Help for the Haunted(127)
Inside, I went to my parents’ room where the red light on the answering machine was blinking away. I ignored it for the time being and went about finding my father’s old cassette player tucked in his nightstand with an empty prescription container, and oddly, a wrench wrapped in a towel. I put that aside and, from my pocket, pulled the cassette tape that had been in Rummel’s car. Since it was evidence, I figured he wouldn’t let me keep it overnight. That’s why I’d slipped it from the recorder when he let me back in the car at the prison and went around to the other side. Now, I popped in the tape and pressed Play. For a moment, there was nothing but static, and I thought perhaps this side of the tape had become warped after so long. But just as I was about to hit Fast Forward, a voice came alive in the room. Not my father’s, but Heekin’s. I turned the volume as loud as it could go.
HEEKIN: As I’ve been writing the book, I’ve grown increasingly frustrated with some discrepancies in your narrative.
MY FATHER: (woozy-voiced) You are beginning to sound like my brother and some of our other critics. I thought you had become a friend, Sam.
HEEKIN: I am a friend. But I am also trying to do a job here. My job is to report the truth.
MY FATHER: The truth is that a lot of the people who come to us are lost causes.
HEEKIN: Lost causes?
MY FATHER: Yes. I guess you could even say they’re not all there. Crazy even. You know how I first started? By placing an ad in the back of a newspaper. “Help for the Haunted” it read then offered our services. Tell me, what sort of sane person answers an ad like that?
HEEKIN: So what are you saying?
MY FATHER: I’m saying write the book, make it appropriately scary and you’ll have done your job. That’s what people want, isn’t it?
Heekin cleared his throat, and I had the sense this conversation had gone in a direction that left him flustered. He rambled and sputtered the way he did when he was nervous until there was a loud click and the tape went silent. And then, a moment later:
HEEKIN: Can I ask about your children?
MY FATHER: Sure.
MY MOTHER: I’d rather you not.
MY FATHER: My wife likes to keep our work and home life separate.
HEEKIN: And you don’t?
MY FATHER: These things have a way of melding. Besides, I said you could ask, I did not say we would answer.
HEEKIN: Well, then. Allow me to try. What do your daughters make of what you two do?
MY FATHER: We don’t talk too much about it.
His voice sounded clear, not at all woozy, and I realized the tape had cut to another conversation from some other time when my mother was present.
HEEKIN: And do you find, Mrs. Mason, that either of your daughters shares your gift?
MY MOTHER: I do, but let’s leave it at that.
HEEKIN: So they are accepting?
MY FATHER: As much as any children are accepting of their parents. (Laugh) I guess what I am trying to say is that we are like any other parents. We are trying to raise our daughters with good Christian values in a world that is increasingly secular. It is not easy with all the immorality out there. Take our daughter, Rose—
MY MOTHER: That’s enough, Sylvester. We don’t need to go into that.
MY FATHER: (after a pause) My wife is right. See how much I need her to keep me in line? I guess I’ll just say we’ve had more than our share of trouble with Rose. My wife and I have done a lot of praying that she will come around to our values again.
HEEKIN: Values?
MY MOTHER: I think we’ve gone as far as I feel comfortable on this topic. If you don’t mind I’d like to conclude the interview for the day. Thank you very much.
This time when the tape went silent it stayed that way. A dull, empty hum filled my parents’ bedroom. I sat there watching the wheels of the recorder spin round and round until I heard the sound of an engine and screechy music moving closer down the lane and coming to a stop in our driveway.