Pipeline (12 page)

“Tracy, Brett correctly explained our
uncertainty of whether this poltergeist hijacked the pipeline
connection, or whether it was already a present force, allowing
that connection to occur. We can’t be sure, but maybe we can
discover that through you.”

She sighed, a sound of fatigue and said
nothing.

“You know,” Susan said, “we never finished
our sessions regarding your survivor’s guilt. Why don’t you talk
about that?” Tracy eyed Susan’s hand as it made a gentle rest on
her shoulder. She was silent, but her eyes began to submit like a
child about to come out of her room. Sidney came over to her other
shoulder.

“Why don’t you tell us all about that night,
as best you can remember?”

“It plays over and over in my mind,” she
said, taking a deep breath. “It doesn’t stop. I keep seeing Rex’s
house: the bar in his den, the music, the booze, even the popcorn I
was stuffing myself with. I never meant to drink as much as I did
that night.”

She broke off as the tears streamed down her
cheeks. Something much like a sword pierced her chest every time
she thought of the truth, the words of which wouldn’t form on her
lips. She began to taste the salt of her tears. She cleared her
throat and looked up at eyes anxiously waiting. Now was the time
for the truth.

“I am the one who should be dead right now,
not David. Don’t you see that?”

This revelation struck a chord of surprise,
reverberating a silent apprehension through the room. The team had
been unaware of this, but Susan wasn’t. She sat down next to Tracy
and induced her to go back, think out the evening as it had
occurred. Her soothing tone purged the events from Tracy’s
recollection in chronological clarity.

She sat with her eyes closed; her mind
drifted back into past memories like a raft out to a wide and
familiar sea. One single moment in time, forgotten before, replayed
in her mind. It was just before they’d left to go out that night,
having decided to go to the party, and she and David were here, in
the house.

“You drive home tonight,”
he’d said.
“I’ll probably be too tired.”
And she had agreed; she would
be the designated driver that night, but she had reneged as the
night’s events unfolded.

The music, the atmosphere, the good time, as
well as the night air that made her feel so alive, all conspired
against her, blinding caution and lifting temptation. A sip of Rum
and Coke left lingering joy on her lingua, and her promise was soon
broken by the insatiable craving. She had drunk four of them, plus
a beer, and then...

“I’ll be fine; besides, you’re now the
designated driver, tonight, so there.”

She recalled poking him in the chest after
he’d nagged her about the popcorn. He’d seen that she was too far
gone to drive now, and that he would have to. But it was okay with
him; he wasn’t in the mood to party. She revealed all of this to
them through a voice that cracked with pain, sorrow, and the
torturous inability to turn back the clock.

They had left the party, and she could still
feel that night’s cool, midnight air as it washed her somewhat
sober. They’d said little on the way home, and an unbridled silence
of unspoken words spanned a bridge between them. Then, she turned
to see...

“When I looked, he was asleep at the wheel. I
screamed to wake him and grabbed the wheel, but it was too late. We
went over the edge, over Shadow Valley Curve. If I hadn’t been
drunk that night, David would still be alive! Why? Why did we even
go? It was my fault--all of it! He was the one crushed and mangled,
but it should have been me! I am the one who should be dead; I was
supposed to be driving!”

Tears cascaded from her eyes, and heaving
sobs reached high for breath in uncontrollable spasms. Susan put of
her arms around her and held her. Leah turned away so Tracy
wouldn’t see her own swelling tears and the others lowered their
heads in speechless uncertainty.

“Tracy,” Susan said, her voice soft and calm
with the intent of eliciting control over a patient. “If we had
power over every little moment of our lives, ordering and
maintaining every minute detail to perfection, we would never
actually live. So the butterfly spreads its wings and causes a
typhoon halfway around the world; should we live in constant worry
of butterflies and fear of typhoons? There are things, many things,
of which we have no control.”

“But if only—”

“If only what?” Susan’s tone changed to one
of exasperation, and she held up her hands, quizzing for a
hypothetical scenario. “Maybe neither of you should have gone that
night, maybe David should have stayed at home if he were tired,
maybe someone should have offered to bring you both home. But did
any of those things happen? No, they didn’t; so whose fault is it?
Don’t you see, Tracy? You would have to blame everyone, including
David. And how do you picture the outcome had you been driving? You
would both be dead.”

Susan’s words hung dead in the air like an
unfamiliar stench that no one would acknowledge. Something about
those words seemed haunting, emitting a strange, illusive
foreboding felt by all. Tracy focused a stare at her, a thick fog
finally beginning to lift in her mind. She wiped her wet eyes and
nodded.

“Maybe that was the point.”

Now her own words sounded ominous, and still,
no one said anything, hoping the crackling fire that maintained the
momentary quiet would speak for them. Dylan sat down beside
her.

“So, you think that all of this mayhem is
some form of retributive justice against you, who lived? I don’t
buy that,” he said. “In fact, I’m going to disprove it. I’ll not
allow this force to eclipse our communication with David. Things
have calmed down now, but we are not going to allow the pipeline
connection to fail.

“Brett spoke earlier about how David’s spirit
exerted some form of energy upon the keyboard to display a message.
If it was David, we are going to find out. We are going to leave
that line of communication open.”

He rose, walked over to the computer, and sat
at the swivel chair in front of it.

“I am going to open a blank e-mail, as if I
were about to write and then leave it up on the screen. By doing
this, I am inviting the pipeline connection to recur, like a ready
vehicle awaiting a passenger. We need only watch for the next
message.”

“So, you’re going to use the computer like a
Ouija board or a ghost box?” Sidney stepped behind him, glancing at
the screen.

“Yes,” Dylan said. “But Sid, I want you to
keep focused as well, in case you start hearing again. The same
goes for you, Leah, I want to know the moment you see
anything.”

“But won’t this “invitation” also extend to
the poltergeist, with possibly more disastrous results?” Susan
questioned not only the reasoning but the rationale behind what she
considered a bold and reckless maneuver.

“Possibly, but we’re ready this time,” he
said. “And remember, it’s the communication with David that is
important here. Our objective is to help him to move on, and in
doing so, we eliminate the poltergeist.”

Dylan was well aware that now wasn’t the time
to point out to the good doctor that he felt that Tracy’s emotional
upheaval was responsible for the poltergeist, feeding it as though
it were a stray cat. Once the issue with David was solved, her
emotional state would begin to balance. She may have agreed, but
she seemed to be leaning more towards Sidney as the culprit. There
was no sense in debating the issue; either way, they had a job to
perform.

Dylan opened a blank e-mail, and the empty
white page stood ready with its blinking cursor, awaiting a phantom
author. The investigators gathered around the computer, examining
it in the event that it would foster a pipeline connection.

“There,” Dylan said. “I was also thinking of
turning on the TV and radio, keep as many lines open as we can.
Leah and Sidney, I want you both to be focusing. If we combine our
efforts and extend the invitation, it may be the easiest way to
regain contact with David.” Dylan continued to speak and instruct,
but to Tracy, his voice began to dwindle away, becoming fuzzy,
distant, and irrelevant.

“Stop!” Her impatience and frustration
bubbled under the surface like molten rock about to spew from its
volcanic entombment. “What good will it do anyway? Don’t you see?
David may never rest because of the tragic way his life ended, and
that thing has found its way in. Who really knows when it will
leave, if ever? It may just decide to stick around long after we’re
all dust and bones, because it doesn’t have to leave!”

Her voice became the sound of frenzy,
climbing in a harrowing crescendo over a tipsy slur of words that
announced her separation from reality; a dark process that had
unfolded was now becoming complete.

Sidney grasped her by the shoulders as he
heard the sound of her voice, the voice of a mind that had stepped
away from the edge of sanity.

“Do you want to go on like this forever?” His
voice came down hard and heavy on her. “Well? Do you think you
can?” He shook her lightly, as if to wake her.

“No,” she said, her voice a rasp whisper.
“It’s all because of me, Sidney.” The tears flushed down her face,
and she heaved through an agonizing whimper. “I’ll never get over
killing David.” Desperate sobs gave way into helpless oblivion, and
Sidney hugged her tightly, her tears wetting his shoulder through
his shirt.

And then it began again.

The small, kindled fire in the hearth shot
upward with a whooshing sound that turned all heads toward it. What
was once a small, incandescent pyre had leaped into a flaming,
orange inferno that towered not so neatly up the chimney shaft, and
dirty, black clouds of soot billowed from the hearth and blackened
the surrounding stone frame.

Brett turned a camera on the hearth,
recording the roaring blaze that blistered unhindered, struck up
and ignited as if by its own cognizance. They felt a tremendous
bang like some alien force had picked the house up from its
foundation and slammed it back to the ground; the walls shook along
with the clamor, and puffs of plaster sifted to the ground like
sawdust.

Unbounded banging, crashing, booming, and
creaking unleashed throughout the house, the loudest of which, came
from upstairs. Tracy turned her head upward, fearing the scenario
that was unfolding above. That’s when she saw the water trickling
down the walls and falling in dime sized droplets from the
ceiling.

“It’s come back.” Dylan’s announcement was
like the warning of an oncoming train. They all became aware of the
water now running down the walls in thin streams, and the droplets
falling from above began to pour. A bizarre, indoor shower was
occurring, dampening the cozy, fireside ensemble.

Sidney gently moved Tracy out of the way and
went for the cameras lest they be damaged by the water. He moved
them towards the back of the room, hoping to gain footage of the
flooding walls, as well as the carpet that was soaking around its
edges and turning a darker shade of beige.

A mask of hysteria froze on Tracy’s face, and
Sidney moved back toward her.

“The water,” she said, as the droplets pelted
her face. “Where is it coming from?”

“I don’t know,” he said. “This is going to be
difficult, but be still, and let us handle this.” He turned away
from her for only a second, as the team worked fast to document the
occurrence. Leah’s eyes scanned the room, while Sidney called out
to whatever ghostly force was listening.

“Where is David? David, speak to me!”
Sidney’s voice bellowed and the banging noises grew stronger in
response.

Tracy looked at the walls around her and the
blaze as it continued to soar; she watched her home shake as if by
earthquake. The fear began to build, her breath began to climb, and
her mind cried out for reprieve. Through eyes tired of tears, she
saw her entire world turn upside down, a world that once held
promise for her and David now opened up like a portal into
Hell.

“I can’t take this anymore,” she said. “I
can’t take this anymore!” She screamed amid the commotion, and
puzzled faces stared back in urgent alarm. This was the moment they
had hoped wouldn’t occur: the moment where she cracked, and they
lost her to the breaking point of madness.

Then the blaze shot out from the hearth like
the flaming breath of a raging dragon, and shrieks cried out as it
missed Brett and Dylan, searing close enough to singe hair. Tracy’s
anguish became upstaged by the turbulence, and fear, anger, and
desperation raced inside her, coursing its way through her veins.
She had opened Pandora’s Box, and the end result was being
performed in perfect pandemonium.

She had reached the end; this was the final
act.

She looked over at the door that led
upstairs, while the others did their best to tame the blaze. Her
mind made up, she ran for the door. She flung it open with a
creaking sound and before Susan could stop her, Tracy was out the
door and up the stairs, her footfalls hard and quick yet audible
through the excitement.

“Tracy, no! Wait!” Susan yelled, alerting
everyone’s attention. Tracy was in no condition to leave; she’d
been drinking for hours, days for all they knew.

“Stop her!” Sidney shouted over the clamoring
noises, the roaring fire, the pounding that came from upstairs—that
now uncertain domain that Tracy was walking right into.

Susan, Dylan, and Brett ran to the door after
her. Just as they neared it, the door slammed shut with the solid
slam bang of wood, leaving the three to grasp the handle and pull.
It wouldn’t budge; some force was pulling it shut on the other
side.

“It won’t open!” Susan shouted over the
clamor. She stepped aside and let Dylan try the handle. It was as
good as locked, and they were trapped.