Whispers from the Dead (16 page)

“Did you tell Dr. Clark about Rosa? About the murders?”

“No,” she said. “I just told him you were having some frightening hallucinations.”

“Mom, they’re not—”

She interrupted nervously. “The doctor you’ll be seeing is named Dr. Arnold Fulton. One of his patients had just canceled an appointment for ten tomorrow morning, and we got the time. Wasn’t that fortunate?”

“Mom,” I told her, “please don’t be afraid.”

“Afraid? Sweetheart, I’m terrified! I don’t know why this is happening to you, and I want it to stop!”

“Maybe it would stop if I found out what Rosa wants.”

Mom hugged me. “Sarah! Don’t do this. You’re hurting
yourself, and that hurts your father and me. Whatever happened in this house is over and done with. Please believe that.”

I returned her hug, saying, “I don’t want to hurt you, Mom.”

“I know you don’t, Sarah. I put that badly,” she said, tears in her eyes too. She tried to smile. “Why don’t you go upstairs and take a nap?”

“I am awfully tired,” I said. I could feel her eyes on me as I walked slowly up the stairs.

The first thing I did was check the window in the guest bedroom. It was closed, so it told me nothing. Had it been opened? I took a wooden coat hanger out of the closet and jammed it between the sash and the top of the window. I wished I’d thought of that before. It wasn’t a tight fit, but I thought it would hold until Dad fixed the lock.

As I walked into my own bedroom, a word kept returning, flicking in and out of my mind like a persistent little gnat:
¡Peligro!
I tried to wave it away, but I couldn’t ignore it.
¡Peligro!
the woman had called. What did it mean?

I thumbed through the vocabulary list at the back of my Spanish-English phrasebook and found the word quickly.
¡Peligro!
—“Danger!”

I had seen a repeat—as though it were a film—of the murders. Afterward I had lain on the floor, sobbing, screaming, trying to escape the horror of what I had seen and heard. A woman had cried out,
“¡Peligro!”
Danger! But the murders had already happened, the scene was
over, and Tony was there to help me. It didn’t fit. The warning was in the wrong place.

I didn’t want to think about it any longer. My head hurt, and I was desperate for sleep. I flung back the blanket and sheet, kicked off my shoes, and climbed into bed, rolling myself into a tight ball. Mercifully, within seconds I felt myself dropping into sleep.

Dr. Arnold Fulton matched his office. He was middleaged and slender, with a head of hair as full as his thick, brown beard. His furniture was expensive but nondescript, and it was all in browns and greens and beiges. It was designed to be restful. Dr. Fulton was beige and brown and restful too. He moved slowly, with precision, and his voice was soft. He asked Mom to wait in his “parlor” while he heard my story.

I began with the drowning and went right through to the horror of yesterday’s apparition. He sat motionless, his greenish-gray eyes on mine, and—except for an occasional blink—he didn’t move through the whole recital.

When I finished, I waited for him to speak. I waited so long that it made me uncomfortable. “Aren’t you going to say something?” I finally asked.

“You’ve related a remarkable tale. I need time to assimilate it.”

“Mom and Dad are worried about me. They want to help me, which is why I’m here. But I want to be honest with you. I promised Rosa I would help her, and I’m going to do it.”

“How can you help Rosa?” he asked.

“I—I don’t know yet,” I said. “I think she’ll let me know.” I took a deep breath to hide my embarrassment. “Look, I know how all this sounds, but I believe in Rosa. I have to.”

“Do you believe that your house is haunted?” The question startled me.

“Haunted? No, I hadn’t thought— Why did you ask that?”

“You’ve related a story of a ghostly voice, noises, and apparitions.”

I felt myself blush. “I didn’t mean it to sound like that. I was talking about a person—Rosa.”

“Who you believe is haunting you?”

“You make it seem like a horror movie.”

He toyed with a pencil, spinning it up and down between his thumb and finger, and was silent for a few long minutes. Finally he said, “Houses are not haunted.”

I interrupted angrily. “I just told you that I—”

In turn, he spoke before I could finish my sentence. “Houses are not haunted, Sarah. People are, and not by either preternatural or supernatural beings but by their own internal fears.”

“Rosa Luiz is very real. I didn’t know about her before we moved into that house. And don’t forget the packet. It’s real.”

“Very well. We’ll accept the fact that the packet exists. Can you see that the packet could, in itself, have been the stimulus for the scene that took place in your mind?”

“It could, I guess, but it wasn’t.”

“Sarah, would you describe yourself as a creative, imaginative person?”

“Yes, but—”

“Then the house and the occurrence could have been the vehicles that allowed you to manifest your own fears. Do you see what I’m getting at?”

“You mean, my fear of the water? My fear of dying?”

“It’s possible.”

“But why would I hear someone calling for help?”

“Think about it.”

It doesn’t take long to see what he’s getting at. “Do you mean that
I’m
the one calling for help?”

Dr. Fulton didn’t answer. He just waited, watching me.

“So I’m calling for help in solving my own problem. Okay. But what does that have to do with a murder?”

“Do you still dream about drowning?”

I was surprised. “Why, no. I guess not.”

“When did the dreams of drowning stop?”

I had to think for a minute. “About the time we moved here.”

“Do you think your fears have taken on a new form?”

“I—I don’t think so. When I dreamed about Rosa, it was very different. Rosa was a real person. Don’t you see?”

He stood and said, “Sarah, I’d like to help you work through this problem. I’ll talk to your mother now and set up the next appointment. Is this agreeable to you?”

“Yes,” I answered, simply because I didn’t know what else to say.

Dr. Fulton talked to Mom, and she seemed less frantic
and more relaxed as we left his office and began the drive home.

“He seemed like a nice, sympathetic person,” Mom said.

“He thinks it’s all in my imagination.”

Mom took her eyes off the road for only a second to glance at me sharply. “He didn’t say that.”

“But he thinks it. I can tell,” I said. “Mom, I didn’t imagine Rosa and what I saw any more than I imagined the presence that used to follow me after I nearly drowned.”

“Oh, sweetheart,” Mom said quickly, “I like Dr. Fulton, and I know he’ll be able to help you.”

Mom seemed so hopeful, I didn’t want to discourage her. “I guess that means I’d better try to conquer my fear of the water,” I said. “Okay. I’ll do my best.”

“Good for you, Sarah.” Mom beamed and reached over to pat my knee.

Sooner or later I was going to have to swim again, but I could still feel the dark water smothering me, holding me, while my heart pounded against my ears and my lungs exploded with pain.

I don’t care what they believe, I thought. My fear of drowning didn’t create Rosa. She’s real, and she needs my help.

T
ony telephoned soon after we arrived home. “What did the therapist tell you?” he asked.

I attempted to make light of it. “He thinks it’s just my imagination working overtime.”

I expected Tony to laugh or kid about it, but he didn’t. He was serious when he asked, “What did he say when you told him about Rosa?”

“He didn’t seem to think Rosa was important. He was more interested in what he thinks is my overactive imagination.”

“Will you see this doctor again?”

“Yes. Mom wants me to.”

There was a pause, then Tony asked, “When you visit a therapist, you tell him everything, don’t you?”

“Yes.”

“So you’ll talk about Rosa and what you saw? All the details?”

“I’ll talk about it, and he’ll help me get some meaning from it.”

“What kind of meaning?”

“Well, for starters, he told me I could be haunted—great word, isn’t it?” My laugh came out more of an embarrassed squeak. “Haunted by my own fears, that is,” I went on, “which means my fear of drowning, my fear of even going near the water. So to make everyone happy I’ll have to work on the problem. I guess I’ll start with our neighborhood swimming pool.”

“I have a better idea,” Tony said. “I know a nice little lake, close to your part of Houston. There won’t be a lot of people around to stare at you, as there would be at the pool, because the lake’s on private property. I’ll be in with you, and I’m a good swimmer. You won’t need to go in any deeper than your ankles if you don’t want to.”

“What about the owners? We can’t just sneak onto their property.”

“Don’t worry,” he said. “The owners live in Dallas. This property is undeveloped land, still wooded and very pretty. A caretaker comes by now and then, but I’ve always managed to stay out of his way. There’s a dirt road into the place, and the lake is close to the road. Will you come with me?”

I didn’t want to answer. I had said I’d try, but it was a huge step to take. Sweat trickled down my backbone, and my mouth was too dry to speak.

Tony’s voice was so low and soft, it made me shiver. “I want to help you, Sarah. Won’t you let me?”

“Y-yes,” I heard myself stammer. To be with Tony? My breath came a little faster. Oh, yes!

“Good. I’ll be over in less than an hour.”

“Today? Now? No, Tony. I have to think about it.” I pressed a hand against my stomach, which was beginning to hurt.

“You’ve had months to think about it,” he said. “You want to tackle your fear of the water. Well, then, do it. Your whole life will change when you prove to yourself that you’re stronger than your fear.”

I knew he was right. Procrastination wouldn’t help. I clung to the telephone as though it were a lifeline, and managed to say, “All right. I’ll be ready when you get here.”

I put down the phone and found Mom in her bedroom, sorting through a box of old shoes and wrinkled clothes. “Why did I pack these?” she asked with a sigh. “They belong in a garage sale.”

“Mom,” I blurted out, “Tony asked me to go swimming with him. I said I would. He’ll be here in about an hour.”

Mom dropped the skirt she was refolding. Her mouth opened, and she was obviously so surprised that she couldn’t speak.

“Everyone keeps telling me if I conquer my fears, I’ll solve my problems. Tony said I should take the first step right now, without thinking about it, and I guess he’s right.”

Mom’s eyes shone. “Good for you, Sarah!” she said. “Would you like me to go to the pool with you and Tony?”

“We’re not going to the pool. It’s a little lake Tony knows about. He says it’s not far from here.”

“A lake?”

“Mom, he said it’s on private, undeveloped land, and there wouldn’t be a lot of people around. I’d like that.”

“Just you and Tony.” Mom frowned. “Is he a good swimmer? Good enough?”

“You mean, if I get into trouble again?” I tried to reassure her. “Mom, I’m not planning to go out very far into the water. In fact, just getting my feet wet will probably be enough for the first time.”

“I don’t know,” Mom said. “The pool might be a better choice.”

I dropped on my back across her bed. “You don’t know how hard it is to make myself do this. I was so scared at the whole idea of going swimming with Tony that I got sick to my stomach when he asked me. But I said I’d go, and now you don’t want me to.”

“Oh, Sarah, it’s not that I don’t want you to!” Mom hurried to say. “You can’t believe how happy I am that you’re going to try. I—I’m just not sure about Tony, that’s all. I don’t really know him. How good a swimmer is he? How reliable?”

I rolled on one side and propped my head on my elbow. “Forget it,” I said. “We’ll stay home. I hated the whole idea, anyway.”

Mom sat beside me. “I handled this all wrong. I guess I worry too much about you, Sarah. I’m too protective. I have to allow you to make your own decisions. Sometimes I just don’t know what to do.”