Chapter 4Seven people were gathered around the heavy table. They didn’t sit, but stood with their fingertips resting lightly on the ash wood surface and their heads slightly bowed to look at a vase of flowers in the center. A portable stereo in the room was playing the Glenn Miller version of Imagination at a low volume.
Earlier, the people in the room had been joking around as they waited to see if the eighth member of their group would show up. They were an interesting mix: two apparent couples–one college-age and racially mixed, the other middle-age and Nordic–plus one more woman who looked like a harried housewife, one vaguely Middle-Eastern young man with a sly grin, and one more man who seemed to be a military retiree. I hadn’t yet linked names to faces, since there’d been no photos in the files. After some chatter, greetings, and clowning around, they’d decided the eighth wasn’t coming and had gone to stand around the table.
The military man looked at the flowers and said, “Good evening, Celia. Are you standing by?”
Two quick raps came from the table. I raised an eyebrow. When I’d been under that table, there had been nothing there that could have made that sharp, hollow noise and I was certain nothing had been placed there since. At least nothing official or large enough to see from the observation booth.
Tuckman leaned his head close to mine without turning his eyes away from the scene on the other side of the observation room glass. “Two raps for yes–that’s the code.”
I gave half a nod. “That’s the usual thing.” I tried to look into the Grey and see what was going on in the overlap between the normal and the paranormal, but the two layers of glass between me and the séance room baffled my unnatural vision and all I saw were vague blurs and wisps of colored light writhing around the members of the project and painting occasional squiggles on the floor and walls. Whatever had made the rap didn’t seem to be normal and I wished I could stand up and walk into the other room to see for myself.
Read more here.