my family. However, it doesn't mean that I can't get a thrill that it actually exists and we can track it.
The Awakening Page 12
