“Poltergeists? I’ve seen the movie.”
He poked the honey stick back in the jar. “Spielberg’s, I assume. Well, that gives you a sense of what some poltergeist activity is like, objects moving around without being touched — sliding across the floor, flying through the air. It can also be noises, knocking, or voices calling outsome activity for which there doesn’t appear to be a physical cause.”
Things that move with no hands touching them, I thought. It was what my mother had described, what I had seen.
“In the movie,” Dr. Parker went on, “a group of dead people were causing the commotion. In cases investigated by parapsychologists, this kind of activity has been attributed to recurrent spontaneous psychokinesis, RSPK.
That is, we think it is caused by the recurring and spontaneous mental activity of a person who is alive.
“Many of the documented cases are traceable to an individual who is profoundly disturbed or under great stress.
Some are children, a majority of them are adolescents. It’s rare to find such ability in adults. The subject may have a history of mental problems, but not always. In any case, during a crisis of some sort, the phenomenon suddenly appears — it can be quite spooky. It disappears after the stress subsides, when the mental conflict is resolved.”
“Can Nora control this thing?” I asked.
“I’m going to rephrase your question. Can the individual who is responsible control it? Some who have been studied in the laboratory can, but to a limited extent. Many are totally unaware of what they are doing. It is often an unconscious response to trauma in their lives. Do you understand what I’m saying?”
“Yes, that in a sense, Nora is telling the truth when she says someone else broke the lamp and tied the knot. She really doesn’t know she’s done it.”
“Not exactly. What I’m saying is that if Nora is doing it, she may not know; if Holly or you are doing it, you may not know.”
“But I—” He held up a finger, interrupting me. “I haven’t written down the poltergeist events you have related, but you should do that, noting who was in the area during the time each one took place. I’m suggesting you three girls because seven years ago and now, you have spanned early to late adolescence and, as far as I can tell, you have all been in the area of the activity.”
“Is there a limit to the distance in which it can work? The night I saw the plants move in the greenhouse, Holly was at the prom.”
“That would be stretching it,” he said, “but it’s possible.”
“But it’s got be Nora,” I insisted, picking up my bottle of water, swirling it.
“She is an obvious candidate,” he conceded. “But sometimes the individuals who appear the calmest on the surface don’t know how to deal with their emotions and therefore express them unconsciously this way.”
“So it could be Holly,” I said.
“And it could be you. From what little you have told me, I gather you felt loved by your mother, but also bound by her, your freedom choked when she accompanied you to Wisteria. Those conflicting feelings could have, in a sense, tied you in knots. And returning to the scene of her death for the first time, especially after putting it off for seven years, has got to be stressful for you.”
I rested my elbows on the table, my head in my hands, my fingers shielding my eyes from him. I didn’t want it to be me.
I didn’t want Nick to be right when he said “get over it.”
“I still believe it’s Nora.”
Dr. Parker finished the food on his plate and drained his teacup. “It could well be,” he said, wiping the side of his mouth, missing the crumbs. “I have just one piece of advice.
Keep an open mind, Lauren. A quick theory is a dangerous way to answer important questions.”
Dr. Parker offered me a ride home, but even at midnight, Wisteria was a safe town to walk through. When I arrived at Aunt Jule’s, the music was off, the torches out, and the cars gone, all but Nick’s. Only Aunt Jule’s sitting room light shone from the street side of the house. Since Holly was always turning off unused lights, I figured she and Nick were cleaning up on the river side.
Halfway along the path that ran between the two gardens I discovered I was wrong. Nick and Holly stood just beyond the roses, kissing. I stopped, transfixed, watching where Nick put his hands on Holly’s back, studying how she put her arms around his neck. I tried to read the expression on his half-hidden face to see if this was the most spectacular kiss he’d ever had — the way his kiss had felt to me. I noticed he didn’t suddenly pull back and look at Holly surprised. She was good at it, and he kept kissing her.
Her long dark hair looked gorgeous next to his blond. I saw him softly touch her hair. I felt as if I had swallowed glass, my heart cut into a million sharp pieces. Thankfully, they were too immersed in each other to notice me. Then Rocky barked.
Holly and Nick turned quickly and caught me staring.
Rocky bounded toward me, his tail wagging, pleased he had spotted me. Holly smiled. Nick seemed stunned to see me and pressed his lips together. I could feel his displeasure from fifteen feet away, and I focused on Holly.
“Lauren,” she said, “I was worried about you. We both were.”
Both? I winced at the white lie.
“Where were you?” she asked.
“Nowhere special. I just went out for a while.”
She studied my face. “Is everything okay?”
“sure.”
Holly’s arm was around Nick’s waist, her thumb hooked in his belt loop. “After you went in,” she said, “I was afraid I had been insensitive, that I should have realized the boys were going too far. You’re sure you’re okay?”
“Yes.”
“Where did you go?”
“To see a friend. Listen, I’m going to bed. We can clean up tomorrow.”
I turned my back before she could detain me with further questions. Once inside the house I rushed through the hall and up the steps, slowing again when I reached the top to walk quietly past Aunt Jule’s room. When I reached my own, I eagerly reached for the doorknob and turned it, but the door wouldn’t open. Remembering that I had let out Rocky, then locked both the porch door and this one, I pulled the old-fashioned key from my pocket and inserted it.
The door swung inward, swung into darkness. I was sure I had left on the bedside lamp. Bulbs burn out, I told myself, and flicked on the overhead light. My chest tightened.
Everything was in knots — everything that I had untied before seeing Dr. Parker.
I strode across the room and checked the double doors.
They were still locked from the inside. My skin prickled. No one, nothing could have gotten in, except a power that wasn’t stopped by walls. I nervoulsy plucked at my bedsheets. I could untie the knots a second time, but then what? Even locked doors wouldn’t keep me safe. I felt powerless to stop Nora from whatever she wanted to do to me.
I walked across the hall to the room that had been my mother’s, wondering if I’d find knots there. The photos and other things pertaining to my mother had been removed by someone, but nothing else had changed. I saw Holly’s door was open and checked her room from the hallway.
“Looking for something?”
I jumped at Holly’s voice.
“You’re awfully edgy,” she observed. “Are you sure nothing’s wrong?”
“Something is wrong,” I admitted. “Go look in my room.”
She did and I took another quick look at hers. Nothing had been disturbed.