Chapter 23

We Make Plans

I don’t know if I can wait for the meeting at Oliver’s house because I’m about to burst. But I have to wait, so I do. I haven’t even told my mother about my early morning visitor. I only want to explain it once and answer everyone’s questions all at the same time. Plus I’m picturing the drama my announcement will cause and I’m enjoying the anticipation. By the time we’re finally sitting down around Oliver’s kitchen table, though, I’m ready to explode. I’m squirming in my seat like a five-year-old.

Somewhere deep inside myself I find some self-control and let Oliver speak first. He informs us that yesterday, on the way home, Wyatt almost passed out from exhaustion. After he downed three bacon double cheeseburgers and a vanilla milkshake at Nathaniel’s, he came straight home and went right to bed. He hasn’t had a lot of time to research any of the information we uncovered in the hospital yesterday. But he does have a couple of things to report.

Oliver and Jackson pass around tea and sandwiches and we all settle in. Jackson goes first. He’s one of those bald guys who embraces the hair loss and shaves the rest off just to show he doesn’t give a hoot. Rising steam from his tea cup veils his features and, with his dark eyebrows and intense expression, he looks demonic. But he’s one of the kindest, sweetest men I’ve ever met and a minister, too. He explains the results of the limited research he did last night, in bed, on his laptop, before he fell asleep.

“I found office addresses for both of the doctors’ names we uncovered. Lucky for us, neither of these gentlemen has retired. Both of them have private practices now and they both stayed local, too. I think Oliver and I should make appointments with Drs. Peterson and Summers and conduct these interviews. Maybe one of these gentlemen remembers a hospital employee named Mike. I have the psychology background, so I should definitely be in on the meeting with Doctor Peterson.”

I’m curious to hear Jackson’s opinion. “From a psychologist’s point of view, what do you think about our experience yesterday?”

“From what we’ve discovered so far about the unknown, violent roommate, I’m going to speculate that he was severely autistic. This could explain his mutism. Autistic children have difficulty communicating and they can have devastating meltdowns when they feel over-stimulated. In addition to autism, he might have suffered from a mood or a personality disorder, such as schizophrenia. His frustration with being unable to communicate was probably a contributing factor to his violent behavior. With the right medication and counseling, a skilled therapist might have been able to help our Lonesome Boy.”

“But the doctors at Wild Wood didn’t diagnose him correctly?” Wyatt asks.

“I doubt it. But, then again, it’s hard to say unless he’s your patient. A psychiatrist would need lots of time with him and careful observation and analysis to accurately make any of these diagnoses. I don’t have a medical degree, only a Ph.D. Plus, he’s not my patient. And he’s been dead for over twenty years. So…” Jackson shrugs.

Oliver adds, “Of course, Jackson’s information about the boy is limited. He’s just making an informed guess. He also discovered something else that’ll be helpful to our investigation.”

“Thanks, Oliver.” Jackson goes on to explain, “Not only do I have the psych credentials; my research skills aren’t too shabby either. I also found Nurse Mary McGuire. Guess where?”

No one attempts a guess, because when people tell you to guess, they don’t really expect you to. They just want to tell you outright. I decide to take a stab at it anyway, to humor him. After all, I still have his really expensive sweater. “Online newspaper archives, the obituaries?”

“Nope, somewhere way more obvious and she’s still alive. Think again, Annabelle.”

“I give up.” Actually I really want him to finish telling us his news quickly, so I can tell mine and blow everyone away.

He smiles proudly and lowers his voice for dramatic effect. You can tell he must be an excellent preacher. “In the Eastfield phonebook.”

This news is pretty cool, but not better than mine.

Jackson’s smile is a mile wide. “Very low tech. Mrs. McGuire doesn’t have a cell phone or a computer. I simply looked her up in the phone book and I spoke with her this morning. She’s in her eighties now, and retired, but manages to stay pretty active. She’s widowed for the second time and lives alone in the home she and her second husband owned together. She was raised in Eastfield and has lived here her whole life: a townie. Like many elderly people who live alone, she was happy to have someone to chat with.”

“What did you say?”

“I told her I was helping some high school students with a History project about the Eastfield area in the 1950’s and 60’s. I said I got her name through the local Senior Citizens Association. I didn’t want to make her too suspicious about our interest in the closing of Wild Wood Hospital, so I avoided mentioning your imaginary project about the 1980’s. Right now, Oliver and I think you should focus on getting in the door, getting to know her. Open the lines of communication. Too many direct questions would alarm her. Feel out the situation and be friendly. Maybe you’ll get invited back.”

“When did you and Oliver decide all of this?” Wyatt sounds a little annoyed.

“Soon after I found her phone number, I figured out a basic plan. Then when I spoke with her, I could tell by her voice she was lonely and happy to shoot the breeze about a lot of subjects. She eagerly agreed to meet with two young people and I told her to expect your phone call today or tomorrow. So, Annabelle, you or Wyatt should call and set something up for early this week. We don’t want to waste any time. I think Nathaniel should accompany you. We can say he’s part of a mentoring program at the high school. We’ll give her Oliver’s number so he can back up your story. What do you think?”

“I think you’ve given us some little old lady to interview because you feel like she’s the least threatening prospect on our short list. And we’re supposed to talk to her about a subject that isn’t even related to Daniel Warren or the closing of the hospital. Plus you’re sending Nathaniel with us as a babysitter. You want us to stay out of trouble and you think we can’t handle anything big.” Wyatt’s full-out pissed now and not bothering to hide it.

Oliver looks tired. His face is nearly as gray as his close-snipped, always tidy hair. But he finds enough energy and enthusiasm to stand up for Jackson.

“We always want you to stay out of trouble, Wyatt, but you’ve done a poor job of that so far. This is an important task. You need a subtle conversational touch. She’s likely to open up and talk the most out of all three of our prospects. Also, based on what we found out from reading the files at the hospital, we know she came into close contact with Daniel Warren on a regular basis. And her hidden note contains the only mention of the violent roommate we could find, besides the ones in Daniel’s diary. She’s key.”

“Okay, okay. Maybe you’re right.” Wyatt manages a close-lipped smile and tilts both hands up in a gesture of surrender.

Jackson asserts himself. “She’s an important source, even though she happens to be a little old lady. So brush that chip off your shoulder, Wyatt, and be a team player. You and Annabelle have a valuable part to play in all this. And you get to go first. Jackson and I won’t get an appointment to meet with two busy doctors right away, but Mrs. McGuire is eager for company and not likely to postpone anything.”

I don’t care about any of this. I’ll interview anyone they want me to interview about any subject. What I really want is to talk about the Lonesome Boy. I’m practically exploding because I’m so excited to tell them about last night. I was planning on a low-key introduction leading up to an explosive announcement, but instead I just blurt it out, “His name is Anthony.”

“What the hell are you talking about, Annabelle?” Wyatt asks.

“The violent roommate. He visited me last night. At midnight, actually, which is always the time in my dream. He rattles my doorknob if the door’s closed and now I know why.”

My mother looks annoyed. “Annabelle, you should have woken me up.”

“But, Mom, I wasn’t afraid. You’re the one who told us he isn’t evil. He doesn’t mean anyone any harm. And you were right.”

Everyone’s attention is super-glued to me and I explain how Anthony can communicate now because of what he learned from being inside Wyatt’s mind. I tell them about his memory of someone calling out, “Anthony!” After I finish describing every detail, I hit them with the part about the door needing to be open.

“It all makes so much sense,” Jackson says.

“Annabelle, you need to wake me up if this happens again,” My mom warns me.

Nathaniel offers, “You can borrow Jeff. He loves you, Annabelle, and he’ll bark loud enough to raise the dead if the ghost shows up. I’ve never offered to lend him to anyone before, but I’ll do anything to help you. It’s my fault this ghost has gained so much power. If I hadn’t coached Wyatt in channeling, this would never have happened.”

Oliver frowns. “I feel responsible. Before Wyatt ever even met Annabelle, I encouraged him to use his talent.”

Jackson folds his hands on the table in front of him, as if he’s about to lead a prayer and announces, “Wyatt and Annabelle aren’t children any more. They’re talented, brave young adults who are curious about everything. You have to let them explore and learn. Oliver, the world is their classroom now. It has no walls and no door to close and lock. If you worry too much about them, you’ll undermine their confidence. Susannah, Oliver, you’ve done a great job with Annabelle and Wyatt so far. They have lots of confidence and courage. Don’t feel guilty. Give yourselves a pat on the back.”

I reach over and take Jackson’s advice. “Good job, Mom. I haven’t turned out all that bad.”

She smiles a small, reluctant looking smile, but a smile nonetheless.

The best thing for Wyatt and me would be for Jackson’s message to sink in. And for us to have the freedom to see this adventure through to the end. I’ll sneak my friend the minister a hug later.

“Hey, you know what? I agree with Jackson.” Nathaniel raises his tea cup. “I drink to your health, Jackson. May you live long enough to preach a million sermons and may everyone who hears them follow your advice.”

Wyatt and I raise our mugs and drink, too.

“Amen,” Oliver says as he sips from his cup.

No one likes to be proven wrong, especially an intelligent grownup like Oliver, who’s used to being right. But he’s being a good sport.

Nathaniel smiles. “We’re the best damn ghost hunters ever.”

Oliver corrects him. “Poor Anthony, we aren’t hunting him. We’re helping him, uncovering his story. We aren’t ghost hunters. We’re paranormal explorers.”

I put one hand on Wyatt’s forearm and rub the top of Jeff’s head with the other. If these two behemoths have my back, how can any harm ever come to me?