The Seeing

Chapter Twenty-Three

The lights and shadows in her mind had grown so insistent and demanding, so frightening in their implications, that Jessica’s awareness of the actual world around her had become tentative and fragile. An evanescent view of the future, details blurred and inexact but implicit in horror, so commanded her energy and attention that she was hardly conscious of the bolts being drawn in the locked door of her bedroom. When her consciousness surfaced to reality, she saw her Uncle Eric looming above her, tucking a key into his vest pocket.

Holding up a packet of letters and a folder, he smiled at her and said, “Time to talk. To let you know we’re aware of your strange gifts, Jessica. Courtesy of this explicit correspondence between Dr. Homewood and the late Andrew Dalworth.”

The sound of those cherished names, plus the abrasive exploitation of her privacy, altered the fabric of the images obscuring her awareness of physical surroundings.

She got off the bed and stood and faced her uncle, vivid contempt in her eyes.

“Those letters don’t belong to you,” she said. “But I’m not surprised you’ve read them.”

Eric sighed. “You’re being unfair, Jessica. Maud and I have only your best interests at heart. Our one thought has been to help. We aren’t rich, Jessica. You probably can’t understand what that means. Since you were a mere child, you’ve been surrounded and protected by luxury. But had you trusted us, had you been responsive to your family ties, we would have been your friends. We would have helped you. Even as Maud and I—”

Eric’s voice had become quiet and thoughtful, touched with resignation. Raising his eyes to the ceiling as if for approval, he went on, “—even as Maud and I helped your dear mother and father when they were in need of—”

“I don’t believe any of this,” Jessica said sharply, and now there was a deeper tone in her voice.

“It’s sad to find such cynicism in one so young.”

“Please stop it! You must think I’m a thorough fool. There was not even a postcard from you when Andrew was alive. You’ve lied to me from the start. I treasured the locket Aunt Maud gave to me until the morning that Mr. Flynn and I cleaned it with silver polish and found the tiny initials on the inside. They weren’t my mother’s at all.”

“Your father probably bought it second-hand which explains why—”

“Stop wasting your breath, Uncle Eric. I know you poisoned Fluter. And I saw with my own eyes what happened to Mr. Brown. You’re a pack of thieves and murderers and if it’s the last thing I do—”

Eric grabbed her by the shoulders and shook her with ruthless strength. “Don’t ever threaten me, young lady, or it will be the last thing you do. Have you thought how ridiculous your accusations will sound? As far as that old fool, Brown, is concerned, would a jury take your word against mine and Constable Riley’s?” Eric released her and looked appraisingly at her slim, budding body.

“Jessica, you’re at the age where your hormones and emotions are in a state of riot. The line between fantasy and reality is blurred, which explains your erratic behavior. Fleeing from the house without rhyme or reason, running to a beach where you could have caught your death of cold — fearsome things—” He sighed. “Faithful retainers, the victims of foul play? Beloved pet mysteriously poisoned? No.” He shook his head. “It simply won’t wash, Jessica. Maud and I brought you back here to protect you, and we’ve shut you up to prevent you from harming yourself...”

“That’s not the truth and you know it!”

“And in return—” Eric went on as smoothly, “—and in return, Jessica, all we want is a small favor.”

Jessica stared directly into his eyes. “I will do nothing for you.”

“I urge you to reconsider,” Eric said. “I might not ask so nicely a second time.”

With apparent amiability, Eric said, “I like your spirit, because it suggests an emotional tension that suits my purpose.”

As he saw her sharpening awareness, Eric nodded in gratification. “Let me refresh you with a paragraph from one of the doctor’s letters.”

Opening the leather file, he removed a page and unfolded it, a faint but sensual smile touching his lips.

“ ‘Jessica’s skills’,” he said, reading aloud, “ ‘that is, her processes of precognition, would escalate at a powerful rate in proportion to the profundity of her emotional states.’ ”

Eric glanced at Jessica and said, “This was written by Dr. Homewood when you were nine. To translate his medical gibberish into plain English, it simply means that the more terrified you are, the better qualified you’ll be to help us.”

Eric walked to the large bay window and looked down at the stables. With his back to Jessica, he said thoughtfully, “For some reason, our new groom, Benny Stiff—” He turned and smiled at Jessica. “For some odd reason, he’s taken a fancy to you—” He jingled the key to her room.

Noting the repugnance in her expression, Eric shrugged. “It’s just something to keep in mind.”

In a level voice, Jessica said, “I don’t even know the words to describe you.”

Eric removed a cigarette lighter from his vest pocket, snapped the wheel and stared at the spurting flame.

“Another thought — so many unfortunate accidents occur around these lovely, isolated country homes. Wouldn’t it be a shame, Jessica, if some careless person — a tramp or gypsy perhaps — accidentally started a fire in the stables?”

Jessica drew a quick breath, the sound sharp in the straining silence.

“Wouldn’t that be dreadful, Jessica?”

Jessica shook her head slowly, eyes narrowing to pinpoints of light.

“You know how horses panic in fire,” Eric said. “If the stalls are locked, they often break their legs trying to kick their way out. The screams of horses trapped that way sound almost human. And even if they are lucky enough to have someone around to lead them out, they’re likely to bolt right back to the false security of the blazing stables. It’s happened time after time.”

Eric snapped his lighter shut, dropped it into his vest pocket. “I trust you’ll be sensible, Jessica.”

“That’s only a word, Uncle Eric. It doesn’t mean the same to everybody.”

“Don’t play games with me, Jessica. I’ll tell you what I want and there’ll be no damned discussion about it.”

He dropped the folder on her bed and pointed to it. “There’s the information you need, the names of the entries in the Grand National. You tell me the win, place, and show horses, understand? Use tea leaves, Ouija boards, or those precognitions your bloody Dr. Homewood is so awed by, I don’t give a damn. Just tell me the winners, how they’ll come in.”

“I can do that, Uncle Eric,” she said quietly, and he was too agitated by the implications of that simple statement to hear a different tone in her voice, see a look in her eye, older than her years, close to ancient mockeries. “But people don’t always know what they want, Uncle Eric,” the girl went on. “They choose without light and make mistakes.”

“I don’t need any talk of your bloody lights and colors, Jessica. I’ve told you what I want. So what is it you want? Think hard, girl. Do you want me to give the key to your room to Benny Stiff? Do you want to see a fire in the stable and hear your horse scream? If that’s what you want, I’ll sure as hell give it to you!”

“I know what I want,” Jessica said, shrugging and turning from him, a perverse smile touching her lips. In her mind there was a shimmer of radiance and through it the child saw the hill and river, Julian’s metaphor of time and fate, with currents taking away the headstrong and unwary while she watched... “Leave me now, please, and I will do your work.”

“You can, Jessica?” His voice was trembling. “You will?”

“Yes, I’ll give you what you say you want, what you’re asking for...”

Eric locked the door behind him when he left the room, holding the key tight like a talisman in his fist as he hurried down the stairs. He needed a drink now, a moment alone to savor his triumph.

In her bedroom, Jessica stood perfectly still as the figures of unrealized time began forming in her consciousness, streaking like quicksilver along the neurons of her mind.

After a moment, she picked up the manila envelope which Eric had dropped on the coverlet of her bed.