by C L R Draeco
“Next landing, exit,” Enrik said.
“Bro, stop!” Franco’s voice exploded inside my head, and I froze on the steps.
Roy, just ahead of me, slipped and slid down to the landing. “Son of a bitch! Watch that step, it’s wet.”
Franco’s here! I gripped the iCube tight. Franco, tell me how to find you.
The iCube escalated its already frantic beeping. “Let’s go,” Enrik said and ushered me past the wet zone. I glanced back, sending out an urgent thought that I hoped would make its way to Franco. Help me find you. Roy was already up on his feet as I ran ahead into the corridor.
Enrik sprinted past me and placed his finger on the scanner by the door then punched in his access code.
A red light and a sharp tone denied him entry. He put his finger back on the scanner and re-entered the code. Once again, rejected.
The iCube gave up on its warning and switched to one continuous, piercing tone that sounded painfully like a flat-line. Its glow began to pulsate slowly like a fading heartbeat.
“Holy fuck, man!” Roy grasped his own head with both hands.
I marched to the scanner, pulling out my handkerchief to wipe it clean, when suddenly—
The door flung wide open.
For a moment, we all gaped at the entrance, then a tall, imposing man emerged.
Enrik let out a huge sigh. “Thank God.”
“No, it’s just me, Dr. Grant.”
I rushed through the open door, the iCube wailing its single, desperate note. Please, please be all right. I couldn’t even pause to wait for my vision to adjust to the dimly lit interior and, half-blind, allowed myself to be guided to The Cellar and eased the iCube in. Roy was right beside me, plugging in the cables, and soon the iCube grew silent then glowed with renewed radiance.
A subliminal whoosh coursed through the air, and I blew out my cheeks.
“She’s all right,” Roy said. “We’re good.” He gave two thumbs up.
I turned around to survey the room. In the center stood a glass chamber the same size as what we had at the Green Manor. But this wasn’t an empty shell. It was an airtight container of electrified plasma that Grant had requisitioned for Torula’s 3D expression.
A handful of scientists—mere silhouettes in the darkened room—sat or stood behind a variety of equipment scattered around the glass enclosure that stood like an abandoned and empty display in a forgotten museum.
Then, from inside the chamber, radiating from its very top, came a faint blush of light. I ran both hands gruffly through my hair, hoping to fix some of the mess that I was, as I walked towards the chamber, throat dry, eyes misty, heart thudding madly.
With the faintest sound of a sizzle and swirl, a vortex of light appeared inside the glass enclosure, and from its apex, a shimmering orb descended.
“Spore,” I whispered, recognizing her before I even saw her.
Two bright points of violet-blue twinkled and danced like butterflies. As though alighting on flowers, they stopped in midair and sparkled. The next instant, I was staring into Torula’s eyes.
Subtle sounds of exclamation filled the room.
“Touchdown,” Enrik said.
“Houston,” Roy said, “you got yourself an astralnaut.”
“Yes, indeed we do,” Grant said.
Torula looked exactly as I had expected her to—skin like porcelain, dressed in rough low riders and a white tank top, her dark hair billowing in a nonexistent wind.
Barely breathing, I stepped closer to the chamber.
“Mist now light flowers,” Torula said, in a voice that was undeniably hers. She looked so beautiful, glowing . . . and alive.
“Heaven on Earth.” I pressed my palm against the glass as I stared into Torula’s eyes. “Let’s get started.”
THERE’S MORE TO COME
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A Ghost for a Clue is the first book in the Immortology series. If you enjoyed this book, please let others know. Your valuable feedback could take the story down new avenues, and you might even inspire spinoffs down the road!
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Acknowledgments
My journey as a published author was long, bumpy and full of detours. The idea for Immortology formed in my head decades ago, but it had to vie for time and attention versus life in general. The draft made its first appearance, one rough chapter at a time, in the Online Writing Workshop (OWW) for Science Fiction, Fantasy and Horror—and languished there, unfinished, because part of me kept thinking maybe the story I was piecing together wasn’t headed anywhere. Eventually, I did go back to OWW, where dozens of members took turns pointing out what I did wrong or right, until what started out a gnarl of nonsense came out stylized and sensible enough for the world to see. Most reviewers read only one chapter or two; several stuck around for a little more, and I am grateful to all of them. A few, however, became invaluable, and I give them special mention here—the reliable few who read this manuscript from start to finish (in slow-moving increments), giving me words of encouragement and making me believe I had a story lurking in those chapters. Profound thanks to B. Morris Allen, Steve Brady and Henry Szabranski who were there in the earlier years. And more recently, to Robyn Wescombe and Tony Valiulis. I owe you all my courage to write.
To Raphael, Yasmin, Brian, and Nadene, your critical eye in the final stretch gave this book the boost it needed to get to the finish line in its best shape.
Most of all, to my purpose, my loves, my life—A, N, and R. I thank you with every breath I take.
About the Author
C.L.R. Draeco is a writer, university professor, and advertising executive whose childhood home burnt down from an electrical fire in the 1970s. After the house was rebuilt, visitors began to suggest that the house was haunted.
The Draeco family didn’t believe it at first, until slowly, they began experiencing anomalies themselves. Those experiences were what inspired the author to explore scientific explanations for such phenomena. Non-fiction titles offered a wealth of ghostly anecdotes and either debunked them or left most questions unanswered. There was an absolute dearth of scientific explanations. Fiction, on the other hand, provided supreme escapes from reality—either in the genres of horror or paranormal fantasy. None, as far as Draeco could tell, looked at the supernatural through the perspective of level-headed, scientifically minded adults aiming to solve a mystery while keeping the story relatively grounded in reality.
Thus was born Immortology—a hard science-fiction book series that explores what might happen if a group of highly-intelligent, well-educated people of good repute worked together to give the afterlife a serious look. A Ghost for a Clue, the first book in the series, begins with the challenge of creating a scenario wherein characters that fit that mold end up getting involved in the bizarre.
Draeco is married to a photojournalist who travels the world. Their two “kids” are now a Doctor of Medicine while the other is studying to be a Doctor of Psychology. They share their home with two dogs, four cats, a few fish, a bearded dragon, and no ghosts.
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