by E. E. Holmes
Campbell was expecting us—we’d made our appointment through the official channels. The security guards waved us right up the driveway and into a small parking lot around the far side of the house. Finn killed the engine and we exited the car; we each sported our own pair of oversized sunglasses. We made our way to the front steps, where a sunnily beaming woman in a crisp white pantsuit invited us inside.
“Welcome to the Sanctuary at Whispering Seraph, Ms. Taylor and Ms. Taylor. We’ve been expecting you. If you’ll come this way.” The woman’s voice was so calming that she might’ve been singing a lullaby.
Obediently, we followed her into an elegant foyer with a grand staircase. A number of large paintings, probably commissioned works from successful artists, hung on the walls. I knew it was important to try to give off an air of indifference—if we really were as rich as we claimed, we would’ve frequented places more opulent than this. To stop myself from staring, I pulled out my phone and pretended to be texting. In actuality, I was silently snapping as many pictures as I could—if Campbell didn’t invite us to stay, I might not get another chance.
The woman ushered us into a formal parlor with high ceilings, restored antique furniture, and a fireplace flanked by columns that imitated the ones on the outside of the house. Hannah and I sat down, but neither of us removed our sunglasses; it was much easier to keep hiding behind them.
“Mr. Campbell will be right with you,” the woman said. She glanced at Finn and Iggy, who stood imposingly by the door with their chests thrown out and their arms crossed. “Do you prefer having your security stay with you while you meet with Mr. Campbell?”
“Yes,” Hannah and I cried together, much too loudly.
“Yes,” I repeated, in a calmer voice. “Our father insists on it when we’re traveling without him. I hope that won’t be a problem?”
“No, certainly not,” the woman said, nodding at Iggy. She turned back to us, gesturing to a tea cart in the corner. “Can I offer you some refreshment? Iced tea?”
Hannah shook her head but I accepted. “No sweetener, please, and make sure it’s cold.”
“Of course,” the woman said, pouring me a glass before heaping ice into it. She handed it to me and placed a lace-edged napkin on the table in front of me. “Mr. Campbell will be right with you.” Then she backed out of the room, closing the large, polished, French doors behind her.
Hannah pulled off her sunglasses and stared at me. “What are you doing? Don’t talk to her like that, we’ll get in trouble!”
“No, no, it’s smart,” Milo said, giving me an approving smile. “She’s acting like a VIP. You think the wealthy come here without personal demands? I bet Talia Simms carries a whole list of crazy things around with her wherever she goes.” He sighed before adding dreamily, “I know I would.”
“Yes, but we aren’t famous movie stars, and we shouldn’t be rude,” Hannah said. She looked at Finn for guidance.
“I think it’s fine. Don’t talk to Campbell like that, though.”
“I’m not an idiot,” I snapped. To calm my mounting nerves, I took a large swig of my iced tea—and inadvertently gave myself a brain freeze headache. Well, my drink was cold, anyway; the woman knew how to follow instructions.
The door beside the fireplace swung open. I squinted through my brain freeze and watched Jeremiah Campbell stroll into the room toward us. He was tall and square-jawed, with chiseled features, thick salt-and-pepper hair, and the kind of smile you rarely saw outside of headshots and commercials.
“Ms. Taylor and Ms. Taylor. How very charming to meet you both,” he said, reaching out a bronzed, perfectly manicured hand. “And let me first say, before we exchange any more pleasantries, how very sorry I am for whatever loss may have brought you here.”
He had a smooth and sultry Southern drawl; the rhythm of it was pleasant and soothing, almost hypnotic. For a moment, all I could do was nod and stare at him while he shook my hand.
I pulled myself together. “Thank you,” I replied. “It’s been… hard.”
“Oh, nothing harder, nothing harder in this world,” he agreed with a solemn nod of his head. “Now, please do sit down again and make yourselves just as comfortable as you can. I see my manager Maya has offered you some refreshment. Do y’all require anything else—anything at all—before we start our interview? Please don’t hesitate to ask. I assure you, it would be no trouble.”
“No, thank you,” I said, looking over at Hannah, who shook her head mutely. She seemed stunned, or else too nervous, to answer for herself.
“Very well, then, if you’re quite sure.”
Campbell took a seat facing us. “I do hope it’s alright if we chat here. I generally handle these sorts of things in the office, but this is much more friendly, don’t you agree? No need to put a desk between us—we’ll get to know each other that much better.” He smiled again.
I twitched my mouth into a smile in return. Behind me, Iggy cleared his throat quietly.
“Now, first of all, let me tell you just a little bit about myself,” Campbell began, plucking a bit of lint from his cuff and flicking it gently to the carpet. “I like to start this way, you see, not because I particularly enjoy talking about myself, but because, personally, I find it so much easier to open up to someone who has first opened up to me. So I think it’s most important for you to have a very clear understanding of who I am and what we do here at Whispering Seraph’s Sanctuary—and not just the kind of information in the brochure. Although,” he gave a small laugh, “I do hope you found our literature to be helpful and informative?”
“Yes,” I replied. I cleared my throat, which felt dry despite the iced tea. “That’s why we’re here.”
“That’s just fine then,” Campbell said. “Well, I had a very religious family, as one might expect, growing up in the Bible Belt, but I’ve never been a particularly religious man. I can’t say why, exactly, that is. Maybe it’s because, admittedly, I’ve led a charmed life, for the most part. I’ve been very successful in my relationships and business ventures. I was born into a solid Southern family, and I haven’t faced very many struggles—perhaps that’s why I never felt the true need for spiritual guidance in my life. I say this not to boast—it’s just that most of the good things in my life have fallen into my lap, and I don’t deny that. Happy circumstances, as it were. Good education, a well-connected family, that sort of thing. Y’all understand where I’m coming from, here?”
“Yes,” I said, and Hannah nodded again. We were impersonating wealthy heiresses, after all—they would know about being born into a charmed life. “I… that is to say, we, have been very lucky as well.”
“Well, yes,” Campbell said, and his smile bloomed as he reached a hand out toward us. “We are quite alike in this way, aren’t we?” I took his hand—largely so Hannah didn’t have to—and allowed him to give it a friendly squeeze. “I spent fifty-seven years of my life overly concerned with the material, while barely sparing a thought for what we might call spiritual concerns. I never would’ve claimed a deep connection to those who have passed on. In fact—and I’m ashamed to admit this—but I’m not sure I truly believed in life after death. It’s a thought that still torments me, knowing what I know now.”
Campbell hung his head for a moment, as though in silent contemplation of this past misdeed. Hannah and I both watched him, literally mesmerized by his charm, seeming openness, and whatever show he was putting on in this moment.
He exhaled and looked up again, although his dazzling smile seemed somehow quieter now. “I may never know the reason I was chosen. Surely, there were others of much deeper faith—those far more deserving of this task—but I can’t ever hope to fathom any of that. The Lord, as they say, works in mysterious ways. But the fact of the matter is, one day I woke up with a wondrous connection, a connection that I gave up quite literally everything in my life to follow. I have striven to use it for good; it’s a connection I will use to help you both, if we agree that it will be mutually
beneficial for all of us.”
He smiled at us both again, encouraging us to contribute to the conversation. I swallowed hard. “We would love that. We… we need your help.” I took Hannah’s hand; I hoped it would look to Campbell as if I were reaching out to her for support, rather than trying to calm her nerves.
“Yes, let’s talk about that. I’d very much like to know what brought you here today. Now that you know a bit about me, I hope you’ll be inclined to tell me a bit about yourselves?”
Hannah and I looked at each other; I knew that she was truly panicking now. I suddenly realized her anxiety might work for us—Campbell would probably think she was giving into her grief.
Here goes everything. As excited as I had been a few days ago about being a Tracker, I was decidedly less than enthused now; what if this guy saw straight through us?
I turned back to Campbell and took a deep breath. “Well, you have our application, so you know a lot about us already,” I said, taking off my sunglasses and forcing myself to meet his eye. “Look, I know we’re a lot like you were. We haven’t had a lot of struggles. Maybe that’s why we’re having so much trouble dealing with what’s happened.”
Helpfully, Hannah pulled herself together enough to nod at this point.
Campbell was nodding too, in a way that suggested he not only understood what I was saying, but that he had anticipated every word of it. “And tell me ladies, what, exactly, has happened? In your own words—and do take your time—tell me your experience,” he said, with all sorts of empathy and patience in his voice. If he were faking it, he was very, very good.
“We lost our best friend,” I said bluntly. “He died a few months ago, but we think he might still be here with us.”
“I see,” Campbell said, clasping his hands together and bringing his two pointer fingers to rest thoughtfully against his lips. “And what is it that makes you think your friend is still with you?”
We were prepared to answer this question, both verbally and with help from Milo’s energy. Through our connection, I could feel Milo’s energy buzzing all the more excitedly, offering himself up for detection; in my peripheral vision, I could see that his form was glowing more brightly now. Throughout our interview, I’d been watching Campbell closely for any indication of his being able to sense Milo; Campbell had given no such acknowledgment. But now that Milo was revving himself up, I knew that, behind his sunglasses, Finn was now on ultra-high alert for any inking of Campbell’s “gift.”
“It’s little things, I guess. Lights flickering on and off. Doors opening and closing. The night before we called you, our TV turned itself to Milo’s favorite show three times… after we’d shut it off. Or sometimes, we find things in different places from where we left them—especially gifts he’d given us. These bracelets, for example,” and here I held my wrist up, showing him the Masking bracelet, “Milo gave them to us as a birthday gift. Yesterday morning, before we left, they were laid out on our vanities—with no explanation.”
“And you feel certain that these experiences are due to Milo’s presence, and not to something else? Something entirely explainable… or even merely coincidence?” Campbell prodded carefully. “I don’t mean to offend you. It is simply one of those questions that I must—in good conscience—ask anyone who seeks my help.”
“No, no, I get that. I’m not offended. And no, I just don’t think it can be a coincidence.”
Campbell turned to Hannah. “And you, Ms. Taylor?”
“No,” Hannah said, her voice a tiny squeak. “It’s Milo. It has to be.”
I jumped in, attempting to spare my sister from further direct questions. “You have to understand, Mr. Campbell, that we were almost never apart. Milo even lived with us for the last year he was alive. The three of us did everything together, like we were triplets instead of twins. Do you know what I mean?”
Campbell shook his head sadly. “No, I cannot truthfully say that I do. I don’t believe I could ever hope to comprehend the level of your connection, nor fully appreciate the depth of your grief. I won’t insult you by pretending I can understand what you are going through.”
Shit. He was good, I had to give it to him.
“Many, many people believe they are haunted,” Campbell went on. “I apologize for using what might feel like an indelicate term, but I have yet to find another that fits. If your friend is indeed with you, he’s occupying a space in your life—a space that needs to be free and clear for you to move forward and heal. Now I must tell you both that most people who believe they’re haunted are mistaken. It isn’t their fault—they aren’t crazy or delusional. They’re merely victims of desperate hopes and wishful thinking. I don’t want to be harsh, but have you considered that this might be the case for you?”
“Of course we have!” I cried, playing my part. “We don’t want to be in this situation. I’m sure a lot of the people you meet are just hoping and praying that they’ve got a ghost, but that’s not us. Or at least, that’s not me.”
I threw a look at Hannah. She picked up her cue and scowled at me. “Shut up, Jess.”
“No!” I snapped back at her. “He needs to hear this.” I turned to Campbell. “Hannah took it a lot harder than I did when Milo died. Now she tries to talk to him, to encourage him to stay around. It’s not healthy.”
Hannah looked down at her feet; it played as shame, but I could only assume she wanted to avoid Campbell’s probing gaze. “It’s not me. It’s him. He’s still here! I can’t help it if he’s still here.”
“Then why won’t you tell him to go!” I asked her. “I loved him too, but why don’t you explain that he needs to… I don’t know… find peace, or whatever?”
“I can’t tell him that!” Hannah snapped; her tone was convincingly affronted. “What if he needs our help? What if there’s something really important he’s trying to tell us?”
“What could he possibly want to tell us that we don’t already know?” I cried. “We grew up with him. We lived with him. Look, I’m sorry, but it just doesn’t make sense!”
“Ladies, please,” Campbell began, cutting through our feigned argument with his calm and soothing manner, “Let me put this argument to rest for you.” He took a deep breath, and then—leaning forward in a conspiratorial sort of way—continued on. “Would you mind terribly if I attempted to connect with Milo now? It will serve two very important purposes—it will help me establish if he is indeed with you, and it will also give you a chance to validate my gift for yourselves. May I?”
My heart began to hammer so hard I thought Campbell would surely hear it. “Yes, of course you can. That’s why we’re here!” I told him, trying to look relieved.
“Very well. I will first ask you to encourage Milo to communicate with me. We all need to work together. There will be little I can do if he refuses to speak with me,” Campbell said, placing a hand over his heart; he was the picture of perfect apologetic humility.
This was going to be the tricky part: How much would we have to fake, and could we do so convincingly enough to be invited to stay? I’d been scanning the room for spots where microphones or projectors could be hidden, and I knew Finn had been doing the same. So far, I’d seen no tech planted in the room. What was Campbell’s game?
“Um, okay,” I replied. “I, uh, guess I don’t really know how to do that. Do I just… talk? Will he hear me?”
“If he is truly here, yes, I think he will be able to hear you,” Campbell replied, smiling encouragingly.
I grimaced. “I don’t know. Hannah’s usually the one who tries to communicate with him. Shouldn’t she do it?”
“If you’d like,” Campbell said, looking at Hannah now.
Oddly enough, Hannah seemed to gather a sense of confidence from Campbell’s encouragement. Whether this guy was legitimate or not, he was incredibly goddamn persuasive. The longer he talked, the more intricate his web of trust became—and we were most definitely the flies in this scenario.
Behind me, Finn gave a ti
ny, throat-clearing cough. Iggy shifted slightly from one foot to the other. The tension was starting to creep back toward them, like a noxious fume we were all now breathing.
Hannah sat up a little straighter and cast her gaze to the ceiling, scanning it as though Milo might be rocketing around the chandelier. Of course, we knew that Milo was sitting in the chair beside her, but Hannah had to put on a show.
“Milo?” she called with convincing hesitancy. “If you’re here right now, and I think you are, could you please listen to Mr. Campbell? Try to answer his questions if you can, okay? He’s trying to help us, but none of that will matter if he can’t talk to you.”
“You got it, sweetness!” Milo shouted slowly and very loudly. Evidently, he didn’t have much faith that Campbell would be able to hear him: Milo delivered his answer as though Campbell were standing at the opposite end of a football field.
“Excellent. Just allow me a moment to prepare, and I will attempt to make contact,” Campbell said.
Campbell closed his eyes and lifted his face to the ceiling. He raised his arms into the air, as though in humble supplication, and began murmuring under his breath. Hannah and I both leaned forward, trying to catch what he was saying, but I couldn’t make anything out. This went on for about thirty seconds. I chanced a glance over at Milo, who looked back at me and shrugged as though to say, “Nothing’s happening over here!”
I turned to Hannah and shook my head. This guy was as big a fraud as the others. What were the Durupinen so worried about?
§
A strange swooping something engulfed the room—a fog or a cloud so huge that it momentarily blocked the light streaming through the windows. The temperature in the room dropped by several degrees, and a heaviness settled over everything. I felt slow and sluggish, almost dizzy. My vision filmed over so that I was looking at everything through a haze, like a half-waking dream.
