Whispering Hearts (7 page)

“You can seal it now. Just don't let anything spill out.”

“We doctors generally don't like letting things spill out when we're closing up a patient.” He was trying to lighten the mood, but all she gave him was a tiny smile.

He turned his attention to finishing the poppet, pinching the cloth together so the seams were inside. He kept his stiches as tiny and unnoticeable as possible while sealing it up.

Rachel handed him doll after doll until her stack was empty and his was full. She gathered them all up, then held them close to her chest, closing her eyes and whispering something. It was almost like she was praying over them.

She probably was.

“They're ready.”

“Is that it? We just hang them up?”

That intense stare was boring through him again. “No. We have to do it in a special order. We'll start on one side of the house and work our way to the other. And there's a little more to it than hanging them in the windows.”

“Lead on.”

He smiled at her, but the lines of tension around her eyes only intensified. Her stare turned into a glare.

He cleared his throat and gestured toward the dolls. “I can hang them up for you.”

She handed them over, then bent down to dig around in her backpack. When she stood, a small bronze cup suspended on three small chains dangled from her hand. Openings in decorative patterns covered the lid and sides.

“I've seen one of those before,” he said.

“Priests sometimes use them during ceremonies. It's called a censer.” She set it on the counter, then opened the lid.

She bent to her backpack again and this time came up with a box of matches and some cones of incense. She put the incense in the censer, then lit it. She extinguished the match and set it in the bowl that had held the poppets' spice mix.

Smoke from the incense pricked at Garrett's nose, the scent strong and not entirely pleasant. He was a fresh-air kind of guy. But if this would help Rachel, he didn't care how it smelled. She grabbed the spray bottle, then handed him a box of thumbtacks.

“We're going to have to put a hole above each window. I hope you don't mind.”

Her voice was thin and low. She wasn't looking at him at all anymore.

He wanted to make a joke about her being the one who would have to fix it the next time he asked for help repainting, but thought better of it.

All he said was, “Not a problem.”

They started in her room at the far end of the house. Rachel had him hang the poppet in the window, then she sprayed the window with saltwater.

She swung the censer through the whole room, in every corner—even in the closet. Especially in the closet. Then she sprayed the doors with saltwater as well.

“This one is done.” Her voice was tight and she was still frowning.

Garrett kept his mouth shut and nodded. Better cut his losses and not dig himself in deeper. They treated the whole house in the same way, moving from one end to the other as if they were herding something, pushing it away. His confidence in his theory grew.

After reaching the far end of the house, they doubled back to the front door, which Rachel sprayed down liberally. She turned to the last space in his house and paused. This time, it only took Garrett a second to remember why.

The garage.

“You don't have to,” he said. “I've seen enough. I can do it.”

“No.” She shook her head. “It has to be me.”

Chapter Six

Rachel saturated the door that led to the garage with saltwater before opening it. Her heart was pounding in her chest. For a few moments, she stood in the doorway looking inside. The space was empty except for a washer and dryer with a counter built into the wall next to them.

When she'd worked on Garrett's house, he'd told her that he loved natural light and wanted it everywhere. She never thought it would be such a boon when she changed out his garage door for one that had windows in it.

This was the antithesis of Michael's garage. His had been packed with workbenches and shelves lined with mason jars full of bizarre and disturbing things—the space a labyrinth of the macabre.

In Michael's garage, her shackles had been mounted on the wall opposite the door. Even in the dim light filtering in from the windows in Garrett's garage door, she could see the beautifully blank wall right in front of her. She let out a sigh and stepped down into the room.

“Do we need to hang a poppet over the garage door?”

Rachel started at Garrett's voice, not quite as at-ease as she thought. She tried to laugh it off, one hand to her chest, a forced smile on her face.

“Sorry. I'm a little jumpy.”

“You never need to apologize to me. And you don't need to do that either.” He briefly bobbed his head up in a gesture he usually saved for greetings.

“Do what?”

“Pretend you're okay when you're not.”

She stammered out, “I…I know. It's just habit.”

“It's okay. I'll keep reminding you as often as you need me to.”

He eyed the windows set in the garage door, then past her shoulder to the door that led to the side yard. It also had a window. The glass in all of them was lightly frosted, obscuring the view from both sides.

“Only one left.” Garrett held up the last poppet. “Where do we put this guy?”

“I'm not sure what to do with this space.”

“Why don't you explain to me what we're doing? Maybe I can help.”

Sure. If she tried to explain, he'd
help
her by taking her straight back to the hospital. No matter what he said about being open-minded or believing things that might surprise her, she doubted he would accept that ghosts were real and she could communicate with them.

Still, she wanted to give him something. He deserved that much.

“They're sort of good luck charms. I hang them in the windows to keep bad luck away.”

“There are four windows in the garage door. Five counting the door to the yard. Should we make more poppets?”

“I don't think so. This space is challenging.”

“Does the garage door really count as a window? The front door has glass in it, but you just sprayed it down. No poppet.”

“That's a good point.”

A really good point. Could he be grasping more of what was going on than she thought? She stared at him for a few moments trying to assess his expression, his body language, anything that might give her a clue. All she saw was a man desperate to help her.

She should have been more distant when they were working on his house together—refused the job outright. But she couldn't stay away. Like now. She wanted to be with him—no,
near
him. She could never be
with
him.

He deserved a normal partner, someone he didn't have to rescue constantly. Someone who didn't have trouble tracking a conversation with the living because of whispers from the dead.

She played into Garrett's weaknesses—his compulsion to help people. She knew it. And she still couldn't stop herself from calling. Because it meant another few hours—even minutes—in his company.

“The bottle's running low. Should we go make some more?”

“I need to stay here with the incense.”

The hair on her arms lifted at the thought of being alone in the garage. She pushed aside the terror that was leaping up from the pit of her stomach trying to find purchase on her thundering heart.

Of course he picked up on it.

“Can't I do that? Stay in your place?”

If only. But this was her ritual and she had to be the one to finish it. Backtracking into the house would weaken the work she had already done. She smiled at him and shook her head, then handed him the spray bottle.

“Just be quick, okay?”

“Can I at least turn on the light?”

“I prefer the sunlight.”

He nodded, his mouth a tight line underscoring the tension in his face. She would make this up to him. She would find a way.

He handed her the last poppet, then ran from the room. Full-on ran. He would be back as fast as humanly possible.

Human speed couldn't match inhuman.

Seconds after he left, the light in the room dimmed. The afternoon's thunderstorm was rolling in early.

She wanted to walk to the garage windows and look at the clouds, but she couldn't will herself to move. She felt rooted in place, fear spreading through her muscles in an icy grip that paralyzed her.

Darker. Darker. The light in the garage faded, shadows deepening, lengthening, reaching for her.

She clutched the poppet in her hand, focused on the scent of the incense. The house was already cleansed and warded. All she had to do was make it across the threshold from the garage to the hallway and she would be safe.

She was already safe. She hadn't heard so much as a whisper.

“Rachel.”

Closing her eyes, her entire body began to shake. Had they found her already? Even out here?

“Rachel?” A warm hand gripped her shoulder. She screamed.

“Rachel! It's me!”

There was no mistaking Garrett's silhouette against the light from the hallway. Why hadn't she let him turn on the light?

Because the artificial light reminded her of Michael's garage. His had no windows, no sunlight, only the cold, controlled buzzing of the fluorescents overhead. And that was when he decided he would spare her from utter darkness.

She shook her head, forcing the fear away. The adrenaline flooding her system was making her shake.

“Sorry, I guess I'm just…”
Hearing things.

She should be able to say it without the risk of landing in a psych ward. But she couldn't. Because she wouldn't tell him the truth.

“I wish you'd stop apologizing to me. To anyone.”

“Old habits.”

“Yeah, well it's high time to make some new ones. Like instead of carrying around one spray bottle, let's make it two.”

She laughed—a sound that bubbled up like the last breath when being held underwater. Her chest was too tight. The room was spinning.

“Come on.” He handed her the full bottle. “Let's finish this and get out of here.”

She nodded, focusing all her attention on that task.

Half the bottle was empty by the time she finished with the doors in the garage. She set the poppet on the counter next to the washer and dryer, positioned as if it was watching over the space, and set an intention to match.

It would have to do.

When they were back inside, Garrett shut the door behind them and locked it. His front door was a few feet away, connected to the same foyer. He checked that it was locked as well.

“I'm not worried about burglars or anything like that,” Rachel said.

“Yeah, well you make yourself feel better in your way and I'll do it in mine.” He grinned.

Garrett was being too supportive. Even for him. He wasn't asking questions about her odd behavior. The way he was acting, it was almost as if he understood what was going on.

Either that or he was humoring her for long enough to call in reinforcements. One way or another, she had to know.

“We need to talk,” Rachel said.

“We need to eat.”

He led her back to the kitchen. She set down her spray bottle on the counter and took out a trivet to place under the censer. The thick scent of the incense surrounded them.

Her body had gone numb while standing in the dark garage, but she knew she must be hungry. She wasn't sure she could keep anything down though.

“I'd just like some water.”

Thunder clapped nearby and they both jumped. The sound of rain pelting the roof quickly followed.

“That was weird timing,” he said. “Have any other wishes you want granted?”

She spoke before she could think better of it. “I want this all to have been a bad dream. I want to be normal.”

“I'm with you on the first one a hundred percent. But I can't back the second.”

“Why?”

“I want you just as you are.”

Her mouth fell open at his honesty. She could read it a couple of ways, but she knew how he meant it. He accepted her, cared for her, as she was.

But he didn't know everything.

Maybe telling him would help. Maybe it would push him away.

He headed for the refrigerator. “I hope turkey sandwiches are okay. As I recall, you really like them.”

“Garrett.” She waited to speak till he was crouched in front of the fridge, the door blocking her view of him. Somehow, that made it easier.

“Yeah?”

“I'm clairsentient.”

“Clair-what-now?”

“Clairsentient. It means I can perceive things using Extra Sensory Perception. ESP.”

He kept rattling around in the fridge. “What kind of things?”

“Ghosts. Voices of the dead.”

He stood up, mustard and mayo tucked under one arm and bags of turkey and cheese in his hand. “I think I saw that movie.” His face was deadpan, but he had to be joking.

“I'm serious.”

“So am I. I'm trying to get a common frame of reference. I want to understand what you're telling me.”

She hadn't expected that. He was being rational about it. Hearing her out. Part of her was excited at the opportunity to explain herself. Maybe, just maybe, he would believe her.

But a bigger part was terrified. She wasn't sure which she dreaded more—him thinking she was crazy or…believing her. This was supposed to push him away, not open possibilities.

“I only hear them. I don't see them. Well, except in reflections.”

“That's why you had me cover the mirror in your bathroom.”

“Yes.”

He nodded. “Okay. After lunch, we cover the rest of them. There aren't many, so it won't take long. And let's cut up a sheet or two instead of using towels. They'll stay put better.”

“Are you listening to me? Ghosts are real. They're around us constantly. And I can hear them.”

“Yeah. I get it.” He set down the food on the counter, then closed the door to the fridge. He kept working on lunch as he talked. “And that's why you aren't taking your meds. There's no point in taking anti-hallucinogens when you aren't hallucinating.”

It couldn't be this easy. He must be trying to keep her calm. As soon as he had a moment to himself, he would call someone to come get her or figure out a way to take her to the hospital himself. In the meantime, he was casually making them sandwiches.

“I'm not going back.”

She bit out each word. She would run into the swamp before going back to the hospital. At least there all she'd have to face were alligators. And snakes. And bugs.

Okay, maybe she wouldn't run into the swamp, but she sure as hell wasn't—

“I know.”

He spoke so softly her furious thoughts almost drowned him out. His voice was tired, gentle, resigned. If he had said it any other way, she probably wouldn't have registered him speaking. But there was a power to his quiet.

“How can you know? How can you believe me?”

He handed her the sandwich. “First we eat. Then we talk.”

She had seen that look before. He wasn't going to budge.

She took a tentative bite. Her stomach didn't balk at food as she had feared, and she was hungrier than she thought. She still glared at him the whole time she ate. He just smiled.

When she finished inhaling her sandwich, he handed her his own, then made another for himself and brought her some iced tea. How could he be so nonchalant about this?

When they were done she said, “You really believe me?”

He aimed a dazzling smile at her. “Being able to hear ghosts isn't the most outlandish thing I've heard
this month
. Your ability is kind of mainstream in comparison.”

Garrett knew other psychics? She had trouble believing it, then realized the hypocrisy of her thought. Adrenaline fired through her system, this time tinged with excitement instead of fear.

He shook his head and said, “I'm starting to think you can't throw a rock in this town without hitting a psychic.”

“Only the ones without precognition.”

He laughed. It wasn't much of one, but it made her heart skip in her chest—which was a bit hard to notice, since it was already flipping out from the joy of knowing she wasn't the only one.

Well, aside from Lillian. And Lillian didn't count.

“Let's move to the couch,” he said. “This might take a while.”

He picked up the spray bottle, then pointed at the censer. “Do we need to bring that?”

“No, it just needs to burn itself out.”

She followed him into the living room, then sat on the couch and curled her legs up under her. Instead of sitting in his recliner, Garrett joined her. He pulled out his phone and set it on the coffee table.

“How many do you know?”

She wanted names, phone numbers, ability descriptions. But if they were anything like her they would want their privacy. Maybe she would have Garrett give them her contact information and pray they were as curious about her as she was about them.

“With you, it's an even four.”

“Seriously?” She leaned forward, rising up on her knees.

He laughed again. “Don't get too excited. There's only one that I know for sure wants to talk to you about it. The others… Well, their secrets aren't mine to share.”