Dead Air

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Dead Air Page 10

by Michelle Schusterman

“Crackly?” Jamie repeated. But before Hailey could respond, the lightbulb overhead flickered.

  For a few seconds, everyone stared at it apprehensively. Dad and Jess held their flashlights up, and Mi Jin lifted the camera. Then the flickering stopped, and the bulb stayed on.

  Lidia slumped over, and Roland and Sam both reached for her. “It’s fine, I’m fine . . .”

  “Get her upstairs and get the front desk to call a doctor to check her out,” Jess ordered Roland, who nodded as he helped Lidia to her feet. Jess turned to Dad. “Can you take Kat and Oscar to their rooms? I’ll bring these two up and tell Thomas what’s going on. Jack, Roland, Sam, Mi Jin—meet back down here in an hour.”

  “No, please let us stay!” Hailey cried. “We won’t leave the cell, I swear!”

  Jess shook her head, her face tense. “Sorry, kiddo. We don’t want any of you to get hurt. I’m sure your dad will agree.”

  Hailey opened her mouth angrily, but Jamie put his hand on her arm and shook his head.

  “I want the doctor to check Kat and Hailey out, too,” Dad said tersely. “Mi Jin, as well. They were all pretty . . . out of it there for a minute.”

  “I just got dizzy, it’s not a big deal,” Hailey muttered, and my cheeks started to feel warm. At least she and Mi Jin hadn’t thought they’d seen Sonja. Maybe I had a concussion or something.

  Jess nodded in agreement. “I’ll be in to check on Lidia as soon as I talk to Thomas,” she added to Roland. Her face softened when she turned to Lidia. “Sure you’re okay?”

  Lidia smiled weakly, her eyes downcast. “Same old, same old. I’m fine.”

  Same old, same old? What, did she regularly turn into centuries-old dead women? But I kept my mouth shut. I was still light-headed, and the whole experience already seemed so distant and dreamlike . . . Had I really seen Sonja?

  I tuned out the chatter as we all headed back up to the theater. In the hotel lobby, I waved good-bye to Jamie and Hailey before Jess herded them off to their room, promising to bring the doctor around to each of us. As the elevator doors slid shut, I watched Roland ring the front desk bell impatiently while Sam guided Lidia to the sofa. “I’m fine, stop making a fuss,” she said lightly. “You know how this goes, Sam . . .”

  The elevator lurched, then started to rise. Dad stared straight ahead, a tiny muscle twitching in his cheek. I knew what that meant. Grandma called it his “patience timer.” When that twitch started, it meant his patience had just about run out.

  I swallowed. “Is Lidia really okay?” I asked Oscar, just to break the silence. He nodded, though he looked a bit shaken.

  “Yeah. This happens sometimes.”

  “What is this, exactly?” I asked carefully. “I mean, what happened to her back there?”

  He glanced at me. “Seizure. Wasn’t it? You were there, not me. You saw her.”

  “Um . . . I guess, yeah.”

  The doors opened, and we followed Dad off the elevator. “I’m sure they’ll be sending Lidia up soon,” Dad said as Oscar swiped his key card. Oscar glanced at me, opened his mouth, closed it, and shut the door in my face.

  “Well, good night to you, too,” I muttered. Dad stayed silent until we reached our room. The door clicked closed behind him, and he turned to face me.

  “Kat . . .”

  “I’m sorry,” I said immediately. “I know you said to stay there, but I—”

  “Snuck off anyway,” Dad interrupted. “Want to give me the short version of what happened?”

  I swallowed hard. “I saw a light and . . . I guess I thought it might be Lidia or Sam. I wasn’t going to go any farther than the end of the tunnel, I swear. But then I, um . . .” I couldn’t say it. I just couldn’t tell Dad I’d seen Sonja Hillebrandt. “I tripped and hit my head and fell into that cell,” I finished lamely.

  “Okay.” Dad eyed me in a way that suggested he wasn’t buying my story. “We’re filming until five. You’ve got my cell number?”

  “Yeah.”

  “We’ll talk about this more tomorrow,” Dad said. “And we’ll come up with a set of new and improved ground rules that, if you’re lucky, won’t involve me hiring a bodyguard to shadow your every move.”

  I sighed. “Sure.”

  “Kat, look at me.”

  Steeling myself, I lifted my eyes to meet his.

  “If this adventure of ours is going to work,” Dad said, “I need to know I can trust you.”

  My throat suddenly felt hot, so I just nodded.

  “Good night, Kat.”

  “’Night.”

  As soon as the door closed, I flopped back on my bed and stared at the ceiling. My eyes ached with exhaustion, but no way was I sleeping tonight. Not after I’d seen a ghost. Or hallucinated that I’d seen a ghost. I wasn’t sure which thought was more alarming.

  Now that the fuzziness in my head had faded, I went over every detail in my mind. Lidia’s sweater and jeans. Sonja’s soft smile. Sonja’s features were smaller, delicate. Lidia’s were more angular, more defined. They didn’t look alike. I’d seen Sonja clearly, zoomed in on her face, the locket around her neck—

  Gasping, I shot up off the bed and jammed my hand in my pocket. The camera!

  My fingers trembled as I flipped the Elapse on and started to scroll. There was Lidia’s locket with the engraved L, and after that, the image of Sonja standing on the other side of the bars . . .

  I held the camera close to my eyes in disbelief. The clarity wasn’t great, but it was enough for me to see that the woman was definitely, absolutely, without a doubt Lidia.

  Had I really somehow hallucinated Sonja? Was this all part of the “entertainment”? I had no idea how Lidia could have done all that, with the light and her floating hair and the static electricity . . . It was hard to imagine the crew pulling off that kind of hoax.

  I stared at the photo for nearly a minute before I noticed what was next to Lidia. A sort of shape in the air next to her, a strange blur . . .

  My heart pounded in my ears. It was faint, but unmistakable—and on a computer screen, it would be even more obvious.

  The outline of a boy. I had a photo of a real, actual ghost.

  Wasting no time, I grabbed Dad’s laptop and plugged my camera in. Jess would bring the doctor up soon, but first I had a post to write.

  Maybe Jamie and Hailey were right—with this photo, my blog could be the “something new” P2P needed to stay on the air.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  THE THING 2: BACK FOR BLOOD

  From: [email protected]

  To: [email protected]

  Subject: Phone call?

  Hi, KitKat,

  I miss your voice! How’s everything? Want to chat tomorrow? Don’t worry about the time zone, you know I’m a night owl.

  Love, Grandma

  Sunlight streamed through the window, heating my face until I sat up and threw the covers off. In the bed next to me, Dad was chainsaw-snoring away. I glanced at the clock—almost eleven. I wondered what time the crew had finally finished.

  Twenty minutes and one hot shower later, I stood in front of Oscar and Lidia’s door. Lifting my hand, I hesitated before knocking twice, very, very lightly.

  “What are you doing?”

  Startled, I swiveled around to see Oscar stepping off the elevator holding an armful of chip bags from the vending machines. “I, uh . . .” I felt flustered. Then I felt irritated for feeling flustered. “I wanted to see if Lidia was okay.”

  “She’s sleeping right now.” Oscar stopped in front of the door, but made no move to take out his key. “She has this heart condition.”

  I nodded. “Yeah, she told me.”

  “Every once in a while she has these . . . seizures. She has pills for it, but it still happens.”

  “Right.” I pressed my lips together, thinking. After a few
seconds, Oscar sat cross-legged on the floor and gave me an expectant look. Sighing, I slid down the wall next to him and stretched my legs out. My stomach growled loudly. Oscar held out a bag of chips.

  “Thanks.” I took it, eyeing him suspiciously. “Why are you being nice all of a sudden?”

  “Because you look like you’ve seen a ghost,” Oscar deadpanned, and I smiled despite myself.

  “You have no idea.”

  “Sure I do.” Oscar crammed several chips in his mouth. “Sonja.”

  I gaped at him. “Wait—you saw her, too?”

  Swallowing, Oscar shook his head. “You said Sonja. Last night, when you were on the floor in the cell. Everyone heard you.” He cleared his throat. “And I don’t think you think Aunt Lidia had a seizure. So what happened?”

  I ripped open my bag, debating how much to tell him. Really, I shouldn’t have been confiding in him at all—we hadn’t gotten along from the moment we met. But as much as I hated to admit it, Roland was right about us being alike. Oscar didn’t believe in ghosts any more than I did. I had to tell someone what had really happened, and I wanted to tell someone who thought the same way I did.

  I took a deep breath. “I saw her.”

  “Sonja?”

  “Yeah.” I stared at my chips. “She tried to put me in a cell, like she did with Mi Jin and Hailey. But when I took a picture of her, she, um . . . Look, I know this sounds insane, but one second she was Sonja and then she was Lidia.”

  “Does she look like Sonja in the picture?”

  “Nope, she looks like Lidia,” I admitted. “Right after I took the picture, Sonja sort of . . . um, stepped out of Lidia’s body, and disappeared.”

  “Like she was possessed or something?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Okay.”

  I glanced at him. “You don’t believe me, right?”

  Oscar chewed slowly. “I believe you think you saw Sonja,” he said at last, and I almost laughed. That was exactly what I’d thought about Jamie and Hailey with the Ouija board. Pretty soon I’d be on my way to Planet Nutjob with half the fans in the forum.

  “There’s something else.” I flicked a crumb off my shirt. “There was another ghost—the shape of a person next to her. A boy. You can see him in the photo.”

  “A shape?” Oscar repeated. “What do you mean?”

  Standing, I brushed off my legs. “Come on, I’ll show you.”

  Half a minute later, we stepped off the elevator and walked down the hall to room 301. Oscar had already pulled Lidia’s key card from his pocket when I pointed ahead.

  “Door’s open. Someone’s already in there.”

  “Can’t you just get your dad’s laptop?” Oscar asked.

  “And risk waking him up?” I made a face. “I’m trying to put the lecture off for as long as possible, thanks. Maybe whoever’s in there isn’t using the laptop.”

  I pushed the door open a little, then all the way. The room was empty. Oscar and I glanced at each other, shrugged, and walked inside.

  “Carlos? It’s Roland.”

  At the sound of Roland’s voice, my heart leaped into my throat. I shoved Oscar into the bathroom just as Roland stepped into view over by the closet, cell phone pressed against his ear.

  “What’s wrong with you?” Oscar hissed, and I flapped my hand at him to be quiet. I pushed the bathroom door closed, leaving it cracked so we could still hear Roland’s conversation as he paced the room.

  “Look, I know it’s been a while, but I’m trying to get in touch with Emily and I was wondering if you . . .” There was a long pause, and Roland sighed. “I know, and I don’t blame you. I tried to . . . No, I really did, and . . . Carlos, would you just stop for a second and . . . That wasn’t how it . . . Okay, listen.”

  Oscar and I glanced at each other. Roland was just outside the bathroom door.

  “It’s going to happen again, Carlos.” His voice was low and dangerous. “The curse, or whatever you want to call it . . . No, I’ll take care of that, believe me. I just need to find Emily. Look, I know you’re angry with me, but frankly, I don’t care. I need you to—” He stopped abruptly, then muttered an impressive string of swear words. A few seconds later I saw him through the crack, slipping his phone into his pocket on his way past the bathroom. I waited until I heard the door click closed before exhaling.

  “You,” Oscar announced. “Are. Insane.”

  “Possibly,” I agreed, stepping out of the bathroom. “Who cares, it was worth it. Now we know the truth about the stupid host curse.”

  “We do?”

  I stared at Oscar in disbelief. “Weren’t you listening? Roland told Carlos the curse was going to happen again! He said I’ll take care of that. It really is just a publicity stunt.” I shook my head. “And it sounded like he was trying to get Carlos to help him, even though he got him fired. No wonder Carlos hung up on—ah!”

  The hotel door slammed into my arm. Rubbing my elbow, I spun around and found myself staring into Jamie’s wide blue eyes.

  “Sorry!” he said quickly. “Are you okay?”

  “I’m fine,” I replied in what was probably an overly casual voice. Jamie smiled and my anger dissipated. (Well, mostly. Oscar was still snickering at me.)

  “What are you guys doing in here?” Jamie asked.

  Oscar didn’t miss a beat. “Spying on Roland because Ms. Conspiracy thinks he cursed the show.”

  “You think so, too,” I shot back, irritated. “You heard what Roland said.” Oscar shrugged and I checked the hallway before closing the door. “Where’s Hailey?”

  “No way she’ll be up before noon,” Jamie said. “She was awake till almost five talking about your post.”

  It was a moment before I realized what he was talking about. “You read my post about Sonja already?” I asked, trying not to sound too flattered.

  Jamie nodded. “Well, we figured you’d blog about it. Hailey kept refreshing the page until you posted. That picture is amazing.”

  “Yeah, that’s what I wanted to show Oscar.” I sat down behind the laptop, ignoring Oscar’s loud, weary sigh. When I saw what was already on the screen, my mouth fell open.

  P2P FAN FORUMS

  Do you believe? Think again.

  Anonymous

  All you’re watching is a bunch of morons hanging out in the dark faking sound effects. You’ve got a better chance of talking politics with a Chihuahua than Sam Sumners does of actually contacting a spirit.

  Want proof? I’ve got it. Stay tuned to this thread to find out why this entire show is a sham.

  skEllen [member]

  OMG DO NOT TALK ABOUT SAM LIKE THAT HE IS PERFECT I MET HIM ONCE AND HE TOLD ME DOCTOR MEW DIDN’T BLAME ME FOR GETTING HIT BY THAT CAR SO HOW DO U EXPLAIN THAT????!!!!1!!!!11!!!!!!!!

  Maytrix [admin]

  Boys and girls, we’ve got ourselves a troll!

  AntiSimon [member]

  Who’s Doctor Mew?

  skEllen [member]

  MY CAT. HE DIED LAST YEAR AND SAM CONTACTED HIM FOR ME.

  YourCohortInCrime [member]

  I’m listening, Anon. Enlighten me.

  AntiSimon [member]

  Don’t feed the troll, YCIC. Sorry about your cat, Ellen.

  “It’s Roland,” I whispered. “Anonymous is Roland. Look at the time—it was just posted an hour ago. He must’ve done it before we came in. And then he called Carlos.”

  “Carlos Ortiz?” Jamie asked, and Oscar filled him in on Roland’s phone call.

  I drummed my fingers on the desk. “The first time I met Roland, he admitted they fake stuff sometimes. He said, ‘We do our best to make things entertaining.’ Like the host curse.”

  Jamie frowned. “So you really think Roland actually fired all the other hosts?”

  “I think he set them up, yea
h,” I said, relieved he was taking me seriously. “It started with Emily. She was in love with Sam, but Roland was in love with her. He was jealous—that’s what my grandma says, anyway, and I think she’s right. So he got her fired, and the ratings went up because everyone was wondering what happened to her. Then Carlos . . .” I paused, thinking. “Carlos was fired for writing that exposé about the show, but he denied writing it. And he didn’t—because Roland wrote it. He knew ratings would shoot up again if they lost another host.”

  “What about Bernice?” Jamie wondered. “They never explained why she left.”

  “Grandma said she was afraid of her own shadow,” I said slowly. “That’s why she only lasted four episodes. I asked Roland about her, too—he just said she got freaked out and left. He must have scared her off somehow. And now he’s stirring things up in the forums because the show’s probably going to get canceled after Halloween.”

  “But Roland asked Carlos if he knew where Emily was, remember?” Oscar said. “After he said he’d take care of the curse, he said, ‘I just need to find Emily.’ That doesn’t make sense.”

  I gazed at the screen, dread settling like a rock in the pit of my stomach.

  “Yes it does.”

  “It does?” Jamie glanced at the screen, too. “How?”

  “The host curse,” I said quietly. “My dad’s next—two episodes, right? Then he’s gone. But Fright TV wants to cancel the whole show after Halloween—two episodes from now. Unless something big happens.” I swallowed. “Roland knows he can’t keep doing the host curse. That’s why he’s looking for Emily. He wants to bring her back.”

  Oscar squinted at me. “What, to be the host again?” When I nodded, he laughed. “Why would that work? Most fans hate her!”

  “Exactly!” I said. “They hate her, but they love gossiping about her. Haven’t you seen those old threads in the forum? She loved Sam, Sam was clueless, Roland was jealous . . . The fans love all the drama, you know?”

  “That’s true,” Jamie admitted. “Although . . . if Roland’s in love with Emily, why would he want to bring her back when Sam’s still on the show?”

  I frowned. “Maybe he thinks she’s over Sam?”

 

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