Evidence of the Paranormal

It's going to take at least twenty minutes for them just to bring us coffee at this place. Only two other tables occupied, but it's what always happens here. There's really no point trying to make small talk until we've got our cheap, hot drinks comfortably in hand.

Jamie had a stop to make at the botanica next door, so Jon and I met them there. We were going to go to another place with half decent service, but it's five blocks away, and it started raining. None of us wanted to walk that far.

Ha. Jon's hesitation around the subject we came here to discuss must be contagious.

"You know how you know when people talking about their so-called paranormal experiences are full of shit?" he asked last week, after I asked him if he wouldn't mind telling me about how the rest of his family died when he was sixteen.

The first time it came up, he said he didn't want to talk about the details right then, but maybe later. Took me years to work up the nerve after that. I wouldn't push, but I get this sense that it made him who he is today. And probably Jamie, too.

Spend even a little time around them, and you'll notice how they share these silent looks every once in a while. Spend even more time, and you'll suss out that it's not because they're fundamentally on the same wavelength in some way. They don't "get" each other, not always. It's something else. And since Jon met Jamie through his brother, I'm pretty sure it's something to do with him.

I used to find it jarring, how different the way Jon talks is from how he writes. His poetry is one of the most beautiful things in the world to me. Reading it before I met him felt like someone was looking into my soul. I correctly guessed that he wasn't a woman in spite of his pen name ("Melody Leon," taken from his siblings' names—another reason to want to know more about them), but I always pictured him as talking kind of like how I imagine Oscar Wilde would have talked. Flowery, witty. So sharp you'd almost be afraid of speaking to him.

When Jon writes, his words form wrought-iron pictures like what you'd find on Victorian-era gates and guard rails. They take on a patina like iron, too, the more you read them. When he speaks, they're more like hammers. So when I asked him about how his family died, and he said what sounded like a non-sequitur, I knew I was stumbling onto something tangled.

"How?" I asked.

"That they can tell you what happened at all," he said. "It's not like that. The weirder it is, the less you remember. So when they trot out this well-crafted little narrative, tell you enough to make you feel like you were right there with them? They made it up."

"Sounds like you're speaking from experience."

"Yeah. Everything I know for sure revolves around a package, a tape, and a screwdriver."

That sounded rehearsed. I wondered if it was for my sake, or if maybe he was thinking of getting into prose (not a chance). In hindsight, I think he got there from struggling to explain it to himself. "What kind of package?"

"A package that didn't make sense. Elodie and Leo and Dad died a few days before Christmas that year, Jamie got it in the mail the day after. No return address. No note. Just a pair of cufflinks only they would have recognized. And a car key. Jamie was also the only person who'd seen where Leo last parked his car."

"And the rest?"

"In the car, they found a tape. I don't really remember what was on it, but at least part of it was recorded backward. I used to reverse cassettes for fun when I was a kid. Especially Elodie's. You need a screwdriver to get the tape out of the casing. And there was a screwdriver in the glove compartment. My screwdriver. Only way it could have gotten there was if Leo had stolen it from my room."

I didn't really understand. "You're sure it was yours?"

"Positive. It was from a set. I recognized the handle."

"So, however they died, they left you two a message right before it happened."

"That's correct."

"But you don't remember what the message was?"

"The point is, they knew what was going to happen."

I turned that over in my head a bit. "But if they hadn't died, then—"

"Sure. You're right. Jamie wouldn't have found the tape. I wouldn't have found the screwdriver. Leo would have bullshitted a reason for sending them the package. But why set up any of that in the first place if they didn't at least know whatever happened to them was a possibility?"

"And what exactly happened to them?"

Jonathan shook his head anxiously and shrugged. "That's the question, isn't it? I found their bodies in the snow the night it happened, burned beyond recognition. Only thing to confirm it was them was the bracelet Leo was wearing. They'd been alive a half hour before. Other than that? I have no idea."

"Except that they knew in advance they might die."

"Yeah."

"And they left you a message."

"The less said about that, the better."

I was already a little suspicious about how he could forget the last thing his siblings ever said to him. After that comment, I started to wonder if he remembered more than he wanted to talk about. But even if he did, I was willing to respect his reticence. "And your dad?"

"Died in a house fire around the same time."

"Were you home when that happened?"

Jon shook his head. "No. I found the bodies, then I went home, and it was on fire. The fire brigade was already there. I guess one of the neighbors must have called them. But they were too late to save anyone inside."

So that was basically his entire life up in flames, then. In one night. Maybe even one hour. "What did you do?" I asked, softly.

"Dad owned a hotel. I stayed there. Someone thought to call my aunt even though I hadn't even known she existed until then. She took me here the weekend after Christmas."

"So, what, you came home, it was on fire, walked over to the hotel?"

Jonathan sighed. "I don't know. Probably not. My memory of the whole thing is really fuzzy."

"Did they ever find out how your house burned down? Arson, accident?"

"Electrical fire."

"Quite the coincidence."

"No. Probably not."

I quirked an eyebrow at him. Still didn't want to push too hard.

"There's more to it, but I don't know how to explain. And even if I could, I don't think I should."

In other words, he didn't want to talk about it. But he didn't come right out and say so. "You sound conflicted about that." Maybe he wanted me to know all the same.

Jonathan pressed his lips together and looked away. "Jamie might be able to explain better," he finally mumbled.

And so, here we are.

"So what was it you wanted to know that Jon couldn't tell you?" Jamie asks.

"There was a message on a tape, for starters. He doesn't remember what it said."

Jamie glances at Jon, who's sitting on their side of the table even though he usually sits by me. Then at the rain dripping down the window, or maybe something outside. Anywhere but at me. "I mean, half of it was for me. Just something Leo was too much of a coward to say to my face. Not really relevant."

Jonathan rests his head on his hand and studies the minuscule blue and pink flakes in the more-or-less white table. I think he might even be blushing. He looks more uncomfortable than he did at home.

"And Elodie recited the other half backwards for a reason."

"What was it? Some terrible family secret you can't repeat even now that Jon's the only one left?"

Jamie snaps their fingers, grins, and points at me. "Exactly! Yeah. I can tell you it was relevant, at least. Even vital."

"Okay, but you at least remember it."

"I remember what it was, but I don't remember the exact pronunciation. Any other questions?"

Not going to make this easy, are they? I don't know what questions to ask, so I summarize everything else Jon told me. "So what are we missing here? Any gaps in Jon's memory you can fill?"

"Loads," Jamie says. "But they won't make any of it make sense."

So if they're being openly evasive, maybe Jon was doing the same thing earlier. But then why bother meeting up like this? "I'm getting the sense there's something here that neither of you wants to say."

"Jon saw everything I saw. More, even."

"I can't remember shit about that week, Jamie. All I have to go off of is what I wrote down."

Jamie raises their eyebrows at Jon in what appears to be genuine surprise. "Seriously? None of it?"

Jon shakes his head. "Nothing I can describe, at least. Just this general feeling of dread whenever I think about it. I don't know if that's a memory or a reaction."

"Wow. Okay. So."

"So?" I ask.

"God, where to start. Okay, do you remember that summer, at least? Or the fall?"

"What about it?" Jon asks.

Jamie lets out a disbelieving laugh. "Uh, how 'bout the way Elodie went missing for three months? Remember that?"

Jon blinks in surprise. "I—okay, yeah, now that you mention it. What does that have to do with anything?"

"Uh, everything? 'Cause it was your aunt who made her disappear. You broke the spell. Do you remember any of that night?"

Jon's eyes go wide and he shakes his head. "No. Not at all. What did I do?"

"She was—uh, this is going to sound completely bonkers, but she was stuck in the form of a doll? You said her name three times and she turned back. That was September. You remember when she came back?"

Jon taps his cheekbone thoughtfully. "That is 'completely bonkers.' Now that you mention it, I do remember you and her and Leo stopping at the house briefly. And you were in my room for some reason. And something was definitely wrong with Elodie. Then we all drove to her friend's house and just—left her there?"

"Yeah."

"Even though she clearly had some kind of schizophrenia or something."

"No."

"Yes, Jamie, she kept ranting about our aunt killing our mom,” Jon's mom died when he was too young to remember, “and trying to poison us or something. She was delusional. That entire car ride there, I thought Leo was going to drop her off at a hospital to get her head checked. But then he didn't."

"She wasn't psychotic, Jon. Or at least, I can't think of any other explanation for what happened than the one she gave."

"Which was?" I ask.

"Jon's aunt—not Katherine, she's on his mom's side, this one was on his dad's side—was trying to make him, Elodie, and Leo immortal. The spell involved a ritual on the summer solstice, and another on the winter solstice, which just so happens to be the night they all died. Elodie noticed what she was doing on the summer solstice and stopped Jon from—uh, participating. You remember her knocking a glass of wine out of your hand right around the time she disappeared, Jon?"

"Nope."

"Leo didn't, either, but Elodie insisted that happened. And that your aunt sealed her away in the form of a doll so she wouldn't interfere any more."

"Okay," Jon says defensively.

"Like I said," Jamie turns to me like they're trying to win me over, "I remember all kinds of things. None of them make sense."

"Okay, so, how did this lead to all those deaths, then?” I ask. “Regardless of whether it's true."

Jamie closes their eyes and lets out their breath. "Their aunt was planning to kill people," they murmur. I can barely hear them. "As part of the ritual. Elodie and Leo stopped her."

"So, what, she set them on fire in the process?"

Jamie shakes their head. "No. She was in the house, same as their dad. It was all set up in advance. I don't know the details of how, but there was another fire that night. Same time, same cause. One of the dorms at the boarding school. The kids inside were supposed to be the sacrifices. But instead of being asleep in the dorm when it burned down, they were all at a party. And so, the ritual backfired and killed everyone involved. Elodie, Leo, their dad, and their aunt. But not Jonathan. Whom Elodie insisted she stopped from participating in the first ritual. From the sound of it, none of them knew it was a ritual, and by the time Elodie figured it out, it was too late for her and Leo. Could that all be some delusion of hers? Sure. But it lines up awfully neatly with the otherwise unexplainable deaths, doesn't it?"

"Correlation isn't causation," Jon says.

"Y'know, Jon, I thought maybe after all these years you were ready to actually talk about what happened. But you just wanted me to be the crazy one in front of your boyfriend instead of you. Didn't you?"

The way Jon cringes when Jamie says "boyfriend" out loud still hurts. Our relationship isn't exactly a secret, at least, not among friends. But it's not something he likes to name in public, either. If I so much as try to hold his hand where anyone else might see, he shakes. But he doesn't pull his hand away.

"That's not it," he says.

"No? Then why do you keep refuting everything I say?"

"Because—" Jon stops himself. "Jamie. We were in danger. That entire week after the party, we were in danger. And I don't remember why. I don't even know what's safe to talk about. But I was thinking maybe you would."

"Right. Okay. The week after."

"I wrote notes, that's how I remember the stuff about the package and the tape. But Jamie, those notes? There's so much stuff I scribbled out. Tight little blocks of scribbles enough to cover a few words, or a sentence. And one entire paragraph. Completely scribbled out, not even any white space. There were even holes in the paper from how hard I must have been pressing that pen. So what I want to know, and what I think Casey would like to know, is what exactly was I so scared of?"

Jamie takes a deep breath. "Okay. Yeah. That's a little dicey." They pause. "Do you remember the nightmares?"

"I was having nightmares," Jon repeats. He definitely doesn't remember.

"Yeah. After they died. I even saw one of them. We had the same dream one night. You remember that?"

"No."

"Not the exact same dream. You were in your hotel room, I came in from the outside and tried to get you to come out with me because there was a gas leak. Sound familiar?"

Jon turns a shade paler and shakes his head emphatically.

"When I woke up, I called you to confirm. You told me not to do that again. And then you told the hotel staff to send me away when I came to check on you the next day. Wouldn't answer my calls, either." Jamie pauses. "You were scared for me. There was someone else in that room with you, in the dream. And you were scared he would hurt me. But we banished him. He isn't coming back, Jon. We're safe now."

Maybe I shouldn't be asking this. But I do anyway. "Did he have anything to do with that spell your other aunt supposedly cast?"

Jamie nods. "Yeah. And the backwards message Elodie left us on the tape, too. That was how we banished him. And he's not coming back, but we probably shouldn't talk about him anymore all the same. Better safe than sorry."

There's one more thing eating at my mind. "So we know Leo and Elodie knew in advance they might die. And Elodie explained why. So does that mean you knew, too, Jamie?"

Jamie looks at me like I threw a glass of cold water in their face. "No! And Leo didn't know, either."

"No way," Jon insists. "His car. His cufflinks. He knew he was going to die, Jamie. He was just better at hiding it than Elodie."

Jamie crosses their arms and shakes their head. They look like they could cry. "No. He couldn't have known. Not with the way he was acting."

"Then why did they send his cufflinks? Elodie wouldn't have thought of that, Jamie. She couldn't have orchestrated all that by herself."

"He did it to humor her. He must have. He did everything to humor her, and because some of it was even kind of fun, until the two of them dropped dead."

"Are you calling my brother a coward?"

"Yes, Jon, yes I am!"

And then we all wordlessly agree to drop the subject, because the alternative looks like Jamie weeping in the middle of the café for a bunch of strangers to see. The waitress brings us our coffee soon after. We order sandwiches to go. The rain lets up by the time we get them. Jamie goes one way to their car, we go another.

"Leo was more scared to tell Jamie he loved them than he was to sacrifice his life to protect a handful of innocent kids," Jon tells me once we're in my car.

"Excuse me?"

"That was the message he left on the tape. That he was in love with Jamie. I didn't scribble that part out."

"And?" Seems like a personal detail from Jamie's past that I don't need to know about.

"So that's why Jamie insists he was clueless. He wasn't."

That was a little underhanded of him. Waiting until Jamie was gone to get the last word in. But bringing it up in the café wouldn't have been any kinder, so I let it slide.