“Smell anything?” Zach asked.
Rebecca took a series of measured inhalations in various directions. “Nothing but old plaster and dust. You?”
Because the camera was filming, he only replied, “I don’t smell or sense anything unusual in here.” What he couldn’t say was that he thought Bryce was crazy…or worse.
“Something has been bothering me about this case,” Rebecca said in hushed tones.
Before heading back down to the lobby, they’d stopped in a few rooms on the third floor, but hadn’t experienced anything unusual.
“What’s that?”
“The fires and the suicides—spirits of those who’ve committed suicide are very confused. There have been cases where they’ve even believed that during their lifetimes they were murderers, even though they weren’t.”
“Yes,” Zach said. “Remember when we first set up XPI and we encountered that case in—was it Joliet?
“Lockport,” Rebecca corrected.
“Right. That guy had committed suicide and his spirit was inadvertently haunting his wife and child—”
“Yes, believing that he’d killed them too. It’s fairly common with suicidal haunts. Their reality becomes a mishmash world of confusion and misunderstanding,” Rebecca said. “And there is a greater danger.”
“The confused spirits are more susceptible to demons,” Zach said.
“Demons and evil spirits, ghosts wishing to be demons who recruit them for some malevolent purpose.”
Zach was unfamiliar with that particular phenomenon. “Like what?”
“They’re called ‘Soul Snatchers’ or ‘Soul Collectors.’ Their aim is to build an army of the dead—sometimes both the living and the dead.”
“Why?”
“Sometimes there’s a motivation behind it, but usually it’s just an obsession to prove they can do it. The power, the control of it.”
Zach placed his hand on the cold plaster wall. A century of grime had made it sticky to the touch. The complexity of the case was unlike any other he’d faced. The fires, strong evidence of spirits, Evelyn’s information and confusing history, not to mention Sashza’s negative forecasts, added up to one inevitable conclusion. If Hunter’s reading didn’t clarify the situation, Zach would need to induce an episode and utilize its powers. He shuddered. Summoning his visions carried consequences—serious ones, which he’d rather not face during an investigation this large in scale. Precautions would need to be taken.
His wrists throbbed as they sometimes did when he thought about his episodes.
He pressed thoughts of them away. Not only were they making him anxious, the mere act of remembering an episode increased the chances that one could accidentally occur.
“Tomorrow,” he said to Rebecca, “before you talk to Mrs. Radkey, could you do some more research on these ‘Soul Snatchers’?”
“Sure.”
“Maybe prepare a little presentation for the group?”
“Do I have to?”
Unlike Wendy, Rebecca detested giving on-air speeches.
“I think you’re the most qualified to present it.”
Rebecca sighed and continued panning the room with the EMF meter. It sometimes took a while for her to relent.
Zach had found flattery the best angle to use. “I always enjoy when you share your paranormal expertise with us. I’m sure our viewers learn a lot from you. I’d hate to deprive them.”
Sometimes a little bit of guilt did the trick too.
“Okay, I’ll do it.” She acted as though public speaking might kill her. “You just don’t get how hard it is for me.”
She had no idea that Zach was preparing to bear his own cross.
Zachary’s Past—Age 7
“Za-aach? Zach!”
Gary Kalusky shook his son. Later, he would wonder if he had shaken him too hard.
“Zachary Thomas!”
The boy needed to get to a hospital, but fucking Christ, how would he explain this? Worst of all, he didn’t know if these wounds were self inflicted or if his mother had, in one of her states, administered them. And Gary didn’t know which scenario frightened him more. He picked up Zach’s limp body and cradled him in his arms like an infant.
Crybaby idiots on the radio were always singing about their damn hearts breaking. None of them could ever put into words what it really felt like. He clutched his son, his only son, wrapped him in a blanket and carried him to his car. Gary gently laid Zach on the passenger seat and carefully strapped the seatbelt across him.
Despite driving at faster speeds than he ever had in his life, those first few blocks seemed to last an eternity.
Then Zach stirred.
“Uncle Henry?” he called out.
“Shhhh, Zach,” Gary said. “We’re on our way to get help.”
“Daddy.” His son’s voice sounded so content, so peaceful, that it helped Gary focus his thoughts. At 95th street he needed to make a decision—an important one. A right turn led him straight to Christ Hospital. A left hand turn would—
“Daddy, take me to church?”
With the vehicle stopped at the red light, Zach had opened his eyes and realized where they were. His drawn, pale face had a death-like quality, but his green eyes were vibrant and alive. At the moment, he looked much older than a boy two weeks away from making his first communion.
“Zach, you’re sick. We’ve got to get you to a hospital.”
“No hospital.”
“Buddy, church is your mom’s thing, not mine. When you’re sick—”
“I’m not sick. I’ll be okay, Dad. It’s happened before…lots of times.”
Behind them a car honked. The light had turned green. Gary motioned out the window for the driver to go around them. As the vehicle passed, Gary flicked a one-fingered salute.
“I promise,” Zach continued, “I’ll be okay.”
Before turning left, as though it was a condition for taking him to the church, Gary said, “Zachary, your mother must never, never, never find out about this.”
“Don’t worry, Dad, I know.”
His son understood that his mom wouldn’t be able to cope with something like this. Not now. Not ever. That’s why Zach had hidden in the garage; he knew his mom wouldn’t find him there.
Gary sped recklessly toward Saint Francis of Assisi. He’d take Zach to Monsignor Macginty. Gary didn’t attend services, but he’d met Macginty on a number of occasions. The old priest would know what to do; how to help Zach get a handle on this…thing. Some things are better turned over to priests, not spoken of again—buried.
As he pulled up to the rectory, Gary made what turned out to be his final, direct comment about Zach’s affliction.
“You need to find a way to control this thing, Zachary.”
Chapter Seventeen
Pierre and Matthew seemed to have mended fences and were working together in the lobby. Next to the command center were a number of drained beer bottles. Zach suspected the beer may have contributed to them bonding. Angel was asleep in a nearby tent; he’d be working a later shift.
Zach pulled Matthew out of earshot of the others. “Hey, go easy on the drinking tonight, okay?”
Matthew looked back at the bottles. “Oh, that’s all him, boss.”
Zach’s reaction must have shown doubt.
Matthew got closer and whispered. “Boss, I swear, I haven’t had a drink.”
His breath was honest—it was bad, smelled of garlic-laden salsa, but sober.
“Okay,” Zach said. “Keep an eye on him.”
Matthew nodded and went back to the video control center.
Zach walked outside into the cool night air. The fireflies had long since called it a night, but the crickets remained in full harmony.
“Zach to Team Three. Come in Team Three.”
“Team Three is right behind you.” Patrizia’s voice played in stereo on the radio and behind him. She and Shelly had emerged from behind the Demon Hunter van.
&nbs
p; “Hi there. How’s it going?” he asked.
“Kind of boring so far,” Shelly said.
Patrizia nodded. “We got some EMF spikes in the administration building but that’s about it.
Zach shared his and Rebecca’s experiences.
Shelly shrugged. “There’s always tomorrow night. Besides, things might pick up when Hunter shows up. You know the effect he has on ghosts.”
While unscientific and unproven, there often did seem to be more paranormal activity on their investigations when Hunter was present.
Patrizia inched toward the Rosewood main door. “We should start in the basement. Right?”
“Sure.”
They entered the asylum, passing Rebecca who was on her way out. She carried the thermal cam. “Maybe we’ll get something with this outside—”
Shouts coming from inside one of the tents cut her off.
“Whoever the hell that is, cut it the fuck out!” Inside, Ray pounded outward on the tent wall.
“You okay, pal?” Zach called out.
“Zach, r’you screwing with me?”
“No. What’s going on?”
There was internal rustling and the whiz of the tent’s zipper. Ray popped his head out. “Who’s out here?”
“It’s just me and Rebecca.”
Ray stumbled out in shorts and a white tank top. “No one else? This whole time?”
“I’ve been at the asylum front door for a while. What’s up?”
Ray surveyed the landscape. “The tent—someone kept pounding on it. It felt like there were two people—one on each side.”
Zach peered around, but there was no one. “You’re sure it wasn’t just a dream?”
“I know the difference between a dream and someone almost knocking over my damn tent.”
“Easy. I was just…”
“I know what you were ‘just.’” Ray ran his hands over his face and through his hair. He sighed. “This wasn’t a dream. Trust me on that.”
“Tell us what happened from the beginning,” Rebecca said.
Ray shivered. Zach couldn’t tell if it was from the memory or the cool night air, but his friend didn’t ask for a sweatshirt. “You’re not filming this are you?”
“Do you want me to?” Zach asked.
“No.”
“Okay, then tell us before someone else walks up.”
“I woke up—I dunno, maybe a half hour or so ago. Someone was tapping on the outside of my tent. I asked who was there and the tapping stopped. No one said anything. I figured one of you guys had mixed up the tents and knocked at the wrong one.”
“Did you see what time it was?” Zach asked.
“No.”
“Did you fall back asleep?” Zach asked.
“Yes,” he said, squinting at him. “I dozed off, but I woke up about no less than ten minutes ago and have been awake since then, your honor.”
Zach waved his flashlight beam back and forth over the ground where Ray had indicated the activity had come from. “There’s some trampled high grass, but that could have happened when you set up the tent.”
“Go on, Ray” Rebecca said.
“The tapping woke me again. It was harder this time—less like a signal and more like someone trying to screw with my sleep. I called out a ‘knock it off’ and that’s when it really started. Pounding on one side then immediately on the other—like there was two of them. At first, I thought it was Matthew and Angel or maybe a couple of the Demon Hunters. I hollered for them to stop and when I hit back, that’s when the laughing started.”
“Laughing?” Zach and Rebecca said it in unison.
“Yes,” Ray said. “You guys didn’t hear it?”
Both shook their heads.
“It continued right up until I heard you guys calling out for me. The tent hitting kept going until just seconds before Zach asked if I was okay.”
“If it was anybody else but you, pal, I’d suspect it was a dream,” Zach said.
“Well it ain’t anybody else but me.”
Ray wasn’t prone to either drama or delusions, and he didn’t look like he’d just woken up. His eyes are clear, Zach thought. He’s focused and alert. Fired up even.
“Look, buddy.” Zack cocked his head to the side. “If you believe this was a real experience, go to the cameraman and get your account on tape. There’s one inside.”
“Where’s Sara?”
“She’s in the outskirt buildings with Bryce and Rico.”
Before Ray could indicate if he intended to go public with his story, Zach’s two-way radio buzzed.
“Team Three to Teams One and Two. Come in please,” Patrizia’s voice called across the radio lines.
“Team Two here,” Zach broadcast.
“Team One listening.”
“Please report to the Technical Command Post ASAP. Repeat. Please report to the Technical Command Post ASAP. Over.”
“Wilco.” Bryce’s voice sounded official.
“Be right in,” Zach said into the radio.
He stared at Ray. “Are you coming with us?”
“If I’m going to be up and alert enough to watch video at five o’clock, I’m gonna have to get some sleep. If I decide to tell my story on camera, I can do it just as well in the morning.”
“Aren’t you two supposed to be investigating the third floor?” Zach asked upon entering Rosewood’s lobby.
“Well hello to you too, Mr. Crabby.” Shelly said.
Patrizia snickered and then defiantly stuck her tongue out at him. This behavior was uncharacteristic of them. Something big must have happened—after a supernatural experience, investigators were often giddy.
Shelly continued. “Wait until you hear the EVPs we got in the basement!”
Matthew and Pierre were adjusting sound settings on the computer software program that evaluated the high frequency noises that often were undetectable to the human ear.
“Whatever happened to having our Evidence Review Team conduct an independent analysis?” Zach asked.
“We’re just playing the recording they took. We’re not altering it any,” Matthew said.
Before he could consider the implications of his underlings running the asylum, a blunt force hit Zach between the shoulder blades. From behind, a huge arm closed around his chest.
“Zachman!”
Bryce was panting. Zach smelled something on his co-host’s breath, not to mention in his jacket. It was sweet, pungent, herbal. Marijuana.
Zach broke free of his grip. “Did you guys sprint up here?”
“Came as fast as we could, my friend. We came just as fast as we could.” Rico’s eyes appeared equally as distant but he wasn’t as amped up as Bryce. It seemed he mellowed when he smoked weed.
“Dude, we got some killer EMF readings down there at the administration building,” Bryce said.
“That’s great.”
Pierre cracked open another beer and offered it to Shelly. She refused it. He left his arm extended with the bottle, but she continued to refuse. After the third refusal, he gulped down a third of the bottle.
Two high. One drunk, Zach thought. No wonder their ratings were so popular.
The pot smell neither dissipated nor faded, but rather was overwhelmed by the familiar scent of Sailor Black and Pierre’s pipe was nowhere in sight.
Listen to the recordings.
It was a good idea. It might help everyone calm down and refocus.
“Hey,” Zach said as loud as he dared. “Let’s listen to Shelly and Patrizia’s EVP recordings!”
A hearty Demon Hunter cheer of pounding fists and wild dog barks erupted around him. Even Shelly joined in. The cameraman was capturing this entire scene and, when the time came to edit the video, it would likely air as a bonding moment between the two teams. Zach had the sudden and terrifying image in his mind as Sara using it as a promo for the show.
“Let’s play that clip,” Zach instructed.
Matthew connected the laptop that had isolate
d and digitized the recording to large broadcast speakers that would allow them all to hear. He hit play and the recording began:
Shelly: Is anyone down here who wishes to contact us?
Female voice [series of noises] oooou
[pause]
Patrizia: Can you say something to us?
Female voice: [undistinguishable] eeet me.
Patrizia: Did you hear that?
Shelly: shhhhhh. Is that you? Can you speak?
Female voice: [undistinguishable] kk oooh [undistinguishable] eyre.
[barely audible chime and a loud bang]
Shelly (whispering): sounds like a door slammed.
Patrizia: Are you still there? Talk to us. Tell us who you are.
Silence and static.
“That’s it,” Shelly said. Her face beamed.
Patrizia looked proud, but a bit lost. Maybe she didn’t fully comprehend the recording’s significance.
“That’s evidence of an intelligent haunting,” Bryce said. “Awesome!”
Some of the evidence is tainted.
Tainted, Zach thought. Tainted with what? His uncle’s warning was rather cryptic and he didn’t know what to make of it.
“I want to listen again,” Zach said. “Did anyone pick up what she was saying?”
Rico raised his hand. “At one point I think she said, ‘Eat me,’ didn’t she?”
There were a few giggles and snickers.
“She didn’t say ‘eat me,’” Bryce said. “She said, ‘feed me.’”
Rebecca and Patrizia were the only ones besides Zach who apparently didn’t understand that quip. The rest laughed heartily.
“What’s so funny in here?” Sara with her cameraman in tow strolled into the lobby. “What are you clowns up to now?”
“Careful who you’re calling a clown, ya clown,” Bryce called out.
Zach knew before Sara got close enough to see it in her semi-vacant eyes. She was trying too hard to act casual, but still remain professional. It was as though she were attempting to play the part of herself instead of just being herself. He didn’t even need confirmation from the voice.
She smoked with them.
Ghosts of Rosewood Asylum Page 11