The Summer We Lost Alice (16 page)

She looked at him as he approached. There was something in her eyes. Hope?
Anticipation? The corner of her mouth turned up slightly as he drew nearer.

A railing ran along the front row. Ethan clutched it for support. He looked at the young woman and she looked back at him. They exchanged a long moment in which Ethan seemed to be struggling for words.

In the control booth, Suzette furrowed her brow. This was something new. She thought she knew all of Ethan's histrionics. They were patently amateurish. Either he'd been taking acting lessons or he was in genuine turmoil. She told herself that there was no need to worry. He had all the information he needed to bluff his way through the reading. So why did he look like he was about to throw up on the front row?

"Your
husband," he said.

The girl nodded. She smiled.

"Tristan," she said.

"He
passed over. He ... I see — "

"Yes?"

"An accident." Ethan closed his eyes and gripped the handrail tighter. He felt nauseous. This wasn't right. The words coming out of his mouth were wrong. All wrong. He had the clues, had them down pat. The girl was agreeing with him. This reading should have been nailed. So why did the words
taste
wrong? Why couldn't he speak them?

The audience murmured. They sensed that something was wrong. Ethan was sweating profusely. He watched a drop of perspiration float through the air and fall to the floor between his shoes. It exploded
in slow motion and spread out and he was aware of the movement of every molecule. The voices of the audience melded into an incomprehensible jumble of vowels and consonants.

He looked up at the young woman in section B. The smile had disappeared from her face, replaced by worry.

"Is something wrong?" she said.

"Liar," he said.

The young woman stiffened.

"Pardon me?"

Suddenly the floor beneath Ethan's feet was rock solid. Everything in his view was sharp-edged, like photos cut from a magazine and pasted into place. It was all so clear, why hadn't he seen it immediately? She was playing him. He had been on the verge of public humiliation, but something in the back of his mind had seen through her.

"There is no husband. No accident."

Yes, this was right!

The girl's jaw clenched tight.

"You came here for another reason entirely," he said. "You came because—"

She
scowled at him, angry at being thwarted. But there was something more in her face. Could it be—fear? He persevered.

"Because of
her
—"

The girl shook her head. She began to tremble.

"I don't know what you're talking about!"

"Who are you?" Ethan said. He leaned closer and looked her square in the eyes, looking deeply, searching.
"Who are you?"

The young woman's breath froze in her chest. She looked at the people sitting around and beside her, row upon row of anxious faces, eyes fastened on her as she searched for something to say. She took in the faces staring at her expectantly, waiting for her to reveal the truth that lay just the other side of the veil. She looked at the cameras, at her own baffled face on the monitor. They were going in for a close-up.

"I can't do this," she said. She grabbed the purse wedged into the seat beside her and rose to her feet. She shoved past George who'd lost his mother and ran down the aisle.

The audience watched her run awkwardly from the studio, stepping over cables and picking her way through the maze of lights and cameras and stagehands. They watched her with hungry eyes, desperate to learn more. Some yelled at her to come back
. Ethan held up a hand.

"Let her go," he said. "She isn't ready. Let her go. Let her go."

He massaged his temples as he walked slowly toward the wings of the stage. Suzette, ever watchful, stepped out and announced a short break.

* * *

"You want to tell me what that was all about?" Suzette said backstage.

"No." Ethan grabbed a bottle of water from craft services and plopped into the nearest chair. He drained the bottle in several long gulps and handed the empty to Suzette.

"Shall I cancel the call-ins?"

"I'm fine. Just give me a minute."

"Okay, but I have to say—"

"No. You don't."

ETHAN SAT on stage for the call-in portion of the program. He tried to put the section B girl out of his mind. He didn't know what had happened, but he couldn't think about that right now. He had a show to finish.

Callers were screened by Suzette, as they had to be. Ethan made no pretense of objectivity. By now he had clearly demonstrated his powers. True believers called in with questions and Ethan passed along the buzz from the spirit world. It was quick and effective and one hundred percent indisputable.
Almost one hundred percent.

The first caller wanted to know where his brother had hidden the money. Ethan tugged at his lower lip. This one had the smell of a put-on. Suzette should have screened it out. Maybe she'd gotten a telepathic warning about her impending pay cut and this was her way of saying, "Don't screw with me, buddy. We're in this together, remember?"

"Your brother says he doesn't know what you're talking about," Ethan said.

"Yeah, well, the joke's on you,
friend," the caller said. "I don't even have a brother."

Ethan didn't seem fazed, but his mind raced.

"Someone in your family passed through the veil recently. A brother or a sister."

"I told you, I don't
got a brother! And my sister's healthy as a horse."

"No, someone passed through.
A sibling. Definitely, someone related by blood." The caller's grammar was poor. Probably lower class. A high proportion of lower class families opted for military careers. He paused and sighed.

Reluctantly
, it seemed, he said, "Your father, he was in the war, wasn't he?" From World War II to Afghanistan, there were plenty to choose from.

"Yeah
. 'Nam. He never stops yakking about it." The voice seethed with anger.

Bingo. If the caller had said "no," Ethan would have gone for business trips, any time spent abroad or on the road.

"A virile young man overseas for a long time," Ethan said. "I'm sensing a child—"

The caller caught on.

"Wait a minute!" the caller said. "If you're trying to say I got me some gook half-brother over in Laos—!"

"I'm sorry, I'm losing contact," Ethan said.
Code for Suzette to unplug the caller. The line went dead. A low buzz of smutty jokes circulated through the audience. Ethan had been careful to say nothing that would get him sued. He'd suggested that the caller's father was in the war, and he was. The caller had provided the rest—the Vietnamese half-brother, the total fabrication that validated Ethan's failure to see through the fraud.

God, he loved this business.

"The spirits have a sense of humor," Ethan said. It wasn't much of a joke, but the audience roared.

"Hello, you're on the air," Ethan said to the next caller.

"My question is about the little boy—"

"You'll have to speak up, ma'
am."

"I'm sorry," the voice said, louder.
Female, older, nervous. Familiar somehow, but—

"I was wondering about that boy who's missing in Kansas, Willy
Proost. Is he alive, or has he passed through the veil?"

The question was a land mine. If Ethan said the boy was dead and he turned up alive, the media would jump all over him. He had to wring a few more details from the caller to make sure his answer was properly ambiguous.

"Where are you calling from?"

"
Meddersville," the caller said. "Meddersville, Kansas."

Ethan turned pale. "Flo—" he said
. He felt something give way inside his face as if he'd been punched from inside. He cried out in genuine pain. Blood gushed from his nose with the force of a geyser. The audience gasped.

Ethan's hand went to his nose. Blood flowed through his fingers and fell in fat droplets to the stage floor.

"I'b sowwy," he said, his nose plugged with blood. He stood up and staggered from the stage. He ran, hunched, into the wings. Blood marked the path of his retreat. The audience buzzed.

Off-stage, Suzette scurried to Ethan's side.

"Good effect, boss," she said, "but you should have let me know you were ... wait a minute. That's real blood!"

Ethan nodded. "
Bedic!" he said.

The set medic rushed up with a cart of medical supplies. He took a cursory look at Ethan's gushing nose and pulled out an ice pack. He
crushed it, shoved it onto Ethan's face.

"Hold this here," he said.

"What should I tell the audience?" Suzette asked.

"
Subthig dwamadic," Ethan said. "Caw dide-wud-wud. Ged foodage for de dews." It took Suzette several seconds to translate this last statement as "Call 911, get footage for the news." She nodded to the medic. He pulled out his cell phone.

Once she had the overall picture, Suzette leaped into action. She made sure the cameras were rolling as she took to the stage, visibly shaken.

"Ladies and gentlemen," she said, "the forces of the spirit world are very powerful. They cannot always be controlled. Ethan Opos, here on the set of
Parting the Veil
, has suffered what can only be described as—a
psychic attack
." The crowd gasped.

Suzette held up her hand. Okay, she had her sound bite for the
entertainment news utilizing Ethan's name and the name of the show.
Damn, I'm good,
she thought.

She glanced to the wings for confirmation. His face buried in an ice pack, Ethan shot her a thumbs-up.

"We have every reason to believe that he will recover completely. He is being taken to a hospital for observation." The audience murmured.

"Thank you all for coming this
... evening," she said. "Keep Ethan in your prayers. Good night."

As the crowd filed out, Suzette stood by the stage door and graciously accepted good wishes for Mr.
Opos's speedy recovery. To her surprise, Heather, the section B girl, walked up to speak to her.

"Heather," Suzette said, "if that's your real name."

"It is. Only the chatter about my dead husband was ... baloney."

"Oh?" Suzette said. "What chatter was that?"

"You know what I mean. He picked up the cues from the old lady and came right back to me. Was George a plant, too, or was there a microphone under my seat?"

"I can't imagine what you're referring to. Did you want to express your good wishes to Mr.
Opos?"

"Tell him
... tell him I'm sorry about what happened. I hope he's okay."

"Excuse me. The paramedics are here."

The paramedics hurried into the studio. Heather paced outside the door long enough to attract the attention of a security guard. She held him at bay with a smile until Ethan came out on Suzette's arm with the ice pack held to his face. The decision had been made not to call an ambulance. Suzette was going to drive Ethan to the emergency room for x-rays.

"Mr.
Opos!" Heather said as Ethan approached. The security guard interposed. Suzette shot him a warning look. Heather fell back a step. Her hand was moving automatically to her hair when Ethan caught sight of her. She stopped in mid-gesture, but Heather and Ethan both knew what she'd been about to do. Once again, the movement arrested him. It was a common gesture, as common as a head scratch, but in its subtlety it was as recognizably
Alice
as her silhouette if he were to glimpse her in the distance.

"Cub," he said, gesturing for her to come with. Suzette scowled. Ethan led Heather to the car. He sat beside her in the backseat, leaving Suzette alone up front. He leaned forward and explained to
Suzette:

"
Stong sbiritual coddectiond."

THE HOSPITAL
was virtually across the street from the studio, but walking there would have included a Pied Piper-sized trail of
Beyond the Veil
followers. Suzette actually drove away from the hospital and doubled back and let Ethan out at the emergency entrance. She asked if he wanted her to stay. He said "no." With a glance at Heather that could have been interpreted in a number of ways, none of them complimentary, Suzette left them alone.

The nurse
syringed out Ethan's nose while he sat in the examining room. The nose stopped bleeding and, once the dried blood was cleaned out, Ethan's speech returned to normal. The doctor took a good look. He rendered the opinion that there was absolutely nothing wrong.