The New Paranormal

by Jackson Tyler

  “I’m sorry, okay? I won’t use a spirit board again.”

  “No. It’s not okay. You’re out of this investigation.”

  “You can’t kick me out of the investigation. I’m your only way into the Cressley.”

  “My way into the Cressley is a bottle of vodka on a night Kyle is working.”

  “And then what? Face it, someone has to talk to Mr. Partridge about Sandra again, and he won’t talk to you.”

  “He won’t talk to you either.”

  “He’s more likely to talk to me than to you. I’ll bribe him with dry toast or something.” Half the time, I didn’t understand a word Isaac said.

  “He might talk to me,” I said. “He saw what happened today. He knows how serious it is.”

  “Face it, Roman, you couldn’t even get a child to talk about ghosts with you.”

  “Why would I be talking to a child about ghosts? That would terrify them.”

  “My point is, I’m going to talk to Mr. Partridge, whether you like it or not.”

  “For the record, I don’t.”

  “Duly noted.”

  We glared at each other.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Isaac

  With Hannibal purring next to me again, it was like a little part of my soul had returned. He nuzzled his sleek, furry face against my forehead, pressed his paws to my cheek, and rumbled.

  Elliot’s offer for me to move in was tempting me more than I wanted to admit. This wasn’t my type of place, but Hannibal seemed to like it here. And it was safe. Despite what I told Roman, I was terrified of going back to the Cressley. The thought of stepping foot in 1405 again made my jaw clench and my stomach churn.

  But I had to keep my room there. I had to keep investigating the case. I needed to prove to Roman that I was more than a liability. If I was useful, I was harder to dispose of.

  Roman had saved my life today, and I’d been shitty about it. To be fair, after nearly getting possessed and then throwing up bloody ectoplasm (or something equally gross and spooky), I had an excuse to be grumpy. I’d had a hell of a bad day.

  This was the first night in months I had gone in bed in silence. It unsettled me. I tossed and turned, unable to sleep. Peacefulness was less calming than having Roman next to me.

  I managed to drift off a few times, but as was my habit these days, I woke up moments later. I found myself immediately seeking Roman’s presence and being disappointed he wasn’t there. Even though he was only a couple of rooms away, asleep on Elliot’s sofa.

  Unable to settle in this quiet, safe space, I noticed a yellow legal pad and a pencil sitting on the bedside table. I figured Elliot wouldn’t mind if I used them, especially not if I was using them for supernatural research.

  I had to get my mind off Roman somehow.

  When I moved away from Hannibal, he whined. He nudged my pencil out of my hand.

  “Sorry, buddy,” I said. “Your dad has a murder to solve.”

  He whined but settled back on his pillow.

  I leaned back. Now what? At the top of the page, I wrote ‘The Cressley Hotel Murders’.

  I scribbled down all the important names I could remember and circled Sandra Keene’s name three times. Next to it, I drew a little bubble and wrote the word ‘UNDER’.

  Most of the early deaths on the fourteenth floor had been caused by erratic knife wounds to the back. It was after 1993 that the MO changed. After Sandra died, the Cressley was plagued with suffocations, suicides, and ‘accidents’. Typical haunted-hotel stuff.

  Had Sandra managed to hurt her killer before she died? Had she scared him off the Cressley? Did Mr. Patridge know anything?

  I tapped a sharp rhythm on paper with my pen. UNDER. What could that mean?

  Hannibal pounced on the movement of my pen. After he’d successfully hunted it, he tugged it out of my hands and threw it on the ground. His message was clear: pay attention to me.

  I indulged him, enjoying the happy little cat noises he made when I got a good spot for scritching. Inevitably, though, my brain bounced back to that topic I was trying to keep off limits. Roman.

  Roman was furious at me. I hated it, despite — or maybe because of — him being right. He had told me not to use the spirit board, I had ignored him, and I had nearly died. How could I fault him for pulling an I-told-you-so, when he did tell me so?

  But if he’d been there with me, things might have gone differently. If he hadn’t run off after being scared of his feelings…

  I shouldn’t have done it.

  I opened up the photos I had taken on my phone of the record books, and I flipped through them aimlessly, scrolling back and forth as though something new would occur to me the fiftieth time I looked at it.

  And then it did. Like a meteor strike to my brain, I hit a breakthrough.

  In my mind, I had inextricably linked Mr. Partridge, Sandra Keene, and information about the murders. Mr. Partridge was alive and hard to communicate with. Sandra Keene was dead, but seemingly willing to talk.

  Sandra Keene had been living in room 1406 when she died, and Mr. Partridge had lived there next to her.

  But in 1977, when eighteen-year-old Sandra Keene had moved into the hotel, she hadn’t moved into room 1406. She’d moved into room 1205. Those numbers were next to her signature in the guest book, in her old-fashioned, overdrawn cursive.

  Room 1205 happened to be the room directly under mine. Sandra. Under. It couldn’t be a coincidence.

  I didn’t know what this meant, but it was new information, and that meant I needed to share it with Roman. Even if he didn’t want to talk to me.

  Wearing nothing but my pajama pants and a baggy t-shirt, I made my way to the lounge. Elliot’s house was labyrinthine. In the dark, I became a magnet for bruises. My knees and elbows sought out surprisingly placed furniture. I tripped over discarded gadgets, books, and cables. The stacks of paper around the house were a whole other challenge to navigate. How did Elliot handle being on crutches in here?

  Despite the hazards here, if Elliot’s offer to move in stood after we solved the Cressley case, I considered taking him up on it. Hannibal would be happy and safe, and it would mean that I could keep seeing Roman after he no longer felt obligated to protect me.

  But would he want to see me? Or would I be discarded once I was no longer relevant? Unlike Elliot, who kept everything he came in contact with, Roman clung to nothing. I was similar to him in that way. I tried not to get attached as well. No attachment meant no hurt. But I’d messed up this time.

  By the time I reached the lounge, my eyes had somewhat adapted to the dimness, and I could see Roman’s shape under the blankets on the couch. Despite, all the time we’d spent together, my breath caught as I approached him.

  I gently reached down to shake his shoulder, but my hand didn’t meet firm flesh. It sunk into a soft cushion.

  “Fuck.” I tore the blanket away, and sure enough, Roman had used that old teen movie trick that never actually fooled any parents (certainly not mine). Instead of a body under the blankets, there was a collection of cushions.

  “Damn it, Roman.” I knew him well enough to know where he’d gone. He’d done his noble, annoying, self-sacrificial thing, and he’d gone to the Cressley hotel without me.

  It didn’t matter how buff Roman was, or how smart he was, or how experienced he was at hunting ghosts. The Cressley was a dangerous place. After today, I knew that better than anyone. Roman would never use a spirit board, but what if my mistake had let something out to play, and now it didn’t need a spirit board to hurt people? A spirit had drained a lot of strength from me today. Where was that strength now?

  I went to wake Elliot, but then I remembered his broken ankle. Taking him into a dangerous situation when he was teetering on crutches was a bad idea, but I wanted him to know where we were in case something happened.

  I gently shook his shoulder, and he roused, mumbling something about tomatoes.

  “Elliot,” I hissed.

&n
bsp; “What?” he yawned. “It is definitely not the morning.”

  “Roman’s gone to the Cressley Hotel.”

  He blinked a couple of times and struggled upright in bed. “What do you mean?”

  “He’s gone. He left cushions under a blanket.”

  “Fuck,” said Elliot. “Why didn’t he ask me to go with him? He knows better than to investigate something this unstable alone.”

  “Well…” I gestured at Elliot’s leg.

  He groaned. “I hate this thing.”

  “I have to go after him,” I said.

  “And I suppose I can’t go with you.” Elliot glared at his cast.

  “That would be impractical.”

  “Yeah, I know.” He shook his head, hair flapping into his eyes. “Roman left on his own for a reason. If he knew we were having this conversation, he’d probably want me to stop you going after him.”

  “Are you going to stop me going after him?”

  “Hell no. I don’t want Roman getting hurt, and you’re not as much of a fragile flower as you look like.”

  “Thanks, I guess?”

  “I have to admit, I was wary of you at first. You look like a brainless prettyboy, no offense-”

  “Some taken.”

  “Fair. But anyone willing to go back into the Cressley after nearly dying there has the guts to help Roman. Do you have protection?”

  Before I could reply with a snarky remark, Elliot spoke up again. “You need a taser.”

  “I got one from Phantazm-”

  “My design?”

  “I guess so. It’s the same taser Roman has.”

  “Good, good,” said Elliot. “Take it with you.”

  “One problem. It’s at the hotel.”

  “There’s a spare over there.” He gestured across the room to a chest of drawers.

  After I retrieved it, I faced Elliot again. I couldn’t read his expression. “Good luck,” he said.

  “Thanks. I’ll probably need it.”

  I remembered Roman’s concern that the ghost would attack me again if I returned to the Cressley. The thought made my stomach turn, and my blood pressure shot up. I had not enjoyed my brush with possession. My face got clammy remembering it.

  But Roman needed me. And, if anything happened to him… Well, I couldn’t bear the thought, because I needed him too.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Roman

  I made a stop at the liquor store on my way to the Cressley. One overpriced bottle of fancy vodka later, I had my key to the hotel. Kyle happened to be working tonight, and I needed to deal with this situation as soon as possible.

  Isaac would never know. This would be his first quiet night’s sleep in ages, with his cat no less. I expected to be back before he finally woke up.

  I buried cushions under a blanket just in case. If Elliot hobbled past, he wouldn’t bother glancing twice at me — he would be too focussed on navigating on his crutches.

  Ever since Isaac told me what he’d read from the spirit board, I’d been turning it over in my mind and thinking so hard my head hurt.

  I now knew with certainty who at least one of the ghosts was. Sandra Keene had visited Isaac. But had she attacked him, or had he let in something else as well? Had she been trying to warn him? How dangerous was she, exactly?

  As I drove to the Cressley, I ran through my options.

  Talking to Mr. Partridge would garner me the most information. I now knew why he had been living at the Cressley Hotel for so long. He didn’t have to grieve his wife if she was there with him. Even if she was there in a monstrous form.

  Six months ago, I would have thought that was foolishly naive. Now I understood that being with a ghost had to be better than nothing. If Isaac had died today, I might have been tempted to do the same. Imagining losing him made me ache like there was something missing deep in my chest. It was an unfamiliar feeling, and I didn’t care for it.

  I parked in the nearest spot to the Cressley, not caring if I got a ticket, and bolted inside.

  “You’re not supposed to be here, Roman.” Kyle sighed when he saw me. “I have strict instructions not to let you or your boyfriend into the hotel.”

  “Either of us? He lives here.”

  “Lance noticed the door to Isaac’s room was off its hinges?”

  “Because I broke in, because he was on the floor, dying.”

  “Yeah, well.” Kyle shrugged. “Ben’s rules. Did you bring that for me?” He eyed the bottle of vodka in my hand.

  “If you let me break Ben’s rules.” The glass bottle clinked on the countertop.

  “I was going to, anyway.” Kyle took the bottle of vodka and slipped it under the desk. “I’m not an asshole. I saw Isaac earlier. Makes me wish I could quit. ‘Course, I’ve wanted to quit for ages.”

  “I’ll protect you,” I said firmly. A shiver ran through me. This was it. This was the night I took down the Cressley ghosts. After that, there would be no reason for Isaac to come back here. He would be safe for good. Everyone would be safe.

  “I need to get to the basement,” I said. Under the hotel. Mr. Partridge was the most valuable source of information, but he would be useless if he wouldn’t talk to me.

  Kyle handed me the key.

  My chalk marks were still on the basement walls. They marked the way to the storage room. I didn’t know what I expected to find down here, but I hoped the missing piece of the puzzle would leap out at me. At the least, I might find information about Sandra or her specter that would coerce Mr. Partridge to talk to me.

  The basement made the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end. I missed having Isaac by my side. I was edgier without him cracking bad jokes next to me.

  But I couldn’t stop seeing him lifeless, slumped on the floor. I didn’t think I would ever get that sight out of my head. Knowing how dangerous spirits were was nothing compared to seeing an attack with my own eyes.

  Lucky thing I had the key. I closed the door behind me, and the crash of the lock setting in place echoed around me. Cold trickled down my spine. I checked through drawer after drawer, as fast as I could, but the most ominous thing I found was a dead spider.

  I had come to the conclusion that I cared too much about Isaac. If not for him, I would never have been so reckless as to bribe my way into the hotel with no real plan. How could I save Isaac if I couldn’t figure out a way to free the ghosts from her? I was on the brink of devastation. I was almost considering researching how to perform an exorcism like Rupert had suggested.

  I didn’t even believe in exorcisms. Plus, I couldn’t perform one, on account of me not being a priest. I let out a groan. What was I supposed to do? Give up and run away? That wasn’t in my nature.

  I sank hopelessly to the floor. I’d worked at the Cressley for three years, and even with the new information Isaac and I had gathered recently, I was no closer to getting rid of this haunting than I had been than I started.

  Maybe there was a reason the police hadn’t been able to solve those cases. Maybe there was a reason I didn’t know a scientific way to permanently banish ghosts. Maybe it couldn’t be done unless the spirits moved on, and maybe there were some cases that couldn’t be solved, so some spirits were stuck here forever. And maybe I should shift focus on trying to get the Cressley Hotel condemned so that the ghosts here had no one to haunt. But then what if they built a new apartment complex here? I’d have to come back. And Isaac would want to come with me. He wasn’t giving up on this before I did.

  There were so many maybes. I was frozen with indecision.

  I yanked open another drawer. Only lint.

  Another. And finally, a clue. There was a piece of paper wedged down the back of a drawer. It was stuck quite firmly, and I strained the muscles in my fingers to get it out. Isaac would have been helpful here, with his slimmer, more agile fingers.

  But he was safer at Elliot’s.

  I finally released the paper from behind the drawer and read it eagerly. It was an old receipt f
or room service. The fragile ink had rubbed away over the years. I couldn’t make out the digits of the room number. I couldn’t see a date anywhere, either. My heart sank. My first clue meant nothing.

  The door to the storage room clicked and slammed open. I spun around, terrified.

  But it was no apparition or angry manager that walked through the door. A part of me wished it had been. My eyes landed on Isaac.

  “What are you doing here?” I asked, my voice harsh.

  “I came to help you.”

  “I don’t need your help.”

  “I have a clue,” he protested.

  I was curious, but not enough to give in. “I have a clue, too.”

  His face lit up with curiosity. “What did you find?”

  “Do you honestly think I’m going to tell you? I want you out of here. You’re in danger.”

  “I’m already inside the Cressley Hotel,” Isaac pointed out. “And I’m not getting murdered by ghosts. So your theory that they’d try to possess me again was wrong.”

  “And what if that changes on the thirteenth floor?”

  Isaac set his hands on his hips and glared. “Well, what if they get you? Have you thought of that?”

  “It’s my choice to do this. It’s my job.”

  “It’s my choice to help you.”

  I gritted my teeth. Isaac wasn’t backing down. He wore his trademark cocky smirk, the one that spread across his lips every time he thought he had the upper hand. It was the same look he had when he first met me, back when he was so convinced that ghosts didn’t exist. That seemed like forever ago. Now there was a tight clench to his jaw too, a spark of concern in those bright eyes. If possible, he looked even more stubborn.

  “Leave. Please.”

  Isaac staunchly stayed in place. “I’m like a barnacle. You can’t get rid of me.”

  “A barnacle?”

  “Like, a sexy barnacle.”

  He was right. When Isaac decided to stick somewhere, he wouldn’t move. I didn’t have the time to pry him away.

  “How’d you get in here?” I asked.

  “I remembered what you said about Kyle. I brought him a bottle of vodka.”