It took lots of police, volunteers, and a couple of cadaver dogs to find the missing bodies. Locating and notifying families of the deceased took a while, too.
But Cooper and I waited until we had their names to return to the barn. After making a lot of phone calls and sending just as many emails, the two of us drove there on a sunny Sunday, hoping to give all Simms's victims peace by clearing the air figuratively and literally.
To do that, we had to duck under bright yellow crime scene tape and enter the barn. I made a mini-altar inside it, lighting seven candles and arranging photos of the victims that I'd cut out of the newspaper when it finally ran the story about two local psychics who helped bring a killer to justice.
One-by-one each spirit came forward until all seven were with us.
One-by-one I addressed them by name, reading messages from the loved ones they'd tragically left behind.
And one-by-one, they moved on, leaving their earthly cares behind since justice had been served.
Cooper and I then lit the sage and walked every inch of that old barn and loft, clearing the air of any negativity that might be lingering there. Once we'd blown out the candles and gathered up the photos, we exited into the sun, blinking against its brilliance.
"How are you doing?" asked Cooper, tugging my ponytail.
"I'm fine. You?"
"Never better."
"Everything is going to be all right," I told him.
He smiled. "No. Everything is all right now."