Joyce placed her hands on the tabletop, her fingers spread, her thumbs touching. “Will everyone please spread your hands like this? Be sure that your own thumbs are touching and that the tips of your little fingers touch the person’s next to you. What we want is an unbroken chain around the table.” They did as instructed. “Please, whatever happens, do not break this chain. It joins our spirits as well as our bodies, and we need the collective help of everyone. We may be at this for some time, so I must ask you to be patient, and if anyone needs to go to the bathroom, please go now.”

No one moved. “I want all of you to relax and be as comfortable as possible. Close your eyes, if you wish. It’s important that you each empty your mind of everything but what is happening here. It will be much easier to establish contact if you can do that.” Joyce settled herself and was quiet for a moment before speaking again. “We are all joined here in God to receive the spirits of those departed. If there is any spirit here, please make your presence known.” She was silent for a moment then began to speak again, rhythmically, swaying slightly as she spoke, her blind eyes wandering aimlessly. “Come to us, spirits, speak to us, communicate with us, hear our call, touch us.”

Howell felt oddly relaxed. He was unconcerned with his work or his wife or the sheriff of the county or his growing attraction to Scotty. He floated on the moment and listened to Joyce. As she continued, he thought that it seemed to grow quieter, but he reflected that there had not been much noise in the first place. Then he realized that the crickets had stopped. The only sound now was the crackling of the fire.

Joyce continued. “Hear us, oh spirits, join with us…” She stopped in mid-sentence.

The room was as before; he wondered why Joyce had stopped. Then the table moved.

“I feel a presence,” Joyce said. There was a slight stirring among the group.

The table moved again, more distinctly this time. Howell tried to figure out what was happening. There was something peculiar in the movement of the table; it seemed to slowly undulate beneath his spread hands; it seemed nearly to breathe.

“Will you identify yourself?” Joyce asked. The table moved again, even more distinctly, seemingly in response to her question.

“Can you speak?” Joyce asked. No one spoke, but the table moved again. “Please move the table once for yes and twice for no. Can you speak?”

The table moved twice, distinctly. There was no mistaking it, Howell thought. The hair on his head nearly stood on end. He could feel his scalp crawl.

“We would like to know your name,” Joyce said. “I will go through the alphabet. Please move the table once when I reach a letter in your name. A,” she said. “B… C… D…” she continued, with no response. Then, on R, the table moved. Joyce continued and reached Z with no further response. She began again. On A the table moved, then again on B. Joyce finished the alphabet again with no further response, then started over. “B… ” The table moved, then was still as she chanted the letters. “I… ” Movement. “T.” “Rabbit,” Joyce said, excitedly, “Your name is Rabbit.” The table moved once, for yes.

“Do you wish to contact someone at this table?” Joyce asked.

Yes, the table said.

“Who…? I’m sorry, is it me?”

The table moved twice; no.

Joyce continued around the table. “Is it Jack?”

No.

“Is it Helen?”

No.

“Is it John?”

Howell tensed, resisting the urge to take his hands from the table. The table moved. No. He slumped in relief. Then he felt angry with himself. This was some sort of parlor trick, and he was getting sucked into it like a tourist.

“Is it Scotty?”

The table moved once, then stopped. There was a little gasp from Scotty. Then there was a gasp from everyone. The table had left the floor and was moving slightly up and down at about chest level.

Howell felt near to panic. He was hallucinating, he was sure of it. He felt the same way he had on the appearance of the young girl in the cabin the night of the storm. Think reality, he kept saying to himself. It wasn’t working.

“Don’t move, anybody,” Joyce said firmly, “It’s all right; just relax. It’s all right, Scotty.”

Howell looked at Scotty. She was sitting rigid, wide-eyed, staring straight ahead. Then he saw something else. He was sitting facing the lake, and across the room, standing, looking out the window, her back nearly to him, stood the girl of the thunderstorm.

“Why do you wish to contact Scotty?” Joyce asked, then quickly corrected herself. “I’m sorry… ah, are you happy or unhappy? Once for happy, twice for unhappy.”

Howell looked down at the table, a few inches below his nose; he wanted to hear this. It moved twice. Then everything stopped. Howell thought it was like when there was a refrigerator running in the next room, and it went off. You weren’t aware of it until it stopped. The table was back on the floor. A moment later, the crickets resumed. He looked back toward where the girl had stood. She was no longer there.

“It’s over,” Joyce said. “I don’t think we’ll get it back.”

Later, when everyone had gone, Howell and Scotty sat in front of the fire. “You know anybody named Rabbit?” he asked her. He had to try to figure this out.

“Nope, I didn’t even know there was anybody named Rabbit.”

“Maybe it’s a nickname, or something. You know anybody around here? Have you spent any time in the area? I mean, before you came to work for Bo.”

“Nope. I grew up in Atlanta – in Decatur, really. My dad’s a surgeon at Emory Hospital.

I’d never even seen the lake until a month ago.“

“Were you frightened when it picked you out?” he asked.

“No, oddly enough. I suppose I should have been, but I just wasn’t. Funny.”

“I was scared shitless there for a minute,” he said, “when the table came off the floor, but I’m not scared now. I mean, I don’t want to flee the cabin or anything.” He didn’t want to mention the girl at the window. Apparently, nobody else had seen her. “I don’t feel uncomfortable here, do you?”

“Not in the least,” she said, and kissed him.

“Good, stick around,” he said.

“I’m not going anywhere,” she said back, then kissed him again. Howell forgot about seances and hallucinations and gave himself to the moment.

9

The sun was well up, and Scotty was gone. They had made love repeatedly for what had seemed half the night and probably, he knew from his past performances, had been more like half an hour. Maybe what they had done had carried over into the dream, but still… The seance seemed very far in the past. As convinced as he had been of what had happened the night before, he now regarded the incident with some skepticism. Maybe he had been drunker than he had thought. He had seen the girl twice, and he hadn’t been entirely sober either time.

Howell rolled over and put his feet on the floor. As he stood, a needle-like pain shot through his back. He grabbed the bedstead and straightened carefully. He was clearly out of shape for sex, he thought. His back muscles were as sore as a boil. He stood under the shower for a while, directing the hot water onto his spine, trying to let the muscles relax, and they seemed to. Then, as he was shaving, he bent slightly to dip the razor into the water, and it was as if a tiny hand grenade had gone off in his lower back. The pain became worse when he tried to straighten, and he forgot his half-finished shave and struggled to the bed. When he had lain stretched out for a few minutes, panting, the pain subsided, but when he tried to get to his feet, it overwhelmed him again.

He struggled painfully into some clothes, trying to stand as little as possible. It wasn’t so bad as long as he sat or lay down, but to stand up was torture. He managed to get some coffee made, and sat down on the piano stool to drink it. He looked around the room. The cups and glasses from the night before were still scattered about. Thank God they had moved the table back to its usual position. He shuddered at the thought of what it would be like to try and move it in his condition. As the pain subsided again, he doodled a few bars on the piano, then flipped on the player. The old machine turned and wheezed and began to play “I’ll Take You Home Again, Kathleen”.