I heard a woman’s voice answer. “I’m in the kitchen, what’s this—wait, who are these men? Gwyn! Why are you bringing strange men in here? The house isn’t ready for guests. I’m not even wearing makeup right now.”
If my child showed up with three strange men in tow, my first thought wouldn’t be the state of the house or what I looked like. Just saying.
Stepping through the door, I glanced around. Very much a middle-class family. A worn-in sofa faced a flat-screen TV, and the main floor was one big L-shape with living room, dining room, and kitchen all connecting without walls in between. The woman who’d spoken—must be the mother—looked superficially like her daughter. Same black hair and oval face, but she was taller and more athletic in build. Alarm raced over her face as the three of us entered.
Mack pulled his badge out and flipped it open. “I’m Special Agent Mackenzie Lafayette with the FBI. Ma’am, we need to talk about your daughter.”
She came quickly around the kitchen, her hands landing on Gwyn’s shoulders and yanking her firmly away from Mack. Her eyes were wide with panic. “Oh, Agent, I’m sorry if she’s done something stupid. She keeps claiming she sees ghosts, which is nonsense—”
“Ma’am.” Mack cut her off firmly. “I’m from the Paranormal Activity Division of the FBI. And a Medium. Your daughter is also a Medium.”
Her eyebrows flicked down in a quick frown before she bounced back, ready to smooth things over so we’d go away. Gwyn looked resigned, standing next to her mother. “I know she says that, but she’s just a child. You don’t need to buy into it.”
“Ma’am.” Mack’s patience quickly plummeted into the single digits. “I don’t need her to tell me anything. I can quite clearly see it. A Medium’s aura is unmistakable. Your daughter is a Medium.”
“No, I told you, she’s just saying nonsense—”
Wow. Talk about disbelief being strong enough to make a concrete wall out of. How stubborn was her mindset? Couldn’t she hear what Mack was actually saying? I decided to pitch in. “Ma’am. Did you not hear him? We are from the Paranormal Activity Division. We literally deal, all day, in ghosts. Yourgovernmentbelieves in ghosts, has a division to deal with them, and pays us for it. Has that sunk in yet?”
She stared at me blankly.
No, apparently not. Ugh, this was a nuisance. What else did I say to get it through to her?
A man came down the narrow hallway and abruptly joined in. “What is all this? Sandra, who are these men?”
She turned toward him. “They say they’re from the FBI, but they’re from some weird division. I don’t understand what they’re here for.”
McNabb, bless him and all of his descendants, cleared his throat and chimed in. “Let’s sit down, talk about this.”
I didn’t think reason would work, as these people weren’t reasonable, but sitting down and talking was a good idea. I had to write a report on how badly these parents had screwed up, after all.
We sat, Mack and me on the love seat, McNair in a chair, the family on the three-seater couch. Gwyn was sandwiched between her parents and didn’t look happy about it. I heard her mother hiss something in her ear about being grounded for a month for even bringing ghosts up.
Seriously?
She got grounded for even talking about ghosts? Wooooow.
McNair settled but kept talking. “Sir, ma’am, I know this is a bit much to take in. The two agents with me are from the FBI Paranormal Activity Division. Ghost wranglers, we like to call them. Special Agent Lafayette is a Medium, and one I’ve seen in action.”
Mr. Fairchild shook his head in slow denial. “There’s no such things as ghosts. Let me see your badge.”
I took mine out and flipped it open. “I’m Special Agent Havili.”
Mr. Fairchild stared at the badge dubiously. “And you’re a Medium?”
“No, I’m an anchor. He’s the Medium. Sir, we’re here because your daughter is a Medium.”
He might not know what to make of us, but he was sure on this ground. Mr. Fairchild’s chin came up. “No, she isn’t.”
“She very much is.” Mack glared at him. “I can see it clearly.”
The man sighed and eyed Mack like he was being ridiculous now. “It doesn’t matter if you think she is. I know she’s just a silly little girl who has delusions. We’re working on it.”
“I see. So because your daughter is a silly little girl, she doesn’t get any protection? When she’s hurt, she doesn’t get anything more than a Band-Aid slapped on it?”
The way his eyes skittered off to the side told its own story. Yeah, he knew he’d been a shitty father but, of course, he wasn’t going to own up to that.
“It’s called consequences,” Mrs. Fairchild informed me frostily. “I’m not going to help her when she’s making up lies.”
