Revenants & Remains | ONC 2021

3: My Concerns

I've made it a habit not to dream. On the rare occasions when I do, it never bodes well, for it puts me in a melancholy and irritable mood the following day.

That night, I dreamt of the orphanage, brooding and sullen on the hillside. I blamed the paper the girl Elisa had thrust into my hand. In the dream, the house loomed large, even larger than in real life. Warm lights shone in the windows, but I was standing in the dark, in the howling wind outside. I could hear the roar of the ocean not far away. Then I noticed someone looking down at me from one of the upper windows. And I could have sworn it was my own sister, but even in the dream I knew it was impossible, for she's been dead more than twenty years.

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I hurried into the office and made a beeline for the teapot. Empty! Gertrude was already tapping away at her work. "There's no tea!" I complained.

"I drank it," she replied. "You're late. You can heat some water and brew another pot!"

I added water and turned on the electric kettle. "It takes for-ever," I grumbled.

"What's gotten into you this morning?"

Though I didn't intend to tell Gertrude about the dream, I was anxious to speak with her about the rest of what happened the night before. I threw my coat over the back of my chair, snatching Elisa's paper out of my pocket. I unfolded it and thrust it in front of Gertrude's face.

She grabbed it, annoyed. "What's this?" Then, "Oh, well that's a sunny little drawing isn't it?" Done in black and dark blue crayon, it showed a large building—unmistakably the orphanage. Slashes of blue represented rain, so I imagined. And in one of the upper windows, the black silhouette of a figure stood looking out, gaping white holes where its eyes should be.

She leaned back in her chair. "This the ghost from your new case?" She handed the paper back to me.

"I have no idea," I said, "because there is no case." I explained to her what had happened, culminating with Elisa thrusting the drawing into my hand.

"What a very bold young lady!" Gertrude said admiringly. "You like her, don't you?"

I smiled a little by way of agreement. "I think your water's hot," Gertrude said and I set about refilling the pot, adding three tea bags. I like a strong cup.

"So what do you think?" I asked. I folded my arms across my chest. "The whole psychological side is more your department. Do you think they're talking to the little children about ghosts and putting it in their imaginations?" I made a face. "I find that very inappropriate. Or... do you think the children have actually seen a ghost?"

She knew I found that idea even more repellent.

"Well," she said, "since the man didn't hire you, I don't see why it really matters. I mean—"

I set my cup down on the table much too forcefully. "You know damn well why it matters!" I immediately regretted raising my voice.

Gertrude wasn't fazed. "You can't get rid of every ghost," she said matter of factly.

"I can try," I said, pinning back a strand of hair that had gotten loose and fallen in front of my eye. "And if a child is involved..."

Gertrude shook her head. "What is it that you'd like me to say?"

"I don't know." I flopped down into a chair next to her desk. "I had a dream."

She waited.

"About Annie."

She sighed. I should say that Gertrude's skills lie in the esoteric areas of the mind—astral projections, extra-sensory perception, intuition, that sort of thing. "Well, I know you don't want me to analyze you, or go into the theories of memory and psychic manifestation, so..."

"What should I do? Give me some of your sensible Gertrude wisdom, as always."

She sniffed. "The sensible advice you never actually follow?"

I tried to lighten the mood. "I might one day."

"If it happens to coincide with what you already want to do!" She laughed. "Listen." She leaned forward. "It seems to me you're feeling a tinge of concern..."

I made a show of rolling my eyes. She pressed on. "So... you could either phone them up and ask some questions, or you could wait and see. If there's a problem, I've no doubt that Miss Elisa will be in touch!" She smiled. "I say we wait it out. In the meantime, I'll do some research on the orphanage while I'm at the records office this afternoon, and you can spend a nice day over at headquarters in the lab messing about with ethereal vapors or whatever—"

I popped up from my chair. "You're right. I'm going to call them right now and—oh! I forgot, they don't have a phone!"

As if on cue, our own phone rang. Gertrude snatched it up. "Hello. Young and Holte. Of course." Gertrude covered the receiver with her hand and whispered to me, "It's for you! Guess who?" and handed it to me. "The operator's connecting us."

"Hello, Ms. Holte?" It was a man's voice. "This is Mortimer Pendelton, from the orphanage."

"Um... oh, hello," I said. Gertrude was staring at me intently. "I thought you didn't have a phone?"

"Whyever would you think that? Miss Holte, first of all, I do apologize for our scene last evening. I know you are a very busy woman, but..." There was a long pause in which I thought I could hear muffled speaking in the background.

"Yes, sir?" I said politely.

"Circumstances have changed. And, frankly, I do see that we are in need of special services such as only you can provide." I nodded emphatically at Gertrude. "Would you be so kind as to pay us a visit as soon as possible? Say, this evening?"

I didn't reply for just a moment, which he must have taken for hesitancy. "We can pay up front," he said quickly.

"I'll be there by six," I said and hung up.