Free Fog Heart by Thomas Tessier Page B

her Scott Crawford’s telephone number. He was the editor of a line of books on the paranormal and other New Age topics – they’d mentioned him to her that night Carrie had crashed out at their place after the first visitation.
    A few days later, working up her nerve, she called him and tried to explain briefly what had happened. She wanted to learn more about these things, and wasn’t sure how to go about it. She wondered if he could give her some advice. At first Crawford sounded wary, but as soon as he understood that she was a friend of friends and not looking for a quick book contract, he agreed to see her. They met after work at the bar in the Royalton.
    â€˜Mrs Spence?’
    Carrie turned towards the reedy voice. ‘Yes?’
    â€˜Scott Crawford.’
    â€˜Thanks for meeting with me.’
    They shook hands, sat at a small table and ordered a couple of white wine spritzers. Crawford was fortyish, with thick curly hair that was expensively styled, a suntan and a custom-tailored linen suit. He was a bit short and didn’t look at all bookish or editorial. A prosperous travel agent, perhaps.
    â€˜Well, then,’ he said. ‘Tell me about yourself. Background and so on, and then exactly what happened.’
    Carrie gave a brief recital – growing up in various embassy enclaves, college, London, Oliver, New York, her father’s death, and then the recent visitations she had experienced. ‘You know,’ she finished, ‘I never believed in anything like this. I believe in it now, but I don’t know what to believe about it. And that’s what’s really bothering me. I want to know what it meant and why it happened. I want to understand it.’
    Crawford nodded, fingers steepled at his chin. ‘You have no idea how many people go through something like that. Millions of them, and it changes their lives for ever.’
    â€˜Yes.’
    â€˜Now, the obvious explanations. You probably won’t like to hear it, but they’re often true. You could have imagined seeing your father. You could have had a kind of waking daydream. It’s a very common occurrence and sometimes we don’t even notice it or remember any of the details. So, it could be a random event that replayed itself once in your mind, and is over. In which case it has no real meaning or importance, and the best thing to do is to forget about it.’
    Carrie nodded. ‘I understand, but it was far more real than a daydream. I remember all of the details so vividly.’
    â€˜Right, yes,’ Crawford agreed. ‘The next thing you’ll have to consider is that these incidents were merely the symptoms of a personal crisis. Some trouble at work or at home, and the stress builds up inside of you, and you may not even realize how much it’s beginning to affect you.’
    â€˜I’ve thought of that,’ Carrie said. ‘I really have. But I just don’t see how that could be it. My work is going fine, I’ve got plenty of it and I enjoy doing it.’
    â€˜Good, good.’
    â€˜And at home, Oliver and I have no problems. Nothing of any consequence. I mean, we seldom even disagree about anything, let alone quarrel.’
    â€˜Is there anything that the two of you avoid discussing? An unpleasant subject you both find easier not to mention?’
    â€˜No.’ Carrie shook her head. ‘Honestly.’
    â€˜Could your husband be having an affair?’
    â€˜No.’
    â€˜Could he be having sex with somebody else?’
    Carrie faltered slightly. ‘I have no reason to think he is. None at all,’ she added, regaining some confidence. Crawford had mentioned the one thing she hadn’t yet seriously considered, but she was not afraid to face it. ‘Certainly not here in New York. Oliver does travel a lot on business, and what he does when he’s away, I have no idea. But if something did happen then I think it would most likely be