The Possible Read online

  “So you’re seventeen now,” she said. “What’s an average day like?”

  “School. Softball. Homework. College prep stuff. Hanging out with friends.”

  “What do you do for fun? Any hobbies? Where do you hang out?”

  “It’s sort of ridiculous but there’s this like ‘granny pod’ thing in my parents’ backyard that was supposed to be for my grandmother to move in, but she hasn’t yet, so I sort of took it over. With my friends. I don’t really have hobbies outside of sports, I don’t think. I mean, I collect snow globes, if that counts.”

  “And when you’re going about your day, hanging out with your friends in your granny pod, are you ever thinking about Crystal sitting in a prison cell day in and day out?”

  “Honestly, no. I mean, not until you came along, I guess?”

  “Do you think she thinks about you?”

  “I guess you can ask her that.”

  “What do you think about when you do think about Crystal? Are there any, like, happy memories?”

  I snorted. “Uh, no.”

  •••

  What if you weren’t very good at putting your shoes on? What if you were only four? What if every day you asked for help and every day your mother grunted and used bad words and phrases you didn’t understand and told you that you should be able to put your own shoes on by now, goddammit?

  What if your younger brother cried a lot? What if your mother told him to shut the hell up but that made it worse? What if you tried to calm him down but didn’t know how to do that any more than you knew how to put your shoes on by yourself?

  What if you’d spent the first four years of your life feeling dismissed or, worse, unwanted?

  What if one day shit hit the fan and everything ended?

  What if he was dead but you were . . . what?

  Damaged?

  Abandoned?

  Free?

  What if you carried guilt over that feeling of relief everywhere you went?

  •••

  “You did good,” Liana said, taking off her headphones after we talked for many more minutes.

  I slid my own headset off, fighting surprise that we were done, that it had gone so quickly. “It’s all sort of a blur. I can’t even think of a single thing I actually said. I guess I was nervous.”

  “You didn’t sound it.” She stood. “I’ll have Lou pull some clips and send them to you.” She turned to him. “You hear that?” He gave a thumbs-up through the glass. “You can listen on your way home, let me know what you think.”

  “Okay,” I said. “Great.”

  “While you’re in the city there’s someone I want to introduce you to. I’ve arranged to meet him around the corner. You game? He’s waiting for us.”

  “Who is it?”

  “Come on.” She grabbed her purse and quickly put lip gloss on. “We’re late.”

  •••

  He was sitting at a table in the far corner of a café around the corner, and he smiled and waved when we walked in. Liana wove through the crowded seating area toward him, and he pushed a cup across the table toward her. When I stepped up beside her, he said, “Sorry. Didn’t know what you’d want.”

  “I’m good,” I said.

  “Kaylee, this is Will Hannity.”

  I recognized the name but couldn’t immediately place its context.

  “He took the photo of Crystal and the phone.”

  “Wow,” I said. “Really?”

  He nodded and said, “Really.”

  He was tall—you could tell even when he was sitting down—and had salt-and-pepper hair. He was good-looking. For a dad type.

  Liana said, “I thought maybe it would be interesting for Will to tell you what it was like back then to be around Crystal.”

  “Okay,” I said, though of course I had my own sense of what it had been like to be around Crystal.

  “She had this crazy energy,” he said. “It was like there was something electrified or lit up about her, like she seemed to actually buzz when you were near her. I was young. I was only in my twenties, working my first job. But I believed her. I mean, there’s the photo, but I saw other stuff. I saw furniture move. I saw pictures fall off the walls. So I mean, unless the whole house was rigged in some sort of fun-house way, it had to be real.”

  “Why weren’t there any better photos?” I asked. “Like with her hands not looking so weird.” He and Liana looked at each other and I felt bad that they seemed annoyed, but it was an honest question and I wasn’t the only one who’d ever asked it.

  “It was tricky,” he said. “It was as if the phenomena didn’t want to be photographed. I only ended up getting the one the paper published because I clicked the shutter while I was looking in the other direction. Anyway, I saw other things happen with my own eyes. I didn’t need a photo as proof like everyone else seemed to.”

  “So you believe she has powers?” Liana asked in a way that made it clear she already knew his answer. She’d already interviewed him.

  “I believe something powerful was going on,” he said. “That’s different.” His phone buzzed on the table and he read something. “I’m sorry. I’ve got to go.” Then he softened his tone. “I always wondered what happened to you, after I read about the murder trial and all. I’m glad you, you know, landed on your feet.” He stood and left, squeezing Liana’s shoulder as he passed.

  “He came all the way here just to talk to me for two minutes?” I asked when he was gone.

  “I asked him to, yes.” Liana took her phone out. “And anyway, he lives around here and we’ve become sort of friendly.” She looked at me meaningfully. “I wanted you to meet someone who believes. In case you do, too, and aren’t willing to say so.”

  “I already told you that I don’t have powers—” I could have used a bottle of water.

  “Maybe I think you’re holding out on me.” She reached into her bag, pulled out a white envelope, and handed it to me.

  •••

  FROM THE DESK OF WARDEN JASON LARSON STATE PRISON #56-56D

  APPLICATION FOR VISITATION APPROVAL

  INMATE: Crystal Bryar

  NAME of applicant: _________________________________

  Address: _____________________________

  City: ____________

  State: __________

  Zip: __________________

  Relationship to inmate: ________________

  DOB: __________________

  Signature: _______________________________

  Date: _________________

  •••

  “Are you using this chair?” a man said, after Liana had gone.

  I put the form back in the envelope and stood. “You can have the table.”

  •••

  When I got settled on the train home, I had an e-mail from Liana called “Outtakes.”

  Her note said, “Lou pulled these snippets out quick. Some good stuff here. More to come/discuss.”

  I clicked a file, wishing she’d sent the whole thing. I put earbuds on and listened as the train crawled out of the city.

  •••

  LIANA: Have you ever tried to move things with your mind?

  ME: Of course. But I’ve never succeeded.

  LIANA: No strange happenings at home?

  ME: None.

  LIANA: No flying phones.

  ME: Of course not.

  LIANA: One theory of the stuff that happened to Crystal was that she had a lot of emotional trauma, inner rage that attracted phenomena. What are your thoughts on that? I guess what I’m asking is, do you remember her as an angry woman?

  ME: Well, I remember this one thing clearly, how annoyed she was that I wasn’t able to put on my own shoes. And also, she killed my brother. So there’s that.

  LIANA: Did you see it happen?

  ME: I did. I testified.

  LIANA: When you were only four years old?

  ME: Yes, psychologists interviewed me and cleared me; they said I understood right a
nd wrong.

  LIANA: She still maintains she’s innocent.

  ME: I know what I saw.

  LIANA: No offense, but I’m not sure I remember anything from when I was four.

  ME: Did your mother kill your brother?

  LIANA: Of course not.

  ME: Well, if she had, you’d probably remember it.

  •••

  At that moment during the interview, a smile had tugged at Liana’s mouth, then maybe a bit at my own. It was like she already heard her finished edit of the podcast and knew that that part of our interview would make the final cut. I remembered feeling a little bit proud of my . . . what was the word . . . “sass”?

  I looked out the train window and imagined Bennett Laurie listening to the podcast and being more intrigued by me than he’d ever been by anybody before.

  •••

  LIANA: Do you remember your brother?

  ME: He’s really dreamlike to me. And I do dream about him sometimes.

  LIANA: What kind of dreams?

  ME: We’re usually alone. Like lost or abandoned or something. I’m trying to protect him.

  LIANA: Do you often feel lost or abandoned?

  ME: They’re dreams.

  LIANA: Right, but your mother ended up giving you up for adoption. And, as I understand it, hasn’t tried to make contact or make amends or anything. Your father was never in the picture; Crystal has said she’s not even sure who he is. It would make sense for you to feel abandoned.

  ME: I have amazing parents. So no, not really.

  I had a brief, strangling feeling hearing my own lie. I’d intended, going in, to tell the truth, the whole truth, nothing but the truth, but then if I admitted to feeling abandoned (and I wasn’t even sure I did?), wasn’t that throwing my parents under a bus?

  My parents had done everything for me. They’d taken me on with all my baggage, not knowing at the outset whether I was somehow permanently damaged by Crystal’s anger and neglect.

  They’d taken a chance with me and adopted when they were only in their late twenties, practically newlyweds. They could have had their own kids but opted for me instead—“because it felt right” was what they always said.

  And this was how I repaid them?

  LIANA: You’ve told me you want me to arrange for you to meet Crystal again. Why now?

  ME: I don’t know. I mean, I hadn’t been thinking about meeting her before you came along, but now that you’re asking questions about her life, I realize I have some, too.

  LIANA: What do you want to ask her when you meet her again?

  ME: Whether she thinks about me a lot. Why she’s never gotten in touch. Why she faked the whole telekinesis or poltergeist thing.

  LIANA: If she did fake it.

  ME: Right.

  LIANA: Are you scared of her?

  ME: Should I be?

  •••

  There was another e-mail, another clip. I clicked, expecting another snippet of my interview.

  •••

  “Do you believe in Jesus?”

  •••

  A chilling moment of confusion—who? what?—then recognition.

  “Holy shit,” I said aloud, slowly. A man across the aisle from me tsked and turned toward his window.

  It was Crystal.

  She was alive.

  I mean, I knew she was alive.

  But hearing her voice . . . I dug through my purse and looked around to see if I had a bag I could throw up in, but then the feeling passed.

  I turned toward my window, too. We were in a station. People were getting off and going about their business, looking for their cars or rides or taxis. Going about their totally normal lives. Back at home, it was opening day at the club. I could see it all in my mind’s eye. Elderly swimmers in tight floral swim caps. Aiden swinging his whistle in his tall white chair. Chiara hanging out the window of the snack truck saying, “You want fries with that?” in a hickish accent.

  Here I was—a girl on a train, hearing the voice of my mother for the first time in more than a decade.

  I kept listening.

  •••

  LIANA: I’m not sure what my religious beliefs have to do with anything.

  CRYSTAL: Just answer the damn question.

  LIANA: I do, yes.

  CRYSTAL: Well, there you have it.

  LIANA: I’m not following. What, exactly, do I have?

  CRYSTAL: Do you believe that Jesus turned water to wine? That he healed the sick and turned loaves to fishes?

  LIANA: I do, yes. I believe in miracles, I guess.

  CRYSTAL: So if when I was a teenager I was able to move things, using just my mind, would that be a miracle?

  LIANA: I guess, sure. But a miracle has a sort of moral weight to it, doesn’t it? Like you heal someone or do something remarkable for the world. Like if you lifted a car with your mind because it was crushing someone. Something like that.

  CRYSTAL: I was never able to control it anyway.

  LIANA: I’m sorry. What was that?

  CRYSTAL: It happened around me. I wasn’t controlling it.

  LIANA: There is videotape of you knocking a lamp off a table.

  CRYSTAL: I just wanted the reporters to get what they wanted so they would leave, and I could never get it to work with other people around.

  LIANA: You didn’t want the attention?

  CRYSTAL: At first I thought it was cool. I liked Will.

  LIANA: Will Hannity? The photographer? Like you had a crush on him?

  CRYSTAL: I don’t know. Maybe.

  LIANA: So you wanted to please him.

  CRYSTAL: I probably wanted him to think I was special or whatever, sure. I also just wanted the reporters to get their story.

  LIANA: And what was the story as you saw it?

  CRYSTAL: I wanted someone to explain it.

  LIANA: Explain your powers to you?

  CRYSTAL: Guess so, sure.

  LIANA: People have said you’d just had some kind of rift with a friend. Who was that?

  CRYSTAL: I have no idea what that’s even about. I’ve had lots of friends come and go over the years.

  LIANA: You don’t remember any particular break with a friend at that time?

  CRYSTAL: I got nothing to say about that.

  LIANA: After the media attention went away, strange things kept happening?

  CRYSTAL: Yes.

  LIANA: When did it finally stop?

  CRYSTAL: I don’t know. I mean, it’s not like there was a day and I marked it on the calendar. It just started happening less and less often and then not at all.

  •••

  It was my stop, I had to get off. I walked home and found the house empty. I went out to the granny pod thinking I’d listen to the last clip and then listen to it all again.

  My mother was out there—cleaning, of all things. When I walked in, she didn’t look up, just kept on dusting. “How’d it go?”

  “It was fine,” I said.

  “And that’s the end of it?” she asked. “Will we hear it before it airs or now it’s completely out of our control?”

  She was so angry and trying so hard to contain it that I thought she might explode.

  “I don’t know, Mom. But I didn’t say anything bad or crazy, so I don’t know what you’re worried about.”

  “I’m worried about what people will think.”

  “About what?” Ah, the asking of the question brought the answer. “About you, you mean?”

  “Yes, about me.”

  “That you adopted damaged goods, is that it? You’re embarrassed of me?”

  “I never said that.”

  “Why did you adopt me? You knew this was part of the deal.”

  “That’s a silly question,” she said, and she sounded like that twin again—but not a witty twin, a twin that was a little bit dead inside.

  •••

  I went back up to the house and opened the last e-mail to listen to the final clip.

 
•••

  LIANA: Why do you think that is? Why did it stop?

  CRYSTAL: I don’t know. You tell me.

  LIANA: Isn’t it convenient? That your powers don’t work when other people are around?

  CRYSTAL: No. It’s the opposite of convenient, whatever that is.

  LIANA: Inconvenient? Why?

  CRYSTAL: If it worked, if I could show you, then you’d leave me alone.

  LIANA: You want to be left alone?

  CRYSTAL: Yes.

  LIANA: Then why do you keep our weekly conversation on your calendar at all? You don’t have to call me. So why do you do it? Why allow the podcast to talk about your life at all?

  CRYSTAL: The reason has never changed. I’m still hoping someone will find it.

  LIANA: Find what?

  CRYSTAL: An explanation. Proof.

  •••

  So we agreed about one thing, at least. My phone ding-dinged.

  •••

  •••

  A different kind of phone ding.

  •••

  SEVERE STORM WARNING

  A SYSTEM OF POWERFUL STORMS WILL BE MOVING THROUGH THE REGION THIS EVENING AND OVERNIGHT, WITH HIGH WINDS AND HEAVY DOWNPOURS. RECOMMENDED PRECAUTIONS: SECURE OUTDOOR FURNITURE BEFORE STORMS HIT. STAY INDOORS. STAY OFF ROADS.

  •••

  When I knew Aiden’s shift was done, I texted him.

  •••

  I sent a bath emoji, then went to take a bath, where the water had music on its mind.

  A drip from the faucet turned one note into three.

  Some glugs piped up like percussion.

  I slid down so that my ears were under and listened.

  I watched a drop of water that was clinging to the faucet and willed it to fall. Which of course it did, in its own time.

  When I was drying off, Aiden texted me a link. I clicked, saw the headline, and read naked.

  •••

  THE POSSIBILITIES ARE ENDLESS . . . OR ARE THEY?

  Producer of The Possible podcast tries for gold . . . again

  By Tim McNeil

  Following on the heels of her wildly popular first podcast season, radio producer Liana Fatone is about to hit the airwaves with a second series. But can the success of The Possible’s first season be repeated? Already, doubters are surfacing. Why? Because Ms. Fatone is taking on a story that has less in common with the true-crime narrative of last season, which explored possible alternate theories of a college campus murder, and more with movies like Carrie and Escape to Witch Mountain.