The Fall of Never(65)

“I mean the whole gamut. And these books are just the tip of the iceberg. There’s been studies done, been actual documented accounts. Recently I’ve been reading up on it and I’ll tell you, some of this stuff blows my mind.”

“This is about Miss Worthridge?”

“You have to keep an open mind and understand…”

“What you’re telling me is that Nellie Worthridge is telepathic?”

“To be honest, I don’t know what abilities that woman has. I mean, not fully. Maybe she doesn’t fully understand it either, I don’t know. But I will tell you this: I think I’ve recently been able to answer some of our previous questions.”

What about my son? Mendes wanted to yell. That’s the only question I have—what about my son?

“I’ve recently been spending some time with Nellie, since she’s come home from the hospital,” Josh continued. “Outwardly, there have been some strange occurrences—she talks in her sleep, she zones out for several minutes at a time, she breaks the prongs off plastic forks—”

“She did that at the hospital, too.”

“Right. And also—and I swear to God I’m being truthful when I say this—but I’ve seen her left arm move.”

“Her paralyzed side…”

“Just a bit, hardly noticeable. Hell, I don’t think she knows it, but I’ve seen her move it. Just like you said she did at the hospital.”

Mendes looked down at his fingernails. They were ragged and chewed down to the quick. Both hands were shaking. “There’s no explanation for that,” he said almost to himself.

“Explanation or not, it’s what I saw,” Josh said. “And you did too, right? I mean, I’m not losing my mind here, right? And if I am, at least tell me I’m not losing it alone.”

Mendes shook his head. “No,” he said. “No. I saw it too.”

Lips pressed firmly together, Josh nodded at him. He appeared to relax somewhat once he had Mendes’s concordance. Then he said, “There have been other things, too. More…I guess you’d say they’re more internal things. Her headaches, for one. She doesn’t say too much about them, but I can tell when they hit her, and they hit her hard. I’m not sure if they have anything to do with her abilities, but I think that there’s probably a pretty good chance—”

“Josh,” Mendes interrupted, “you keep saying ‘abilities’ and you mentioned telepathy, but what the hell is going on? I don’t understand how you’ve drawn these conclusions based on some migraines and restless sleep.” He exhaled unsteady breath. “I’m not criticizing, I just…”

“Right,” Josh said. “You remember the Wednesday night bridge game?”

“Yes. The one she lied about.”

“She wasn’t necessarily lying, Doc,” Josh said. “In fact, you nearly solved this one yourself some time ago, only we didn’t put the pieces together then, do you remember? It’s not our fault—how the hell were we supposed to know what to look for?”

“Tell me.”

“You checked up on the names of the women Nellie gave you and discovered that a Betty Shotts did live in the next building over and did in fact host a Wednesday night bridge game every week. Do you remember?”

He nodded. Of course he remembered. It was one of the many things that simply didn’t make sense, and that had sent him spiraling deeper and deeper into what had inevitably become this living, waking nightmare.

“It’s not unusual for Nellie to not hear me when I come to her door,” Josh continued. “She’s old and so I just let myself in. And this past Wednesday I did just that—opened the door while carrying in a bag of groceries, all set to make some spaghetti sauce, and I called out to her as I made my way to the kitchen. No answer. I quickly became nervous and moved down the hallway toward her bedroom. I paused just outside the door. It was closed almost all the way, and I knocked on it and called out to her again. But she still didn’t answer. But I could hear her in there, talking to herself.

“I pushed the door open and saw her—she was right there beside her bed in her wheelchair, and she would have looked like she were asleep if not for this really peculiar grin on her face. Her head was sort of tilted back and her hands were clenched together and pressed into her lap. In fact, she was about an inch away from leaning her head back against the bedroom wall.

“She frightened me, sitting like that with her eyes closed and her mouth working at the air, so I called out to her again. And when she spoke, I thought she was answering me, but she wasn’t. She said something about an eight of clubs, something like, ‘Watch out, Margie, she’s got an eight of clubs.’ As if in a trance or something.”

“She was playing bridge,” Mendes said, marveling at his own words, and at the situation that had evoked them.

“Yes,” said Josh, “she was playing bridge through her bedroom wall. She could see the cards, could even see the people—see into their heads so clearly she was able to learn their names.”

“Jesus,” Mendes muttered. He was suddenly aware of how wet and cold he was.

“After a few seconds, she snapped back to reality and saw me standing in the bedroom doorway. I must have been looking at her as if she’d grown an extra head, because she was quick to assure me that she was all right and she apologized for frightening me.”