“I feel like Oda Mae Brown,” I say.
“Who?”
“Whoopi Goldberg.”
He looks at me blankly.
“From the movieGhost?”
Still blank.
“You’ve never seen it?”
“Should I?”
“It’s only one of the best films of all time. Whoopi Goldberg plays Oda Mae Brown, who claims to be a medium, only she’s a total fraud. Between you and me, I think most of them are.”
“Careful,” he says. “Your podcast listeners might hear.”
“They already know.”
“So,notbetween you and me, then.”
But I hardly register the comment.
I’m too busy looking around at more of the room. An impressive sideboard with clawed feet spans the length of one wall. A pair of matching candelabras stand atop it on either end. Above, a gilded mirror reflects the sun’s lingering glow.
What has it seen—that mirror?
If I could look into its depths, if it held actual memory, what would it show me?
“If she’s a fraud,” Jude says, “why do you feel like her?”
“Shewasa fraud. Until Sam—he’s the ghost—starts speaking to her.”
“Is a ghost speaking to you now?” he asks, more than a little dubiously.
“Depends on your definition of ghost.” I look up at the crystal chandelier, where delicate cobwebs shimmer like spectral threads. “Do you think past events can leave behind an imprint?”
“An imprint?”
I look at him and immediately regret the decision, as I am flummoxed by his appearance all over again. Seriously, couldn’t he have changed into some sweats?
He slides his hands into his pockets and quirks one perfectly brooding eyebrow.
“There’s this theory in paranormal circles called the stone tape theory,” I say. “Basically, an intense event can leave a lasting impression on a location. Energy gets trapped, causing the event to be replayed over and over. Like a residual haunting.”
“Let me guess. You believe in this theory.”
“I don’t know.” I close my eyes, ears perked, as though the candles might whisper their secrets. “I can almost hear them sitting down to dinner. Their meal gets interrupted. Then the phone call to 911.”
When I open my eyes, Jude is staring at me like I’m something novel. An impossible puzzle. Abook he’d really like to read, only it’s written in a foreign language.
“It’s like this space is caught between worlds. This big thing happened here. Nobody knows what, exactly. But the room does. It’s a bridge between the living and the vanished.” My goosebumps multiply. The moment has grown serious. And spooky. I shake it away and flash Jude a self-deprecating smile. “Like Oda Mae Brown.”
“Well,Oda,” he says, “let’s find Denis, shall we?”
Right.
