Chapter 15: Echoes
I did my best to sneak into work without making a stir, but I was immediately surrounded by people asking how Ben was doing and how I was holding up. After filling everyone in, I singled Heather out and asked if I could talk to her.
“Have you started therapy?” she asked once we were alone.
“Yesterday,” I answered, “Just getting acquainted still, but it's good to know I have someone to talk things through with when I need it.” We sat at the large table she used to spread out materials while she was doing research, and I continued, “I have a favor to ask. Feel free to say no, but I thought you could at least point me in the right direction if nothing else.”
“Sounds like another one of your mysteries,” she said with just a touch of glee. “What's it all about?”
“Nothing, really,” I said, feeling a bit sheepish. “Probably not even worth wasting your time with, but it's a good distraction for me. The house I'm renting by the rehab center has a reputation for being haunted, and I was wondering about its history. You know, all the standard stuff, when was it built, by whom, has anything unusual ever happened there.”
“That's all easy enough,” she said with a smile. “Just leave me the address and I can find all the legal records pretty quickly. It might take a bit longer to find anecdotal material, but that kind of research is fun. Is that all?”
“Well, there's also Mr. Bouchard,” I added hesitantly. “Although I'm not even sure he's local, so there may not be anything on him.”
She was taking notes as I spoke, and asked for the spelling. “Do you know his first name, date of birth, where he was born?”
“Nope,” I admitted. “Not even his age, although I believe he's in his late nineties. I'm looking for any information about him so I can have an idea of what he might be interested in talking about.”
“Can't you just ask him?” she looked up puzzled.
“Not really,” I said. “He's non-verbal, a gentleman I met at the rehab center, and the staff seem amazed that he actually reached out and touched me today. I'm just looking for a way to connect with him but I know nothing about him except what I have already told you.”
“Hmmm...” she pondered for a moment. “That's not a lot to go on, but I'll try. No promises, but I'll try.”
“That's all I can ask,” I said with a smile. “And don't let it interfere with your regular work. I'd feel terrible if it got in the way of real research or something important.”
“But this is real research,” she assured me, placing her hand on mine and looking me in the eyes. “It's part of my job to help local folks find these kinds of things out. And it is important. It's important to all of us here because it's helping you, and you are an important part of this team.” She squeezed my hand for reassurance and added, “You just leave it to me and I'll let you know as soon as I find anything. Now, have you had lunch yet? We could go to that cute little place that opened on the pier this spring. I've been dying to try it.”
After lunch I headed over to the Hathaway to see how the kids were doing. Again, I was mobbed with what seemed like endless questions, but it felt right. The place was full of life and hope, just what I needed, and just what Ben needed. I talked to Sylvia about bringing some of the kids to visit Ben again and told her how to find his room in the rehab center. She agreed that it would be good for them as well as him. “How about I show up around 4:00 this afternoon? How many visitors do you think he can handle?” Summer vacation was in full swing and the social workers had their hands full, so such an outing was a welcome activity.
“I'd keep it at two or three, but no more.” I answered. “But you could bring a couple more tomorrow, and more the next day. It would give him something to look forward to.”
“Sounds good,” she agreed. “Just make sure you let me know if it becomes too much for him. The kids will understand.”
I headed up to the third floor to pick up the things I had forgotten to take yesterday, when my phone rang. It was Phil. He got right to the point. “What are you doing for dinner, sweety?”
“I don't know,” I answered honestly. “Probably going to open a can or something.”
“No you're not.” he insisted. “You're coming over here for a decent meal. That's what you're doing.”
“I couldn't...It's such short notice.”
“Nonsense!” he insisted. “Besides, you'll be doing me a favor. All the students have left for the summer and I'm all on my own for at least a month or two. Do you know how hard it is to cook for one? Seven sharp?”
“Seven sharp,” I agreed. “It will be nice to see you and catch up.”
I stopped at the cabin on the way back to the rehab center. I wanted to drop things off and I needed to be alone for a bit. After I had put things away I took some time to sit on the back porch and listen to the sea. Saltwater Road was not a busy street, just intermittent traffic, and the house did a good job of shielding me from the noise of passing cars, so even during the middle of the day it was peaceful and quiet. I let all my questions and concerns fade away and focused on the rhythm of the water lapping the beach in front of me.
The tide was almost at its highest point so there was very little exposed sand and rock, and some of the granite formations had become little islands that seemed disconnected from the mainland. When the tide was low these would become part of the beach and I could walk out to them without getting wet. I thought of Ben. He seemed disconnected at the moment, almost unreachable. But under the surface I knew we were still connected. I tried to comfort myself with the thought that all I had to do was wait. Time would change that perception as reliably as the tide would soon turn and I could access the rocks again. But this was cold comfort and unsatisfying. I wanted to be with him now, not some time in the future. It was like I was starving and food was in sight, but I wasn't able to eat any of it.
Suddenly I heard a low distant moan. It was very faint, but it seemed to be coming from the house behind me. Was the ghost finally making itself know? I went back inside, but could see or hear nothing out of the ordinary. I shrugged and opened a cupboard to get a snack, but before I could take a bite, I heard it again. This time it seemed to be coming from below. “That's odd,” I thought. “There's no basement and the storage room under the bedroom is tiny with just a few shelves and some outdoor equipment. Besides, it's locked. I locked it myself yesterday after checking it out. Could someone be in the crawl space, I wondered, but the moan seemed deeper than that, like it came from the depths, not just below the floor.
“Show yourself!” I shouted, hoping to get a response, but the house remained silent. I sat in one of the overstuffed chairs in the living room and thought. Had I been overly confident in taking a six month lease? What if the ghost was truly malevolent? We had run into a couple of spirits like that in the past, but in truth, most of the ghosts we had encountered were harmless. There was usually an air of sadness about them, but they could also be helpful and kind, or even playful. “Are you the man who built this house?” I asked. “Tell me your story, we don't know what happened to you.”
Silence. I allowed myself to sink back into the softness of the chair and close my eyes. I knew it was futile to push a spirit. It would reveal itself when it was good and ready and not before. Something shifted in my consciousness, however, and I felt myself begin to drift off. I wasn't really sleepy and I struggled to stay awake, aware that I hadn't yet warned Ben that he was going to have visitors this afternoon, but the urge to float away into sleep was overwhelming. I didn't seem to have a choice, and finally gave in and dozed off.
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