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I’ve been confined to these four walls for days and I had too much time to inspect the dilapidated room. I thought we were in a rustic old cabin in the middle of the woods, but seeing the rest of the space, I can hardly call it old or dilapidated. The place is breathtaking.
The open floor plan features a two-story stone fireplace at the back center of the cabin.
Beams line the vaulted ceiling from both sides, meeting at the edges of the fireplace. To the right is an impressive gourmet kitchen. It wouldn’t take a chef to realize the opulence of the room with top-of-the-line appliances and granite countertops.
“They’re birch,” Law says, from my side. “The cabinets,” he explains, as though he knew my inner thoughts.
“Whatever that means.”
To the left is a massive wood dining table with seating for eight. A wine rack, fully stocked, lines the wall behind it. As we make our way toward the back, past the dining area, the room opens up even more to a living space, furnished with a rich leather sofa and overstuffed chairs. Now past the wine rack, I have a perfect view of the wooded lot through the floor-to-ceiling sliding glass doors that open out to a cedar deck.
This place is impressive.
“How the hell is my room in such bad shape when this place is amazing?” I say, dumbstruck.
He shrugs. “I never use that room. It’s been closed off until you arrived.”
“You’re a terrible host,” I tease, and Law rolls his eyes.
Shante takes a seat at the large dining table and motions us toward it.
“Sit, Marina,” she commands, and Law helps lower me into the seat across from her.
“So you want me to call to your sister, Maggie?” she says, jumping right to the reason she’s here.
“Yes,” I croak, feeling a tightness in my chest.
I’ve seen and talked to Maggie a few times, but something about this is different. Before, I only suspected she was dead. Having Shante call to her spirit drives the point home.
“We want to know why she jumped,” Law says, voice suddenly raw with emotion.
He said they were friends, but friends don’t look the way Law does. His eyes are pinched and his lips smashed together, as if he is in excruciating pain.There was something more between them.
Shante’s sharp blue eyes are focused in on Law curiously, likely coming to the same conclusions I am. She nods in acknowledgment.
“Tell me what she looked like the last time you saw her,” she instructs me.
I don’t need to think about it. The image is burned into my mind. I recall every detail of the way my sister looked that day.
I give her the same description I’ve given a million times. Yellow dress, white ribbon, both things that were signature for Maggie.
“Place your hands in mine,” Shante commands, leaning across the table and extending her arms, palms up. I do as instructed, and she closes hers around mine, squeezing once for reassurance.
She closes her eyes and begins murmuring something in a language I don’t recognize. “Close your eyes, Marina. Concentrate. Call out to your sister in your mind. Visualize her all the while.”
I slam my eyes shut, calling upon images of Maggie.
“Maggie if you’re here, let your presence be known. Talk to me. Tell me why you jumped,” I beg my sister’s spirit.
Minutes go by and I remain with my eyes still firmly shut, continuing to call to my sister telepathically. When nothing seems to be happening, I chance a glance by peeking my right eye open. Shante’s are still closed.
Her eyes are pinched at the corner and her jaw is clenched.
“What’s wrong?” I ask, but she shakes her head.
Shante begins chanting in that same foreign language. Sweat builds at her temple and a vein bulges in her neck.
“Shante,” Law warns, but she doesn’t stop chanting. The grip she has on my hands becomes painful as she squeezes. Heat radiates from her palms, growing from uncomfortable to unbearable.
