Christine Atwell fidgeted with her coffee cup, eyes down as she seemed to struggle with her explanation. It wasn't uncommon; those rare people who both experienced the supernatural AND decided to investigate it didn't do well telling their stories to others. At best, it turned into a brief fling with cash and fame in the tabloids. At worst, people lost friends, or family, maybe everything.
Marcia gave her a moment, and sipped at her French Vanilla. Thank god Rusty bought flavor packets after they made a resolution to switch to decaf; otherwise there'd be no point to the drink at all.
"I have a son," Miss Atwell broke her silence. "Christian. He's a good boy, smart, and funny. Well, I'm biased. I think... I know. I know something strange is happening. But..."
Marcia took a risk and reached out, gently placing her hand on her possible clients'. She felt Christine's hand twitch slightly, but the woman's shoulders seemed to relax slightly. Good. Marcia's particular psychic gifts tended toward gathering and retaining facts about supernatural events; her sensitivity to emotions was pretty much zip, and she'd had to use intuition and body language just like anybody else. She'd taken courses as part of her P.I. license program, but this part of the job always had her nervous.
"Can I say something?" Marcia asked in a calm voice. When she received a nod, she continued.
"I'm guessing that you're pretty new to the paranormal thing," another nod, "but I want you to know that I am not. I've seen a lot of different things, and spoken to a lot of people who'd never been believed until they came to me. And if you read my business card, you know I advertise as a minor psychic. My gift isn't very strong, but what it CAN do is tell me if someone has a real concern. And you do."
Miss Atwell sniffed, and set down her purse to fish out an... actual cloth handkerchief. Okay, so she probably WAS well-off.
"Thank you." The woman dabbed at her eyes. "I only spoke to my husband about this, but... We have a good marriage, and a lot of time and trust between us, but he didn't believe me about this and I didn't want to fight."
"I understand," Marcia offered. "Can you tell me about your son now?"
"Christian, or Chris, is fourteen. He's starting high school in the fall; I can barely believe that."
Christine smiled, and fished out a photo. In the middle was a grinning boy in a puffy winter coat with his arms thrown over the shoulders of two taller kids. Probably friends. The boy shared his mother's dark complexion, though his hair had a tighter curl to it; natural or cosmetic - for either of them - wasn't clear. The kid seemed happy.
"The Easter school holiday was last week. Before going back to school..." Christine tensed. "Before going back, we had to go buy Chris a whole new wardrobe. Bigger shoes, longer pants, everything. Chris seemed thrilled; he's always been the short kid, you know? And at his age, with everyone changing so fast and becoming self-conscious, I know that was bothering him."
Marcia nodded, frowning. Across the room, she saw Rusty sending her a skeptical look. Fair; 'a teenage boy got taller' didn't sound particularly supernatural. Probably why her husband didn't believe her, unless there was something else to this?
"Thank you for the information," she relaxed her expression. "To make sure I understand, your son has grown by what sounds like several inches since that photo? And you don't think this is ordinary puberty. Is there something else that makes you think that?"
"Miss Caldwell, I'll admit teenagers change fast, and sometimes a growth spurt can sneak up on a parent. That's what my husband thinks happened. But I don't think so. I think..."
"I think my son grew four inches overnight."