Which, from the looks of the local cops’ faces, they hadn’t expected. Saw more than a few jaws drop, but McNabb, at least,was happy to see us. His round face split into a smile as he waved us in closer.
I could see why he wanted the reinforcements. Both of Gwyn’s parents were here, granted, but there was an older couple standing nearby, with a family resemblance to Mr. Fairchild, so I was guessing grandparents.
“Agents,” McNabb greeted, almost pulling me forward by the arm. “Please, come straighten this out. The Fairchild family is threatening to sue if you don’t return Gwyneth, but I keep trying to explain, it was the law who took her into protective custody to begin with.”
It wasn’t quite protective custody—you know what, close enough for this situation. “Did our boss call you? Sylvia?”
“She did, or tried.” He gave an aggrieved look over his shoulder. “But they keep hanging up my phone or screaming over her.”
So not something she could straighten out without someone here, advocating for them to listen. Got it.
Mrs. Fairchild lunged for Gwyn. “My baby, please come here—”
Without hesitation, Gwyn slapped her hands away. The sound rang loudly through the room, making everyone stop and look. Mrs. Fairchild appeared stunned, like she never expected her daughter to completely reject her like that.
“What are you doing?” Gwyn demanded, her voice rising like a building tidal wave. “I’m finally safe! I can finally sleep through the night without being harassed, I can finally walk down a sidewalk without worry I’ll be attacked and end up in a cast again!I am finally safe!Stop it already.”
Gwyn started crying, but these were angry tears. She still vibrated with the need for violence.
I took a side step, blocking their sight of Gwyn and pushing the mother back by sheer force of presence. “All right, let’stake this from step one. Who are all of you? I’m Special Agent Brandon Havili, FBI. Everyone with me is FBI, by the way, and from the Paranormal Activity Division.”
Except three, but close enough, no need to nitpick.
The older woman stepped forward, one hand clamped on Mrs. Fairchild’s shoulder as if she was holding her physically in place. “Agent Havili, I’m Edith Fairchild, Gwyn’s grandmother. Can you explain what’s going on? Why would you take my granddaughter into custody?”
“Because she’s a Medium,” I answered simply. “Well, actually, she’s a Medium and Psychic Energy Reader, so two talents. Your daughter-in-law and son do not want to admit she has talents, or let Gwyn train them, or even admit to ghosts existing. They won’t give her proper medical help when a ghost hurts her, they won’t let her defend herself, they’re threatening exorcisms and religious nonsense instead of getting her actual testing and help. Gwyn was on a course straight into an early grave. We had to take her in because otherwise she wouldn’t have survived high school.”
Oh, Grandma didn’t like hearing my words. Not sure if that weighed in my favor as of yet.
The grandfather joined us, looking at Mrs. Fairchild like he was ready to shake sense into her. “Agent, is there any way you can prove your allegations? I’m not against the belief in ghosts, I’ve just never seen one, so it’s hard to wrap my head around it.”
I had no idea, to be honest. I looked to Mack for help.
But my lover didn’t need my cue. He took a half step forward. “Special Agent Mackenzie Lafayette, and I’m not only a Medium, but Gwyn’s master. If I show you a ghost, will you back down?”
“I will, yes. I can’t speak for my son or daughter-in-law.”
“That’s fine. I’ll take convincing some of you.” Mack turned, walked a few steps away, then conferred with thin air. Well, I assumed a ghost, but to me it looked like thin air. “Sir, will youassist me? Yes, of course, I’m happy to do that before leaving. Yes, them as well.”
A deal was struck and Mack extended a hand, like he was escorting a lady at a grand ball. With every step they took toward us, the outline of the ghost became clearer. More solid, like an illusion taking shape. It was only five steps, but in those five steps, the ghost became a tangible person.
Mrs. Fairchild screamed, scrambling back until she was behind one of the desks, her eyes bulging out of her head. Her husband wasn’t much better. He didn’t scream, but he was breathing hard and heavy, eyes wild.
The grandparents, interestingly enough, took this almost in stride. Startled, yes, but they held their ground. So this disbelief in the existence of ghosts didn’t come from them. I wondered how it got so solidly lodged into their son’s head, then?
Mack stopped in front of the grandparents. “I’m boosting this ghost so you can see him. A thing that only can really happen in Black Rock, for reasons I’ll explain later. Now, would you like to ask him questions?”
Grandma rallied first. “Sir, I’m Edith. What’s your name?”
“Charlie,” the ghost said.
“You look like you came from the past, sir?” She was being very careful in how she phrased things.
“Died in 1820, methinks. Nearabouts.” Charlie made a face. “Can’t find my damn grave, pardon my language, ma’am. So not sure on that.”
Could be why he was still wandering around, since unburied people became ghosts.
Edith looked progressively more unnerved as he spoke. “And can you tell, as a ghost, who is a Medium?”
