Chapter 13

Séances, aside from a round table, candles, and a quiet spot, require a precise order. The number of willing participants, or sitters as I like to call them, must be divisible by three. They should all possess positive energy, the ability to clear away any negative thought, and most importantly, a desire to make contact with a spirit that has crossed over. They’re slightly more complicated than asking a medium or someone like Wilson to interact with a spirit from the other side. Had I been working with a more experienced spirit guide, I might have chosen to do that. But the problem was, Wilson was still new to the game. Easily disturbed and I couldn’t depend on him not to waffle. Hence, I agreed to the idea of a séance, not only for Zoey’s sake but as a teaching moment for Wilson as well.

I scheduled the séance for the following evening and asked Zoey to pick two close friends who she believed might best help her in our attempt to contact Alicia Mae. I chose Denise and her client, Heather Jefferies. As a psychic-junkie, Denise had attended a number of my séances in the past and I knew I could depend on her for positive energy. Heather, because she knew Alicia Mae. The two had played together and shared a bedroom, and I felt Heather’s presence around the table would help Alicia know our table was a safe place.

Zoey asked Chad, and Chad asked Zac. I was concerned about Chad, but Zoey said she told him she needed a chance to prove once and for all there really was a ghost in the house. Chad acquiesced, but only if his friend Zac could come. I had worked with mixed groups of believers before, and told Zoey as long as they promised to remain open-minded I was fine with their presence. In fact, the additional male energy around the table would be a good idea. The men’s presence would add a nice blend of male and female energies. In total, we had six people: Zoey, Chad, Zac, Denise, Heather, and me. The requisite number. I didn’t count Wilson as he would serve as our spirit guide and would not need a seat at the table.

However, Wilson’s presence brought with it one small problem: Denise. Wilson’s sister had no idea of her brother’s limboed state, and Wilson wanted to keep it that way. So, for the purpose of the séance, I asked Wilson to adopt a pseudonym. Another name his sister would not know. Wilson insisted upon Thornton, a name he chose based on his appreciation of Thornton Wilder, author of Our Town, the first stage play Wilson had ever worked on. Which, in a bizarre sort of way, worked. The play was about a ghost returning to a small town, and a stage manager who directed the audience’s attention to the action on the stage. Not too dissimilar to the role Wilson would play as our spirit guide for our séance.

It helped that Wilson was a former set designer. In no time at all he transformed the dining room with its gently filtered light that streamed through the home’s stained glass windows, into a dark, mysterious candlelit sanctuary. To do this, he hung green velvet drapes from the walls. Items he claimed to have rescued from the prop department when they auctioned off the set for Gone with the Wind. On the table, he placed a lace tablecloth from the set of Arsenic and Old Lace, and in the center of the table a tiered candelabra with six slim tapers from the set of The Addams Family. Next to the candelabra, I placed a dish of shortbread cookies I made along with a glass of milk. Bait for Alicia.

The pièce de résistance arrived when Denise and Heather rang the front bell. Much to my surprise, Heather presented me with a vintage Madame Alexander doll with rosy cheeks, dressed in a frilly pink and white frock with a matching hat. Exactly like she had been when Heather and Alicia Mae had their tea parties all those years ago beneath the tree in the backyard. The doll was the perfect addition to our little group, and I placed her on the table next to the plate of cookies.

Zoey, Chad, and Zac arrived moments later, and I made brief introductions. It wasn’t necessary for them to exchange anything more than the minimum of formalities. In fact, in most cases, less is more. What was important was that each of the sitters knew they were here to help Zoey make contact with the ghost.

There’s a pattern to a séance. A definite beginning where I light the candles and ask my sitters to hold hands and repeat a welcome chant or prayer, calling for our spirit guide to join us. A middle where our spirit guide introduces the visiting spirit or spirits and they make themselves known. And a very definitive end where I thank the spirits for their visit. It’s important the pattern be followed lest a spirit feel slighted or as though a door has been slammed in their face. In all my years of doing séances, I had never had a problem, but I had heard of unhappy spirits following people home who hadn’t followed instructions. And when they did, things got messy. Lives got complicated, personal effects went missing, and accidents happened.

I began by asking for everyone to take a seat around the table and hold hands. I then asked them to bow their heads and observe a moment of silence. When the room had settled and the only sound was that of our own breathing, I introduced Wilson, or Thornton as I would refer to him throughout the séance, as our spirit guide.

“Thornton’s job is to bring together the spirits who want to speak to us tonight. You won’t see or hear him. He’ll speak to me, and whatever he says, I’ll relay to you.” Zoey sat next to me and looked up from her bowed head and squeezed my hand. Her palms felt damp. I could tell she was nervous. I squeezed back. “We’ve had a bit of luck because I happen to know Thornton has already made contact with your ghost. For those here tonight who don’t know, her name’s Alicia Mae, and she’s four years old.”

My sitters, even Chad and Zac, responded with a communal, “Awe.” It’s hard not to when told of the presence of a child ghost. Even the most hardened critic can find something dear about a small child so willing to help.

I paused long enough to recognize each sitter’s willing connection with a child-ghost, then began with an opening prayer asking for the light of guidance and safety, and for everyone around the table to join with me in summoning Alicia Mae’s spirit.

“Repeat after me,” I said, and the sitters all followed in unison. “Alicia Mae, we’re here tonight to welcome you. We bring gifts. Cookies and milk to refresh yourself. Come, join us in this celebration.”

There was silence followed by a stillness in the room, so quiet I could hear the pulsing of my heart in my ears. I held tight to both Zoey and Chad’s hands, reassuring them. The candle flickered. I squeezed their hands again, and in moments I heard the light sound of small feet—little hard-soled shoes—running across the dining room’s wooden floor. The lilting sound of a child’s laughter. I opened my eyes. Everyone at the table exchanged nervous glances. The six of us weren’t alone.

Heather was the first to speak. “Does anyone else smell lemons? I smell lemons.”

“I do.” Zoey’s eyes locked with mine, searching for some sign of confirmation. “I’ve smelled lemons before around my dressing table. I thought it was just my hand cream, but it’s her, isn’t it? It’s Alicia Mae.”

“It must be,” Heather said. “She told me her mother used to rinse her hair with fresh lemons from their trees. Can you see her, Misty? Is she here with us?”

I nodded. For the first time, I saw Alicia Mae, peeking out from behind Heather’s chair. She looked exactly like the photo I had seen of her in the book Wilson had shown me. Small, with blonde ringlets down to her waist. She was dressed in a pale pink chiffon pinafore with matching eyelet laced socks and saddle shoes. “She’s standing right behind you, Heather.”

Heather looked around, a look of happy expectancy on her face. “Why can’t I see her?”

“She’s shy,” I said. “And she’s playing hide-and-seek with Thornton. She won’t reveal herself to you. Not now. Maybe when she’s more comfortable.”

Wilson, who had been standing in the doorway, walked around to Heather’s chair, leaned down, and picked Alicia up. She wrapped her arms and legs around him, like a favorite uncle, and pressed her face against his. Then, spotting Heather’s doll on the table, she stretched out her small hands. “Mira, Mira.” she cried.

“Heather,” I said. “She’s seen your doll, and she’s saying something. Mira, I think but I can’t understand it. Does it mean something?”

“Mirabella!” Heather cried out breathlessly. “That’s my doll’s name. She remembers.”

Wilson whispered the doll’s name into Alicia’s ear, and she giggled.

“She had a doll named Mariposa,” Heather added. “I remember she’d bring her to tea.”

Wilson nodded at the doll. “May I?”

“Please,” I said.

Carefully, so as not to shock those around the table, Wilson picked up the doll and handed it to Alicia.

“Whoa!” Chad and Zac sat back in their seat. Gobsmacked.

“Shush!” Zoey hissed under her breath.

With their mouths open, Heather and Denise followed the doll’s movement with their eyes as Mirabella appeared to float through the air and come to rest in Alicia’s arms above their heads.

“It’s all right,” I said. “Thornton is showing the doll to Alicia. You needn’t worry. This is all very normal.” I paused while Wilson asked Alicia about the doll, then relayed, “Heather, Thornton says Alicia remembers the tea parties you used to have. But then you moved away, and she was very sad when you left.”

Zoey interrupted. “Ask her about the dolls in my guestroom. Does she like them, too?”

“You can ask her yourself, Zoey. She can hear you. But remember, you’re talking to a four-year-old, and she may not answer you directly.”

Zoey asked about the dolls in the guest room. Did Alicia Mae like them? Wilson answered she did, but that she was too shy to answer for herself.

“They’re my favorite,” Zoey said. “I used to play with them for hours when I was little. I loved all my dolls.”

Wilson cupped the back of Alicia’s head, bringing her closer to his ear. “She says she loves the baby doll the best. Except...” he moved his ear closer to Alicia and listened carefully. “Except, she says, sometimes people come into the room and move them, and that makes her sad because she thinks they don’t take care of them. She’s afraid they might throw them out.”

“No. No. That would never happen,” Zoey said. “Tell her I’d never allow that. Sometimes, when I have guests, they stay in the front guestroom with the dolls and they move them around. I don’t think they mean to upset things.”

Heather spoke next. “That used to be my room, Alicia. Do you remember? How we used to stay up late and play after everyone had gone to sleep?”

Alicia giggled and hugged Mirabella as she cradled her head on Wilson’s shoulder. “She remembers,” Wilson said.

I checked my tablemates. Not an eye had moved from the doll. Even Chad and Zac remained transfixed, frozen in their chairs.

“Alicia,” Zoey leaned forward. “I need to ask, were you in your room the night Lacey fell into the pool?”

At the mention of the pool, Alicia buried her head in Wilson’s shoulder and hid her face.

“What’s wrong?” I asked.

Wilson hugged Alicia to his chest protectively, his hand cradling the back of her head. “She doesn’t like to talk about the pool. Her mommy told her never to go near it.” I translated as quickly as I could.

“Does she know what happened that night?” Zoey asked.

Suddenly, Alicia let go of the doll, and it fell face first in the center table.

Zoey screamed. “What is it? What’s the matter?”

I repeated Alicia’s mumbled words as best I could. “She says you were yelling at Lacey. You were mad at her.”

Zoey gripped my hand tighter. “No, Alicia. No, I wasn’t mad. I was acting. Lacey and I, we were friends. We were going over my lines for a movie. It was just pretend. It wasn’t real. I wasn’t angry.”

Angry? Zoey’s last word hung in the air and echoed, as though it had taken on a life all its own.

Another voice filled the room. A voice I didn’t have to speak for. “No, you weren’t angry, Zoey. But I was.”

Zoey fell back in her chair. Her mouth open, her eyes wide.

“Who is this?” I asked.

“It’s Lacey. That’s Lacey’s voice.” Zoey looked at me, the grip on my hand even tighter than before. “Lacey, why are you here?”

“I should have told you,” the voice responded. “I didn’t mean for it to happen, Zoey, but it did.”

“For what to happen? Lacey, what are you talking about?”

“You don’t get it, Zoey. You always thought you were so deserving, but it doesn’t matter anymore. It doesn’t make a difference now. It can’t, and I’m here to apologize. I can’t go on until I’ve told you everything.”

“What do you mean, told me everything? What haven’t you told me? Lacey, what’s wrong?” Zoey voice trembled.

“You, Zoey. You’re what’s wrong. I was jealous of you. You had it all, everything I didn’t, and everything I wanted. Money. Fame. Fortune. I had to have something. Something for myself. So when you weren’t there, I had Chad.”

“What?” Zoey looked at Chad. “What’s she talking about, Chad?”

“He loved me, Zoey. Me! And you couldn’t even see it because you’re a Chamberlain, and you couldn’t imagine Chad leaving you for someone like me. People think you’re so great. But you’re not. Chad, he—”

“No! No! You’re not doing this.” Chad stood up and dropped my hand, breaking the bond of the circle. The candle on the table flickered and went out. The room suddenly cold. Chad turned to the green curtains on the wall and began to tear them down. “This nonsense stops now.”

Zoey screamed at Chad. Zac, Denise, Heather and I sat pinned in our chairs, unsure if we should move as Zoey flung accusations at Chad like darts against a dart board. When Zoey had said all she could, with tears streaming down her face she ran out the front door. Chad followed leaving the door open. Before I could close it, I feared Lacey’s ghost had followed them.