The Saddest Anchor (closed for DeliciousMaiden)

Grace Moore

Grace had watched her husband pick up the card, watched his surprise and his speculation and then watched him cast it aside. Not for the first time, she became exasperated at his stubborn nature!

"They always say that writers are mad, perhaps I'm cracking now and imagine all this?"

The only positive to come out of his dismissal of the card was the evidence that he was actually not that drunk and thinking perfectly clearly, did he but know it.
Yet unlike previous times, some link seemed to keep her there, keep her watching her husband and he moved around the kitchen, as he went through the morning's activities and as he finally seated himself, supposedly lost in thought as she stood ever vigilant, yet powerless to comfort him.

"Grace?"

His voice was tentative, but it drew her closer.

"Grace...are you...here?"

She reached out to touch him, but he seemed unaware of her presence.

"John ... "

She spoke his name, moving behind him and wrapping her arms around his neck. And yet he sat, his eyes still focused directly ahead.
Why was it that she connected with that woman, a stranger, whilst her husband seemed unaware of her presence?
A wave of sorrow filled her; her misery palpable.
Even though she tried to hold onto John, she found herself being drawn away from him, unaware that as her presence faded, the mysterious card moved as if carried by a draft and fluttered slowly before John's eyes to land at his feet...

A sudden sadness came over him, the air grew slightly colder and then...the card lifted and fluttered to his feet...the shock alone was enough to clear his mind of any after effects of his early morning whiskey, the rest of the shock was enough to snap his mind...but being a writer he was able to ride out the shock as he needed to be open-minded to accept a lot of things, one of them the existence of forces beyond that what we can see. It didn't prevent his body's reaction though, adrenaline got spurted into his system, making him ready to flee, yet he urged himself to remain calm, he could not really prevent the intense shaking of his hand as it reached down to pick up the card.

Everything was closed, boarding him up against the outside world, there was no draft, no breeze, no wind...nothing to stir a business card up from the flat surface of the table. Again he inspected the card, it was just a normal card, first elation came over him, Grace was still there...but then reality set in, but Grace was gone, the only thing to linger her spirit. He sat back into his chair, did the card move because that was the only sign what she could give that she was there, or did she move the card for a reason?

He pondered this a few minutes, then decided that if the doctor returned to him without him calling her, he would hear her out. Give her a chance so to speak. He got up, fixed the card to one of the fridge magnets and picked up his glass, he stared at it for a while and turned to the sink, but instead headed outside with it, he sat down and poured himself a drink, staring out over the lake he spent the rest of the day nursing his drink, not getting drunk, just thinking, like he would have spent time with Grace, talking to her about his thoughts and ideas.

Sarah Shelton

"There's no way you can make someone engage with a support programme,"

Grace explained for what felt like the umpteenth time.

"... no more than you can make a patient take his medication if he decides to refuse."

The illustration was aptly made and finally seemed to silence the good Doctor.
Satisfied, Grace sipped at the glass of wine in her hand and relaxed back into the plush armchair. Upstairs she could hear the movement of Faye, Simon's wife as she put their two children to bed.

"He needs help."

Simon stated simply as he too sipped at a similar glass, though his containing red wine rather than her white.

"He does."

She agreed. She was concerned about his state of mind and no less by his willingness to drink and drive which, having now read more about the circumstances of his wife's death, seemed totally illogical."[/I]

"What was she like? His wife?"

The question slipped from her before she could stop it.

"Grace?"

She nodded, but could not trust her voice to clarify further waiting instead for Simon's words.

"Bubbly, fun, friendly ... "

He smiled as he recalled.

"She was an outsider by the town's standards, but somehow the community seemed to embrace her. She was a city girl who wanted to be a small town girl I think. She brought a lot of business to the town and from the start insisted that local tradesmen be hired to build and maintain that cabin of theirs ... "

He sighed.

"Her husband was always more reclusive, not what you'd call out-going, but they kinda balanced each other out. They were devoted to each other ... "

He looked up and smiled at his wife who came and took a seat beside her husband on the sofa.

"So, when are you going back there?"

Faye's innocent question drew a hasty response from Sarah.

"I'm not."

She managed to suppress an involuntary shiver.

"We were just discussing,"

She nodded across to Simon knowing that confidentiality within these four walls included Faye.

" ... there's no point at present. He's nowhere near being open to talking to the 'shrink lady'."

She shrugged almost convincing herself that this was the real reason she would not be going out to the cabin again in a hurry.

"... he thinks I'm looking for research fodder for my paper ... "

She explained to them both,

" ... so ... it's pretty much no-go at the moment .. "

She concluded conveniently.

The evening came as a strange occurrence to him, usually he was too drunk by this time to actually remember anything. He watched as fireflies flitted about near the edge of the water, he suddenly realized that it was growing colder, this forced him inside, he looked around uncertain, then his feet carried him towards the most familiar place...his study. Moments later his PC was on, his fingers tapping away at the keys as he worked on a new idea, of course it was for little Kevin. When he grew tired, he got up and stretched out and seemed to notice the reflection of his screen off of a glass surface. He knew what it was, he walked over to the wall and in the half light he ran his finger over the photo of Grace as she looked out at him, not for the first time in his life he got captured by those lovely eyes...he smiled sadly and noticed a shadowy figure in the reflection of the glass. He looked over his shoulder and of course there was nothing, he shook his head,

"Shadows and light, ghosts dancing in the pale moonlight. I met her there during the night of Walpurgis."

He switched off the screen and walked out of his study, leaving the door open as he headed for the bedroom.

Grace Moore

She felt him looking at her, felt the love and longing of him reaching out to her, heard his soft words.

"Shadows and light, ghosts dancing in the pale moonlight. I met her there during the night of Walpurgis."

She watched him replace her picture and switch off the screen before going to their bedroom. His loneliness was palpable as was hers. They had been so happy throughout their life together and now it seemed the two were locked in their joint misery. When he was drunk or overcome with rage she had no effect on him, but occasionally he almost glimpsed her; several times now he had spoken her name. It was close, but not close enough. Perhaps the help he needed was not medical or psychological, perhaps help was needed to build a bridge between their two worlds and unite them again somehow?

In the room beyond John moved around unaware of the inexplicable occurrences within his office. For when he returned he would find the screen turned on and displaying a web page entitled: Sarah Shelton: Psychologist along with a list of credentials, a brief outline of research projects and published reports and details of past lectures and conferences attended...

The next morning found him washing down a breakfast of toast and cheese with another bottle of whiskey, by supper he was not in the best of forms he had ever been. He left the house, locking it behind him as he stumbled along the shore-line, his hands stuck deep into his pockets as his mind thought about a lot of things, yet he seemed to think of nothing, it was quite easy for him by now to do that. The only thing that kept bothering him was the card, it moved...on it's own...he kept seeing it as it lifted off of the table and fluttered to his feet...

"Ah horse shit!"

Out of frustration he grabbed the closest thing he could find, which was a sizable rock and threw it into the lake, the explicit and the sudden plunge sent a few birds flying up.

"It was the wind, nothing more."

He walked back towards the cabin, unlocking the door, he threw open the door, allowing the light from outside to drive back the shadows of the gloomy interior. His feet followed their own path and he found himself in his chair in front of his computer.

"I'm too wasted to write, why would I come here? Come on John get a grip."

Out of habit he switched on the screen and the page made him sit back into his chair as he looked astonished at the picture of the doctor, her name followed by her accomplishments stood out clearly on the flat screen. He checked his box and surely the network cable which he sometimes used to connect to the internet through Grace's computer was still unplugged. He got to his feet, his eyes found the picture again and behind those eyes something...looked back. He found himself in the kitchen, holding the phone, he dialed the number on the card and at the sound of a female voice, he leaned heavily against the kitchen counter.

"Doctor...it's Johnathan Moore...I...we...we need to talk."

Sarah was at her desk writing up her notes. She had spent hours transcribing an interview and was now trying to analyse themes by comparison to other interviews she had already typed up. When the phone rang she picked it up as an automatic reaction not expecting anyone but Dr Matthews or his wife Faye to be calling her.

"Doctor...it's Johnathan Moore...I...we...we need to talk."

The name brought her to attention as did something in his voice.

"Mr Moore ..."

She responded hesitantly.

" .. What exactly is it you think we need to talk about...?"

She asked, playing for time.

"You made it clear when we last met what you thought of me and my profession ... "

She found herself answering coolly. For some reason she didn't want to know what or who had caused him to have a change of heart so quickly.

"Perhaps you should consult Doctor Matthews if your need is medical?"

She suggested.

Of course she wouldn't help him, people only did something for others if it benefited them, his chuckle was a bit longer than a humorous chuckle would be, the faint edge of hysteria clear.

"Never mind then doctor, I knew that your words was just that. Words."

He found himself looking at the door to his study, where the screen was reflecting off of a certificate against the wall, the page with her name still visible in the distortion of the glass.

"They say writers are mad, I think...I think I just crossed that line. Good day doctor."

He didn't wait for her response, he hung up and pulled out the cord. He went about locking the doors and making sure the windows was shut properly. He opened the case where he kept his "special" drinks, he pulled out the bottle in the back. Jack Daniels...Single Barrel 94 proof. He grinned to himself, if he was gonna go crazy, he's gonna do it in style. From the fridge he collected ice for his glass and broke the seal on the bottle, pouring the liquid into the glass he raised it in salute to the wall clock.

"Here's to you kitty, see you on the other side."

He chuckled again at his own words and took a sip of the fiery liquid.

"Never mind then doctor, I knew that your words was just that. Words.
They say writers are mad, I think...I think I just crossed that line. Good day doctor."

He hung up on her leaving her staring at the open line.

"Shit!"

I was about as strong an expletive as she ever used.

Insults aside, she was getting used to that from him, there was something in his voice that made her shiver. He had said he thought he was going mad and she couldn't help, but wonder if he too had seen something that could not possibly be there....

Totally distracted now, she sat with her mind racing. She was a scientist and all 'this' didn't fit with anything she believed. And there was no proof that the decision to call her had anything but a whim between binges.

But something in that house wasn't right ...

She could not push the thought out of her mind. So after half an hour of mulling over her own experience and speculating wildly over what had prompted Johnathan Moore to call, she finally took out her address book and having found the page in question picked up the phone herself.

"Hey, Patrick .. i'ts Sarah ... yes ... long time ... "

She took a deep breath.

"Look ... I have a ... situation ... I need your help... professionally speaking ... "

When he came to, he was slumped in the armchair, clutched in his hand the bottle he had opened, it was actually empty. He eyed it blearily and grinned,

"Well what do you know, it does put you to sleep."

He stood up, noticed the card where it lay and chuckled,

"No help there."

He staggered/stumbled to the kitchen, dropped the empty bottle in the dustbin and caught the scent of Jasmin and lavender, he stopped. It was a very peculiar scent that Grace wore during very special occasions. He sniffed and looked around slowly, swaying slightly, there was no shadow, no breeze, no fluttering cards, only a very awe-inspiring headache. He sniffed again, how he loved the scent, similar to the one she wore everyday, but this one stirred memories of the intimate moments they spent together. He leaned his back against the kitchen sink and rested his hands on either side of himself, lowering his head, he stared at his bare feet protruding from his pants and realized he still wore yesterday's clothing...he frowned and looked at the clock...two days ago...he chuckled

"Potent stuff, I lost two days so far."

He pushed away from the sink and headed to the bathroom to at least strip off the old clothing and at least brush his teeth as it felt that a sheep had made bed in his mouth.

Grace Moore

Grace tried to draw near to John, but that anger, that despair was like a wall around him. The hours, the days even passed. All she could do was watch his decline: more alcohol, more despair, more pain. And for Grace it seemed she was suspended in a helpless hell of being constantly aware of her husband's pain yet totally incapable of breaking through of offering him comfort ...

"No help there."

The source of help had not come. John had reached out, but the woman had rejected him! Fate was truly twisted if the power to bridge the gap between them had been given to such a heartless bitch!

Hatred was not in Grace's nature. She couldn't even summon the energy to hate the drink driver who had mounted the pavement and whose bonnet she had bounced off. But it was then that she vowed that she would continue to do everything to get John to contact that woman again and Grace would use her to help her husband and then ... she did not know the extent of her influence in this form, but she would use whatever was in her power to take revenge for her callous rejection of her husband's plea for help ...

When he woke it was to find birds singing in the trees, the light hurt his eyes and he squinted against it. He got out of bed and went in search for more to drink, but his stomach's growl of displeasure made him eat dry cereal, oh how Grace hated his favorite pass-time, chewing on the sweet corn cereal until all that there was, was a mush to swallow down. He looked at his hand and noticed his wedding ring, tears filled his eyes as he remembered how Grace smiled at him when she slipped the simple stainless steel ring onto his finger, he remembered his own elation as the minister pronounced them husband and wife...he used his thumb to let the ring turn on his finger, he blinked away the tears and placed the box of cereal to one side. How much he missed her? He clenched his fist and placed a soft kiss on the ring, more than any words could ever tell.

He found that he was sober, the huge binge had left him shaken and the thought of more whiskey made his stomach stir, he put the cereal away and opened the fridge, there in the back was a beer, only one, but it would do, he got it out and opened it. As he closed the door, he saw the card stuck to the fridge again, he grinned and saluted the card with the beer,

"Perhaps later hun, right now I want to write while I have a semblance of my mind."

He sauntered off to his study, oblivious to the fact that he was only in his boxers

Sarah Shelton

She didn't like the outcome of her meeting with Patrick. She was fond of him as a friend, but she didn't rate his area of expertise: parapsychology was just fantasy as far as she was concerned, but ... she couldn't find a credible explanation for what she had seen.

He had urged her to return to the house, to contact the spouse, to act upon the 'sighting' insisting that she was instrumental not only to Mr Moore's happiness, but also to the peace of his wife ...

And Sarah had left town with the best intentions late that morning after yet another telephone call with Dr Patrick Carlin. Against her better judgement and peace of mind she had set off in the direction of the Moore cabin, but she had chickened out at the last minute and turned off at the diner ordering coffee and drinking it black as she tried to decide what to do ...

Finally she pulled out her phone and dialled the Moore cabin. It took a while, but eventually he answered.

"Mr Moore, it's Sarah .. um... Doctor Shelton?"

She feared he would slam the phone down on her.

"I'm at Dawson's Diner. Want to meet me for lunch? Even if you don't want to talk to me, I really need to talk to you .... "

She bit her lip as she heard his response.

"I'll be here until 1 pm."

She told him.

"It's about Grace."

She told him and then hung up wondering if she had done the right thing....

He was really typing up a storm when his flow got interupted by the ringing of a phone, his hands froze as his head whipped up to stare at the phone, it kept ringing. The phone he had unplugged...he chuckled, got up and walked to the kitchen, he picked up the phone.

"Yes?"

"Mr Moore, it's Sarah .. um... Doctor Shelton?"

He sighed,

"Yes?"

"I'm at Dawson's Diner. Want to meet me for lunch? Even if you don't want to talk to me, I really need to talk to you ...."

He glanced at the wallclock, then he realized his partial nudity,

"I will see if I can make it"

"I'll be here until 1 pm."

There was a pause on her side,

"It's about Grace."

He chuckled that little insane chuckle,

"Naturally."

He ended the call and stared at the cord, the phgone was still unplugged, he turned and headed for the bathroom, showered and got dressed, he didn't shave, didn't want to seem to go out for a date. He got into his car and drove to the diner, kind of expecting no Dr Shelton, but as he parked outside he saw her car, as he walked to the diner he found her blonde hair in the diner, behind him a figure reflected from the glass, black hair, that familiar figure, he turned around, but again there was nobody behind him, he stood there as a chuckle came over him. He shook himself after a few moments and as he entered the diner, he remembered hat he didn't comb his hair, not that it mattered anyway. He walked over to the table and sat down,

"Good day doc. Got any tape recorder running?"

She had no way of knowing how drunk or not Johnathan Moore was, but she did not intend to go back to that cabin Sarah was going to go back to that house, if she could help it. If the man decided to drive drunk, then that was not her responsibility. She ordered yet another coffee, sipping it as she recalled the conversation she had had with Patrick. She didn't even believe half of the hypotheses that he had suggested to her, but the seriousness with which he had discussed her 'sighting' had totally unnerved her, a fact that hadn't been eased by John's strange response to her telling him that she wanted to meet him about Grace...

"Good day doc."

She looked up in surprise, finding that he had arrived much more quickly than she had expected. In fact she had half hoped that he would not come at all!

"Got any tape recorder running?"

She frowned as he sat opposite her. He gave the impression of being in control of his senses, not that it meant that he was going to be anywhere near civil it seemed.

"You don't get anymore likeable, do you Johnathan?"

The harsh observation was out of her mouth before she was aware of forming the words. She was obviously irritated and stressed she realised, but none was more surprised than Sarah at her uncharacteristic comment. But she wasn't going to apologise, instead she would make clear that she wasn't here to reissue her offer of psychological support.

"I'm not here professionally. If you'd wanted help, you'd have called me."

She told him flatly as she drained her coffee and realised that perhaps 3 or could it be 4 cups was likely to add to the 'jitters' rather than soothe them.

"This is ... more ... personal ... "

Her voice was hesitant now there was no 'professional' dynamic to their conversation.

"You've made it clear that you'd rather I go to hell than bother you and to be honest, I feel the same about you, but ... "

She agonised for long moments on how to broach the issue and finally suggested.

"... but perhaps Grace has other ideas?"

(And if so, she didn't much care for the wife either ... )

He grinned at her statement,

"Not as likeable as people want me to be."

He gaughed her as she kept on talking, he rested his elbows on the table top and waited for her to look at him.

"I did call you for your help, you re-directed me."

He shrugged,

"Sure I am hostile, but would you not be, being hounded like I was? I wanted to talk to you to help me since I think I'm becoming the mad hatter of my own personal tale."

He pushed away from the table and kept looking at those blue eyes looking back at him,

"When you phoned me now, we spoke over a phone what is disconnected from the line, that is why I came."

Far from seeming upset by her direct comments he seemed amused.

"I did call you for your help, you re-directed me."

He had a point, but he was only talking to her now on an 'unprofessional' basis. His opening comment today did nothing to persuade her that he was ready for any help she could give him professionally even now.

"Sure I am hostile, but would you not be, being hounded like I was? I wanted to talk to you to help me since I think I'm becoming the mad hatter of my own personal tale."

She bit back the comment that she had never hounded him, but his comment about 'mad hatter' grabbed her attention. For the first time since he'd sat down she really looked at him, unable to read his expression, but knowing that there was something more than grief and alcohol there.

"When you phoned me now, we spoke over a phone what is disconnected from the line, that is why I came."

Her eyes widened at his words.

"What?"

She shook her head.
Had he been drunk? Had he really checked properly? Was he trying to wind her up?
But even as those questions formed in her head, she dismissed each of them.
She knew that what he said was true.

"... how can coming here explain that?"

She asked, somehow more hesitant to reveal what she had experienced in his house.

"Has anyone else called you on a disconnected phone?"

She added as an afterthought?

He shook his head,

"Nobody phone me, the cord was draped over the top of the counter where the phone stands."

He took a breath,

"And I'm sober, I had one beer today, I haven't drunk anything else yesterday."

He gauged her face for a few moments,

"I came for the same reason I called. Grace wanted me to call you..."

He paused and then explained about the card, how it appeared and moved, how the data on her appeared on his PC screen even with all types of data cables that could link the PC to the internet was disconnected. He smiled lopsidedly at her when he finished,

"Next thing you will probably tell me that the alcohol, grief and medication combined is throwing my highly active imagination into overdrive and I'm imagining all of this."

"Nobody phone me, the cord was draped over the top of the counter where the phone stands. And I'm sober, I had one beer today, I haven't drunk anything else yesterday."

She nodded. Bizarre as it sounded she believed him.

"I came for the same reason I called. Grace wanted me to call you..."

It was the conclusion she had drawn, but she still didn't like it ... and liked it much less when she heard his account of how her card had found its way into his house and fluttered across to him. The appearance of her data on the screen made her shiver.

"Next thing you will probably tell me that the alcohol, grief and medication combined is throwing my highly active imagination into overdrive and I'm imagining all of this."

She was sure he was expecting her to question and challenge even ridicule what he'd said, but she merely shook her head.

"No ... I don't think it's your imagination Johnathan ... "

She told him seriously.

"No more than it was mine ... "

She could see she had his full attention and knew she had to tell him.

"The last time I came to see you, when you were sat out front ... "

She paused then forced herself to go on.

"We spoke, you were ... unimpressed, but as you know I left my card anyway ... "

She wondered briefly if even that had been orchestrated by his dead wife.

"When I went back to the car ... I looked back at the house and ... "

She had argued to and fro with Patrick as to what she had seen or IF indeed she had seen what she thought ... and she was 100% sure she had.

"... and I saw a woman ... at the window ... It must have been that room where you were fixing the blind on my first visit ... "

She watched his reaction and continued.

"It seemed weird that someone else would be there, but then that was none of my business ... but when I got home... for some reason I pulled up a net search on you and then your wife and when I went to images ... "

She put a hand out to him, laying it on his arm in an unconscious gesture of support.

"It was her. It was Grace I saw at that window.."

"Can I get you anything?"

He looked up at the waitress who had finally made it over to their table,

"Coffee, bring a pot, I feel like I really need it."

He glanced at Sarah,

"She's had enough coffee, think she should stick to juice or water for now."

He gave her an apologetic smile,

"Your fingers, they tremble from a bit too much caffeine."

After the waitress have left, he looked outside, for a moment he could swear he saw Grace standing outside, but when he blinked it was just a reflection off of the window from the inside, proving the dark of what he saw as her hair to be the menu.

"So you saw her and decided to come talk to me as Sarah and not the doctor who wishes to be called Sarah."

He looked back at her,

"Why?"

"Can I get you anything?"

The waitress interrupted their conversation. Sarah took a steadying breath as Johnathan ordered coffee and was surprised when he ordered for her!

"She's had enough coffee, think she should stick to juice or water for now.
Your fingers, they tremble from a bit too much caffeine."

It wasn't just the caffeine making her tremble, but Sarah didn't want Johnathan to realise that. The irony of HIM telling HER when she'd had enough wasn't lost on her either, though she had no time to comment before he was questionning her again.

"So you saw her and decided to come talk to me as Sarah and not the doctor who wishes to be called Sarah....Why?"

She was impressed at how perceptive he was. He was lucid enough when drunk, but sober, he was worryingly bright ...

"Well we both know you have no respect for my profession or the work I do. You use the term Doctor to add to any insult you happen to be throwing my way .... "!

There was no accusation in her response, merely a statement of fact.

"I don't like being defined by my title any more than you like being hounded and having your privacy invaded by adoring fans."

She paused as their drinks were brought to the table and waited until the waitress had left before continuing.

"Some of the scepticism you feel about my line of work, I feel in regards to parapsychology. I'm a scientist. I work with fact. I don't believe in any of what we've talked about and yet ... I know what I saw and believe what has been happening to you ... so as a Doctor of physiology, I could not have this discussion with you, but as Sarah ... "

She shrugged.

"I guess telling you what I saw and by that confirming that you're not mad is all I can do about this ... for you this can hopefully be a comfort, but I never knew your wife, so it has me a bit freaked to be honest... "

And there she was, cards on the table, she'd said what she had to say, as Patrick had told her she had a moral duty to do and hopefully she could then walk away and let him sort it out or refer him to a local specialist in that field ...

He poured himself a coffee as she spoke, adding sugar and stirred, looking at the black liquid.

"Why not as both? It seems like whatever is happening is taking a toll on my sanity, as tedious as it was to begin with. Since it is part of your field and that I am not responding well to medication prescribed by what is probably seen as your colleague."

He looked up at her,

"As I had stated before, I started drinking because the medication did nothing to help me. You are correct in assuming that I would think that you should take your profession and go to hell, but..."

He paused and pulled away a sleeve, showing her the red welt of a healing scar which ran along the vein of his left arm, he shoved the sleeve down again.

"It's not that my skepticism is totally ungrounded. That right there is where I stopped, got out a bottle and started losing myself in a mist of incoherency, as long as I am too drunk to aim properly, I can not repeat this and try to join my wife...but now it seems like she never left me...which worries me. Something is keeping her here and I have this strange feeling that I have something to do with the anchor that keeps her locked in this world."

He grinned suddenly,

"For a stranger, you certainly know much more about me already than the old quack who sent you."

"Why not as both? It seems like whatever is happening is taking a toll on my sanity, as tedious as it was to begin with. Since it is part of your field and that I am not responding well to medication prescribed by what is probably seen as your colleague."

She considered his words. That had been the intention at the beginning and still was as for as the Doctor was concerned. But this was a whole other dimension that Sarah had no experience of.

"As I had stated before, I started drinking because the medication did nothing to help me. You are correct in assuming that I would think that you should take your profession and go to hell, but..."

Any response from her was silenced by the brief sight of the scar on his arm.

"It's not that my skepticism is totally ungrounded. That right there is where I stopped, got out a bottle and started losing myself in a mist of incoherency, as long as I am too drunk to aim properly, I can not repeat this and try to join my wife..."

It seemed that the man sat opposite her now calmly sipping coffee was actually in greater need than she had thought, which rung both her professional and personal alarm bells.

" ... but now it seems like she never left me...which worries me.
Something is keeping her here and I have this strange feeling that I have something to do with the anchor that keeps her locked in this world."

His grin was unexpected and totally changed his appearance. When he had met his wife, he must have been a very handsome man ... and still was, she realised with a jolt.

"For a stranger, you certainly know much more about me already than the old quack who sent you."

She laughed, if somewhat nervously, pushing her untouched juice around and eyeing that coffee pot enviously.

"Well, I hardly know the quack even. Technically he's a colleague, but ... as for being sent ... that's not exactly how it was ... "

She shrugged. The Doctor had been concerned and justly so it turned out, but despite the arrangement Sarah was not obliged to take on the 'cases' he referred to her.

"... and to even things up, you can ask away ... Sarah or Doctor Shelton, I guess the two don't separate out so easily. We can only be ourselves ... "

She invited his questions, but offered some basic information.

"I've only been here 2, no 3 weeks. And as you know this community isn't really welcoming of strangers. Turns out this is a quiet place to write undisturbed, but there are too many barriers and prejudices for me to actually go into practice."

She grinned at her words.

"... present company INCLUDED ... "

She clarified.

" ... and thought he offer to help still stands, in whatever guise ...
I really don't know anything about releasing spirits ... either personally or professionally .... "

She told him apologetically. If she hadn't seen it for herself, she would never have even considered it was possible ..

He leaned forward,

"Let's start with trying to talk with each other, if I was lead here by her there must be some reason."

He poured himself another cup and ran a hand over his face,

"The thing I hate is that I keep seeing glimpses of her, like a reflection...but I can't look directly at her, because I will see nothing...feel nothing."

He chuckled and drank coffee,

"So doctor, let's do the old Q and A, you ask, I answer and ask the same, that is how this will go down much easier."

"Let's start with trying to talk with each other, if I was lead here by her there must be some reason."

She had pushed her juice aside and signalled to the waitress to bring another cup of coffee instead.

"The thing I hate is that I keep seeing glimpses of her, like a reflection...but I can't look directly at her, because I will see nothing...feel nothing."

Whereas Sarah had seen her, but had never wanted to ...

"So doctor, let's do the old Q and A, you ask, I answer and ask the same, that is how this will go down much easier."

She sighed.

"I don't see how that will help, but I've nothing to hide."

She smiled at the waitress as she brought a coffee pot and cup and gave a grin at her companion's disapproval.

"Let's get something to eat - soak up the caffeine ...?"

She ordered pancakes with syrup opting for a sweeter option and added a cinnamon pastry to the order.

"So ... you think your wife never left you? Or did she perhaps come back when you started drinking or ... trying to join her...?"

She suggested?

"Perhaps she's looking out for you?"

She was trying to make something logical out of something impossible ...