Bull's Eye: Confessions of a Fake Psychic Detective #3

Chapter 38

"The results presented here suggest that beliefs in the paranormal are accompanied by a biased exposure to available information, which might fuel causal illusions."

~ Paper #PMC4503786 published on July 15, 2015, in PLOS One (a peer-reviewed scientific journal)

"Seeing a ghost is less a result of a supernatural encounter than the perfect combination of suggestion, culture, mental state, pareidolia, and environmental factors. It's acceptable for even rational people to celebrate these encounters, as it is indeed rare that such disparate elements should come together and manifest so perfectly in a uniquely human way. Anyway, kill yourself, Zandra. You're a slave of satan."

~ Paper number three someone slipped under the door of Sneak Peek a few years ago

Zandra stands up from the hedgerow with a loud hack into her sleeve. She collects the cigarette butts on the ground and slips them into her pocket.

Dragging her left ankle along, Zandra makes her way back to the house. She returns to the sliding door leading to the basement, where she unwinds the chain securing the handle to the fishing boat suspended from the ceiling. Zandra lets the links swing freely.

Limping down the stairs, she calls out for Glenn. A shout from the direction of the bathroom comes in reply, but Zandra can't make out what it says. A few moments later, closer to the bathroom, she calls out again.

"My head fucking hurts," Glenn says, now more audible.

Inching closer so that she can see, Zandra spots the pedestals. They're still blocking the bathroom door.

"Consider it a lesson. You got too cozy with your captive. Gene would appreciate me reminding you," Zandra says, backing away to stay clear of any bullets.

"But you came back," Glenn says.

"Yes, so you could take me to the courthouse," Zandra says.

"But the hearing isn't until tomorrow."

"I'm tired of waiting. Let's get this over with," Zandra says. "Can you get out of there?"

"Yeah, I already did."

"And you went back?"

"I had to use the bathroom."

"Oh, OK."

Glenn grunts, washes his hands and then grunts again as he squeezes through the pedestals. He aims his pistol at Zandra when they meet at the pool table.

"What game are you playing?" Glenn says.

In a different situation, Zandra might look at the pool table she's not playing on and make a sarcastic remark. The stakes are too high for that.

"No games. I thought I could run, but I can't. Just have them stick me back in a jail cell," Zandra says. She sighs. "You win. Gene wins. If this is the end for me, I might as well do it with some grace."

"Hitting me with a pool ball isn't very graceful," Glenn says.

"I'm sorry about that. I had that fight or flight thing kick in," Zandra says.

Glenn runs the pistol up and down over Zandra's image as if the barrel were a drug-sniffing dog. "None of that woo-woo shit. No readings. Just a ride to the courthouse. That's it."

"You'll be Gene's hero. Not only did you keep me from running away, you're delivering me ahead of schedule," Zandra says.

That's good enough for Glenn. They head up the stairs and out to the Suburban. This time, Zandra rides in the backseat instead of the trunk. No handcuffs. The trip into town is as uneventful as the pavement is flat. For not knowing where she was earlier, the route becomes familiar after the first few miles.