“There’s a different energy when a lie is given,” Mercy explains. “We can feel it.”
“Please don’t lie, Dad,” I try. “I need to make peace with this.”
Talon’s fingers move wildly across the board, the movements making no sense until a short word is formed,S-O-N.
“Yes,” Talon says. “Keagan is your son, and he’s here. He’s looking for answers.” She shoots a concerned glance my way before looking at Mercy, who nods. “Did you commit the murders?” Talon asks. “Are you the Dagger Killer?”
The planchette flies out of Talon’s hand and the bedroom door opens and slams several times. I flinch each time.
“Fuck,” Mercy says. “He’s angry.”
“No judgment, Harold,” Talon says calmly, reaching across the board to pick up the planchette. “Keagan just wants to know. That’s all.”
Her fingers begin to move again, spelling out a simple word,G-O.
Mercy frowns. “He doesn’t want to talk to us anymore.”
“You can talk to me, Dad. You can tell me the truth.”
“No, Keagan,” Talon says, gripping my forearm. “Don’t invite him in.”
“He’s already here.”
“I mean into you. Don’t give him an opening.”
I nod, biting my bottom lip. “Ask him?—”
“He can hear you,” Mercy says.
“Right.” I clear my throat again. “I believe you, Dad. If you say it wasn’t you, then I accept that.”
I’m aware of Mercy and Talon’s disapproving looks from the corner of my eye.
“But why didn’t you come around more often? Why now?”
Nothing happens, and the silence in the room is eerie. Talon tilts her head back, almost frozen as her eyelids flutter. She nods, blowing out a breath.
“Use the spirit board.” She pushes the planchette towards me. “I sense he wants to talk directly to you through it.”
“What do I do?”
“Just put your fingertips on the planchette. It will move when Harold directs it to.”
“Okay.” I put my fingers on the small wooden object, waiting patiently even as a sense of foreboding grips my chest.
Then I feel the vibration in my hands and the planchette begins to move. The first letter is B. Mercy scribbles down each subsequent letter as my fingers dance across the board until we end with a two-word phrase: bad father.
I nod, unsure what to ask next, but my fingers move again, spelling out more words.
When the movement stops, Mercy makes a concerned noise. “He says ‘make up for it now.’”
“Shit,” Talon mutters. “That means he’s not planning to leave anytime soon.”
“How will you make up for it?” I ask. “You’re dead.”
My fingers fly across the board, but I only catch a few letters. Fortunately, Mercy seems to be writing them all down. When it stops, she shows her notebook to Talon.
“What does it say?” I ask.
