THREE

Don dreamed that he was in a house where every room led to another room, there did not seem to be any way out. Then he was in the middle of a field so large that he could not see anything but the field in all directions.

He was awakened with a start by a knock on the door which made him practically fly out of the bed.

"Breakfast?" a woman's voice asked on the other side of the door.

Where was . . . oh, right. "Yes, please."

"The shower is free. Top of the stairs to the right." Then he heard her walk away.

He got up and pulled on his pants and left the room. As he climbed the stairs, he caught Susan's shadow on the long hall floor as she moved around the kitchen.

At the top of the stairs there were several doors, including one directly in front of him that seemed to be another office, this one was huge with a long table covered in papers and a computer. The bathroom was to his right. There were no towels hung in the bathroom beyond the ones that were clearly Susan's; they were damp. He opened one door at the far end of the room. This was a door to what must be Susan's bedroom. There was a small television and a love seat directly in front of him and off to his far right was a four-post bed. He stepped back into the bathroom and closed the door. The towels turned up in a small cupboard over the toilet.

By the time he had finished his shower, Susan had made a large breakfast in her large kitchen. There was bacon, toast with jam, juice, milk, cereal, and coffee.

"Morning," he said walking over to the table.

Susan nodded but said nothing. This was something that was becoming clear to Don, Susan did not talk much. She was not chatty by any extent of the imagination, she said just as much as she had to and no more. As he sat at the table the kitchen door between the sink and the stove opened and a tall black man with dread locks and round wire rimmed glasses entered.

"Susan," the man said.

"Owen," Susan said, then she twisted her head around toward Don. "Don."

Owen came over to the table with a smile. "Don. I'm Owen Baker. I'll be the man following you for most of the day." He took a piece of bacon and shoved it into his mouth, with his free hand he shook Don's hand.

"Susan, you know I like pancakes."

"Owen, you know I don't have time."

Owen looked up at the clock on the wall. "Yeah, I'm a little late." He pulled some maps out of his pocket. "Maybe you could let me know where we are going."

"I'm going to pack," Susan said as she crossed the kitchen.

Owen waited until he could hear her climbing the stairs before he asked, "There aren't any grave yards on the way are there?"

Don thought for a moment. "Probably a few, I guess."

"We need to figure out a route without graveyards."

"Why?"

"You'll see on the way out of town. Believe me when I tell you that we don't have time to go by any more than the one."

Don marked the way with a high lighter. "I don't think there are any this on this route. This is the first time I've done the drive up so I'm not sure."

"I can get us out of Massachusetts, but you're in charge of the rest of the trip."

"I'll get us to Brookstone, Virginia."

A few minutes later Karl, Jack, and Judy arrived on foot. Breakfast was eaten and the dishes washed and put away with such efficiency that Don wondered how often they did this sort of thing.

The van, which was Owen's, seated six, more if you did not have a thing about personal space, but with the back seat folded forward for Owen's gadgets it only seated four, without personal space.

"Tell Ethan to leave the equipment alone," Owen said over his shoulder as he crossed the yard to Don, who was standing at the foot of the steps trying to stay out of the way. If there was a system, he could not see it. Everything was concentrated mayhem until suddenly it was time to leave.

"Can Jack and Judy ride with you?" Owen asked.

"Sure. Would it be easier if I carried some of the equipment?" Even though Don had just met him, he could tell that Owen was irritated.

"Equipment isn't the problem. Ethan is the problem."

The name clicked in Don's mind, he could see the headline: Psychic Sued Over Death of Prominent Family's Son.

"Ethan Hall? The dead kid?"

"Yeah, he has to have his own seat," Owen turned toward the van and raised his voice. "Where he will not fiddle with things that do not belong to him."

This last was clearly not for Don's benefit. Susan, who was putting her bag in the van called to him without turning. "You don't need to shout -- he's over there with you."

Owen lowered his voice to an angry mutter, "I'm not kidding Ethan, leave my stuff alone."

When he turned back, Don had lost some color under his sunburn.

"Are you okay?"

"I wasn't prepared . . . I thought I'd have til . . . I didn't realize we'd be bringing one with us."

"Just hope that he doesn't mess with your things."

"He wouldn't do it if you didn't get so upset," Susan said, walking past to lock up the house.

"Well, I wouldn't get so upset . . . "

Don was not listening, he was looking around the yard, he was trying to see the ghost. At first the idea was shocking and frightening but it was quickly becoming frustrating. It seemed to him that if he knew where to look he should be able to see Ethan. The air was clear -- no obvious human shaped disturbances that he could see -- the sun was bright -- no dark foreboding clouds over head -- the yard was free of floating torsos or whatever a ghost looked like. Squinting did not help either. He was going to try peeking through his fingers when he realized that the conversation near him had stopped.

Owen and Susan were standing on the steps, watching him. Susan was holding an arm load of flowers that were picked earlier from the garden that surrounded the house.

"You okay?" Owen asked.

Don got his color back and then some. "Fine. Are we ready to go?"

"The house is locked and my stuff is in the van."

Susan called to Don as he, Judy, and Jack made their way down the curving drive to his car.

"We need to make one stop on the way out of town."

"Why? We're running behind schedule." Jack called.

"One stop."

The one stop was at the graveyard. They watched from the dirt roadway that wound through the cemetery, leaning against the vehicles. Susan walked slowly, through the stones, pausing here and there to lay a flower. Don could not help but notice that she completely ignored the large Hall mausoleum. After she had placed all the flowers on different graves, she trotted back to the van.