The question felt like a test. Vivienne chose her words carefully. “I receive impressions from objects, places, sometimes from spirits who want to communicate. It’s not always clear or linear.”
“But you found my wife. So it works.” He pulled a small silver bracelet from his pocket. “This is Melissa’s. She left it at our hotel before she went missing. Could you . . . I don’t know, make sure there’s nothing we’re missing? Nothing the FBI should know about?”
Vivienne took the bracelet, and images flooded her mind immediately. But they weren’t what she expected. Arguments. Financial strain. Fear—not Melissa’s fear of the Aldriches, but Daniel’s fear of something being discovered. The emotions were jumbled, contradictory.
She set it down quickly. “I’m getting conflicting impressions. Sometimes recent trauma creates too much interference for clear readings.”
Daniel studied her with an intensity that made her skin crawl. “But you sensed something.”
“Only confusion. I’m sorry.”
“Well, thank you for trying.” He turned back to Brooks. “When can I take Melissa home? Back to Portland? She needs to be away from this place.”
“That’s between her and her doctors,” Brooks said. “And the FBI may need her available for testimony.”
“Right. Of course.” Daniel glanced around the shop again, his eyes tracking details—the layout, the exits, the other customers browsing. “I should get back to the hospital. Just wanted to say thank you.”
After he left, Dawn emerged from the back room where she’d been arranging chairs.
“That man is lying,” Dawn said flatly.
“You felt it too?”
“I don’t have your gifts, but I have instincts. And my instincts say Melissa’s husband knows more than he’s telling.” Dawn crossed her arms. “You need to be careful tonight. If Daniel Clarkson is involved with whatever Melissa discovered, he might be working with the Aldriches.”
“I know. But we can’t prove anything yet. Just suspicions and bad feelings.”
“Your suspicions have been right about everything else so far,” Brooks added.
By evening, the back room had filled with participants. Martha Morgan arrived first, her determination evident despite obvious exhaustion. Gunner from the harbor master’s office came with his wife, both looking nervous but resolute. Mrs. Mayer brought her sister, whose son had disappeared in a “boating accident” three years ago. Velta Wright, who’d lost her husband to a suspicious fall from the lighthouse in 1995, sat quietly in the corner.
And to Vivienne’s surprise, old Jack from the docks hobbled in, his weathered face set in grim lines.
“Figured it was time I stopped pretending I didn’t see things,” he said. “Been watching boats come and go from that lighthouse for forty years. Seen plenty that didn’t make sense.”
Dawn took her position at the circle’s southern point while Vivienne stood at the north. Brooks remained in the main shop area, close enough to respond if anything went wrong but giving the participants space.
“Join hands,” Vivienne said softly. “We’re here to listen to those who died seeking truth. They want justice, not revenge. Stay calm no matter what you hear.”
The gathering began with her grandmother’s words, that old language resonating through the room. The temperature dropped several degrees. Candle flames steadied into perfect stillness.
And the spirits came.
Tunnels,Cordelia’s voice whispered.Foundation. False wall. Coal storage.
Images flooded Vivienne’s mind—a hidden chamber, old wooden crates, papers yellowed with age.
Morton. First National. 1987.Karl Kelly’s spirit added fragments, showing her safety deposit boxes, a bank manager’s nervous hands.
Jack gasped as his own brother’s spirit manifested—impressions rather than words. A fisherman. Midnight. Weighted body. Deep channel. Two others still there.
The information came in flashes, fragments, feelings more than language. Names, dates, locations—but never in complete sentences, never in linear narrative. Vivienne translated as best she could, her voice steady as she conveyed what the spirits showed her.
Camera,Lily’s spirit finally communicated, her presence stronger than the others. A vision: photographs of shippingmanifests, artifacts, Winston and his father. A hidden chamber. Everything preserved.
Martha sobbed quietly, but she didn’t break the circle. Velta squeezed her hand in support.
Then Lily’s spirit pressed harder, more urgent. Images of Daniel. Wrong. False. Working for them. Reporting. Melissa discovered. Ran.
