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over to hang around for several days. We must try to contact her before she
leaves."
"That's my girl," I said.
"Don't get carried away," Peter warned.
"But Jo knows what she's talking about," I said.
Peter was unconvinced. "She has some knowledge. But a little knowledge is
often dangerous."
"But can we talk to them?" I insisted.
"Let's see," Peter said.
"But Peter has been dead two years," Daniel said. "How did we get ahold of
him?"
"Sometimes people have reasons to stay," Jo said.
"Showers they have to attend," I agreed.
"I don't believe any of this," Daniel said.
There followed an uncomfortable silence. Except for Jo, I doubted any of them
honestly believed they could communicate with either Peter or me. Yet I also
realized even before they took their vote that most of them probably felt that if
there was one chance in a thousand it wouldn't hurt to try. It both excited and
depressed me to see from Jimmy's expression that he was willing to give it a
try. He had never been into such nonsense, and it didn't matter now that it
might not be nonsense; it just hurt to see how desperate he had become.
Jo called for a vote. Daniel was the only one who was opposed. The others went
along. They moved to the kitchen table. Jo lit a candle and turned down the
lights, handing Jimmy a paper and pencil to keep notes. That surprised me,
since he had obviously been closer to me than anybody.
Perhaps Jo felt he was too upset to act as a medium, I thought. Jimmy did not
appear to mind his role. The Ouija board was placed in the center of the table,
and Jo instructed everyone to lightly rest the fingertips of one hand on the
planchette. Daniel continued to be stubborn.
"I'd rather watch," he said.
"And I'd rather you joined us," Jo said. "I want the same group mind we had at
the party."
"The same what?" Beth asked.
"It won't hurt you," Jo told Daniel.
He finally gave in. I strode back to Peter, who was still on top of the TV. "I am
getting tired of your vagueness," I said.
"Why don't we see what they come up with on their own before we interfere," he
said.
"They won't come up with anything. How do we interfere?"
Peter stood. "You have to put your hands inside their hands."
"Inside? I can't do that."
"You could if you really wanted to," Peter said.
"Come in here," I said, taking him by the arm. The session was already under
way. The planchette was coasting wildly over the board beneath their fingers.
Jo was the only one who had two hands on the plastic indicator. Jeff still had a
cigarette dangling from his mouth.
"Who's there?" Jo asked.
"Peter and Shari," I said loudly.
The planchette continued to roll in meaningless circles
"Who's doing this?" Daniel asked.
"I'm not," Amanda said.
"You're making it move," Daniel accused Jo.
"Shh," Beth said.
"Give it a few minutes," Jo said. She asked again, "Who's there?"
The indicator looped over the letters for a minute more before beginning to
swing in an arc between YES and NO. It was amazing how fast it moved.
"Is anybody there?" Jo asked. "Shari?"
"They'll quit soon if we don't answer," I said to Peter, beginning to panic. "Do
something!"
"You can do it, if you must," Peter said. "Blend your hands in with theirs. If
they don't resist, you should be able to steer the indicator where you want."
"I can't," I said. "You saw what happened when I tried to walk through the
bench. If I put my flesh inside theirs ... "
I shuddered at the thought. "I might start bleeding."
"You don't have any blood," Peter said.
"This is stupid," Daniel remarked.
"Why aren't you helping me?" I pleaded.
Peter looked me straight in the face. "It's what I've been trying to tell you all
along. The dead shouldn't mingle with the living. It only leads to problems."
"But you mingled," I said in a cold voice. "More than once. Why did Beth feel so
weird when Jo used the magnet on her? Was it because you merged your legs
with hers? Was it because you were inside her?"
Peter hesitated, then nodded. "You're very perceptive. I used to think that even
when we were both alive."
"Please answer if you can, Shari," Jo said as the planchette swung back and
forth like a dead man at the end of a short rope.
"Then it's true," I said.
"Yes," Peter said.
It made little sense, but it was only then, when I no longer trusted him, and
when I ached because of it, that I realized how much he meant to me. "Did
what you do have anything to do with how I died?" I asked, so softly that even a
ghost might not have heard.
"I don't think so, Shari." He lowered his head. "I don't know for sure, but I
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