An Ill-Fated Seance

A Resurrectionists Story

“I didn’t mean to kill him!”

The voice shook, and the young man slapped a hand over his mouth. The move could not pull back the cry that had just escaped, nor keep in the exclamations from the others around the table. 

Rebecca Conley dropped the hands she was holding as though scalded. It felt for a moment as if she had been burned by someone in the room. By something in the room. She looked around at the shocked faces illuminated by flickering candlelight. 

Four pairs of wide eyes met hers, confusion and fear matching her own. All of them were university students, holding a seance for a laugh and way to decompress after sitting for exams. Rebecca peered at each of them in turn, trying desperately to take in whatever clue she could.

Edward Pinkerton. He had blond hair and a square jaw, as well as an easy confidence that bordered on arrogance. He was the clear leader of the group. He had been the one to contact her, and she saw at once how the others deferred to his whims. 

Whitney Ashton. Slight. Pale. Hunched over, as though afraid to be noticed. When she had first walked into the room, Rebecca had wondered how Edward put up with such a mealy sort of fellow. Even in this moment, when his gaze shifted to Edward, it shone with something akin to worship. That must be why.

Benjamin Richardson and his brother, Gerald. Both had dark swaths of hair across their foreheads and darker eyes. Rebecca would put money on Benjamin being the elder of the two, though Gerald carried a haggardness that aged him. 

Poor, haggard Gerald, who had cried out in the seance, stared at his hands. His usually olive skin was now pale, throwing the circles under his eyes into sharp relief. 

Now, the four took in the sight of their friend, Patrick Jones, slumped on the table with a knife in his back. 

“What? How did you kill him, Gerald?” Rebecca demanded. “You never left the table!”

“What?” His eyes were glassy now as he took in the still form of his friend. “What?” he asked again, pushing back from the table. “No, not - WHAT?” He looked around, his eyes wild. “I didn’t… It wasn’t - not Patrick.” He jumped away from the body with a yelp, panic making his eyes wild. 

Benjamin stood up and clapped his hand on his brother’s shoulder. “You’re done up from the shock, Ger. You don’t know what you’re saying.”

Rebecca tried to take in what was happening. The brothers were backing away from the table, Benjamin guiding his younger brother. Pinkerton and Ashton had jumped back but weren’t looking at their dead friend. Instead they had their eyes trained on Gerald. 

She should never have agreed to this seance. 

Rebecca never closed her eyes during a session. She made certain her clients sat before candles, so she could see their faces, though her own was shrouded in darkness. It allowed her to read the table and see who would be most in need of a spirit calling out to them. It gave her no small amount of control in the room.

Now, though, she sat in complete shock, struggling to take in what was happening. 

The group of university students had bombarded her in her home the day before, eager to hire her services for a night of fun. She had told them she was not in the habit of facilitating seances outside her home, but they insisted, and pressed such an amount of bills into her hand that she felt foolish to resist. Her gut had burned as almost immediately pressure built behind her eyes, but she’d ignored it. She would not be able to deceive the group into believing spirits were sending breezes through the room, nor could she make music play, but she could be a vessel for them to speak through. The boys were not looking for a real experience, either. All they wanted was a spooky night to revel in. 

And so she had said yes. Even though she had known she would be better off saying no. 

This is what happened when a person ignored their senses. For a moment she was overtaken by longing for her cheerful yellow kitchen and a warm cup of tea. That was pointless, though, so she mentally shook herself. She drew a deep breath, imagining it flowing all the way to her toes, and faced those in the room with her. She needed to take stock of the situation. 

Here is what she knew: five university students - friends to each other - had sat for the seance. Now one of them was dead, stabbed in the back. She had not seen anyone move as they sat, nor heard any noises aside from Gerald’s outburst. The doors and window were closed. From her vantage point, she would have seen any intruder or newcomer to the room. 

It was impossible.

Of course, Rebecca had been in impossible positions before. She squared her shoulders and spoke to the boys in the room. “That is quite enough.” 

Her voice interrupted their whisperings. Pinkerton gripped a sagging Gerald by the lapel. Benjamin looked on in disdain, though whether it was at Pinkerton or his brother, Rebecca couldn’t tell. Whitney Ashton simpered at Pinkerton’s side, all but mewling. 

Rebecca strode across the room. “Unhand him,” she demanded. 

“But he killed Patrick. He admitted it.” Pinkerton kept his hold on Gerald. He was clearly unaccustomed to taking directions. 

Rebecca raised an eyebrow. She drew herself to her full height and called on her skills in controlling a seance. “I said to release him.” 

Pinkerton glared at her and for a moment she wondered if he would defy her again. She had no course of action if he did so. Her shoulders almost sagged in relief when at last he shoved the boy away from him. “Very good,” she said with her chin held high. “Now, please direct me to the nearest telephone. We must contact the police.”

*****

Alone in the hall, Rebecca let out the breath she had been holding. She wished once more for her kitchen, though now she desired something stronger than tea. She gave herself thirty seconds to feel sorry for herself, to wish for Chester’s comforting presence and gentle purr beside her, before she picked up the mouthpiece and tapped for the operator. 

It was a frustrating conversation, muffled and crackling. She could not help but believe the police had not taken her seriously, but it wasn’t too long before she hung the speaker back in its space and returned to the room. The boys now kept apart from each other. Pinkerton pouted in an armchair, glaring at Gerald and ignoring Whitney, who sat three feet away wringing his hands and muttering as he darted glances between the other three. Benjamin stood with his back to the room, looking out the only window and clenching his fists. 

Gerald had dropped his head into his hands and now moaned. Rebecca could tell by the way he sniffed that he was crying, and she resisted the urge to comfort him. He had admitted to murder! She could not let this performance trick her. 

“Gentlemen, the police are on the way,” she announced. At least, I hope they are. Three heads swiveled to face her. Gerald did not look up. 

“How long until they arrive?” Benjamin asked. He looked at his brother as he spoke. 

“They provided no specific time frame, but I assume it to be soon. They are aware of the urgency of the situation.”

“This is ridiculous!” Pinkerton burst from his chair and strode toward the door. “I do not have to remain here to be treated like a criminal. I have done nothing wrong!” 

Gerald jumped at that. “No!” He sprinted across the room, and stood in front of the door. The shock of seeing the sudden shift in demeanor was enough to slow Pinkerton, though only for a moment. He shoved past Gerald, who grabbed him around the middle, bringing him to the floor. The others rushed toward the scuffle. 

“If you have done nothing wrong, then why are you so eager to avoid the police?” Rebecca’s quiet voice cut through the noise. All four stopped. Pinkerton, who now sported a bloody nose shoved Gerald off him and climbed to his feet. 

“He is obviously violent! He admitted to murdering Patrick!”

“No!” Gerald heaved to his feet, wiping blood from the side of his mouth. 

“You did, Ger,” Benjamin stepped in. He put an arm around his brother and led him away from the group. “But you didn’t know what you were saying.” He turned Gerald to face him and looked intently into his eyes. “You didn’t know what you were saying.”

Gerald nodded. “I … I didn’t know,” he said weakly. 

“You said it!” Pinkerton bellowed. He shoved Whitney, who was hovering around and trying to dab at the blood on his face. 

Rebecca stepped in. “Sit down, Mr. Pinkerton, and let your friend help with your nose.” 

Pinkerton glared at her again before stalking to a chair in the corner of the room. Dark fury rolled off him and Rebecca’s mind stuttered to a terrifying realization. 

She was in a room with a murderer. 

*****

The young men in the room were restless. Pinkerton kept jumping up from his chair to pace a few steps, only to wave Whitney Ashton away and drop back into the chair. He now sat with a leg slung over the arm, his light features heavy in a glare. Whitney hovered around him, flittering like an anxious moth. Benjamin sat in a chair near his brother, his head in his hands. His leg jiggled, and he stood in an attempt to make it stop. 

Only Gerald sat still. He stared blankly at a spot on the floor, barely blinking. Slumped shoulders barely rose and fell with his breath. 

Rebecca took a hesitant step toward him. His eyes flicked to her, then back to the floor. Nothing else moved. 

When would the police arrive? It had already been an age. Rebecca pointedly turned her back to the gruesome figure of Patrick Jones, who still slumped over the table. She looked back to Gerald and took another, more decisive step toward him.

This was madness. He was an admitted murderer! It did not matter one bit. Rebecca was moving to where he sat. “May I join you?” she asked. She took his silence as acquiescence and took a seat beside him. She kept her voice a low murmur and infused kindness into it. “Gerald, earlier, when you called out … what did you mean?”

“Obviously he meant that he had killed Jones!” Pinkerton’s voice hollered over Gerald’s response. So much for being quiet. 

“Mr. Pinkerton! For someone who has done no wrong you are certainly trying hard to prevent your friend from speaking. If you have something you would like to share, please come right out and say it.”

Pinkerton stalked toward her and glowered. “That’s twice now you’ve implied I am lying about having done nothing.” He took a step closer. “Are you accusing me of something?” 

Rebecca stood to her full height. It was probably not wise to poke at a raging boar, but she had been in worse situations before - had faced a more maniacal killer. “There is a disconnect between your words and your actions.” 

Rebecca braced as Pinkerton opened his mouth, but the voice that spoke was not his.

“There was this kid,” Gerald mumbled. 

“Ger,” Benjamin warned from his corner. 

“He wasn’t really a kid, though.” Gerald continued as though his brother had not spoken. “A year behind us, and so eager to join in.” 

“Gerald.” Pinkerton’s voice was a whip crack. “That’s enough.” 

“He didn’t do nothin’ wrong.” A shrug. “He jus’ wanted to be a part a things.” The studied cadence in his voice dropped as his agitation rose. 

“I said enough,” Pinkerton demanded. Whitney whimpered.

“It isn’t enough!” Gerald jumped to his feet, alarming everyone in the room. “He didn’t deserve it, and you know it!”

“Deserve what, Gerald?” Rebecca asked in the silence that followed his words. 

“Don’t -” Pinkerton began. 

“Don’t what? Tell the psychic what happened? She probably knows anyway.” 

“She isn’t a real psychic,” Whitney Ashton whined. Rebecca ignored him.

“I don’t see the specifics, but Gerald, it is clear you have a heavy conscience.” She placed a gentle hand on his arm. “Confession would ease the burden.” 

Whitney whimpered again and Pinkerton hissed, but Gerald paid them no mind. He turned away from his brother’s tense expression and began to tell his tale.

“There was this kid, like I said. He was a year behind us.” Rebecca waited in the silence. After what felt like an age, Gerald continued. “He wasn’t a bad kid. Just eager.”

“Too eager.” Whitney’s voice held venom that surprised Rebecca. 

“What do you mean by that?”

“He followed Ed around. It was embarrassing. Ed hated it.” 

Rebecca resisted the urge to point out the hypocrisy of his statement and turned to Pinkerton. “Did you hate it?” 

He shrugged. “It wasn’t so horrible. James was a nice kid. Funny, too.”

Whitney’s expression darkened. “I didn’t find him humorous.” 

Pinkerton’s brow lowered in response. “Yeah, well, you don’t really get along with anyone.” 

“I get along with you,” Whitney simpered. 

Benjamin rolled his eyes, then took up the story. “James was a good, funny - to most - kid who followed us around. There was this one day when we were going to the boathouse, to spend some time at Stow Lake. James came along.” He fell silent. 

Rebecca took a deep breath, waiting and watching each of the young men. Pinkerton’s expression was shuttered, a stark contrast to the despair on Gerald’s face. “What happened?” she prompted. 

“We took a couple of boats out and spent the day on the water,” Gerald croaked. “We stopped somewhere along the loop. We were going to eat, drink. Have some fun. It was my turn to tie us to the rocks. Had to keep us tethered.” His voice was a harsh whisper and Rebecca strained to hear. “The rope must’ve gotten caught around his ankle.” His wrecked expression rocked her back on her heels. “I don’t know how it happened.”

“It was an accident, Gerald.” Whitney’s voice was flat. “He got caught up. You weren’t looking, but he was an adult. He could have noticed.” He took up the story. “When Gerald stepped out and pulled the rope taut the kid flipped out of the boat. Bashed his head in.”

“Jesus, Whitney. Have a little respect.” Pinkerton scrubbed a hand over his face. He skulked back to his corner.  

“I didn’t mean to kill him.” 

“Of course you didn’t.” Rebecca put a reassuring hand on his arm. “How long ago did this happen?” 

“A month?” Tortured eyes begged her for relief. His voice dipped quieter. “I haven’t slept since it happened. I don’t know how they can all just go on. Except for Pat. Pat started makin’ noise about goin’ to the police. He said it wasn’t right that we just left him.” His voice broke and he stopped. 

“Ed decided we should leave him.” Rebecca jumped at Benjamin’s quiet interjection. “Said there was nothing we could do about it, and tied a rock to his middle. He said it wasn’t worth ruining Gerald’s life over it.” 

Gerald gave a harsh laugh. 

“Gentlemen,” Rebecca whispered. “I think you need to speak to the police about this. An accidental death is nothing compared to concealing this.” She took in Gerald and his wretched figure. “I stand by my earlier statement. Confession would ease this burden.” 

She looked over to where Pinkerton sulked in a chair and wondered at what kind of person could be so coldhearted to leave a fellow in the water like that. Would that sort of person kill his friend to keep it quiet? She thought so. 

Quietly, Rebecca left Gerald and Benjamin and walked back toward the table. It was really too much. If the police would not arrive, then she would figure it out for them. She stood and paced the back wall. She went over it in her mind again. 

Patrick killed, Gerald exclaiming. Then, chaos. Her phone call. The restless wait. 

Patrick killed, Gerald’s exclamation. 

Patrick killed … 

Unless … 

The thought landed with a thud in her mind. 

Unless he hadn’t been killed before the exclamation. 

Rebecca walked over to the body, swallowing against the bile that arose in her throat. There was the knife. It was conceivable that it had hit something that would have killed him quickly, while they were distracted by Gerald’s outburst. His heart, perhaps, or maybe his lungs. She looked at where it was in his back and laid her hand on her chest, wondering which organ had been hit. 

Yes, it was possible. But how could she have missed it?

Who had been sitting beside him? Rebecca went over the order in her mind. Pinkerton had been on one side of her, his smug expression mingled with amusement as he’d made a show about closing his eyes for the spirits. On her other side had been Benjamin, also amused, if a bit more reserved about it. Gerald had been sandwiched between his brother and Patrick. And between Patrick and Pinkerton, staring at his friend in adoration, had been - 

The blow came from nowhere, with force enough knock her off her balance. White light exploded in her mind and she stumbled forward, trying to steady her feet. 

“What are you doing, man?” She did not know who called out. She did not care to know. Her focus was pinned on the person who was attacking her.

“Get away from me!” she yelled. Aware now, she dodged the wild punch thrown by Whitney Ashton. 

“No!” Spittle flew from his mouth. His eyes were wide and wild, unfocused as he screamed at her. “You’re ruining things!” He lunged at her again, and this time made contact. Her elbow hit the table with a painful crack! and she flailed to find something - anything - to fight him off. “You should have just talked to your spirits!” Whitney sneered. His face was close to hers. She smelled his rank breath and felt the spit land on her cheek. He hissed at her. “But you had to get nosey. You aren’t the first person I have dispatched of.” His hand was around her neck, choking her. She clawed at his hands and tried to pull them off of her. “You bitch!” 

Gerald flew across the room and slammed into them. The collision loosened Whitney’s grip and Rebecca slipped from his grasp, coughing and gasping for air. She tried to compose herself. “Enough!” she croaked. The young men grappling on the ground gave no sign of hearing her. Rebecca looked around, desperate for help. Pinkerton stood slack jawed on the other side of the room. Benjamin, too, looked rooted in shock. 

There was a lamp on a table nearby. Rebecca ran to it and prayed that her timing would be right. When Ashton had his back to her she slammed it down on his back. Glass shattered over him. Gerald took advantage and put the shocked Ashton into a wrestling hold. 

“What is the meaning of this?” 

The voice bellowed from the doorway as a young officer ran into the room. He looked around, took in the intensity of situation, then took a breath. “I presume you are the one who made the call?” he asked Rebecca. 

“Yes, Officer.” Her eyes widened in recognition as his narrowed. She dropped the base of the lamp and smoothed out her hair. “This man accosted me.” She pointed to Whitney Ashton, who wriggled, trying to escape from Gerald. 

Officer Nazaret wasted no time in subduing Ashton. From the ground, as Gerald rose and gingerly shook the glass shards off him, Nazaret asked, “Now will someone please tell me what is going on?” 

Rebecca took a breath and opened her mouth. 

“There’s been a murder, Officer.” Edward Pinkerton spoke across her. 

“I can speak for myself, Mr. Pinkerton.” Rebecca strode to where Nazaret was. As she drew near Ashton thrashed on the ground. 

“I had to!” he screamed. Rebecca took a step back. “He was going to ruin everything! I couldn’t let him ruin it all.” 

Nazaret redoubled his efforts to restrain Ashton. Rebecca’s jaw dropped open. “It wasn’t Gerald who killed that boy at all!” 

“Of course not! Gerald would never have the stomach for it. Look at him. He’s been falling apart thinking he accidentally killed the kid. It didn’t take much to wrap the rope around his ankle.”

“I would stop talking if I were you, Ashton.” Benjamin’s voice was deep and serious. Pinkerton turned to him, aghast. 

“You knew about this?” he demanded. 

Whitney went on before Benjamin could respond. “It was for you!” he wailed at Pinkerton. “I had to get rid of him. He would have take you from me!” Then he quieted. “It was all for you. You didn’t want him around, not really. He addled your mind!” The young man broke down into sobs, his words all but incoherent. “I just wanted you back. It was all for you.” 

Nazaret pulled out his manacles and put them on the now weeping Ashton. Gauging his chances, he stood and faced Gerald. “It seems like we have a lot to talk about.” He turned to face Rebecca. “Miss, would you please give me just one moment? I am going to need more officers to join me.” Without waiting for an answer, he strode into the hallway. 

Rebecca looked around. Gerald stood, slumped but less defeated over the prone Ashton. Benjamin huddled in a corner, his arms tightly crossed. Pinkerton stood in the same place he had been, his mouth open and all bravado gone. He seemed shocked, too shocked to move. Rebecca gathered her candles from the table. Exhaustion swamped her and longing for home rose with it. 

By the time Nazaret returned to the room she was packed and ready to leave. She turned to him and announced, “I will come to the police station tomorrow to provide my statement. For now, though, I must be heading home.” 

Nazaret stood for a long moment before nodding. “That will be fine.” He stepped aside. “Oh, and Miss Conley?” Rebecca turned to face him. 

“Yes, Officer?” 

“Please do give Miss Chase my regards.” 

Rebecca nodded, a wry smile on her face. Then, with thoughts of Chester and her warm kitchen, she headed out the door into the night.