Stephanie Doyle - Possessed

“You’re going to have to spell it out.”

“Chris is an exceptional student. Her talent is truly powerful. Almost as powerful as yours. A telepath, naturally. Like you, she had an extremely difficult upbringing. Maybe even more so. Her parents are both dead. It was a murder/suicide. Awful. Like with you, I pulled her out of a home for the mentally committed. I kept doing that. I kept telling her how much like you she was. How similar your talents were. I don’t think I should have done that.”

Cass stood in her tiny kitchen and tried to assemble the story Dr. Farver was putting together for her. There was a student, a girl, at the institute who shared a similar talent for telepathy.

Only Cass wasn’t telepathic.

And something else. Something about the murder/suicide sounded familiar. Why did it sound familiar? How could it?

“I told her you didn’t want to take part in the research,” Dr. Farver continued, his tone more jittery, more nervous than she would have believed possible of the reserved doctor.

“Okay.”

“She seemed upset by that. Even disturbed. She kept insisting that I try to talk you into it. I think she was counting on the fact that you and she were connected in some way. That you might help her develop her gift even further. When I finally told her that you had absolutely refused testing, it was like…I don’t know. Something snapped.”

“Dr. Farver,” Cass said calmly, although the answers were starting to stream in like sand that was suddenly allowed to flow through an hourglass. It was just a matter of time before all the sand was weighted on one side and the full picture revealed. “Why do you think she broke into your office?” The someone no longer being in doubt.

She heard him sigh on the other end of the phone. “I’m not sure. I can’t be positive. It’s just that she’s gone. We’ve looked everywhere for her. It’s not like she’s a prisoner here. Of course she’s free to come and go as she pleases. But recently she’s been gone for days without a word to us. When she came back the last time, she seemed out of sorts. Rattled. High-strung. She kept asking when you were coming. I told her you’d been here and what you’d decided. I came into the office this morning and everything was turned over. Papers everywhere, drawers opened.”

“And?” Cass prompted, waiting for the punch line he clearly did not want to deliver.

“And…your folder. It was on top of my desk. I was sure I had put it away. The sheet of paper with your new address was missing. Cass, I think she’s coming to look for you.”

“I have to go, Dr. Farver.”

“I’m sorry. I’m truly sorry. I shouldn’t have gotten her hopes up so much. It’s just that you two were so much alike. Even the bruises that you would get, she would get, too.”

Numbly, Cass hung up the phone. A girl with her talent. But not telepathy. Cass closed her eyes and thought back to the contact with the monster on the street. The person, the girl, in the hooded sweatshirt had stopped, had looked at Cass.

Why?

Anytime before when Cass had done a reading, the living were never aware of the dead’s presence. If Cass chose not to say anything, which she often did with the occasional stray contact, the living person would have been oblivious.

But when the monster came, the hooded figure stopped. Stopped and looked and watched. Like she was aware of the monster, too.

Cass shook her head and paced the living room. That didn’t make sense. If this Chris was another medium, then that would mean that she was a conduit, too. That she had to be channeling for someone else. Someone else who brought the monster into both of their lives? It seemed too far-fetched that there was another person involved. The only time Cass had ever had direct contact with the dead had been with…her grandfather.

Family.

Cass ran back toward the phone and punched in Dougie’s cell phone. It took him a few seconds to answer but eventually he did. “Hi.”

“Hey,” he replied, recognizing her voice. “Tell me you came to your senses and you’re ready to set this trap. I know McDonough is worried, but I promise we can do this safely.”

“Dougie…”

“You can’t talk. Is that it? Is McDonough in the room with you?”

“No, I’m home.”

“What the hell are you doing there? You’re not alone are you?”

“Forget about that for a second,” she cut him off irritably. “Listen to me. When you were checking into those stories about the other people who had had their tongues cut out, you said there was a domestic dispute case.”

“Yeah. The wife offed her husband. Apparently he was abusive. But I told you, she’s dead. She killed herself a few months later.”

Murder/suicide.

“Did they have any children? Specifically, did they have a daughter?”

“A daughter?” Dougie repeated. “You’re thinking…”

“Can you check?”

“Yeah. Hold on. The file is on my desk somewhere.”

She waited while he moved through his office, then she heard the rustle of papers and had to bite her lip to keep herself from shouting to him to hurry.

“Here it is. Wallace and Patricia Rockingford. They had…No, a son. Christopher. No, wait. It’s just listed as Chris. I guess it could be…Christine. Holy shit, Cass. You think this is our girl?”

“I’m pretty sure it is. She lives at the institute in D.C. I’m not sure why she would have taken the train from Baltimore unless she had my old address and went looking for me there… It doesn’t matter. It’s her.”

“Stay put. I’m on my way. Keep the door locked, and whatever you do don’t let anyone in.”

“Right.”

Cass hung up the phone and wrapped her arms around her waist. Dougie was on the way. They had a very solid lead on the person if not responsible for the murders then certainly connected to them.

It couldn’t be coincidence. Chris’s mother had cut out her father’s tongue. Why? Why the tongue? And which one was the monster? Not that it mattered. Either way, the daughter had to be severely messed up.

Messed up.

Malcolm’s words came flooding back, and Cass found herself wishing desperately that he was here with her. She’d never let herself get close to anyone. Had avoided it on purpose. In a week he had become this anchor of stability. She’d said it couldn’t be real and maybe it wasn’t, but it didn’t feel like such a short time. It felt like years. If only there were no Lauren. If only there were no opening for her to be used, she could have had…what?

Instead she was standing in her empty apartment. Alone with her cats.

Admittedly, petrified.

“Nothing to be afraid of,” she told herself firmly. Dougie was on his way. They knew who they were dealing with now. It was just a matter of time.

It was as if the words themselves conjured the tingle that ran up her spine. She barely had seconds to gather her defenses before the pain of impact overwhelmed her, and suddenly there was a monster in her head. In her room.

Inside the apartment, Cass whirled and saw the doorknob on the apartment door turning. She hadn’t locked it. When she’d walked inside, she’d let the cats loose and then the phone had rung and she hadn’t locked it.

Cass jumped for the door, pushing against it to keep whoever was on the other side out, but in her room, the monster roared.

Sha -a uh-h-h! Sha-a uh-h-h!

It swung at her, and Cass felt the contact immediately to the side of her face. The momentum of the blow threw her back against the wall inside her white room, and physically she tumbled and fell butt first on the linoleum kitchen floor. Too far away now. All she could do was watch as the door opened and a slim figure in a hooded sweatshirt walked through it.