Moon Mirror (2 page)

Her hands closed upon the strips of metal-studded leather, crumpling them together.

But—

It was like the time in the park. Only this time there was no warning tingle, no slow rise of sensation to her head. Instead she saw a picture in her mind.

Sue gave a gasp, dropped the harness.

“Su-Ki! The car hit her—Su-Ki!”

There was no kitchen, but a street, and in the gutter a Siamese cat kicked spasmodically.

“Sue!” Jerry pulling at her arm. “Sue—what's the matter? Who's Suky? Sue!”

She threw the harness from her and the picture was gone. But it remained so vividly in her memory that she could not rid herself of it so easily.

“Su-Ki—she was a cat. She wore that—a car hit her—” she repeated as if she must keep in mind what she had seen, that it was important.

Dimly she was aware of Jerry staring at her as she pushed back from the table, heading for her room. Once in that refuge Sue slammed the door behind her. Shaking, cold with fear, she fell rather than sat on the edge of the bed.

Was this the way people went crazy? She—she had been hit on the head when she fell off the Honda. Then all those headaches— And in the park when she thought she was outside her body— Just now seeing Su-Ki . . .
NO!
She did not know any Su-Ki—she had never seen a cat the. She could not be remembering—it was— She must be going crazy!

Sue bit down hard on the edge of the hand she had raised to her mouth. She could feel the pain of that. This was her own room, she was here—

“Sue!” Jerry pounded on the door, called through it.

“Just let me alone! Let me alone!” her voice was close to a scream.

She had to think, to know— How did a person go crazy?

They saw things that were not there— They— She wanted
to dive into bed and pull up the covers, bury herself so and never come out. A doctor—suppose she went to Dr. Wilson and told him, and then they took her away to be shut up somewhere— And—

Sue wanted to scream, but she would not let herself. Mom, Dad, Jerry—if she was going crazy—she could— could
hurt
them maybe. Get away—away from here before she did something to someone. Get away where nobody knew her—

She began to dress. Now that she had made her decision it seemed to steady her. She could think, plan a little. She had her allowance for next week. Dad had given it to her this morning. And she had the money she had been saving up to go to the Cape with the Service Club. There was her piggy bank, too—she put dimes in that all year long for Christmas. As she buckled her sandals she counted up her resources.

Then she got out her big purse and put it all in, the wallet with her allowance, the envelope of the club money, last of all the weight of dimes from the piggy bank, not stopping to count. Jerry had gone away. But he would tell Mom—

Sue went to the south window. She could get out here, cut across the yard into the Fentons’ drive. She did not know the bus schedule. But if there was not one leaving soon maybe she could hitch a ride. Dad said no hitching ever, but house rules did not count now.

The need to move fast made her stronger. Sue pushed out the window screen, scrambled through, and was down the Fentons’ drive and into the back street in no time at all. The
bus station was on Vandosia, she could cut over by the library, avoid going down De Sota.

Holding her heavy purse against her Sue stumbled on. She had hurried so fast she was getting a pain in her side and she felt a little dizzy. Better slow up, she did not want to faint or something and fall down right on the street. Maybe she should sit down awhile. The library was closed today, she could sit on the steps at the side where the bushes were.

“Sue! Sue Patterson!”

The name was called so demandingly that it reached even through the fog of fear. She looked up dazedly.

Miss Carmichael stood on the steps, she must have been working alone today. She did sometimes when she got behind. Sue, ready to cry with frustration and fear, found she could not run as she longed to.

“Sue, this is luck, running into you today. There has to be a change in our plans for the Cape. We can't get the bus until—Sue! What is the matter, dear?”

There she stood, wearing one of her book-colored dresses which always seemed to fit in with the shelves and the volumes which were her usual background, her gray hair cut short in ragged little points about her face, looking at Sue like Mom did just before she began to fuss. Sue felt as if she were backed against a wall with no hope of escape. For the first time she thought she could easily hate Miss Carmichael.

“Leave me alone! Just—leave me alone!” Sue flailed out with one arm as if to beat off an expected attack.

“Sue, there must be something very wrong. You need help.”

“Just—leave me alone.” But Sue could not fight any longer, she felt so weak, so full of fear.

“Sue, come on in the library. You—you are ill.”

Sue was hardly aware of the words. In spite of herself she responded to the grasp on her arm which took her away from the walk into the dusky quiet of the big building closed for the weekend.

“Sit here. I will get you some water—”

Sue sat. She was in Miss Carmichael's office. It was stuffy with the smell she always associated with books. The library had always been an important part of her life since she had been old enough for Mom to bring her to pre-school story hour.

It was so quiet and then came the soft whirr of a fan. Miss Carmichael must have turned that on. Sue tried to think. She had to get away, only she was so sick she felt as if she could not stand up.

“Drink this, dear.” Miss Carmichael was back with a paper cup of water. Sue drank. She must get up, go— There was the bus—only now the walk to the station loomed in her mind as an endless journey.

Miss Carmichael sat down in her own chair behind the desk which was so covered with piles of papers, books and magazines that these formed a wall between them. Only Miss Carmichael's direct gaze, her obvious concern breached that wall.

“Can you talk about it, Sue?” She was not demanding an explanation, she was offering to listen. Sue understood that. But if Sue told her the truth—how quickly would Miss Carmichael change?

Words choked her, she felt so under pressure she had to talk. Well, why not say the truth? Learn right now what would happen to her when she told?

“I'm—I'm going crazy!” She blurted it out.

However there was no change in Miss Carmichael's expression. She did not look afraid, or lose that concern which reached Sue.

“Why do you think so, Sue?” Her composure had a calming effect. Sue straightened a little.

“Because—” Then, as if she could no longer contain her fear and misery, it all spilled out. The accident, the headaches, that terrible time in the park, and what she had seen when she picked up the harness.

“It's all wrong,” she almost wailed. “I never saw a cat the that way, I don't even know anyone who has a Siamese! So you see—I must be going crazy. And I've got to get away. Crazy people do terrible things. I might even—even try to hurt Jerry, or Mom, or Dad—”

“Sue,” Miss Carmichael's saying her name in that tone was like a quieting hand laid upon her lips. “Listen to me. You are not in the least insane.”

“But the cat—and being out of my body—and—”

“Listen to me carefully, Sue. Have you ever heard of psychometry?”

“You mean—like sending me to a psychologist? See, you do think I am crazy!”

“Not at all, my dear. Now try to use that good brain you do have and listen to me instead of your own fears. Over the past years men have begun to realize that there are indeed talents which can not be measured by the usual standards— paranormal gifts. Psychometry is one of these. Sometimes people are born with such talents. At other times these suddenly develop as the result of illness or injury. It is very true that we use only a small portion of our brains, as if sections are closed off from our control. Illness or injury apparently can break down the barriers between these closed sections. Can you understand me?”

Sue stared at her. “You mean—because I was hit on the head and then had all those headaches—that opened some part of my mind which didn't work before? But why me?”

For the first time Miss Carmichael smiled. “I imagine that particular question has been asked a good many times, Sue. And there is no answer one can give. But now I want you to know this—neither experience you have had (and that those were very frightening for you I can well understand) is unknown. The sensation of being out of the body, able to look down on one's self has been reported many times. And psychometry—the ‘reading’ of the past history of an object —is relatively common. What you must do is understand fully what has happened to you and learn how to use and control your talent.”

“But—how can I be sure—?”

“There are ways of making sure. For the moment you can take refuge in this thought—you are not alone, there are others with the same abilities. Now,” she opened the desk drawer, took out a booklet, and flipped over its pages. “There are tests for such talents. You must remember, Sue, that those who develop these gifts are not to use them foolishly, and, if they are not taught how to control them, they face many dangers. There are now foundations set up to study sensitives.”

“But—but people think that mind reading and all that stuff is just faking,” Sue protested. “They will still say I'm crazy.”

“If you talk about it with those wrongly educated, or ignorant, you may have that response, yes. But the first thing you must accept, Sue, is silence on your part, until you have the type of help you need to accustom you to this. Can you keep quiet?”

Sue licked her lips. “What about Mom, Dad, and Jerry? I could keep quiet with other people, but I don't know about them. Jerry knows already there is something wrong by the way I acted in the kitchen.”

“Yes,” Miss Carmichael had been running a finger tip down the page of the booklet, now she paused. “I can see your problem, Sue. I don't know how much your parents may be ready to accept this. That is why we may bring in an expert in the field—Dr. Muriel Evans.”

“A psychologist?” Sue flinched.

“A parapsychologist, Sue. She is the head of a research
department at Stafford. I have met her once; she gave a lecture here at the library three months ago. I shall get in touch with her.”

“But—until then?”

“I can not say more, Sue, than to keep as quiet as you can. Do not experiment nor discuss the matter—just be assured that you are not losing your sanity.” Miss Carmichael paused. “There is something else, Sue. Now you are frightened, disturbed, as is only natural. But that feeling of strangeness will go. And—this is very important, my dear— do not allow yourself to misuse what has been given you.”

“Misuse?” Sue wanted nothing but to be rid of what Miss Carmichael seemed to think was a gift, but what she hated and feared.

“Misuse, yes. You—” Again Miss Carmichael hesitated. “Perhaps the simplest way I can warn you, Sue, is to say that such talents lay a heavy burden on those who possess them. Any advantage which comes from their use must be for the good of others, not for the selfish gain of one who has the gift. Think of that if you are tempted to put your ‘seeing’ to any test. Say to yourself, Sue, is this for real benefit?”

“I won't use it at all” Sue returned quickly.

“You think that now. But conditions have a way of changing. Just think before you do, that is important.”

Sue gave a sigh. Perhaps it made sense to Miss Carmichael but—

Miss Carmichael stood up. “There have been books written about this, Sue. You haven't been a very steady
patron of ours of late but your card is still in force. Suppose you read a little about other people who have had to learn to live with paranormal gifts.”

Books—Sue caught at that. “Oh, yes—” she was eager.

But as she neared home, the money-heavy purse against her hip and the two volumes Miss Carmichael had chosen for her under her arm, she began to feel apprehensive again. If Jerry had told Mom about what had happened— Well, she could say she was sick again. If Mom had not yet gone to her room, found that screen out— She had better hurry!

The screen was still loose. Maybe that meant her absence had not been discovered. Sue jerked it farther out, scrambled in and pulled it back into place. The books—she'd put them here in the case. And—

She had just dropped her purse on the tumbled bed when there came a knock at the door.

“Sue! Sue—are you ill? Sue!”

Mom! Sue straightened, to face her reflection in the mirror. She did not look any different. Was Miss Carmichael right about what had happened to her? But there was no reason for the librarian to lie, and she had even called Dr. Evans, made an appointment for Sue to meet with her in Miss Carmichae's house next Saturday. She would not have done that if she had just made up a story to keep Sue quiet.

“Sue!”

“Coming!” This would be the first test, seeing Mom, keeping quiet.

She opened the door. Mom was worried all right. Jerry hovered behind her, his face unusually sober.

“Sue, Jerry said you were—”

“Acting queerly?” Somehow Sue found the words. “I— well, Mom, I was awfully sick. I had to get to the bathroom.”

“But this about a cat being killed—”

“It was the harness, Mom. It made me remember something I saw, made me sick.”

“Miss Williams gave us that,” Mom said slowly. “Her cat that was killed last year wore it. But that was before she moved here. You could not have seen that happen, Sue.”

“No—I saw another cat.” Sue shivered, and she did not have to act that, remembering only too well what she had seen in that flash of what Miss Carmichael called psychome-try.

“I see.” But was Mom satisfied? “Sue, if you are ill I want you to get back into bed. And I am going to phone Dr. Wilson.”

“What about Mrs. Mason, Mom?” Jerry interrupted. “She said she was coming right over.”

“Mrs. Mason?” Sue faltered. Almost during the past hour she had been able to push JJ. to the far back of her mind. Why did his mother want to see her?

“She is quite upset. She seems to think you know something important about James.”