Free The Whispering Hollows by Lisa Unger

tired,” she said.
    But she couldn’t stop thinking about the girl. Eloise felt a vibration unlike anything she’d felt before. She would need to talk to Agatha. She considered telling Ray about it, but she wound up staying quiet.
    They weren’t working on anything now, and she sort of wanted to keep it that way. They’d had a couple of high-profile cases in a row, and her voice mail and mailbox were full of requests for their help. But she didn’t have the feeling . She couldn’t help any of the people who needed her right now. And that was weighing heavily on her.
    But she didn’t have a choice in these things. She didn’t invite the visions. It wasn’t on demand—even if someone brought her an article of clothing, or a picture, or a plush toy (though this sometimes worked when Ray brought it). Even if desperate people wept on her doorstep, or waited in her driveway for two days, or followed her around town—all of which had happened—she couldn’t make something happen.
    She could only walk through the doorways that were opened for her. That’s why she thought there was more to it than Agatha believed. Eloise thought there was a puppet master, someone pulling the strings. There’s no puppet master, honey. That’s the problem , Agatha insisted. The old woman was always very sure of herself. But that didn’t mean she was always right.
    â€œI came to take you out to dinner,” said Ray.
    â€œI’ll cook,” she said.
    â€œNo,” he said. “Let’s go out. You look like you could use it.”
    She didn’t like to go out anymore, especially in The Hollows. It was one thing if they were traveling and no one knew who she was. But here at home, people stared, they whispered, they scowled. Some people snickered, some looked on in sympathy, or fear—suspicion, disdain. The one thing no one ever did in a small town was mind their own goddamned business.
    In the end, she acquiesced because she always did where Ray was concerned. She loved him in the way that she could. It was he who needed to go out. He was an extrovert, needing human contact all the time in order to stay energized. That was why he dealt with the clients. And she dealt with the dead—though they weren’t always dead. It was complicated.
    She showered, dressed, and did her hair—which basically just consisted of drying it and pulling a brush through it. It was brittle and dry. She even put on some lipstick, but she still looked like an old hag.
    While she was getting ready, The Burning Girl sat on Eloise’s bed, and the smell was powerful. Her hair was flame, her face a mask of pure fury, her body glowing like a hot coal.
    â€œWhat do you want?” Eloise asked at the door. But the girl didn’t answer. She wouldn’t, of course. She usually couldn’t hear Eloise; they did not exist on the same plane. Eloise was going to have to figure it out for herself.
    All through dinner, Eloise wondered about The Burning Girl and what she wanted. If Ray noticed she was distracted, he didn’t say. She kept seeing those fingers creeping around the door.
    â€¢â€ƒâ€¢â€ƒâ€¢
    On the following Thursday, Eloise attended the big town meeting at city hall. Tempers ran high. There was much conflict between those who wanted The Hollows to stay as it was and those who profited from its expansion. The new shopping center that was already under construction was a hot-button issue.
    Eloise had a special loathing for mini-malls, those concrete strips of low-end commercialism. She thought they represented a deterioration of society, a move toward homogenization that stripped communities of their personalities. She’d been surprised when one appeared in The Hollows. The Hollows Historical Society had always been such a passionate defender of the town’s integrity of character. But this seemed to be the way of things now.
    Wealthy developers