Fascinating,' she murmured. 'I see a third interpretation entirely.' Marcus and Helena exchanged glances. 'What do you see?' Helena asked. 'A therapy session,' Dr. Torres said matter-of-factly. 'The figure is a patient lying on a couch, and the glass barrier is the boundary between therapist and client.' The room fell silent except for the hum of Marcus's air conditioning.
Dr. Evelyn Torres arrived precisely at 9 AM Friday morning, carrying a leather satchel that looked more suited to a medical practice than ghost hunting. In her fifties, with steel-gray hair and sharp, analytical eyes, she possessed the kind of presence that commanded immediate respect.
"Before we begin," she said, setting down her equipment, "I want to establish that I approach these situations with equal parts skepticism and openness. I've investigated over two hundred allegedly supernatural phenomena. Roughly sixty percent have rational explanations."
"And the other forty percent?" Marcus asked.
"Defy current scientific understanding." She turned to the artwork. "Now, I'd like each of you to describe what you see, without discussion or influence from the other."
Marcus went first, describing his serene underwater scene. Helena followed with her drowning man narrative, her voice shaking as she added new details—scratches on the glass, fish streaming from the figure's mouth like final breaths.
Dr. Torres listened without comment, taking notes. Then she approached the piece and stared for a long, silent minute.
What Dr. Torres Sees
"Fascinating," she murmured. "I see a third interpretation entirely."
Marcus and Helena exchanged glances. "What do you see?" Helena asked.
"A therapy session," Dr. Torres said matter-of-factly. "The figure is a patient singing, and the glass barrier is the boundary between therapist and client. The fish are thoughts swimming through the unconscious mind. The boat represents the journey toward healing."
The room fell silent except for the hum of Marcus's air conditioning.
"This is impossible," Marcus said. "Three people, three completely different..."
"Not impossible. Improbable, certainly, but not impossible." Dr. Torres opened her satchel and withdrew several devices—electromagnetic field detectors, infrared thermometers, and audio recording equipment. "There are documented cases of artwork that appear to change based on the observer's psychological state. Usually involves neurological factors, optical illusions, or..."
"Or what?" Helena demanded.
"Quantum consciousness theory. The idea is that consciousness itself affects reality at a quantum level. That observation changes the observed." She began taking readings around the piece. "Tell me, have either of you experienced trauma involving water? Drowning? Being trapped?"
Helena's face went white. Marcus felt his throat constrict.
"Why does that matter?" Marcus managed.
"Because if my preliminary theory is correct, this piece isn't showing us different images randomly. It's accessing our deepest psychological wounds and manifesting them visually." She checked her EMF detector, frowning at the reading. "The electromagnetic activity around this piece is off the charts. Whatever's happening here involves more than simple psychology."
"Are you saying it's supernatural?" Helena asked.
"I'm saying we need more expertise. I'd like to bring in Dr. James Richardson. He is a quantum physicist at Columbia, but he also studies consciousness. If this is some form of quantum entanglement between mind and matter..."
"This is madness," Marcus muttered, but even as he spoke, he was staring at the piece again. The child's shadow he'd noticed was clearer now, and it was moving. Small hands pressed against what looked like the inside of a car window.
"Dr. Caldwell," Dr. Torres said gently, "what happened to you as a child?"
Marcus's hands began to shake. The memory he'd buried for twenty-seven years clawed its way to the surface: the family car sliding on black ice, plunging into the frozen lake. His younger brother Tommy trapped in the backseat as water rushed in... Marcus had escaped, but Tommy...
"We need Dr. Richardson," Marcus said hoarsely. "Call him now."
As Dr. Torres made the call, Helena moved closer to Marcus. "What are you seeing now?" she whispered.
Marcus couldn't answer. In the piece, the child's face was becoming clearer, and it wasn't a stranger's face anymore. It was Tommy's face, seven years old forever, mouth open in a silent scream behind the glass that Marcus had been too weak, too scared, too selfish to break.
"It's not showing us random trauma," he said finally. "It's showing us the specific moment we became who we are. The moment that defined everything that came after."
Helena looked at her drowning man and shuddered. Dr. Torres finished her call and rejoined them, studying their faces with professional concern.
"Dr. Richardson will be here tomorrow," she announced. "But I should warn you. If my suspicions are correct, each new observer will see their own psychological truth. And the more people who see it, the stronger whatever's happening becomes."
"Stronger how?" Marcus asked.
Dr. Torres glanced at her equipment, all of which was registering readings she'd never seen before.
"I'm not entirely sure. But I suspect we're about to find out."