THE PHANTOM HEIST

Chapter 5: The Medium

Sarah sat in her car outside "Madame Rosalia's Spiritual Consultations," questioning every life choice that had led her to this moment. The small Victorian house was painted a deep purple with silver trim. Crystal wind chimes tinkled in the breeze, and the air smelled faintly of incense.

"This is ridiculous," she muttered, gripping her steering wheel.

Her phone buzzed. A text from Amara: "Did you go yet? Call me after!"

Sarah had sworn her friend to secrecy about this visit. If anyone at the department discovered the department's most rational analyst was consulting a psychic, her credibility would be destroyed.

Five days had passed since her discovery at the archives. Five nights of increasingly disturbing phenomena in her apartment—objects moving, electronics malfunctioning, and twice she'd awakened to find "REMEMBER" written in the condensation on her bathroom mirror. The second time, she'd set up a camera. The footage showed the letters forming on their own.

That was when she'd finally called the number Professor Blackwood had given her.

The door opened before Sarah could knock. A woman in her sixties with silver-streaked black hair and piercing green eyes regarded her with a knowing expression.

"Analyst Mathews," she said. "I've been expecting you."

"Of course you have," Sarah replied dryly.

Madame Rosalia—real name Rosalia Diaz, PhD in Parapsychology according to the framed credentials in her study—smiled slightly. "Skepticism is healthy. Please, come in."

The interior was surprisingly tasteful. No crystal balls or tarot cards in sight. Instead, bookshelves lined the walls, filled with academic texts on psychology, quantum physics, and paranormal research. Certificates from parapsychology conferences hung beside family photos.

"You're not what I expected," Sarah admitted.

"Most genuine mediums aren't," Rosalia replied. "The turbans and dim lighting are for tourists." She gestured to a comfortable chair. "Now, tell me about the entity at Meridian National."

Sarah hesitated, then produced a sealed envelope containing a still image from the security footage. "I haven't told you anything about what I've been experiencing."

"You didn't need to." Rosalia took the envelope but didn't open it. As soon as her fingers touched the paper, she flinched. "He's strong. Unusually so."

"He?"

"Maxwell Porter. That's who you've encountered."

Sarah felt a chill. She hadn't mentioned Porter's name to anyone outside the investigation.

Rosalia placed the envelope on the table, still sealed. "He died in pain and confusion, clutching something he believed was rightfully his. The boundary between life and death was... compromised in his case."

"What does that mean?"

"It means he's trapped between worlds. Not fully dead, not alive. The experiments performed on him at Westlake Memorial created a unique energy signature that allows him to manifest under certain conditions."

Sarah leaned forward. "What conditions?"

"Electromagnetic fields of a specific frequency. The modern banking equipment, security systems—they create the perfect environment for him to manifest."

"That doesn't explain why he's appearing now. The bank has had the same security system for years."

Rosalia closed her eyes for a moment. "He's growing stronger. Something changed recently that's allowing him to affect the physical world more directly."

Sarah thought of the robberies. The suspicious timing. The specific items taken.

"The robberies," Rosalia continued, as if reading her thoughts. "He's using them. Influencing the living to take what he couldn't in life."

"That's impossible."

"Is it?" Rosalia finally opened the envelope, glancing briefly at the image before setting it aside. "You've seen impossible things these past weeks, haven't you, Sarah?"

Sarah didn't answer.

"Porter is collecting items," Rosalia said. "Things connected to the experiment that trapped him in this state. He believes if he gathers them all, he can complete his transition—either to the next world or back to this one."

"That's—"

"Crazy? Perhaps. But spirits often fixate on unfinished business. And Porter's business was interrupted quite dramatically."

"So what does he want with me?" Sarah asked, thinking of the whispers, the messages.

Rosalia studied her face. "You've seen him. Acknowledged him. Most people's minds filter out what they can't explain. You didn't." She leaned closer. "And there's something else... something connecting you to this case beyond professional curiosity."

Sarah thought of the nurse in the old photographs who resembled her. She hadn't mentioned that to anyone.

"He's trying to communicate with you specifically," Rosalia continued. "Which means you're important to his plan."

"This is all speculation," Sarah said, standing abruptly. "There has to be a rational explanation."

Rosalia nodded calmly. "There usually is. But rational doesn't always mean what we think it means." She handed Sarah a small cloth bag. "Keep this with you. It contains iron filings and salt. Old remedies, but effective for disrupting certain energy patterns."

"I don't believe in magic pouches."

"Good. Belief isn't required for iron to affect electromagnetic fields."

As Sarah turned to leave, Rosalia caught her arm. "One more thing. Porter died seeking something he thought would save him. He'll do anything to complete his task."

"What was he seeking?"

"That's what you need to discover." Her grip tightened. "Be careful, Sarah. The boundary between observer and participant is thinner than you realize."

That night, Sarah placed the ridiculous pouch on her nightstand, feeling foolish. Yet she slept through the night without disturbance for the first time in a week.

In the morning, she found the pouch had been moved to the floor, its contents scattered in a perfect circle around her bed.

And in the center of her bedroom mirror, written in what looked like ash:

FIND IT