EIGHTY-TWO
Jessie was still trying to absorb the information that the FBI agent, Patrick Castile, had given her this morning. “We were never entirely sure that Emil Deetz had been killed in Mexico,” he had said.
Castile had some other things as well, things about always having the situation under control and never believing Jessie to be in any jeopardy, but it was that statement that kept ringing through Jessie’s mind.
We were never entirely sure that Emil Deetz had been killed in Mexico.
The words unnerved her even more than Aunt Paulette’s account of finding Bryan’s body in the woods. Her aunt was pacing around the kitchen now, trying to convince Jessie that they were dealing with a ghost. But Jessie thought the foe they faced—the foe the whole town faced—was much more flesh and blood.
“Aunt Paulette,” she said, clutching her mug of coffee in both hands as if she were holding on for dear life, “if the FBI says that Emil might not have died in that shoot-out, then that’s what we have to fear, not ghosts or avenging spirits.”
Jessie was angry that the FBI hadn’t informed her of their doubts about Emil’s death. But would she really have wanted them to tell her? By believing Emil was dead, she had found the freedom to get on with her life. She had been able to put her fear and her nightmares behind her.
But now the fear had come back.
Aunt Paulette had stopped pacing and was looking at Jessie intently. “There is something unearthly going on here, Jessie. I feel it. I sense it.”
“I know the experience of finding Bryan’s body was traumatic for you, but . . .”
Aunt Paulette resumed her pacing. It was clear to Jessie that her aunt hadn’t slept all night. Her eyes were ringed with dark circles.
“How do you explain why I got lost in those woods for so long? They were like nowhere I’d ever seen. And the silence . . . the uncanny silence.”
“It was getting dark, Aunt Paulette. . . . You just lost your way.”
“No!” She spun on Jessie, her eyes wild with emotion. “There is something supernatural about that boy! He led me in there! He got me lost! He wanted me to find Bryan’s body! He’s possessed by Emil’s spirit! That’s what I believe.”
“There is nothing supernatural about Aaron,” Jessie said. “After spending the afternoon with him, I was completely reassured about him. He’s a sweet, lonely child.”
“He’s a ghost!”
Jessie smiled indulgently. “No ghost could eat that many hamburgers and put away so much pie.”
“I don’t know how to explain it,” Aunt Paulette said. “But he’s not of this earth. He’s . . . undead somehow.”
“Aunt Paulette, you know I keep an open mind about your belief in the supernatural, but in this case . . .”
“Jessie, listen to me. Doesn’t he look like Emil?”
Jessie dropped her eyes to the table. “He has dark eyes and hair. . . . That’s all.”
“Even the smile, Jessie.” Aunt Paulette leaned on the table with her hands, looking directly into her niece’s face. “And his last name, for God’s sake!”
“A coincidence,” Jessie said quietly, even though she didn’t sound very convincing, even to herself.
“Don’t you see, Jessie? He’s telling us who he is!”
Jessie closed her eyes. No, she didn’t want to think this. . . .
“It’s Emil,” Aunt Paulette said. “It’s Emil, come back as a child. His ghost is taunting us. He appeared to me in town as an adult, but he also appears as he looked as a little boy. That way he can insinuate himself with us . . . and with Abby!”
“That’s nonsense!” Jessie said, louder than she meant to. She stood up and walked across the room, not wanting to admit to herself how much her aunt’s words frightened her. “Aaron’s just a lonely little boy who’s being neglected by whoever’s taking care of him. He’s not a ghost! He’s not Emil!”
“I’m going to find out who he is,” Aunt Paulette said. “I have my ways, Jessie. And I’ll use them. Because if I don’t . . . you and I and Abby will be the next to have our throats cut!”