Olivier drank deeply of his coffee, not to finish but to give the room space. James, darting between his wife and the visitor, looking for someplace to insert his own guilt. Elizabeth looking for someone to change her past but unwilling to sacrifice the present. He soaked in the ambiance of the parlor, the way it lacked any evidence of the child upstairs. These were walled-off people. They held quick and fast to their categories of work, home, and child to the point that none were allowed to overlap with the others. “Laura broke the rules, here, didn’t she?”
A stunned, quizzical silence from both. Elizabeth tried to speak but shrank. James stared into the fire to avoid eye contact.
Olivier continued, “She embraced your work lives –art and architecture. She mixed the past with the present; she was migrating out of the space you kept her in.”
Another voiceless protest from Elizabeth.
“The clouds spilled out from her own room and into the hallway, the carpet was changed to accommodate her. But she almost fell down the stairs and you panicked, sealed her up. The psychologist was called then. Behavioral problems, medications that didn’t need to be. Then she was quiet, and your world returned to normal. To a sense of safety that protected you.” Olivier shook his head. “You doubted your art but every time you entered her room, she wanted you to make something new, to express yourself more earnestly.” Then to James, “And you, she wanted you to be a part of her mother’s work. To show that you belong in this world, that her old-world money didn’t make you lesser in the relationship. In every conceivable way, she made you whole.”
Olivier stood. “I have what I need to begin. It would be best if you kept to the house, didn’t invite in any more experts, police, and spiritual leaders. Especially whoever did that appalling smudging in the stairwell and Laura’s room.”
Elizabeth, struggling to speak broke free. “What?” she addressed James, coldly.
James looked at Elizabeth, sheepishly. “She came by the second day. You were in your room, zonked from whatever Dr. Stallings gave you. She said it would help release the bad energy. Clear the channels so Laura’s spirit could return to her body.”
Elizabeth slammed her coffee cup onto the floor. “You let my sister into this house?”
James was on his feet, moving behind the couch and pressing himself into the wall, hands raised. “I don’t know! She wanted to help. We NEEDED help, Liz. Christ. We still need help.”
Elizabeth stalked past Olivier and ascended the stairs. “See out our hope-bringer and clean that up, James. Don’t let my rug stain.” Her footsteps echoed as she took the second flight up and then thundered as she stomped into her rooms overhead.
Olivier put his cup on the tray and stowed his notebook in his bag. “I’ll need that list of visitors. And the name of this sister, which I assume you intentionally left off the list to avoid this exact circumstance.”
James nodded, scribbled the name on the back of the list he’d printed in the study before and handed it over. “Why? Why did you bring that up?”
Olivier took the paper and stashed it in an outer pocket. He walked to the entryway and picked up his coat. “It was important that you both understand what keeping things from me can cost your family. Anything you don’t tell me risks your daughter’s life. When I come back, I expect this lesson will be remembered.” He opened the door and walked out.