I rounded the corner of my street and slowed to a brisk walk. My breath sawed in and out of my chest through my mouth, and I used a cotton bandana tucked in the pocket of my jogging pants to wipe the sweat from my forehead. The autumn evening air caressed my damp skin, dotting my arms with goose bumps. From between the dwellings I could see Jinx’s house, lights blazing in every room as if she had guests. For weeks I’d been telling myself that the woman was a fake, a charlatan looking to pull something over on the poor grieving girl. But then I’d find myself wondering about the possibility that she was telling the truth. Other than the little bit I mentioned to the doctor in the hospital, I hadn’t told anyone about actually feeling Lony’s death, about seeing it through her eyes. There had to be a logical explanation for how Jinx knew all this, but for the life of me, I couldn’t figure out what it was.
So I did the only thing I could do —I took to the Internet. For weeks I’d read everything I could find on the subject of telepathy. At first, I only found websites advertising psychics and fortune tellers who would answer your questions for a price. My only experience with psychics happened at the Dubuque County Fair a couple summers ago when Lony talked me into getting my tarot cards read. All the woman told me was that I needed to work hard in school in order to get ahead in life. Duh! I could tell better fortunes than that. I can’t remember Lony’s fortune, but I’m sure it mentioned nothing about her early death.
After weeding through the fakes and weirdoes, I came across websites that included scientific studies and testimonials about telepathic experiences. To my surprise, a fair number of scientists believed communicating with the mind was real. There was even a doctor down at the University of Iowa Hospital, Dr. Ulrika Helbo, who had done actual studies and written books on the subject. I spent part of an evening reading different papers and things that she had published in medical journals. She basically believed that humans were born with ten senses. In addition to the five physical senses of touch, sight, smell, hearing and taste, there are five senses of the soul —intuition, peace, foresight, trust, empathy. She claims telepathy is simply a manifestation of our sense of intuition.
In an article in The New England Journal of Medicine, Dr. Helbo sighted evidence that early humans used the power of the mind and energy to transmit information, much the same way our other senses work. But as humans evolved, they began relying more on the other five senses, allowing the others to go dormant, like an appendix or something. Interesting stuff, and she had a lot of documentation to back up her theories, but I was a believe-it-when-I-see-it kind of girl.
Standing on the sidewalk sweating, I gazed at Jinx’s house and wondered if I should just give her a chance to explain. After a moment of staring, I decided to try a little experiment. I balled up the damp bandana and stuffed it back in my pocket. I walked around to my back yard where I took a seat on a wicker patio chair. I knitted my brow and concentrated on her kitchen door. Jinx, can you hear me? This is Cady. I’m in the backyard. If you can hear me, I’m ready to talk.
A moment passed.
And then another.
Maybe I was out of her range. Or maybe she’s just a fake.
I was silently chastising myself for my stupidity when Jinx popped out her door, grinning so big even in the dimness I could see the full row of her teeth.
“Cady!” she called out waving. “Sorry, I was on the phone.”
Shock pinned me to my spot, preventing me from answering. She heard me. She really heard me!
Jinx waited patiently by the fence separating our yards while I processed. After a minute, I got up and walked toward her.
“Believe me now?” she asked without a hint of I-told-you-so in her voice.
I lifted one shoulder in a shrug. “I don’t know.”
Jinx nodded. “Fair enough. Want to come over and talk?”
“Is now a good time? I mean, it looks like you have company or something.”
She glanced back to her house to see what I was seeing. “Oh, no. I just have a bad habit of not turning lights off when I leave rooms. Not very green, I know!”
“Well, let me take a shower, then I’ll be over.”
Twenty minutes later, I was standing on my neighbor’s stoop with wet hair and a hollow feeling in my stomach from skipping supper.
“Come in,” Jinx said, with the door held open for me.
The living room was the same chaos of clutter that I’d seen before, but with the soft light emanating from the mismatched table lamps and a few candles, it was homier this time. The strong scent of sandalwood drifted up in wisps of smoke from an incense cone on the coffee table. From his bed, the dog lifted his head so he could peek at me from under his bangs.