Pattinshell’s darkened, Gothic parlor. Again, she was seated behind the round table with its covering of black lace. And again, candle smoke and incense wafted across the room. My partner and I sat opposite our hostess. As with our previous visits, the resident Siamese had shown its displeasure by bursting out of the room like a low, shrieking rocket. “Lorraine told me that she wants you to hear this song,” Mrs. Pattinshell said. “Us specifically?” Mr. O’Nelligan asked. “Lee and I?” “Yes. The song just came to me this morning. Lorraine feels you need to hear it and learn what truth it affords.” She flashed me a look of minimal expectation. “If you are at all capable of doing so.” I smiled warmly at her. “We’re all ears.” Noticeably unwarmed, the gaunt woman looked away and settled herself in her high-backed chair. “I’ll attempt to retrieve the song now.” I pulled out my notepad to jot down the lyrics. Mrs. Pattinshell now closed her eyes and tilted her head back, just as she’d done yesterday.
