Peter Broadus didn’t like it because that had been his connection, but I didn’t give a damn. As long as we were still GCP, I would call the shots. Well, Sara and I.
I took a few sips of murky black coffee and almost immediately pitched the remainder of the cup in the garbage can. I leaned against the back wall and watched the team work. Sara glanced at me but kept her focus on the person in front of her. Man, this was awkward. Would it get any better? How could we keep GCP together if Sara and I couldn’t find a way to be friends again? I hoped we could do that because this was my life. Maybe my father was right. It was time to grow up and move on.
“You aren’t getting any younger, Midas. You’ll be thirty soon. It’s not too late to help out your old man.”
I watched the redhead walk to the door when Sierra called the name Cassidy. The attractive young woman rose nervously and was obviously having second thoughts about talking to us. If she hadn’t paused in the doorway, I probably wouldn’t have followed her outside, but she did. She slid her leather purse strap up on her shoulder and folded her arms across her chest. Like the investigator I was, I studied her for a few seconds. She wore a red, white and black plaid jacket, worn but stylish blue jeans and hiking boots that had hardly any wear on them.
She reminded me of Sara—and not just because of her hair color. She reminded me of how Sara used to be before fame and fortune went to her head. Who would believe that landing one small role as an extra on a low-budget film would lead to Hollywood knocking on your door? But it happened, and now my ex-girlfriend was leaving us to take on her new role as a lead paranormal investigator on a reality television show. She hadn’t told the team yet.
“Excuse me, miss?”
She turned around with a startled expression. “Yes?” She glanced at her feet as if she thought perhaps she’d dropped something.
“Is there something I can help you with? I’m Midas Demopolis, one of the founders of Gulf Coast Paranormal. Are you Cassidy?”
“Yes. How did you know?” She clutched the strap with both hands as if she thought I was planning to rob her. I didn’t take it personally. She didn’t trust me, and I couldn’t blame her. You don’t get far trusting strangers.
“I heard Sierra call that name a few times, and I assumed it was yours. Most of the folks left in there were men, and I doubt any of them were named Cassidy.”
“That’s very astute of you…”
“Midas,” I reminded her. “Midas Demopolis.”
“That’s very astute of you, Midas. Yes, my name is Cassidy, but I don’t think this is right for me. I think you guys are looking for supernatural encounters, and that’s really not what is happening to me. At least, I don’t think it is.”
“I’d like to hear about your experience. Not all paranormal activity involves ghosts, you know. And maybe what you have encountered is more common than you think.”
To that, she gave a hearty laugh. “Oh, I doubt it.” Her voice took on a mocking tone, but I could sense that wasn’t how she really felt. She was weighing me out, trying to determine if I was serious or not. The more she talked, the more I wanted to hear her story. This girl had a secret, and the residue of the supernatural clung to her like an invisible wrapping paper.
We stood awkwardly on the sidewalk for a minute and I said, “I am sure we all seem a bit silly to you. Believe me, I’ve heard it all before, ‘What’s a bunch of adults doing traipsing around old houses looking for ghosts or lurking around swamps looking for cryptids? They must believe in fairy tales.’ My answer to that is not everything that happens to us can be explained away with science or found in the pages of a textbook, Cassidy. Sometimes things happen to us and there is no explanation. At least not a ‘reasonable’ one. That’s where we come in. We’re here to help.”
She breathed a visible sigh of relief and then quickly added, “If I did talk to one of you, I wouldn’t want to be on television or on any social media sites. I want my privacy. It is important to me. I’ve been through enough.”
I believed every word she said. And she did have a story I wanted to hear. I studied her face. Cassidy had lush red hair, the rare sort of red that many women tried for at the beauty salon but rarely achieved. She had almond-shaped green eyes that were almost hazel and I bet were changeable with her moods. She had an oval-shaped face with even lips that probably turned up into a beautiful smile. But I got the feeling she didn’t smile much.
“I can appreciate that. How do you feel about going for a cup of coffee? There’s Demeter’s on the corner. No strings. If you feel like talking, you can. If not, you can go home and I’ll never bother you again.”
She chewed her bottom lip and looked intently up into my face. I was easily a foot taller than she was; I hoped she didn’t feel intimidated by my size.
“All right. Just coffee. No promises.”
“Great. Let’s go.” We walked along the broken sidewalk to the coffee shop; it was only a block away. She shoved her hands in her pockets and tossed her hair behind her shoulders. “You aren’t what I expected, Midas Demopolis. None of you are.”
I laughed at that. “What do you mean? That we’re not covered in gadgets or wearing pocket protectors?”
“No.” For the first time, I saw the glimmer of a wistful smile. “It’s not that. And for the record, ‘nerdiness’ doesn’t bother me. It’s just that I believe you guys really care about the people who come to see you. I wasn’t expecting that.”
“Well, thanks, and we do care. Encounters with the supernatural can be truly terrifying if you don’t understand what’s happening. I wouldn’t do this if I didn’t care.” I couldn’t explain to her how true that was. I’d taken a lot of heat from my rather extensive family over my “hobby,” as they liked to call it. In the Demopolis family, I was little better than my cousin Gordon, the funeral director. But then again my family had a deep aversion for the mystical. They were very religious—Greek Orthodox—and they liked to remind me every holiday and family event that by dabbling with the paranormal I endangered my immortal soul.
I believed just the opposite. I believed that by helping others find answers I was redeeming it. And in ways they wouldn’t understand.
Cassidy and I paused outside Demeter’s, and I followed her lead. I didn’t want to force her to talk or come inside. Sometimes you have to decide these things for yourself.
With a cautious voice, she said, “Okay, I’m ready to talk, Midas Demopolis. I don’t know why, but I’m willing to trust you with my deepest, darkest secret. That isn’t something I do every day. I want you to know that.”
“I believe you, Cassidy.”
“Great. But I’m warning you, this might be a first. I guarantee you haven’t heard anything like this before.”
“Challenge accepted,” I said, trying to lighten up her sudden intensity. Man, it was getting cold out here.
“And one more thing,” she said as we lingered by the door. I could see our breath now. Was it supposed to be this cold tonight? “Coffee is on me.”
“Well, that truly will be a first,” I replied with a smile. Together we stepped inside Demeter’s, and I was glad to leave the chilly air behind us.
Chapter Six—Cassidy
The old man who ran the coffee shop was definitely a fan of Midas’. He greeted him with smiles and talked a mile a minute in what I assumed was Greek. He tapped Midas’ cheeks and slapped his muscular arms as he scolded him playfully. Occasionally he waved at me, and Midas held up his end of the conversation.
The man suddenly turned his attention to me. “My manners. This is my grandson who doesn’t call his grandpa in three days. I worry for him. You understand?” He had a halo of white curls and a wide, genuine smile. He was significantly shorter than Midas, but he also had a stout build and looked like he could take care of himself in a scrape if the occasion called for it. Midas took all the attention in stride, not seeming the least bit embarrassed by it all. At least his grandfather was a pleasant fellow. The whole inte
raction ended with him kissing the top of Midas’ head. “I bring you coffees.”
“My grandfather. He’s my biggest fan. We call him Papa Angelos.”
“I can tell how proud he is.”
“Do you have family here? Are you from Mobile, Cassidy?”
“Yes, Mobile is home. As far as family goes, I have an uncle and my grandfather. My grandfather's in a home in West Mobile. He doesn’t always remember my name.” Geesh, what a downer, Cassidy. Feel sorry for yourself much?
“I’m sorry to hear that. It must be lonely at times.”
“At times, but I don’t mind so much.” I couldn’t help but compare Midas to Mike. This was the point in the conversation where Mike would search for a mirror or some window he could look at. That guy did enjoy looking at himself. Midas didn’t appear preoccupied with himself or his looks, which was a surprise. How could someone so dang handsome not also be shallow and self-involved?
It was nice hanging out with a guy who didn’t constantly bring the conversation back around to himself. Instead, my surprise coffee “date” focused his warm, brown eyes on me and answered every question I tossed his way without hesitation. I was beginning to feel like a newspaper reporter. I couldn’t stop myself from asking him the what, who, where and why of it all.
“Have you been doing this long, Midas? Investigating the paranormal, I mean.”
“It’s been a while. Officially we began Gulf Coast Paranormal five years ago, but I was interested in the unseen long before that. I had my own experience when I was twelve.” He laid his phone on the table, but not before turning it on mute and flipping the display upside down. I slipped my hand into my jacket pocket and put my phone on silent too. Not that anyone would call me, but he was being so polite that I wanted to return the favor. He sipped his black coffee, which was quite frankly the most delicious coffee I’d ever had, while I dosed mine heavily with sugar and creamer. No wonder Midas was so muscular. He struck me as the kind of guy who had a lot of personal discipline. “How do you fight the fear associated with the paranormal, or do you not have any?”
Midas smiled, showing impossibly white teeth. “Of course I do. I’m as human as anyone. Fear is a part of it. But with practice and a focus on the science, you can deal with it and keep it under control. Maybe that’s why there are so many investigative teams nowadays with all this amazing technology. Having a competent team of investigators around you helps.”
“I see.” I was running out of questions to ask, or at least questions that I didn’t feel weird about asking. He didn’t pressure me and asked if I wanted another cup of coffee. “No, I have a hard time sleeping already. I can’t seem to get my schedule straight.” I pushed the empty cup away, leaned forward on my elbows and interlaced my fingers. “There are a couple of things you should know about me. My little sister disappeared four years ago, when she was twelve. That’s when all this began.”
“I’m listening.” He slid his cup to the side and leaned back against the booth seat.
“I paint—and draw. Once in a while, about every three months or so, I have a dream…no. That’s not it…it’s more like a vision. I see images in my mind, and then I wake up with this compulsion to draw or paint them. It’s like I have to get them down on paper and can’t do anything else until I’ve recorded what I have seen. I’ve lost friends because of this, and now my job.”
“Well, that is unique. I can see where that would interrupt your life. Tell me about the experience.”
I tapped the table, wondering how to answer him. “What do you mean?”
“Well, are there any other phenomena that occurred before these sessions? Like a feeling? A smell? Anything?”
I frowned as I mentally scanned through experiences. “I don’t think so; nothing obvious. Maybe I should think about that.”
He smiled confidently. “We can come back to that. Tell me how you feel during the experience. Use just one word.”
“Feel?” I wasn’t prepared to talk about my feelings. Not like this. “I guess the word would be ‘focused.’” He nodded and I continued, “It’s like I’m feeling what they feel—and they want to be remembered. They want me to see them. How do you explain that?”
“I can’t.”
“Neither can I. Last night it happened again. I painted a woman in pre-Civil-War clothing, a dark-skinned man and an old house.”
Midas glanced at his grandfather behind the counter and raised his finger. The man responded by bringing us two glasses of water. I sipped the water and continued. I had to admit I felt much more comfortable now than I had when I first came in, despite the caffeine injection.
“I knew you’d been painting.” He pointed at my stained fingers. I hid them in my jacket out of habit. “I didn’t mean to embarrass you. I have a bad habit of noticing things other people don’t pay attention to.”
It was my turn to look amused. “I guess that’s why you became an investigator.”
He smiled again, and it was a thing of beauty. I tried not to stare at his flawless skin and the shimmering silver chain at his neck.
“Probably so.”
After a few awkward moments of fidgeting in my seat, I asked, “Do you have any other questions for me yet?”
“Not yet. Please continue, Cassidy. I want you to tell me whatever you want me to know.”
I cleared my throat nervously. My hands felt sweaty in my coat pockets. “Okay. Today I had to go to the Laundromat. I met Joshua, the guy on your team. Well, I didn’t actually meet him, but he was there. I saw your flyer on the bulletin board. When I got ready to go, I took it with me. Well, while I was waiting for my laundry to finish, I remembered some of the things the woman in the painting was thinking. See, this time was a little different. I touched the painting when I was done, and it was like I was there. I was her—the woman in the painting. She was a prisoner; her husband, Bernard Davis was his name, he kept her a prisoner in their house. It was a big house they used to call Oak Grove Plantation, off Kali Oka Road. The man, the one with the dark skin, was sent to find her. And there was this owl. It was like the thing was trained or something because it swooped down on her. It tore at her hair…I know I’m babbling.”
“Take your time.” He did seem interested, and he’d leaned forward on the table. We were only inches apart.
“Oh, wait. I’ve got some pictures of the house on my phone. Or a picture of what’s left.” I tugged at my phone and opened the browser. “Here. This is the house. And I painted it before I ever saw it. Only it looks a bit different in the painting. It’s not a ruin in the painting; it’s a new house.” I handed him the phone and watched him survey the photos. “Please tell me you believe me. This is so different from the other experiences I’ve had, but this is the first time I’ve touched a painting of an image I’d seen.”
He slid my phone back to me and stared at me. Those dark eyes searched mine, like Midas was trying to find the answer to a question.
“What’s your last name, Cassidy?”
“It’s Wright. I’m Cassidy Wright.”
“And your sister?”
“Kylie. Kylie Starr Wright. Why? Have you heard of her? Tell me you haven’t seen her as a…” I couldn’t even say the word.
“Oh no. Nothing like that. I’m just gathering information. Have you ever heard of Oak Grove before? Maybe visited there or read about it on the Internet?”
I licked my lips, which suddenly felt extremely dry. Maybe it was the weather. “I have never been there and never heard about it. Only read about it today, when I was looking up the things I remembered from the vision. I swear I’m not lying. You said you would believe me.” I couldn’t stop the desperation from rising.
“I do believe you, but you might not believe this.” He flipped his phone over and opened his camera app. “This is why I was late to the meeting tonight. I was taking pictures for an upcoming investigation. It’s the same house, off Kali Oka Road. Oak Grove Plantation.”
“Seriously?” I said ent
irely too loudly. I flipped through his pictures, astonished at what I saw. This couldn’t be happening. “What does this mean? That I would see it and you would go there? And we don’t even know each other. I mean, we know each other now, but…you know what I mean.”
He nodded seriously. “And Josh never mentioned it to you?”
“No. He just introduced himself and said GCP was legit.”
Midas tapped the table with his fingers. “How would you feel about coming to our team meeting tomorrow? We’re going to discuss the Kali Oka Road investigation. Maybe bring your painting or take a picture of it and bring that. Tell the team what you’ve seen, and we can compare notes. Sierra’s been researching the place. You might be surprised at what you hear.”
“I don’t know. I should probably look for a job. I need to get a handle on my life.”
He shoved his phone in his jacket pocket and squeezed my hand. It wasn’t creepy; it was affirming, and I found that I didn’t mind it at all. “This is how you do that, Cassidy. Learn how to use your gift, or it will control your life.” He released my hand with a wistful look. “Come see what we do. At the very least you might get some clues about the people in your painting.”
“Can I think about it and let you know something in the morning?” I probably wouldn’t go, but I couldn’t tell him no to his face. And that bothered me. Midas seemed so sincere in his desire to help me.
“Sure. Hand me your phone again.” I did as he asked and watched him put his phone number in my contacts. “Let me know something by ten.”
“All right.”
“And think about it first, Cassidy. Don’t just say no because it’s easier.” He got up from the booth and extended a hand to me.
The Ghosts of Kali Oka Road (Gulf Coast Paranormal Book 1) Page 4