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“Good, then.” He scooped tobacco into the bowl of his pipe, the movement habitual. He was going through the motions, but it felt like a thinly veiled distraction. “Have a seat.”
Em chose a leather wingback, studded around the edges with brass tacks. The only other chair in the office looked like it might crumble into a heap if I touched it, so I leaned my shoulder against the bookshelves built into the wall, taking note of the many family pictures as well as the titles on the shelves. Quantum Physics for Dummies, Holographic Man, The Tao of Physics, and a decent collection of what looked like first-edition Twain.
“How can I help you, children?” Direct but kind.
“We had some questions.” Em bounced slightly in her seat. It was either exceptionally springy or her nerves were getting the best of her.
“About the physics program?”
“No,” Em said, drawing the word out, looking at me for backup.
“No,” I said, wishing we’d discussed a plan. “We were talking about the … um …”
“About the parapsychology department,” he said, like he’d said it a million times before. “You discovered it on the Internet.”
“Um, yeah,” Em said, smiling in a slightly unbalanced way. “That’s it.”
I could feel his hesitation. Still, somehow, he miraculously asked, “What do you want to know?”
“We were just interested in … the basics about the department.” Em looked up at me for confirmation.
“The basics.” I nodded. We sucked at subterfuge.
“We’re doing … a school project?” Em said. It came out sounding like a question.
Dr. Turner pressed down on the contents of the pipe bowl with his thumb and looked at Em from the corner of his eye. “First of all, it was never truly a department, not an acknowledged one, anyway. It fell under engineering and physics. Started as a graduate project on random event generators and machines. Spun off into all kinds of fantastical research.”
“What kind of fantastical research?” I asked.
“Life beyond our airspace, remote viewing.” He took out another pinch of tobacco, placed it in the pipe with practiced ease, and then closed the bag. “Archeocoustics, dowsing.”
“I’ve never even heard the word archeocoustics.” Em perched eagerly on the edge of her chair, her toes barely touching the floor.
“Tricky theory, that. Idea is that objects record sound. Memories of conversation.” He shrugged. “And a perfect example of one of the things that drove the traditionalists here crazy.”
“And the university made the grad students stop?”
“They did.” His fingers tightened on the pipe bowl. “The department was shut down.”
“But the research continued.” Em wasn’t reading his body language, or she didn’t care. “Right?”
“There were certain things everyone was curious about.” He spoke carefully, as if everything he’d said up until this point had been canned, and now we were approaching unknown territory.
“Like what?” Em pushed.
His spike of irritation made me wonder if we’d gone too far.
Keeping my eyes on Dr. Turner, I moved to stand beside Em, my arm on the back of her chair. He stared at me for a moment, as if he were weighing something. Then he seemed to make a decision.
“Most specifically, they were curious about the manipulation of the space time continuum.”
Em gasped, then tried to cover it with a cough.
Dr. Turner didn’t take his eyes away from me. “Not solely in the realm of physics, but in the realm of something … beyond.”
“I thought universities were supposed to encourage free thinking.” I didn’t break the stare. He was either testing us or playing us. Either way, I didn’t intend to lose.
“Testing a hypothesis and getting a concrete result is challenging even when the research can be proven.” He removed a small metal object from his inside jacket pocket. It was flat on the bottom, and a sharp curve of metal arched over a tiny gargoyle— like a handle. He held it carefully as he used it to push the tobacco down. “The abstract idea of a person with preternatural abilities doesn’t fit into pure science. But too many believed the abstract was a possibility.”
