“Honey, you’re making me a little nauseated. I don’t suppose there’s any chance I could get you to sit still while we talk?”
Kim plopped back in her chair and studied the screen, where her father’s kind, familiar face smiled a little blurrily at her through the FaceTime session. “Sorry, Dad. It’s just, I do my best thinking when I’m on my feet.”
“Don’t I know it,” Roger Patterson chuckled. “Remember when you were fourteen, and we used to practice for the spelling bee while jogging around the block?”
Kim gave a small smile. Those had been maddening afternoons—maddening and also wonderful. Her father would offer up word after impossible word, then treat Kim to long, meandering definitions that dipped into many other disciplines, ignoring her pleas that all she had to know was how to spell the word, not every detail of its usage and etymology.
It was Roger Patterson who’d instilled intellectual curiosity in Kim, and that was one of only a thousand reasons she was missing him. But right now, she needed her father’s professional counsel more than she needed one of their leisurely conversations, so she swallowed down her homesickness and focused on the subject they’d been discussing.
“Anyway, I wish you could’ve seen it, Dad. It was like something out of The Exorcist.”
“Honey . . .”
“Sorry, I know how you feel about that movie.” Roger Patterson was a theology professor with a strong disdain for what he considered the entertainment industry’s grossly inaccurate portrayal of most religions. “But her voice . . . it sounded like she was underwater, and then she spit up this—this—liquid—”
“It may interest you to know that in The Exorcist, they used pea soup.”
“No kidding? That’s disgusting. No, this was like . . . bloody water.”
Roger looked intrigued, twirling his reading glasses by the stem. He was in his book-lined office in the house where Kim had lived for much of her childhood. Behind him, Kim could see the familiar artifacts from her parents’ travels sitting on the shelves between volumes.
“Was it real bloody water or merely ‘like’ bloody water?”
“Damn. Good question,” Kim said. “I should’ve taken a sample and gotten it tested. Didn’t think of it at the time.”
“You were spooked. Besides, real or not, even ‘testing’ can’t explain—”
“—all of life’s mysteries. I know, I know. But, Dad, I called for advice, not a theology lecture. I mean, medically speaking, it could be anything. Bronchitis. Pneumonia. A pulmonary embolism. Tuberculosis. Dieulafoy’s disease. Microscopic polyangiitis—”
Her dad held up a hand. “I’m sorry I asked. But listen, what’s with the fancy outfit? Do you have a date tonight?”
Kim looked down ruefully at herself. “It’s not a good sign if putting a shirt on that didn’t come from the hospital supply catalog qualifies for a special occasion. But no, for your information, I don’t have a date tonight. And don’t change the subject. What I still can’t explain is why one of her alters claims to be this missing girl, Isabel Wilcox. Unless . . . unless, God forbid, this Julian alternate personality actually did something to Isabel . . .”
“Or maybe your patient isn’t split,” he said pensively. “Maybe she is actually channeling the dead girl’s thoughts.”
Truthfully, this wasn’t the first time that idea had occurred to Kim. But it was so discordant with the way her medical colleagues thought, she’d instantly banished the notion every time it had appeared before. There was something satisfying about her father, a highly educated man, giving voice to the crazy theory. “But Isabel isn’t necessarily dead. She’s just missing.”
“Ah, yes. So you said.” Her father swiveled around in his chair and looked up at his collection of books, pondering. “Still . . . there have been recorded examples in many cultures of superhuman behavior in response to acute emotional duress. Communication with the dead is just one example. As humans we lean too heavily on a priori thinking when we encounter something unfamiliar, something that exceeds the boundaries of our experience.”
Hearing a knock at the door, Kim twisted away from the screen. “Hang on, Dad. I’m going to answer the door.” She opened it, and there was Kyle, dressed in a sport coat and pressed shirt, gold cuff links glinting at his wrists.
She gave him what she hoped was a bright smile. “Hi! Listen, I’m talking to my dad on FaceTime—do you mind? I’ll just be a few minutes.”
Kyle wandered over to the sofa, picking up a magazine from the coffee table. If he was annoyed, he didn’t show it. Always considerate, that was Kyle.
“I’m back, Dad.”
“Hear me out. There are cases, fully documented, of people speaking to the spirit world. And not just fortune-tellers—there’ve been spiritual leaders, respected shamans, even Thomas Edison tried to develop a device to communicate with the dead. If you give me a day or two, I’ll have more to tell you.”
Kim glanced at Kyle and made a cuckoo gesture, twirling her index finger at her ear. “My father. Early-stage dementia. You’ll have to forgive him.”
“Hey, I heard that,” Roger chided.
“You know I’m kidding! Listen, I got to go. I’ll call you later. Love you, ’bye,” Kim said.
“So that young man is the reason you’re not in scrubs for once?” her dad asked.
Kim clicked the button to end the session, and her father disappeared from the screen. Kyle gave her a searching look.
“Before you say anything,” Kim said hastily, “he’s a professor at Harvard seminary, not some crazy quack.”
Kim went to sit next to Kyle on the couch. She put her arms around him and kissed him hello, then pulled away, sensing that something was on his mind.
“Hey . . . did something happen with Scarlett today?” he asked.
“What? Um, no, why?”
Kyle frowned. “I wasn’t eavesdropping, but it was pretty clear that you and your dad were talking about the case.”
“Oh, come on, what you heard—”
“I’m not talking about the specifics of your conversation with your father, which are none of my business. But Scarlett Hascall is my business. And I know for a fact you didn’t have an appointment with her today. Kim . . . if you were in contact with her outside the course of treatment, it raises all kinds of questions for me. Questions we ought to deal with now before it becomes a bigger problem.”
Kim hesitated. The last person she wanted to lie to was Kyle, and not just because he was her boss. But telling him the truth now could have repercussions for both her personal and professional lives.
“Okay, okay, I just . . . need some time to put my thoughts together on her case. I’ll come to you when I’m ready . . . okay?” Before he could respond, she kissed him again. This time, she made sure that he’d lose track of what they’d been talking about.