Part 10 (2/2)

There were still more souls up in the gallery, scores of them: the Witnesses. The Witnesses were what impolite psychiatrists like to call ”fragments” -- fragmentary souls created by a single traumatic event or act of abuse. Living embodiments of painful memory, they resembled small children; more than a few of them were dead ringers for Jake. But they lacked Jake's depth of personality, most having been outside only the one time, in the awful moment that made them. They had sad eyes, and rarely spoke. It was unlikely that they would have anything to add to the proceedings, but because they were members of the household, they were allowed to attend the meeting; they lined the gallery banister, some sitting, some standing. Three adult helper souls circulated behind them, ready to whisk them back into the nursery if they became bored or upset.

My father called the meeting to order.

”We're here,” my father said, ”because a series of threats has been made against Andrew by one of his coworkers at the Reality Factory. And since some of these were physical threats against the body, they potentially affect all of us. . .” He went on to describe what had been happening with Penny. By the time he finished, more than half of the Witnesses had vanished from the gallery, and a couple of souls at the table had become hysterical. When he got to the part about the protector chasing me in the Buick, Annis clapped her hands over her ears and ran upstairs to her room, and a moment after that Arthur bolted out the back door of the house in the direction of the forest, probably intending to work off stress by chopping down a few stands of trees. My father took all of this in stride; such reactions were perfectly normal for a house meeting. ”. . . so that is what has been going on,” he concluded, ”and now we need to discuss what should be done about it.”

Simon raised a hand. ”How dangerous is this Penny Driver?” he asked. ”Would she really hurt the body?”

My father turned to Adam. ”The soul we saw today is capable of real violence,” Adam said.

”Seferis and I are sure about that. We don't think it actually wants to hurt us, but it might, if it got mad enough.”

”Well then,” said Simon, looking directly at me, ”somebody ought to call the police. There's no reason why we should have to tolerate even the possibility of violence.” Several other souls around the table murmured agreement.

”Andrew?” my father prompted me.

”I don't think we need to get the police involved,” I said, startled by the suggestion. ”I mean yes, what happened today was upsetting, but I think Adam's right, the intention wasn't to hurt us. It's just. . .

they want help. This isn't about harming us, or making us feel bad. Penny's souls want help, and for better or worse they're convinced that we can give it to them, and I guess they're a little desperate about it.”

”That doesn't justify threats!” exclaimed Simon. ”Or chasing people in cars!”

”We needed help,” I reminded him. ”Are you going to tell me we were never so demanding that it scared somebody?”

”What are you suggesting, Andrew?” my father asked. ”Are you saying we should overlook Penny's. . . desperation. . . and try to help her?”

”Well. . .”

”Because that isn't how you've been acting. You've been acting like you don't want anything to do with her.”

”I know,” I said. ”But maybe. . . maybe the fair thing, if we could just get her some help, at least point her in the right direction --”

”LIAR!” Adam's shout spooked another dozen Witnesses into flight. ”'Maybe the fair thing,'” he mocked. ”This isn't about what's fair, or nice -- the truth is you don't give a d.a.m.n about Penny. This is about Julie.”

”Oh good grief,” said Simon, ”not her again. . .”

”It isn't just about Julie!” I protested. ”I honestly think that --”

”Oh, not just about Julie! So you admit --”

”Adam! Andrew!” my father shouted. ”Both of you stop --”

”I have a suggestion,” Aunt Sam said. Her level voice cut through the ruckus, quieting all of us at once. ”I think,” said Aunt Sam, ”that we should go see Dr. Grey.”

Jake, who'd been fidgeting uncomfortably in his seat throughout most of the preceding discussion, now perked up and said: ”Oh, yes! Let's go see Dr. Grey!”

But my father wasn't so pleased with the idea. ”Dr. Grey is retired,” he reminded Aunt Sam.

”She's not well.”

”She's not dead,” Aunt Sam retorted. ”It's high time we paid her a visit anyway, just for courtesy's sake -- it's been over a year since we've seen her. And I'm sure she wouldn't mind giving us some advice. Maybe she'd even be willing to meet with Penny personally.”

”That's not appropriate. You don't show up at someone's house asking them to --”

”I think it's a great idea,” I said. ”The part about going to visit her, I mean. Aunt Sam's right, she could advise us what to do. I mean, who better?”

”Andrew --”

”We could go see her tomorrow. We could call her tonight, and see if she's free.”

”Tomorrow is Friday,” my father said. ”You're supposed to be at work.”

”But there's no point in my going to the Factory if I'm just going to play hide-and-seek with Penny. Julie won't mind me taking the day off -- at least, not after she finds out we're trying to get Penny some help.”

”I don't like this idea,” my father said. ”I -- ”

Down at the far end of the table, Drew suddenly piped up: ”If we do go to see Dr. Grey tomorrow, could we stop at the aquarium on the way back?”

”Ooh!” Jake exclaimed, bouncing in his chair. ”And what about the Magic Mouse toy store?

That's practically on the way!”

That opened the floodgates. Whatever reservations my father had about visiting Dr. Grey had to be put on hold as half the souls at the table weighed in with suggestions for possible side-excursions. My father rejected all of them, but by the time he was finished, the visit itself had somehow become an established fact.

”All right,” my father relented. ”All right. We'll go see Dr. Grey.”

”And maybe the Magic Mouse toy store,” Jake added, unwilling to give up.

The meeting ended soon after that. When I returned to the body, Mrs. Winslow was knocking on my bedroom door. ”Andrew?”

”Yes, Mrs. Winslow?” I sat up stiffly, checking the clock on the night-stand: it was almost five.

”You have a telephone call,” Mrs. Winslow said.

”Is it Julie?”

”No -- Julie called earlier, but I told her you weren't available. This person won't give her name, but she's very insistent about speaking to you.”

Uh-oh.

”Andrew? Do you want me to put her off?”

”No,” I said, swinging my legs out of bed. ”No, I'll take care of it. . .” I came out into the sitting room. ”I'm sorry about this. I hope she didn't say anything nasty to you. . .”

”She has a colorful vocabulary,” Mrs. Winslow allowed, ”but nothing I haven't heard before.”

The phone was on a stand in the side hallway. Posted prominently on the wall above it was a list of emergency numbers: poison control, hospital, fire department, police department, and FBI.

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