keeps glancing around as if he expects a ghost to pop up from around a corner and yell boo. I park the old Cadillac and get out. The second my feet touch the pavement, I’m hit with the weirdest sensation. It’s like I’m standing in the middle of a cloud during a lightning storm, yet no wind rages around me.
The energy buzzing around me is strong, stronger than anything I’ve felt before. But it’s not damning, not overwhelming or threatening like how it is when a spirit is near. There’s no danger to this energy surge at all, and I resist the weird urge to bend down and plant my hands on the street, absorbing more of this raw energy.
“Hi,” I say, shaking the feeling away. “Sorry I’m a little late.”
“It’s fine.” James forces a smile and wave for me to follow him in. “Let’s get started.”
I hook my purse over my shoulder and follow him inside the bank. It’s an older building that looks like it was updated and redecorated in the early 2000s and hasn’t been touched since. We go into an office that’s in the front of the building, and I try to pay attention to everything being said but my eyes keep going to the window, gazing out at the street.
The energy out there is strong and unlike anything I’ve felt before, yet it’s familiar. If I’ve been to Aunt Estelle’s before as a kid, then maybe I’ve been here too? I let my eyes fall shut in a long blink. Why can’t I remember? We lived in the Midwest area for ten years. How are big chunks of that just gone from my memory? As far as I know, I never suffered a head injury as a child, and I’m certain nothing overly traumatic happened that would cause me to block out large amounts of time from my mind.
Unable to focus, I sign a handful of papers, signing my soul over to the devil for all I know. The title company is upstairs in an office in the same building as the bank, and nearly an hour later, everything is officially in my name. It’s a lot to process and inheritance taxes confuse me, but James assures me things are settled.
He does little to hide the relief in his eyes as he rushes out of the building, practically running to his Lexus. I drop all the paperwork off in the car and walk down the street, going slow as I look at the different shops. I take a couple of photos to send to Mom, and send one to Harrison as well, asking if this looks familiar to him.
I pause in front of an antique store, debating on going inside or not. I actually love sorting through the junk that consignment stores like this offer for sale. But as a medium, I almost feel like it’s my duty to buy anything that has a spirit attached to it. A few years ago, I made it my job to drive around to as many antique stores in central New York and buy anything remotely haunted. I kept the items in a box in my basement for a while, and then started looking for a way to dispose of the junk without angering the spirits, which is how I met Madame Violet, the fake psychic I ended up working for.
Deciding to pass on the antiques for now, I cross the street and go into the cutest little coffee house called Curlew Café. Harrison texts me back as I’m waiting for my latte.
Harrison: That’s downtown Thorne Hill, isn’t it? Looks the same.
Me: How TF do you remember this?!
Harrison: Again…how do you NOT remember it? Aunt Estelle would take us out for breakfast almost every Sunday morning after church during Mom’s last year of residency.
I close my eyes and try to think back. I remember going to church with Grandma and Grandpa, and I remember a café, and Grandpa complaining about how bad the coffee was. But it was in Michigan, where they lived.
I remember looking out the café windows and seeing Lake Michigan. The café was along the beach, and it must have closed not long after we moved. I’ve wanted to go back from time to time but can’t find any information about it online.
Me: Are you sure?
Harrison: Stop fucking around, Annie.
Me: I’m not. I legit don’t remember this.
Harrison: I always said you were dropped on your head when you were a baby.