The rational mind refuses to believe that illogical, mystical events beyond human control do occur. Yet, the metaphysical mind knows the unseen and unheard all too well. Little things often dismissed during daylight hours come alive as darkness grows into the depths of the midnight "awakening."
They were just four ordinary people struggling to get through their existences as best they could. Ken Lamington, Pamela Forrester, Jessica Benton and Phil Harrell had socialized together since becoming advertising associates at Lehran, Smythe and Danninger.
Of the four, Pamela Forrester was the most shy and retiring. Jessica Benton was the bubbly, happy-go-lucky gal who was the glue that brought the four together for a few after hours drinks at Mineal's Pub or weekend jaunts to play squash, racket ball, go hiking or just "hanging out" at one or the others' apartments. Ken and Phil were typical of young, urban sophisticates with devil-may-care attitudes toward life and living.
One afternoon in late autumn, the phone of Pamela's office desk rang with bad news. Her mother passed away. Tears streamed down her dove grey eyes. Jessica saw her friend in distress and rushed over to her.
"Pam, what is it? What's wrong?" Jessica asked.
"It's my Mom. She's passed. I have to leave," Pamela said.
"I'll tell Mr. Danniger. Stay in touch. I mean it, Pam. If you need anything...anything, just call," Jessica said.
Later, Jessica informed Ken and Phil of Pamela's loss.
Pamela Forrester was the only child of Maureen and James Forrester. Pam's father passed away when she was a teen. Owing to James Forrester's business acumen, Pamela and her mother lived comfortably.
Five years earlier, Maureen Forrester was the victim of dementia brought on my advanced diabetes. Pamela was chief caregiver for her mother. She had to relinquish this responsibility when her mother slipped away from the family home wearing only a nightgown and found wandering in the streets, incoherent and frightened. Pamela realized she couldn't keep her job and stay home and care for her mom too. She found a local senior care center to look after her mother.
Maureen Forrester grew ever more unruly at the care center and barely recognized her daughter. At times, Pamela drove back to the family home in tears. As Maureen's diabetes grew worse, she lost her hearing and had to be placed on dialysis three times a week. The family physician drew a very bleak prognosis for her mother's future.
"Your mother is very seriously ill, Pamela. I know you want what's best for her. But, you must also prepare yourself. Her health is rapidly deteriorating. She may not live out this year," Dr. Philankes said.
How do I prepare myself for my mother's death? she wondered.
This wasn't like the death of her father. He died in the night of a massive coronary embolism. He just didn't wake up. Then, Pamela was frightened of their future. But, as the days passed, she realized her father made certain she had a college fund and her mother would be financially well off.
Through the five years of her mother's deteriorating illness, Pamela tended to her only living parent's needs like a professional nurse. Rarely, was there a night when she wasn't awakened to the sound of her mother's bell ringing. Pamela bought a little gold bell to keep on her mother's bedside once Maureen became bedridden. It was reassuring to her mother and to her, to know her mother could ring the bell whenever she needed her daughter.
That little bell still sat on her mother's night table. After her mother went to the care center, Pamela often imagined she heard the bell ringing at night. Then, she realized her mother wasn't in her room after all and tried to fall back to sleep.
Pamela came to the conclusion that in order to manage her time between her job and seeing to her mother at the care center, she had to take an apartment nearer to the city.
She promised her mother she wouldn't sell their home. Maureen Forrester always mistakenly believed she was going to make a full recovery from her diabetes and mother and daughter could remain in the two-story, red brick cape James Forrester custom built for his family. Pamela knew the house would have to be sold eventually, against her mother's wishes.
"Pamela, promise me you won't sell the house. There's something we need to talk about," Maureen told her daughter, in one of her more lucid moments before dementia set in.
"What is it we need to talk about, Mother?" Pamela asked.
"It's something you need to know. I just can't talk about it right now. I promise I'll tell you when the time is right," Maureen said.
That was nearly six years ago. Pamela's life became incredibly hectic and she nearly forgot about that conversation with her mother...until the day of her mother's death.
It's odd how unresolved issues and questions stare one in the face in moments of grief.
As Pamela went through the process of emptying the family home, often tearfully recalling memories of certain items, she wondered what it was her mother felt she needed the "right time" to tell her. This would haunt her more than she knew.
Her life was changing rapidly. Now, she was an orphan, for all intents and purposes. It was left to her to deal with all of the paperwork associated with her mother's will. She was shocked when their family lawyer read the will.
"Mother's will states I can't sell the home until I'm married?" Pamela asked.
"I'm afraid that's correct."
"But...why? I can't keep up the maintenance on the house...and...my apartment. I like my apartment. I don't want to live all alone in that house," Pamela said.
"I can understand that. But, you need to realize terms of any will are legal and binding and cannot be changed. You are twenty-six now. You likely will find a husband very soon. I wouldn't worry too much about this particular part of your mother's will," he said.
Pamela told Jessica, Ken and Phil about the dilemma over dinner one night.
"It's no big deal, Pam," Phil said.
"No. I don't think so either," Ken said.
"Way to stick together guys. Pam doesn't want to live in that big, old house all by herself. I can see her point," Jessica said.
"Is the place haunted, Pam?" Ken asked.
"No. Don't be silly. Of course not. It's just that...well...I may as well tell you...Before my mother's mental condition worsened, she told me there was something we needed to talk about. After her dementia got worse, whatever it was, was completely gone from her memory," Pamela said.
"Well, you could consult a Ouija board and try to contact her," Phil said, with a smirk.
"Phil, that's not funny," Jessica admonished.
"Actually Jess, maybe that isn't such a bad idea," Pamela said.
"Oh. Come on. Surely, you can't be serious? A Ouija seance?" Ken said, in disbelief.
Pamela sat there deep in thought.
"Oh, my God! You're not actually considering it?" Jessica asked.
"Jess...I have to know what my mother wanted to tell me. If using a Ouija is the only way, I'd like to give it a try," Pamela said.
"Great! Just what we need...hear voices speaking to us from the grave," Jessica said.
"Aw...C'mon Jess. It'll be fun," Ken said.
"Where do you plan on having this Ouija seance?" Phil asked.
"In my family home...tomorrow night. It's a Friday and we don't have our weekend planned," Pamela said.
"I'm for that. I've never seen your family home. Sounds like the perfect setting for this Ouija seance," Ken said.
That night, Pamela slept fitfully. Several times, she awoke believing her mother was ringing that bell. Startled out of a sound sleep, Pamela turned over on her pillow. She knew she needed to get her rest or she'd be a disaster the following morning. As she slept, she dreamed of her mother. In the dream, Maureen Forrester was standing over Pamela's bed beckoning her. Pamela woke with a scream.
At her desk that morning, she felt as if she was still dreaming. Nothing seemed real to her. Everything on her computer screen floated before her eyes. She was glad when the clock struck five.
"Pam, you stopping for a bite before we drive out to your family home?" Ken asked.
Pamela nearly forgot about their plan.
"Oh...uh...yes. I guess I could eat a little something. Where to this time?" she asked.
"How about Middleton's? It's midway between your home and the office," Jessica offered.
"Sounds good to me. Middleton's always serves up the best Friday seafood menus and I'm famished," Phil said.
"You're always famished. What else is new?" Jessica said.
The four piled into their vehicles. When dinner was through, they followed behind Pamela's car to the Forrester family home. She unlocked the front door and escorted the three companions into the living room.
"Who's got the Ouija board?" Ken asked.
"I do. I bought one yesterday. The guy in the store was a strange duck. He warned me not to play with Ouija boards. When I asked him why, all he said was, "strange things happen when you play around with those things," Pamela said.
"You don't believe that do you?" Ken asked.
"I believe in the power of thought. So maybe, I do believe four minds concentrating on the same issue might be telepathic," Pamela said.
"Wow, Pam. You sound as if you are really into this," Jessica said.
"Jess, I have to know what it was my mother was going to tell me. I have to."
"Well? Are we going to get to it or not?" Phil asked.
"The man in the store said Ouija only works if it's dark in the room where it's used and if we all are serious and not making jokes," Pamela said.
"I gotta tell you, Pam. This place is a bit eerie now that no one lives here," Phil said.
"See? I told you. That's why I want to get rid of it," Pamela said.
"Where should we hold our Ouija seance?" Ken asked.
"How about the dining room? The table is large and it's pretty comfortable in there," Pamela said.
She led the three to the darkened dining room. She turned off the lights in the living room, which left the house in near darkness.
"This is just too too creepy for words," Jessica said.
They sat at the table, each with a heightened sense of expectation. Pamela placed the Ouija board in the center of the table.
"What do we do next?" Ken asked.
"We have to place our hands lightly on the message indicator. Be serious guys. Or, this won't work," Pamela warned.
"What question do we ask the Ouija?" Jessica asked.
"What does Maureen Forrester want to tell me?" Pamela answered.
"Everyone concentrate on that and only that question. Ready?" she asked.
The room went deadly silent. The four placed their hands on the message indicator. Pamela asked the question,
"Ouija, tell us...What does Maureen Forrester want to tell her daughter?" Pamela said.
A few minutes passed and nothing happened. Then, the message indicator made sounds like small taps in the center of the "eye."
"Did you hear that?" Phil asked.
"Shhhhh, Phil, Concentrate," Jessica said.
The darkened room went silent again.
Then, the message indicator began to move ever so slowly to the letter, "B."
The four watched in shock and disbelief. The next letter was "O."
"B and O" are these someone's initials?" Pamela asked.
The message indicator gave no response.
It seemed as if the movement of the message indicator went totally still. Then, all of a sudden, it swung wildly to the letter "X."
The four waited for another ten minutes. There being no further movement, they resigned themselves to the end of the seance. Pamela turned on the lights again.
"Box? That's the message?" Ken asked.
"I'd hoped the message would be from my mother," Pamela said.
"No. Wait. The message is from your mother," Jessica said.
"What do you mean, Jess?" Ken asked.
"Remember, we all concentrated on Pam's question, "Ouija, tell us...What does Maureen Forrester want to tell her daughter?"
"I don't see what you're getting at, Jess," Phil said.
"The answer is that Maureen Forrester wanted to tell Pamela about a "box," Jessica said.
"Box? What box?" Pamela asked.
"There must be a box hidden somewhere in this house," Jessica said.
"It's a box she didn't want you to know about until she died. Don't you see?" Jessica said.
Pamela was frightened.
"But, I've disposed of nearly all of the articles that belonged to my mother after she died. What box could she have hidden and why?" Pamela asked.
The four looked at each other.
"Look. We are all a bit tired from this...this...Ouija thing. I have an idea, if Pam approves, of course. Why don't we come back tomorrow and help Pam find the box. It has to be in this house or in a place, her mother meant for her to find after she died," Ken said.
"Pam? What do you say?" Phil asked.
"I think if there's a box hidden somewhere in this house, I don't want to be alone when I find it," Pamela replied.
"Okay. Let's get some sleep and meet here tomorrow around ten in the morning," Jessica said.
The next day, it was cold and felt as if there was snow in the forecast. Pamela was the first to arrive, followed by Ken, Jessica, and Phil. The three were excited to scavenge through closets, the attic and basement to find the box the Ouija message alluded to.
"What if this is all a big joke?" Pamela said.
"I know I wasn't playing with that Ouija thing last night. Were any of you?" Phil asked.
"No. I am just as freaked out as you are about that whole episode last night. You know how pessimistic I am about the supernatural," Ken said.
"That thing scared me out of my wits. I had nightmares all last night," Jessica said.
"Okay, where do we look first?" Ken asked.
"Well, let's see. We can start with the closets. There's one in every bedroom, but the master bedroom. That room has two, a His and Hers walk-in closet. It's the biggest in the house. Then, there's a pantry closet in the kitchen. A hall closet and the closet in the foyer where we hung our coats. A bathroom closet and oh...two in the basement. One is a walk-in for storing old clothes. The other is a small closet just beneath the stairs. That one was hardly ever used. My mother used to do canning when we first moved here. But, I doubt there's anything but empty canning jars and lids there," Pamela said.
"What about the attic?" Phil asked.
"No closets I know of up there. It can't hurt to go through those old cartons and things. I never went into that attic as a child. It's scared me," Pamela said.
"Really? Why?" Jessica asked.
"I always thought there were mice up there. I loathe the sight of mice," Pamela said.
They all laughed.
"Pam's afraid of an itty bitty mouse?" Ken said, joking.
"Just not dangerous Ouija boards that have the four of us on a scavenger hunt for some mysterious box," Phil laughed.
The closets on the first floor of the house turned up nothing. By one in the afternoon, they all went downstairs to the basement.
"Hmm...Your dad was a golfer, Pam?" Phil asked.
"Yes. Why? You want those golf clubs? Help yourself. One less thing for me to deal with when I sell this place," Pamela said.
The next thing Phil and Pamela heard was a crash.
The hurried to the opposite side of the basement to see what happened.
"Pam, we found it...the box. It was hidden at the back of this small closet under the stairs," Jessica said.
"Well? What's in it? And what crashed just now?" Pamela asked.
"One of your mother's canning jars. When Ken went to pull out the box, one of the large canning jars crashed. He cut himself trying to retrieve the pieces to throw in the trash," Jessica said.
"What's in that box?" Pamela insisted.
"We didn't open it. We felt you should be the one to do that," Ken said.
"Ken, your hand is bleeding. Maybe, it needs stitches?" Jessica asked.
"It's okay. It's just a scratch. I'll use my handkerchief to tourniquet it to stop the bleeding for now," Ken said.
Jessica handed the large, brown cardboard box to Pamela.
"It's kind of heavy," Jessica said.
Pamela walked over to the card table her father moved down to the basement before he died. She placed the box on it. Phil, Jessica and Ken gathered around her.
She tore away the masking tape that sealed the box and opened the lid.
"Oh my God! It's a skeleton. Oh my God, Pamela! What the hell is that?" Ken said.
"Is it real?" Phil asked, looking deeper into the contents of the box.
"It's real. It's a baby. Long dead from the looks of it," Jessica said.
"It can't be. This can't be what my mother wanted to tell me," Pamela said.
"You'll have to call the police. I wouldn't mention how you happened to find that box," Ken warned.
"What do you mean?" Pamela asked.
"If you tell them you discovered it through a Ouija message, they might not believe you," he added.
"Ken's right. Just tell the police we're here to help you get rid of some of the things your mother left behind," Phil said.
Pamela called the police immediately. The police took the box to the local medical examiner's office.
Pamela heard nothing from the police about their find for nearly three days. She was beside herself. There had to be an explanation for such a macabre secret. Why did her mother wait till after her death to tell her daughter about that dead infant? Who was that child?
Questions swirled in Pamela Forrester's brain like a cyclonic vortex.
Finally, one week after their horrific find, police called Pamela in for a meeting.
"Miss Forrester, the body of that infant has been in that box for over two decades. The medical examiner believes at least twenty-six years," Detective Rickards said.
Pamela was stunned.
Mother kept silent about a dead infant for twenty-six years?
"Is it possible the infant's body was some kind of ...I ...I don't know...a stillborn birth?" she asked.
"No. As far as the Medical Examiner can determine, the child was perfectly healthy and was at least one month old," Rickards said.
"Did either of your parents ever mention this to you?" he asked.
"No! Certainly not. My father was a respected businessman and my mother an teacher before she retired," Pamela said.
"Well, we will need access to all of your parent's papers and of course, your family home. By the way, how did you and your friends happen to find that box?"
"My mother died six months ago. I only recently probated her will. That house will remain empty, according to the terms of my inheritance and her will, until I marry. I can't sell it. I'm not sure anyone would want to buy a place where a child's body was kept hidden for twenty-six years," Pamela said.
"That is too bad," Rickards agreed.
"You won't need to get a warrant. I won't prohibit a full inspection of the house," Pamela said.
"Odd. Isn't it? No one ever knows what goes on under the roofs of some homes, do they?" Rickards said, absently.
Pamela knew there had to be more to that box with that dead infant's skeleton in it. She was driven by the fact that her mother's secret was so near and yet so hidden. She wondered if her father knew about it too. She knew they had to consult the Ouija one more time. There were questions that needed answers.
Ken and Phil wanted no part of another Ouija seance. It was left to Jessica and Pamela to try and get answers Pamela needed.
The two women repeated their first Ouija seance in the darkened dining room.
"Ouija, who is the dead child we found in this house?" Pamela asked.
The two women strained to concentrate their minds. The message indicator began to move slowly to the letters "P," "A," and "M." Then, it stopped.
Pamela refused to accept that the dead child's name was "Pam" like her own.
"Did my father know about this dead child?" she asked.
"The message indicator swung quickly to the word "Yes."
Jessica looked frightened out of her mind.
"Who is "PAM?" Pamela asked the Ouija.
The next word spelled out by the message indicator was "Y-O-U."
The flow of communication stopped.
She flipped the lights in the dining room back on.
"Pamela, what on earth is Ouija telling you?"
"Jess, I wish I knew."
"Well, let's organize what we know," Jess said.
"First, you asked who the dead infant was and the answer was "Pam." Then, you asked if your father knew about the dead child and the answer was "Yes." When you asked who "Pam" is, the message was "You."
We must not be reading the messages correctly. We know the dead infant can't be you. At least, one of your questions was answered. Your father did know about the dead infant," Jessica said.
"I don't understand. How could my father and my mother keep such a horrific secret," Pamela asked.
"More to the point, why?" Jessica said.
The two women left the Forrester family home feeling more confused than ever. They were uncharacteristically silent as Ken and Phil joined them for lunch and a trip to a local mall the next day.
"I have to pick up a gift for my sister's kid. You gals have any ideas what a ten year old girl wants?" Ken asked.
"Jewelry...what else!" Jessica and Pamela said, in unison, laughingly.
The four stopped at the jeweler in the mall. Something caught Pamela's eye.
"Jess, look. That pendant over there. My mother had one just like it," she said.
"What happened to it?" Jessica asked.
"I...hmm..oh wait. It's in a lock box in the bank. Gee..I nearly forgot all about that with all of the other things that's happened since my ..." Pamela's voice trailed off.
"Well, maybe you need to go check that out on Monday at lunch time. Do you know where the bank is?" Ken asked.
"Yes. It's in town. I can get the lock box out and be back to work before my lunch hour is over," Pamela said.
It's hard to believe I completely forgot about my mother keeping a lock box at the bank. Now, what did I do with those keys the lawyer handed me when he read my mother's will? Pamela thought.
She searched her apartment for the small brown envelope with several keys in it. It was gone. When she arrived at work on Monday, she searched her desk. The keys weren't there either.
There's just one other place they could be...at my parents' house. I must have left them there the day I retrieved my mother's papers for the lawyer. Drat. Now, I'll have to go back to the house again, she thought.
Pamela didn't like being alone in the house now that her mother passed on. It seemed more like a huge tomb to her. She drove up to the curb and paused in her car for a moment. She stared up at the brick house with its black shutters and black wrought iron rail steps.
Instantly, she was reminded of how many years she and her mother lived under that roof with that dead infant's body. She shivered and started for the front door. She planned to make her visit to the house as short as possible. The keys could only be in plain sight. She knew she would have momentarily placed them on a table somewhere in the house...probably the living room coffee table, dining room table or server or the kitchen table.
She flipped on the light in the living room and began her search. She heard the tinkling of that gold bell in her mother's room.
What on earth is that?
"Is someone here?" she called out.
The house was silent as the tomb she'd imagined it to be.
She called out a second time with no reply.
I'm not going crazy. I know I heard that bell, she thought.
She flipped on the light in the hall, the dining room and the kitchen before going to her mother's bedroom. If there was someone in the house, she wanted to make sure she saw whomever it was.
Frightened to her marrow, she turned on the light in her mother's room. It was as she'd left it the day her mother went to the senior care center. The gold bell was still in its place on her mother's night table, as it always had. Beside it were the keys to the lock box.
That's odd. I never came into this room the day the lawyer handed me these keys. I'm certain I didn't, she thought.
She retrieved the keys quickly and hurried out of the room. Again, she thought she heard the bell.
"Damn that bell! I know I heard it. Am I going crazy?" she said aloud.
The next thing she heard was a crash. She rushed back to the room and flipped on the light switch again. The bell had crashed to the floor and rolled beneath her mother's night table. She knelt down on all fours to retrieve it and noticed something taped to the underside of the night table. She pulled at it until it came away.
An envelope? Why is there an envelope taped to the night table? She opened the envelope with her hands shaking.
Inside the envelope were four old, black and white photos of her mother and father each holding an infant. She turned the photos over. Her mother wrote the dates the photos were taken on the reverse side of each photo. The dates were all one month after Pamela's birth date.
She placed the bell back on the night table and hurried out to her car with the envelope and keys to the lock box in her hand.
Back in her apartment, Pamela studied the photos. There was only one conclusion she could draw: she was a twin. Was that what the Ouija board was trying to tell her? That she was once a twin? But then, why bury a dead infant in a box and hide it then? Nothing made any sense.
Pamela decided to take the next day off. She felt nauseated and her nerves were on edge. She knew she had to get to the bottom of this. She heard the phone jangling and jumped.
"Hello?"
"Pam? You okay?" Jessica asked.
"No. I'm not feeling so very well," Pamela replied.
"What's wrong? You need me to take you to the doctor?" Jessica asked.
"No. Nothing that serious. I...uh...just feel queasy and jittery," Pamela said.
"Well...get some rest. I'll see you tomorrow...if you're feeling better," Jessica said, ringing off.
Pamela showered and dressed and drove to the bank. She had to get that into that lock box. She couldn't help feeling there was something in that box she needed to see.
She stopped at the clerk's desk and asked for the lock box. When it was brought to her, she was allowed to use a private room to view the contents.
She pushed the key into the lock and heard the click. There wasn't much in the box, just a pendant that belonged to her mother, an envelope and a folded sheet of paper. She unfolded the folded sheet first. It was a birth certificate with her name on it.
That can't be. I have my birth certificate, she thought. She opened the sealed envelope and read:
Pamela,
If you have found this envelope, you've likely found the other box. Please don't hate me or your father for what we've done. I was just a young, foolish woman with dreams in my head and stars in my eyes when I met your father. I suspect by the time you find this envelope, you will be of an age when your father and I are long deceased and you will understand.
Your father was always such a busy man when first we married. He was so happy that he was to be a father. I couldn't shatter his happiness by telling him the twins he believed were his, were not. It's a long story and one told many times by other women, many times before.
James Forrester is not your father. The man who is your biological father died shortly after he was drafted into the military and conscripted into that awful war in Asia. By the time I discovered he was dead, I discovered I was in "trouble."
An unmarried, pregnant woman in those days was still a huge stigma. It meant uncertain futures for fatherless children and constant shunning by family and friends for the unmarried mother. Neither of my parents would have allowed me into their home, nor would they have supported me. I met James Forrester by accident and he was quite taken with me. We married in haste for obvious reasons.
You may wonder what happened to your twin sister. Pamela was two months old when James came home one night drunk. While at a business meeting, he met another businessman who knew your biological father.
We argued over and over that night. He refused to see reason and threatened divorce. I hoped he would think twice about that for the sake of both of you.
Pamela was a fitful infant from birth. She suffered from virulent colic your pediatrician could do nothing to relieve. That same night, Pamela was in her crib, in another of her colicky episodes and you were in yours. Her colicky screams always sent shivers down James' spine.
In his anger, he went into the nursery and lifted Pamela out of the crib and threw her face down onto the crib mattress. She stopped crying...and breathing...James stormed out of the house without realizing, the force with which he'd thrown Pamela injured her neck and caused her to suffocate.
I didn't know what to do. I covered poor little Pamela's body with her favorite blanket.
James returned home and I told him what happened. He refused to call the police. He placed her little body in that box in which you found her. He hid her somewhere in the basement. He refused to tell me where.
I tried searching for it and after a few months, gave up.
James was insistent he would not have the "my whole dirty affair" destroy his reputation or his business. The night this happened, I was wearing the pendant you admired as an infant. Fearing you might suddenly remember that night when you were older, I put the pendant in the lock box.
After a month, James felt guilty for what he'd done. To cover up what happened, he lied to anyone who asked about the other "twin." He began calling you "Pamela" when you were still a baby.
It was as if he wanted to erase what he'd done entirely. By the time you started school, you became Pamela Forrester. No one ever knew you were Pegeen Forrester when you were born except James and I.
It was easy to fool neighbors. I'd had a difficult birth experience and didn't leave the house until after that incident. We were new to the neighborhood and James was the kind of man who didn't like others to "know his business," anyway.
No one but James and I knew what happened to Pamela. You may recall that your father seemed distant to you and I most of the time. Now, you know why.
After he died, I went down to the basement determined to find the box with Pamela's little body in it. He'd hidden it in the one place he knew I'd never look: the back of the closet under the stairs. He figured since I always used that closet to store my canning jars, I'd never look behind the small shelf in that closet where he stacked old books and magazines. By the time I discovered it, you were already in high school. I got rid of the books and made a sort of shrine to Pamela.
Whenever you were away at school, I'd go down and light a candle and say a prayer for her. I know this was wrong. But, it was all I could do, absent a proper burial and a grave, to pay my respects and keep her in my thoughts.
Always, whenever I'd look at you, I would see Pamela. You were a constant reminder of the secret I kept from you.
What you do with information after all these years is entirely up to you. I suspect, you will keep this family secret as James and I did to protect your good name. I ask only that you forgive us for this deception.
Love,
Mother
Pamela felt dizzy and fainted. When she came to, the bank clerk was fanning her face.
"We've called for an ambulance," the clerk said.
"No, don't bother. I've not been feeling well. I'll see my own doctor, thank you."
As she drove to her apartment, her hands shook on the steering wheel.
I'm not Pamela Forrester. I'm Pegeen. I had a twin. I always felt as if there was someone looking over my shoulder, she thought.
When she arrived home, she walked past the dresser in the foyer and noticed the Ouija board. She flung it across the room angrily.
"The man in the hobby shop was right. I should never, ever, have played around with a Ouija board," she muttered.
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