Meeting Mr. Bouchard
He sat in his wheelchair, as innocuous as ever. A tired old man, lost in his own inner world, seemingly harmless, surrounded by stillness and silence. But today I knew better. I pulled up a chair and sat in front of him. I didn't masquerade my intentions behind the casual conversation of a knitter waiting for his partner's therapy to be over. I spoke to him directly, knowing he could hear and understand, and was capable of a response of sorts if I was open to it.
I placed my hand on his and began, “I know it's you who has been giving me all these dreams. I don't know how or why, but it all fits, your history in the Navy, the research we found at the museum, your connection to the cottage. It's all you.”
He made no response, seeming oblivious to my words and presence. If anything, he seemed even more distant, as if he were strengthening his defenses at this onslaught.
“Did you hide that box at the museum?” I asked, squeezing his hand. “That's the kind of thing you can do, isn't it”
“Joey!” The voice from the door startled me. I turned to see Sabina standing rigid, clutching the door frame as if her life depended on it. Her eyes were wide and filled with terror. “Tell it to go away!”
“Sabina? What are you doing here?” I couldn't understand what she was talking about, and I was somewhat annoyed at being interrupted. “Ben is in therapy. Why don't you go up to the room and wait, he won't be long.”
“I'm not here to see Ben,” she insisted with a level of urgency that startled me. “I'm here to see you. I need to talk to you right now.”
“Is everything alright? Nothing has happened to anyone at Hope House, has it?”
“It's getting too close. Joey, please come here!”
The panic in her voice was alarming. “Alright,” I agreed in exasperation. I let go of Mr. Bouchard's hand and whispered, “I'll be right back.” I approached the door with a good bit of anger at this interruption. “This had better be important, young lady!”
She didn't even notice my anger. Instead she grabbed my wrist and pulled me inside, firmly closing the door behind us. “It is.” She spoke with a quiet but firm determination, turning me to face the window that overlooked the patio. “Look.”
“What am I supposed to see?” I asked. “It's just the old man in the wheelchair.”
“You know better than that,” she chided. “look harder.” She took my hand and seemed to be willing me to see through her eyes.
I began to see a kind of mist surrounding Mr. Bouchard. It slowly grew thicker and more dense until he was totally obscured from sight. At first it was a soft gray, but as it grew, it darkened until it was the blackest black I had ever seen. Disturbingly, it reminded me of the shadow figure we had encountered at the Hathaway only a year or so ago.
Mr. Bouchard was allowing me to see his true nature. The disconnectedness that surrounded him was not due to age or decline. It was a construct. He had built it brick by brick until he was enclosed in an impenetrable defense to rival any fortress built by human hands.
I looked at Sabina. “How did you know to...”
“Keep looking, there's more.” She kept her gaze fixed on the darkness that surrounded Mr. Bouchard with an intensity that matched the way he seemed to study the sea. I followed her lead, focusing on the outermost layer of darkness. I realized that it was not as solid as I had first thought. Not that there were lighter spots, but there seemed to be areas of deeper darkness within the absolute black that swirled around the invisible seated figure at the center. Sometimes small wisps of shadow would reach out in various directions. The largest of these went over the edge of the balcony and seemed to flow down toward the sea. I couldn't see where it went from this vantage point, but I had no doubt it went straight to the cottage I was renting.
That was disturbing enough, but the next thing I noticed was terrifying. A number of smaller tendrils were creeping toward me. One or two were using a fairly direct route, but several others were meandering in various directions, with the effect that I suddenly felt like I was being surrounded. “What the hell?”
“Tell it to go away.” Sabina pleaded. “Now that Ben is getting better it feels like it has lost its hold over you. Tell it that it can't have you!”
“How? I'm no magician. How can I...?”
“The cloud of witness.” She fairly screamed as the tendrils drew closer, swirling around our feet in ever tightening spirals. “Remember the cloud of witness.”
Without thinking, I visualized the sea of spirits that I had seen at the boarding house yesterday, and remembered the power of Andi's voice as it pierced the air. A small echo of that sound seemed to find its way into my voice as I whispered a simple, “No.”
That one soft syllable seemed to multiply as it escaped my lips, filling the room with whispers that surrounded both me and Sabina, then seemed to seek out the encroaching darkness and chase it back outside. Emboldened by this, I opened the door and strode toward Mr. Bouchard. A subtle echo of my voice still clung to my feet, forcing the shadow to part as I passed through it. I closed my eyes, refocusing on the sound of Andi's voice, and calmly said, “Leave...Now”.
When I opened my eyes, the scene had returned to normal. The elderly man was sitting in his wheelchair, staring out to sea, and there was no sign of mist or shadow. The brightness of the afternoon sun made me wonder if I had imagined it, but when I turned, Sabina was once again standing in the door, this time with a look of awe on her face. I took my leave of Mr. Bouchard, and, returning to her side, I simply said, “Tell me.”
She nodded, but whispered, “Not here. It's too...” She shivered slightly and added, “Let's go someplace else.”
After that encounter, I didn't think the cottage would be a good place for her, but to my surprise, when I asked her where she wanted to chat, that was exactly where she wanted to go. On the brief walk down the road, I asked, “How did you know about the cloud of witness?”
She hesitated before revealing, “Andi told me.”
I didn't know what to make of this. “It seems she gets around more now that's she's dead than she ever did when she was alive,” I joked.
“Yeah, I guess,” she chuckled nervously.
“Have you actually seen her?” I asked. “Does she talk to you?”
“No, not really,” she mused. But she shows me pictures and shares feelings with me. “Like today, she showed me a picture of you surrounded with darkness, and I could feel her panic. I just knew you needed me.”
“How did you get here?” I realized that I hadn't seen any of the social workers.
“Kevin brought me,” she smiled. “He borrowed his dad's truck. He headed straight up to Ben's room. He said he didn't want to get in the way, but I think he was scared. He kept fidgeting in his seat the whole time he was driving, and then he practically ran in here in front of me, like he couldn't wait to get away from me.
I smiled at this, realizing that he was probably just nervous. It was most likely his first time driving while free balling, and he was worried about sitting on his balls in front of his sister. “Yeah, you're probably right,” I agreed, making a note to check in with him later. “But for now, Tell me about Andi. What did she reveal to you?”
“Nothing really,” she mused. “She first visited me right after she died.”
“Did you see her then?” I asked.
“No, but I felt her presence. I just knew she was there. And funny thing, I wasn't afraid. First I smelled her perfume, then I felt like she was giving me a big strong hug.” She thought for a moment. “I was sad she had died, but I didn't feel like she was gone. Just...different.”
“And today?
“Like I said, I knew she was there, but this time I could feel her panic. Suddenly I knew you were in danger, and I knew where you were. I'm afraid I forces Kevin to drive me here, I don't think he wanted to come, so if he gets in trouble for taking his dad's truck...”
“He won't get in trouble. I'll see to that.” I asked, “Did she show you the shadow or explain what it was?
“No, I already knew about the shadow.”
To get in touch with the author, send them an email.
