"Peppermint?" Gene says. He scoots a crystal dish of hard candy toward Charlie and Zandra from the other side of the desk. It's the first thing he says after his assistant shows them through the door.

It's said Gene sucks down peppermints to cover the shit on his breath. Some say it's halitosis. Others say there's a rot deep inside him. Whatever it is can't be extinguished by with a dish of peppermints, despite what Gene might think.

He looks remarkably similar to the version of Gene Zandra remembers from 25 years ago. Cool, smooth, amphibian skin. A crown of thin, gray hair atop a taut, shiny scalp that pulls on his face every time he opens his mouth, which is often. Deliberate, confident movements that take their sweet time, reminding everyone to wait for His Excellency to finish his thought.

Gene's yet to acknowledge Zandra's presence. The crystal dish of peppermints rests on the desk in front of Charlie. The crystal may be fancy, but it's still just a rock.

"Thank you, but I'm fine," Charlie says. She scoots the dish to Zandra. Gene still doesn't make eye contact with the psychic.

"I see you brought a friend," Gene says, still looking at Charlie.

Zandra tightens her rolled up sleeves and shifts in her chair. The Morse code in her foot returns. Her jaw hunkers down within her jowls.

"I'm sure you're familiar with Zandra," Charlie says. "She's assisting me on a few things."

Gene cracks his neck. It's a hideous sound. He looks over Zandra. Slowly. Over and over. They wait for his dramatic pause to wrap up.

"Of course," Gene says. He leans forward and folds his hands. "And what might Zandra be assisting the good lieutenant with today?"

Zandra clears her throat. She wants to reach across the tacky, overpriced desk and twist out Gene's pale Adam's apple, but the urge is suppressed in a quick hack into her rolled up sleeve.

Zandra tries to talk, but the words are squeezed shut inside her swollen throat. Charlie swoops in for the save.

Get it together.

"We have a couple questions about your hunting land outside of town," Charlie says. "Do you lease that to anyone?"

Gene nods. The skin on his face tightens and loosens with the motion. "Seth. Younger guy. Son of a friend of a friend. One hell of a deer hunter. He leases the land each fall," he says. "Did something happen to him? Or is this related to Elle?"

"We're just looking into a few things, that's all. How well do you know Seth?" Charlie says. She glances to Zandra, egging her to say something.

"Ah, I didn't think you were here to talk deer hunting," Gene says. "Seth's a good kid. Big into church and family. Adopted his niece last year, if I remember right. I gave police my full blessings to search the property. Anything I can do to help."

Does the niece wear pink shoes?

Zandra unwraps a peppermint. The cool flavor relaxes her, helps open up her throat. The words float their way up to her mouth.

"Truce," Zandra says.

"I beg your pardon?" Gene says.

"Truce."

Gene cracks his neck again. Looks to Charlie.

"You must understand that Zandra and I have what you might call a history. And it seems another unfortunate disappearance has delivered that history into the present," he says. Rubs his dry, scaly hands together. Then to Zandra, "If you're saying let bygones be bygones, I've been ready for this moment for years."

Same here.

Zandra crunches down on the peppermint. "A child is missing. That's more important than our history," she says.

"We asked Zandra to come in to offer another set of eyes. Or three eyes, in her case," Charlie says, now relaxed enough to help herself to a peppermint. "Finding your daughter, Mr. Carey, is our top priority, as it is with the other agencies involved. Zandra got lucky once. Maybe she could again."

"Indeed she did get lucky. Indeed she did," Gene says. His body language is hard for Zandra to read through her blind emotions, but it's obvious to anyone his exterior projects his usual cool, calm and collected self. "Your offer is accepted, Zandra. You've earned my respect for volunteering your, um, services. It took guts, as they say, to come in here and do that. Thank you."

Guts. With her perception blurred in the moment, Zandra reminds herself to let her own take over. Her good foot stops tapping.

"Yes, a young life is too precious to let trivial things get in the way," Zandra says. It's ironic given the way her baby died. She can barely make the words out.

"Agreed. Of course, the fact I'm in this office seems a little hypocritical. Maybe even suspicious. Some might say I should be out there searching. It might surprise you two, but this little office in downtown is my refuge. The main campus is big. Too big sometimes," Gene says. He rises from his chair to pace the room in his too-cool-for-you stride. "I have 10 children from eight wives. Say what you will, but I love all of them dearly, even the ex-Mrs. Carey's. And I love this town like family, too. One out of every four workers in Stevens Point is on my payroll, is in my family. It's one in three if you count the support industries that rely on my insurance company. When Elle was abducted - not merely missing, but abducted, as the police inform me - she wasn't just taken from my wife and me. They took her from my whole family, from this whole town.

"Whoever did it, I wish they'd demand ransom. I'd hand them to keys to everything I own just to see her little face again. But they didn't." Gene pauses to stare out the window. "They did this only to hurt me in the worst way possible. And to that end, they've succeeded. Whatever you can do, Zandra, no matter how unorthodox, do it."

Abduction? Charlie didn't mention that. And why did Gene accentuate the word ransom?

Zandra surveys Gene's office while he talks. The paperwork, computers and art are all pretty standard. But she notices something missing. No pictures of family.

She'll need a reason to stay inside Gene's radar beyond a blessing and a pat on the head. The more time, the better the chance of finding a route to her revenge, regardless if Elle ever turns up.

"Then let's start right now," Zandra says.

Gene turns from the window. "I'm well aware that most abductions are perpetrated by people known to the victim. Every family and friend I have was questioned with my full cooperation, I can assure you that," he says.

"And that's why we need to look beyond the normal," Zandra says. She rubs her hands together. Calls Gene by his formal name to heighten the effect. "Mr. Carey, you may not be able to see it, but there are spirits around you even as we speak. Dark spirits. I believe they played a role in your daughter's abduction."

Gene raises an eyebrow from next to the window. "Is that so?" he says.

"I'm afraid it's true. Do you feel that? It's getting colder in here, isn't it?" Zandra says. She rubs her bare arms. "That's them. They're present."

Gene mimics Zandra's motions. "Now that you mention it, yes, it is cold all of a sudden," he says. Turning to Charlie, "Do you feel it, too?"

Charlie nods. She sounds genuine when she says, "Actually, yes."

The room isn't getting colder, and Gene and Charlie aren't lying. Chalk it up in part to the power of suggestion and the mind's ability to only focus on one thing at a time. Draw attention toward a target, like the suggestion that it's cold, and the mind will focus on the air temperature in a way it hadn't before. Of course, standing next to a window looking out on a cool fall afternoon helps. So does eating peppermints.

"This is serious, Mr. Carey. I need to cleanse your office, your home, your personal effects. These dark spirits are more evil than you could know. They're preventing the police from finding your daughter," Zandra says.

Gene seems more skeptical about Zandra's offer to cleanse spirits. That's fine with her. He'll come around in a minute.

"Zandra, I appreciate your offer to help and all, but when I said do anything, I meant up to a point. Be reasonable. The police went through every square inch of my life. I don't see how a, um, psychic is going to...," Gene says and stops. He points. "Good lord, what's the matter with your arms?"

Zandra feigns ignorance. "Excuse me?" she says.

"Your arms, Zandra. Look at them," Gene says.

Zandra stretches out her bare arms and looks down. Even Charlie is taken aback.

Claw marks running up and down Zandra's arms turn a deeper shade of red with each passing second. Some are as wide as an eighth of an inch, others thin as a pin. It looks like an invisible cat unleashed hell on Zandra's arms.

Zandra gasps, covering her mouth with her palms. She swallows and looks to Charlie.

"Are you OK?" Charlie says.

Zandra gives a silent nod. The red marks look even worse than a few seconds ago.

"What happened?" Gene says. The look on his face is of genuine concern, likely for himself rather than Zandra.

"Dark spirits, Mr. Carey," Zandra says and crosses herself. "Dark, dark spirits."

Gene looks to Charlie. "You're seeing this, too, right?" he says.

Charlie runs a hand over Zandra's arm. The red streaks swell under her palm. "Incredible," she says.

"I'd never believe it had I not seen it with my own eyes," Gene says and collapses into his chair. He loosens his tie.

"I'm a catalyst for spirits. Sometimes it takes my presence for them to reveal themselves," Zandra says and brushes Charlie's hand away. "They don't like me because I know how to get rid of them. With your permission, Mr. Carey, I'd like to start right away."

"Absolutely. Whatever you have to do," Gene says.

Perfect.

Zandra reaches into her pocket and produces a sprig of sage. At least, that's what she tells people. It's actually from a plant she found growing in a ditch that smells like sage when it burns. Close enough. She slides it to Gene.

"Burn this sage tonight in your bedroom before you go to sleep," Zandra says. "That will keep them away for a little while, but I need to cleanse your office and home thoroughly. With the dark spirits gone, it will be easier for the police to do their work."

"When can you start?" Gene says.

"Tomorrow morning. I'll start with this office."

Gene extends his hand across the desk. Zandra almost chokes when she sees herself shaking it.

"I can't thank you enough, Zandra. Have a doctor check out those scratches, and send me the bill," Gene says.

Zandra and Charlie leave Gene to collect himself, their pockets full of peppermints.

"How did you do that?" Charlie says as they walk the street back to the police department.

Zandra sucks on her cigarette. "I didn't do a thing, child," she says.

"Prove it. Let me see your pockets," Charlie says.

"You wanna give me a pat-down, is that it?" Zandra says. "Not without a warrant."

Charlie rolls her eyes. "Just empty your pockets. I watched those marks appear out of nowhere. I need to know I'm not going crazy," she says.

Zandra stops at a bench and empties her pockets. Despite the random eccentricities that call Zandra's deep pockets home, nothing piques Charlie's interest. They're all too clunky and obvious to have been used in the office. Zandra's sleeves were rolled up the entire time, too.

"You a believer now?" Zandra says.

"I don't know what to think about you," Charlie says.

Get in line.

Charlie should've skipped those pockets and looked more closely at Zandra's fingers. Jagged slivers sit in place of her fingernails, rough from where her teeth chewed them off. This is key.

Zandra's effect from the office is as easy to pull off as it is impressive to watch. Tear away a few fingernails and run their sharp edges over a taut patch of skin, like the kind found on the underside of the arms. Wait a minute and watch as claw marks appear out of nowhere. It only looks painful, despite the redness and the swelling. Zandra lifted the idea out of a ghost hunting TV show, where a "demon" scratched one of the cast members.

A quick rub up and down her arms in Gene's "cold" office, and the effect took hold. The evidence, palmed in her hand all along, she swallowed. There's a reason she put her hands over her mouth when she gasped.

"I think we're done for today," Charlie says.

"Good," Zandra says. She nods to Sneak Peek a block away. "I need to check my mail for bombs."