Page 12 of Mack's Horribly Hellacious Ghost Town
I, unfortunately, had to ask more questions because I needed a clearer picture. “Gwyn, I’m so sorry to ask, but do you feel safe going home tonight?”
She immediately shook her head, face firmly buried.
Christ on a stick. I’d half expected her answer. “All right. Do you have anyone to lean on, anyone at all?”
Again, a shake of her head.
Mack let go a little to see her face better. “Gwyn, what would your parents do if you told them you saw a ghost today?”
“Honestly, I think they’re at a breaking point and would check me into a psych ward.” Gwyn’s mouth twisted up in this bitter way. “I almost wish they had. They’d test me for psychic ability, wouldn’t they?”
“They would,” I said. And would have immediately reported her to the Feds. I almost wished her parents had, too. At least she’d have gotten direct and proper help. But it did bring up the question: “Have none of your teachers reported what’s going on?”
“They talked to my parents first.” Gwyn slumped, eyes on her hands. “My parents told them I’m hurting myself on purpose and pretending it’s a ghost’s fault, and now they ignore everything. I saw the school counselor three times, got lectured for causing my parents worry, and that was the end of it according to the school.”
Uh-oh. Mack had his murder face on, his jaw clenched tight enough to crack molars. Things tended to gopoofwhen he got a mad on. And my cute Creole could get plenty mad. “I’m going to cut to the chase and call Sylvia now, okay?”
“Good thought, mon trésor.”
I hadn’t any idea what the protocol was for dealing with a teenage Medium in a hostile environment, but I was sure the FBI had one. I called our boss, putting it on speaker.
Gwyn lifted her head and asked in a watery voice, “Who’s Sylvia?”
“Our boss.” Mack used his thumbs to wipe the tears from her cheeks, smile gentle. “She’ll tell us how best to help you.”
“Oh. Okay.”
The phone rang three times before it was answered. “Speak.”
“Hey, boss. Got an interesting situation here. I’m sitting at the table with Mack and a new teenage Medium we stumbled across. Her name is Gwyneth Fairchild.”
There was an audible hiccup, then Sylvia’s tone turned excited. “You’re kidding. Please tell me you’re not kidding.”
“Not kidding. But it’s not all sunshine and roses. You remember where we are, right?”
Sylvia hissed in a breath. “Oh shit. That poor kid lives there?”
“Yeah. Gets worse. She’s about as strong as Mack—according to Mack himself—and no one around her believes she’s a Medium. Her mother is actively taking salt out of her hands if she tries to use it. Her arm was broken four months ago in an altercation with a ghost. She’s running scared, and we want to help her.”
Ever hear a woman abruptly lose her temper? Sylvia’s snapped in about 0.2 seconds. “Put her on speaker.”
“You already are on speaker.”
“Gwyneth, I’m Special Agent Sylvia Forsythe, and the supervisor of the two agents with you.”
Gwyn looked a little overwhelmed speaking to someone as high up as Sylvia. She cleared her throat, tugging on her shirt’s hem. She was clearly nervous but managed a “Hi.”
“Hi. I don’t like what my agent is reporting to me so far, and I need to ask more questions. How old are you?”
“Fifteen.”
“And it’s correct that no one around you believes you are a Medium?”
“Yeah.” Gwyn hunched in on herself. “My parents hate anything supernatural. They won’t even watch the ghost shows that have been filmed in town. My mom won’t let me put up talismans in my room or carry salt or anything. They think I’m hallucinating or making things up.”
Mental illness was something nonbelievers latched on to very quickly as an explanation. And it sort of made sense, really. If you couldn’t see for yourself what was going on, then you’d think of other explanations. But it didn’t help the true Mediums.
“I also understand you’ve been hurt by a ghost recently?”
