Emily's Ghost Read Online Free PDF

but over what I'm about to
suggest."
    "Sa-a-y," she said, trying
to lighten the mood, "this wouldn't be nothin' illegal, would
it?"
    "Obviously not," he
answered, a little testily. "But I'm putting myself very much on
the line, something no elected official likes to do. Look -- this
conversation is off the record. Agreed?"
    "Sure." She said it
without thinking, then wished she hadn't.
    Because his next question
set the hair on the back of her neck on end.
    "Have you ever been in the
presence of a 'sensitive'?"
    Emily chose her answer
very, very carefully. "Well, no," she said, "I have not." She felt
obliged to add, "I don't believe in 'sensitives'."
    There was a pause. "So
you've never been in a position to judge whether a psychic is a
fraud or genuine? Because you've never seen one?"
    "That's right, Senator,"
Emily. "Wait, I'm a liar. Once I went with two of my friends to see
a palmist, on a lark. The palmist was definitely a
fraud."
    You will struggle between
life and death, child, the psychic had
said. In the end, you will have what you
want. The others had got nice, cheery,
tall-dark-and-handsome type readings, but her? No such luck. The
palmist had practically shoved her out the door. No doubt she knew
an investigative reporter when she saw one.
    Emily shook off the
unpleasant remembrance and said, "Why do you ask?"
    "I ask, because I'm
seriously considering doing something impolitic: inviting you to a
s é ance."
    "Get outta here," Emily
said, grinning. A s é ance !
    His voice became suddenly
reserved, almost cold. "You're right. Dumb idea."
    "No. No, it's not," she
said quickly. "I've never been to a s é ance because, well, I guess no
one's ever asked me before. I mean, how do you find out about these
things? It must be word of mouth. It can't be in the Yellow Pages.
What would you look under? Recycling? If you wanted a mere palmist,
that's easy enough. They advertise; they're available for parties.
But let's face it: a person who channels spirits, well, that's
pretty heavy stuff. I wish you would consider asking me, Senator,"
she pleaded, at a loss how to seem more like a believer to him. She
could feel the story slipping through her fingers, and it horrified
her.
    When he said nothing she
added, "I hope I haven't offended you, Senator. "I suppose I'm what
you people would call a 'goat,' but--"
    "No, no, that's no
problem," he interrupted, still thoughtful. "I've been to a few of
these things, and nothing's ever happened. But people whose
opinions I very much respect have talked about this particular girl
-- she's just a girl, eighteeen or nineteen -- in a way that
intrigues me. Unsettles me, even. Apparently she has power,
undeniable power ...."
    "Oh, Senator, please let
me come. Please."
    There was another long,
unbearable pause. She forced herself to remain silent, to wait him
out. When at last he spoke he said, "Let me give you a time and
place --"
    Yes! "I appreciate this so
much, Senator."
    "Naturally the
s é ance, like this
telephone conversation, is off the record."
    " What ?"
    "It has to be. I'm
sorry."
    She absorbed the blow
well, all things considered. "I understand, Senator," she answered
calmly. It didn't matter. Somehow, someway, she'd finagle some kind
of qualified permission from him. Or she'd imply what she needed to
say. Or she'd work through third-party quotes. But the story of
"The Senator and the S é ance" would be told. There wasn't a doubt in her
mind.
    The senator arranged to
meet Emily on the following Tuesday in Westford, Massachusets, and
gave her simple, clear directions for getting there. He said very
little about the nature of the sitting, only that there would be
some attempt to communicate beyond the living. The sitting was
scheduled to take place just outside the town, in a farmhouse with
a reputation for hauntings --frosting on the cake, as far as Emily
was concerned.
    The week sped by. Emily
was as good as her word and said nothing to Stan either about the
phone call or the