define
parapsychology .
Parapsychology:
a field of study concerned with the investigation of evidence for paranormal
psychological phenomena .
She went on to
read about Dr. Rousseau's numerous successful investigations, proving and
disproving popular paranormal myths and ghost sightings across the world. He
had written several research studies on his investigations and several fiction
novels as companions. His last known project was an investigation of the Archer
Avenue ghost in Chicago, IL.
Well, fuck. Isla stared at the screen in disbelief,
unsure of what to think or what to do. Was this why he came? Did he make up the
whole vacation story? Is that why he brought up the subject of witches and the
locals opinion of her? Isla began to wonder if somehow he had heard of a
supposed witch living on the island and had come to investigate.
The idea that
he had lied to her and she had bought it caused a knot of fury to boil in her
gut. This is what she got for letting her guard down. You just couldn't trust
anyone. No one.
Chapter
Ten
Jeremiah
entered Sacred Hearts Assisted Living through tall oak doors that were probably
as thick as his forearm. The hallways were lined with worn, peeling wallpaper
circa 1965. Dr. MacLaren, who met Jere in the lobby, was a short, affable
looking man in his seventies with thick, white hair and a full mustache that
brought Col. Sanders to mind.
The two men
introduced themselves, shook hands, and Dr. MacLaren gestured for Jeremiah to
follow him down one of the dimly lit hallways.
“You’re in
luck. Ms. Mackay has actually been quite lucid today. More so than usual. Even
so, I must warn you that it takes very little for her to become agitated. She
also tends to slip back and forth from present to past, or even to unreality,
so you’ll want to fact check anything you get from her.”
“Of course,”
Jeremiah answered, not bothering to mention how little facts there
actually were on the subject.
The older man
gestured to the left down an intersecting hallway. “Of course, we do try to
limit visitor contact to fifteen minutes or less so as not to overwhelm our
patients.” He stopped in front of a dingy door labeled 517. “And please, do try
not to upset her,” the doctor said sternly, eyeing Jeremiah skeptically from
under bushy eyebrows.
“I’ll do my
best,” Jere said, giving the man what he thought of as his good ol’ boy smile.
Dr. MacLaren
opened the door and motioned Jeremiah inside. The room was small, spartan, and
sparsely furnished. There was a twin bed with a wrought iron frame, a crucifix
mounted on the wall above, a writing desk, and a small dresser. There was one
window with a mesh cover across it that obscured most of the sunlight.
A tiny,
frail-looking woman sat almost curled in a rocking chair, halfway facing the
window, her profile visible to him.
Dr. MacLaren
cleared his throat. “Good afternoon, Mhairi. You have a visitor.”
She didn’t move
a muscle. If she heard him, she gave no indication.
“This is Dr.
Rousseau. He is here to ask you some questions regarding his research that he
thinks may involve your family lineage.”
When again she
made no response, Dr. MacLaren nodded to Jeremiah and left them. When they were
alone, Jere waited a few seconds to speak. Then a few seconds more.
He had finally
gathered his nerve, when she slowly turned her face to him and pegged him with
a sharp, extremely lucid, and knowing stare. “What took ye so long?” she asked
in a thick Scots brogue.
Unsure of how
to respond to that, Jeremiah crossed the room and took a seat on the bed
opposite her. “Ms. Mackay—”
“Mhairi, lad.”
“Uh, Mhairi. I
had planned on coming here to ask you about the Bruixi . I have been
researching them for quite some time, and I traced one of the family lines here
to you. I think you know what I’m talking about. But now I need your help. The
situation has…escalated.”
“Escalated?”
“Yes, ma’am.
I’ve met a
parapsychology .
Parapsychology:
a field of study concerned with the investigation of evidence for paranormal
psychological phenomena .
She went on to
read about Dr. Rousseau's numerous successful investigations, proving and
disproving popular paranormal myths and ghost sightings across the world. He
had written several research studies on his investigations and several fiction
novels as companions. His last known project was an investigation of the Archer
Avenue ghost in Chicago, IL.
Well, fuck. Isla stared at the screen in disbelief,
unsure of what to think or what to do. Was this why he came? Did he make up the
whole vacation story? Is that why he brought up the subject of witches and the
locals opinion of her? Isla began to wonder if somehow he had heard of a
supposed witch living on the island and had come to investigate.
The idea that
he had lied to her and she had bought it caused a knot of fury to boil in her
gut. This is what she got for letting her guard down. You just couldn't trust
anyone. No one.
Chapter
Ten
Jeremiah
entered Sacred Hearts Assisted Living through tall oak doors that were probably
as thick as his forearm. The hallways were lined with worn, peeling wallpaper
circa 1965. Dr. MacLaren, who met Jere in the lobby, was a short, affable
looking man in his seventies with thick, white hair and a full mustache that
brought Col. Sanders to mind.
The two men
introduced themselves, shook hands, and Dr. MacLaren gestured for Jeremiah to
follow him down one of the dimly lit hallways.
“You’re in
luck. Ms. Mackay has actually been quite lucid today. More so than usual. Even
so, I must warn you that it takes very little for her to become agitated. She
also tends to slip back and forth from present to past, or even to unreality,
so you’ll want to fact check anything you get from her.”
“Of course,”
Jeremiah answered, not bothering to mention how little facts there
actually were on the subject.
The older man
gestured to the left down an intersecting hallway. “Of course, we do try to
limit visitor contact to fifteen minutes or less so as not to overwhelm our
patients.” He stopped in front of a dingy door labeled 517. “And please, do try
not to upset her,” the doctor said sternly, eyeing Jeremiah skeptically from
under bushy eyebrows.
“I’ll do my
best,” Jere said, giving the man what he thought of as his good ol’ boy smile.
Dr. MacLaren
opened the door and motioned Jeremiah inside. The room was small, spartan, and
sparsely furnished. There was a twin bed with a wrought iron frame, a crucifix
mounted on the wall above, a writing desk, and a small dresser. There was one
window with a mesh cover across it that obscured most of the sunlight.
A tiny,
frail-looking woman sat almost curled in a rocking chair, halfway facing the
window, her profile visible to him.
Dr. MacLaren
cleared his throat. “Good afternoon, Mhairi. You have a visitor.”
She didn’t move
a muscle. If she heard him, she gave no indication.
“This is Dr.
Rousseau. He is here to ask you some questions regarding his research that he
thinks may involve your family lineage.”
When again she
made no response, Dr. MacLaren nodded to Jeremiah and left them. When they were
alone, Jere waited a few seconds to speak. Then a few seconds more.
He had finally
gathered his nerve, when she slowly turned her face to him and pegged him with
a sharp, extremely lucid, and knowing stare. “What took ye so long?” she asked
in a thick Scots brogue.
Unsure of how
to respond to that, Jeremiah crossed the room and took a seat on the bed
opposite her. “Ms. Mackay—”
“Mhairi, lad.”
“Uh, Mhairi. I
had planned on coming here to ask you about the Bruixi . I have been
researching them for quite some time, and I traced one of the family lines here
to you. I think you know what I’m talking about. But now I need your help. The
situation has…escalated.”
“Escalated?”
“Yes, ma’am.
I’ve met a
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