Page 10 of Waysider
May 27th, 1984
Greenburgh, NY
A clicking sound drifted through the room. A recorder began to whir softly, the two circles within the fresh cassette tape spinning. There was the scratch of a pen, and the soft knick of ink trailing across paper. Moments later, a crisp voice spoke.
“May I have your permission to record this conversation?”
“I guess.”
“Use ‘yes’ or ‘no,' please.”
“Fine. Yes.”
“For the sake of the recording, will you confirm that you are Cassandra Ryan?”
“It’s Cass.”
“That should be sufficient enough for a confirmation.”
Cass was already regretting this. She found herself wishing she were back upstairs, in her dark room, smoke coiling around her head. Why was she here again?
As she watched the woman across from her write something down in a leather-bound journal, Cass’s mind went back to when she’d been sitting in her chair, where it was safe and peaceful.
“Doctor Zhivago,” a voice had said from the doorway. “Interesting choice.”
Cass turned, her senses slow and dull from the dope she’d just smoked. A stranger stood in the doorway of her bedroom. She looked like she was in her late thirties or early forties, and it also looked like she hadn’t had a good night’s sleep in years, judging from the lines beneath her eyes and the pallor of her skin. But the rest of the woman was sharp and bright. Her blond hair was cut into a bob and carefully styled. She wore a red, collarless button-up jacket and a matching skirt. A large handbag dangled from one slender shoulder, and her heels gleamed in the weak light filtering through the curtains.
“It’s nostalgic” was all Cass said, fixing her gaze back on the movie. “What do you want?”
“You’re a difficult person to reach, Cassandra Ryan.”
“Most people get the hint. Could we hurry this along? I have a very full schedule today.”
The woman gave no reaction to Cass’s rudeness. “My name is Sally Crane, and I have an offer for you. An opportunity. All I ask is for ten minutes of your time.”
“You should hear her out,” Cal said suddenly. He leaned against the wall slightly behind where Cass sat, his arms crossed, ankles linked. She didn’t respond, of course, because Cass had learned not to speak to her brother when other people were around.
“Sally Crane,” she repeated tonelessly, watching Yuri and Lara fuck up their lives for the thousandth time. High or not, Cass knew she’d heard that name before. Her mind moved slowly. She had a vague memory of her mom mentioning it to her, then overhearing Mom and Dad say it during one of the rare occasions she’d left her chair. Remembering this, Cass finally turned her head toward the newcomer again. This time, her stare wasn’t so empty, and there was a sharp edge in her voice. “If I give you ten minutes, will you stop calling? You’re freaking out my parents.”
The woman nodded once, no trace of remorse in her expression. “I will notify my secretary, and all attempts to contact you will cease immediately.”
Cass swallowed a sigh, resigning herself to the fact that she was about to leave her chair. “Fine,” she said, then heaved herself up.
And now here they were.
Pulling her mind back to the present, Cass refocused on Sally Crane and her tape recorder. They were in the dining room, sitting in chairs that faced each other. Cal sat at the head. Sunlight poured through the big window, streaming around him and bouncing off her mother’s plates in the china cabinet. Cass struggled not to squint.
As she shifted, trying to move away from the light, Cass caught a whiff of herself. She fought a grimace. How long had it been since she showered? Cass was avoiding it, since she loathed the water. Hated the feeling of it sluicing down her skin. Within seconds of standing beneath the stream, no matter how hot she made it, how blinded she was by the steam, Cass ended up right back in that freezing river. Screaming. Drowning. Pain exploding in her lungs. Darkness everywhere and nothing to hold onto, no one to save her as she sank down, down, down into oblivion.
With a start, Cass realized the woman across from her was talking again.
“…a representative for an institute in California, a school of parapsychology called Else & Bellows,” Sally Crane said. “I’m here because we have a contact at the hospital who informs us when a patient experiences an NDE.”
Cal frowned. “NDE?”
Cass kept her eyes on Sally as she echoed, “NDE?”
“Near death experience.” Sally glanced at a document in her hand, lips slightly pursed. “According to the medical report, you were resuscitated over a month ago. It can take longer for abilities to manifest, but within twenty-four hours, you were showing the signs. That’s the mark of an incredibly powerful voyant, Miss Ryan.”
