Glass Eye: Confessions of a Fake Psychic Detective

Chapter 24

Gene guides Zandra down a long hallway lined with even more curios. These look far less grotesque. Vintage European dinnerware. Tapestries from the far corners of Earth. Large, sweeping paintings of dramatic medieval battlefields. The house is as much a museum as a place to live.

Private collections like these, as impressive as they are, don't always come from the most scrupulous sources. Tomb raiders need people like Gene. Lots of money. No conscience. Zandra wonders what a legitimate museum curator would have to say about the gorilla paw ashtray at the end of the hallway.

"Rare and priceless. Well, almost priceless. I bought them all," Gene says as they pause at a ceremonial dagger under glass.

"Like attracts like," Zandra says, tapping her foot.

"I suspect you're correct."

Gene hangs a left, revealing another wing to the house. This time it's a library. The ceiling opens up into three stories of books, accessible by spiral staircases and narrow walkways. Zandra can't help but to pause at the beauty of the room. This suits her tastes better. There must be half a civilization's worth of literature in the enormous room.

Gene seems less impressed. He doesn't bother to labor over the particulars with Zandra as he did in the hallway. His feet stroll over to a bookshelf in the corner. With pitch-black shelving, it's not like the regal, stained oak shelves that make up the others. It's much smaller, about the size of a door.

Which is exactly how Gene uses it. He looks over his shoulder at Zandra as the pitch-black bookshelf opens to a dark flight of stairs leading downward.

"You didn't think a house like this wouldn't have something like that, did you?" Gene says. Now he's looking impressed with himself.

Zandra fakes a grin in return. Shuffles over and peers down the flight of stairs. Even in the darkness, they look like a Boy Scout project gone to hell. Crooked, unfinished lumbers make up the treads leading down into a pit of darkness. Zandra can't see where they end, but she can feel the cold draft belching up from wherever they do. It smells like damp earth and skin, with just a hint of gas leak.

In addition to craftsmanship, the stairs also lack a handrail or even walls on either side. They hang loose in the dark, apparently suspended by sheer will.

"After you, Zandra," Gene says. He motions for her to enter.

Zandra takes a wobbly step backward. Just looking at the stairs gives her a serious case of vertigo.

"I don't do well with stairs, Mr. Carey, especially with my bum ankle," she says.

Gene bites down on a peppermint with a loud crunch. Swallows.

"Please, I insist. You came to cleanse my home of evil spirits. Believe me, this is the part that needs the most cleansing," Gene says.

"There's a force pushing me back, preventing me from going down," Zandra says. She takes a deliberate step forward and back again. "The spirits, they're strong here, Mr. Carey. They might be too strong for me."

"Which is why I need you to go down there. The basement must be ground zero for these spirits you speak of," Gene says, a little more irritated now.

"Whatever is down there, I'm not sure I can help you," Zandra says.

Gene exhales sharply. Rubs his temples.

"Zandra, go down those stairs. Now. Don't be difficult," Gene says. He catches the force in his voice. Takes a pause to adjust. Softer now, "Sorry, but I'm desperate for your help. I need you. Please."

Their eyes join. Neither makes a move.

"Honey, the phone," comes a tired voice from other side of the library.

Zandra and Gene turn to see a young woman with long, blonde hair in a crinkled nightgown holding a cordless phone. The current Mrs. Carey. Unlike Gene, she looks like she hasn't slept since Elle went missing. It closes the generation gap between them.

"Kendra, darling, allow me to introduce to you Zandra. She's a famous psychic helping with the case," Gene says.

He waves Kendra over for the phone. God forbid he walks over there himself. She obeys anyway. The cost of doing business as Mrs. Carey.

Kendra gives Zandra a weak "hi" without shaking hands.

Gene excuses himself to take the phone call. Keeps his voice down so Zandra can't hear the conversation. Kendra doesn't bother sticking around for small talk, but she's almost too weak to walk out of the library. Zandra offers a shoulder to lean on as Kendra walks.

"Sorry. It's been a blur. No time to eat," Kendra says. Her breath smells sour, like vomit.

Poor thing.

"No need to apologize, child," Zandra says. The words feel strange coming out of her mouth. They're genuine.

"You're a real psychic, right? You're going to find my baby?" Kendra says. She wears desperation like perfume.

Zandra swallows hard. It's one thing to put on an act and con the right people. It's another to offer false hope to the truly devastated. Part of Zandra, the slice that wants to see Gene hurt, doesn't want Elle found - or at least not found alive.

But the humanity inside her, still tender even after 25 years, sympathizes with Kendra. Zandra knows what it's like to lose a child. And she wouldn't wish it on anyone, not even a Carey.

That's why it's hard to say what leaves Zandra's mouth next. She brings her lips close to Kendra hot ear.

"Yes, I'm a real psychic. And I'll find your baby," Zandra says.

Kendra lifts herself off Zandra's shoulder. It allows a good look at her wet, bloodshot eyes.

"Will you do a sance?" Kendra says.

Zandra's not sure what she means. "A sance?"

"Yeah, a sance. Where you hold hands and talk to the dead world," Kendra says. A pause. "Maybe you make sure my baby isn't there?

Zandra gets it. Kendra means a séance. It seems downright evil to say yes to the offer. It also calls Zandra on her own bullshit. If the answer from the séance doesn't turn out to be correct, Zandra won't be able to forgive herself.

That's why she normally turns down clients in the middle of the grieving process. The kicker is those are the people willing to pay the most money.

This is different. Zandra's not sure why, but she finds herself in cold agreement to the request. Part of her wants to reassure Kendra in some way. Mrs. Carey looks absolutely wrecked.

"Of course, child," Zandra says, as self-assured as ice cream on the North Pole.

"When?" Kendra says.

Zandra looks back toward Gene. He's since left the room. Probably a business call.

What a husband. It'll be good to get in some time with a Gene-less Kendra, though.

"How about right now?" Zandra says.