“Here,” Mercy says, digging through the messenger bag draped across her body. She pulls out a leather necklace with a large purple stone dangling from it. “Amethyst. Keep this on.”
“Okay.” I’m not sure if I was expecting to feel something, but I get nothing. It’s just a pretty rock.
We step into my room together. It seems pretty ordinary in here to me. Talon drops her bag on my bed and rifles through it, producing a deck of cards and what I’m pretty sure is a ouija board, while Mercy sets out several crystals.
“I’ll set up on the floor,” Talon says.
I watch the women arrange their tools, noticing that the room is oddly cool. “It’s cold in here, right?”
Mercy nods. “Yep.”
“That means…?”
“It’s here, yes,” Talon finishes. “Come sit. We’re gonna attempt to make contact.”
I settle next to her as Mercy sits on the other side of me, the three of us forming a small circle around the ouija board. Talon has her eyes closed and she’s breathing in and out slowly. Mercy lights a few white candles.
“Let’s join hands.” Talon holds hers out.
I take her hand, aware of the shaking of my own.
“Present spirit,” Talon says softly, “we offer only peace and no harm. Please make your presence known.”
It’s silent for a few seconds, but then the door, which was slightly ajar, slams shut suddenly, making me jump.
“Thank you,” Talon says. “We’d like to talk with you, if that would be okay. I have a spirit board if that makes it easier.” She releases mine and Mercy’s hands, putting them on the planchette on the board. “Would that be okay?”
Nothing happens again for several seconds, but then Talon’s hand nudges gently to theYesspot on the board.
She exhales in a huff. “Thank you. Are you Harold Bishop, father of Keagan?”
There’s a delayed response, but then the planchette moves in a small circle, landing on theYesagain.
My chest tightens. “It’s really him?” I whisper.
“As far as I can tell. I’m not reading any deception. Mercy?”
“Same. It’s him.”
“Hi, Harold,” Talon says. “Keagan is here and has some questions.”
I open my mouth to speak, but only a squeak comes out until I clear my throat.
“Take your time,” Talon says, “but not too long. If he loses interest, we lose our connection.”
I nod, swallowing hard. “I guess I want to know if the accusations are true. If he did what the police say he did.”
Nausea swirls in my gut while I wait for some kind of response. Suddenly, Talon’s hands move in a jerky manner, the planchette moving to the wordNoon the board.
“No. He said no.” I should be relieved but a sense of foreboding still lingers in the air.
Talon nods, but both she and Mercy look concerned. Talon’s brow creases as she glances at her friend.
“You can tell the truth, Harold. Law enforcement can’t do anything to you now.”
“He’s lying?” I ask in a whisper. “How do you know that?”
“Just intuition,” Talon says.
