The Supernaturals

by David L. Golemon

  As Father Dolan drained the glass, the first flash of distant lightning illuminated the window, and ten seconds later he felt the rumble of thunder through the soles of his black shoes. He turned and looked at the bottle of Jack Daniels, and then quickly turned away. One drink was enough.

  As he let the curtain fall back into place, the room once more became dim and dreary. He stood motionless for the longest time, listening to the shower run. For the very first time in his many years in the priesthood, he was frightened. Frightened because of the man he knew Gabriel Kennedy to be. Kennedy was a man that feared nothing in the normal, everyday world. So if Summer Place frightened him, he knew there was something in that house that he himself should be very afraid of.

  Not since he had been a first year priest in Vietnam, had Father Dolan been so afraid to do what he knew was the right thing.

  Summer Place

  At nine o’clock in the morning, after forcing down a breakfast of cereal and coffee, Gabriel and his people entered Summer Place. Kennedy stood just inside the doorway with his eyes closed, taking in the smell of the large house. It was as if he was getting reacquainted once more with an old foe, or, Jennifer thought, an ex-wife—one whose marriage had ended horribly.

  Gabriel took the others on a tour of the first floor, where it seemed he was most comfortable. He didn’t seem frightened of the memories of that night seven years before; not until they started to climb the grand staircase to the second floor. His demeanor changed, then—it was like listening to a recorded voice as he explained the second floor to the group. As they climbed higher, Jennifer left John’s side to step up to Gabriel. Halfway up the stairs, he had stopped, unable to move another step toward the third floor. Jennifer took his hand. He swallowed and looked down at her face, filled with the early morning sunlight streaming in from the windows. Gabriel nodded his head and then took a step up. Then another and another, until he realized the house wasn’t going to do anything about their presence for now. He showed the others the room where the diva had vanished, and the wall where his student had disappeared. He was shocked to see the sewing room door standing wide open, as he had never seen that particular door unlocked before. He only gestured to the sewing room before turning away, stating that they had a lot of work to do.

  As the team moved away, John and George lingered, looking at the sewing room from about ten feet away. They were trying to get an impression of it, just as they had done the wall and the opera star’s room. They looked at each other and shrugged, then turned and followed the others back down the stairs. As they moved, the third floor hallway darkened, the window at the opposite end shut off from the sunlight outside. The clouds had started to move in.

  The sewing room door slowly closed and the lock turned on the inside with an audible click.

  The technical crew along with Gabriel, Jennifer, John and George assisted Leonard Sickles with the most bizarre electronics any of them had ever seen before. It took four hours to string what looked like nothing more than Christmas tree lights—small blue LEDs—along every hallway wall and staircase banister. Gabriel made his team reserve their questions for the end of Leonard’s strange run-through. At every point where Harris Dalton, along with Kelly Delaphoy, placed a night vision static camera, Leonard would be close behind to attach a small box with a lens to every stand. He explained that it was a spectral digital device that would not only pick up a color image of something that couldn’t be seen by the human eye, but an image that was etched in color by the variant air temperature, thus eliminating the need for an extra thermal cam placement next to the static night vision cameras.

  As Leonard looked over the final spectral placement, he saw Kelly Delaphoy standing nearby. She reached out to touch one of his black boxes and the small black man jumped, startling her.

  “That is one sensitive piece of equipment, you break it—you buy it.”

  “I already own it,” she said with a smirk.

  “The hell you do. Your network may have paid for the parts, but the patent is listed in my name. So, hands off.” Leonard’s eyes blazed a hole through Kelly.

  “I don’t see any hookup for a feed to the production truck,” she said, looking from Leonard to Gabriel. Everyone else, technicians and investigators alike, watched the small power play in silence.

  “That’s because there isn’t one,” Gabriel said. “The spectral cameras are for my team and their safety. If something shows up on one of these, it will be caught by Leonard down in the ballroom, and he’ll warn us. We would rather not have any surprises coming down the hallways at us if we can help it, and we would rather not be seen running like frightened school children by a national audience.”

  “But—”

  “But nothing. Leonard will be recording everything the spectrograph picks up. If and when I say so, you can put it on the air. Otherwise, it’s a warning device only.”

  Harris Dalton walked up and handed a coil of electrical wire to one of the technicians. “May I ask, why the Christmas lights?”

  Gabriel looked at Leonard and nodded.

  Leonard looked smug. “This is a special air density meter.” He removed one of the LEDs from the string of lights taped halfway up the wall, and held it up. “This looks like a normal Light Emitting Diode, but it isn’t. At the base is a small chip that measures air density, air temperature and humidity change, particulate matter disturbance, and air velocity.”

  “What?” Harris Dalton took the small blue diode from Leonard’s fingers and looked at it.

  “If something moves, it creates a disturbance in the air. I don’t give a damn if it’s a ghost or a freight train, if it’s physically in this world, it creates a disturbance. Even if it’s infinitesimal. The laws of physics say it has to obey, and my sensors will pick it up.”

  “You can track whatever it is when it moves?” Kelly looked impressed.

  “That’s right. If it’s moving down the hallway, or up or down the stairs, we can see it just like tracking runway lights at an airport. As it moves past one of my diodes, it will light up.”

  Leonard hooked up the connection to the electrical line that was snaked up and around all of the staircases and hallways. He then nodded at John Lonetree, who moved a few feet down the hallway. As he stepped down the center of the carpet runner, the small blue LEDs lit up as he passed.

  “It tracks everything. And before you even ask, it’s also patented.”

  Everyone, including Kelly and Harris, laughed. Leonard was enjoying showing everyone just how brilliant he was.

  “Now, can you explain the four computers down in the ballroom, besides the one you’re using for recording?” Kelly asked.

  “Leonard has connections at UCLA and USC in California. The operators out there are going to break into the Lindemann family records in Philadelphia and New York for photo archives and birth records. We have to do it as the show goes out live, since we never had the opportunity to investigate for ourselves. And before you ask, no, Wallace Lindemann does not know about this, and we would appreciate it not being mentioned, since computer theft is a crime.”

  “Why is all of that necessary?” Harris Dalton asked.

  “The reason why we’re all here tonight is because there is something in this house that is inherently evil, and the reason it is here is in those family records—maybe in the plans for the house, or in the property’s history, or even in the family’s past. Leonard will coordinate with the computer people at the two universities and then feed up information as it becomes available.”

  “Will we have access to that information for broadcast?” Kelly asked. She looked worried that Kennedy would keep the juicy stuff all for himself.

  Kennedy looked at his team and nodded his head. They agreed that since Julie and the network’s camera and sound men would be in the same danger as themselves, they deserved to hear anything that could be important.

  “Yes, Ms. Delaphoy, we’ll hook up a sound box so that Julie Reilly can hear everything we hear.
”

  “Thank you,” she said.

  “Now, I need to know about power. Do you have a backup for the electricity coming in from Metropolitan Edison?” Leonard asked.

  “Yes. We have three backup generators rated to cover everything on the property, plus the two production vans. They have a non-interruption contact start, meaning that there would be only a split second of light failure before the generators kicked in,” Harris said, looking proud. “It’s the same backup we use for sporting events.”

  “Sounds like we’ll have enough power in case that storm seriously hits us.”

  Kelly smiled at Gabriel. “As a matter of fact, our network meteorologist says we could be in for one of the largest storms of the year, hitting sometime after we go on the air.”

  “And this is good because?” Jennifer asked. She didn’t like the look that came across Kelly’s face at all.

  “Ambiance Ms. Tilden...ambiance. What’s better than a haunted house investigation on a dark and stormy night?”

  Kelly’s smile deepened and she moved past them. Harris Dalton shook his head but followed along with the technicians, leaving Gabriel and his people alone on the third floor.

  The group was quiet as they took in the gathering darkness in the third floor hallway. John and George could feel the energy coming off of Gabriel in waves. They couldn’t tell if it was growing fear of the night ahead or the hatred he felt toward Summer Place. The two men exchanged glances and a silent message—one of them would be at this man’s side all through the broadcast.

  “Jenny,” Gabriel looked down the hallway toward the suite where the German opera star had once stayed, and then past it to the sewing room. He purposefully refused to look at the area of the wall where his student had vanished, but he felt the spot nonetheless. “You haven’t felt the presence of Bobby Lee at all?”

  Jennifer could tell that Gabriel had been banking heavily on Bobby Lee McKinnon’s help. She could see it in his eyes as he finally turned to face her. She almost wished she could help Gabriel, even though it would have meant having Bobby Lee back inside of her. Yet, she knew if that happened again, she would never survive the ordeal. He would make her go without sleep and practically sing herself to death. The past few days, she had regained strength and the perception of what a living hell she had endured at the hands of the mad ghost, and she didn’t think she could willingly go back. It had been a fluke at the Waldorf when Bobby Lee had came across the man ultimately responsible for his death, and she knew how lucky she had been to get relief; lucky that Bobby Lee felt avenged when he confronted the man after all those years. It had been as simple as that, as if the old-time record producer had unwittingly performed a half-assed exorcism and sent Bobby on his way, content just to have had his say.

  Jenny took Gabe’s arm and shook her head. “Sorry, no.”

  “Gabriel, I don’t mean to be an ass here, but you asking her that...it worries me,” Lonetree said, studying his old friend. “You would be willing to risk Jenny over this house?”

  Kennedy felt ashamed. He realized that was exactly what he would have been willing to do. He looked away.

  “John, it’s okay.” Jenny smiled first toward Lonetree, and then Gabriel. “If I thought Bobby Lee could really be of some help here, and if it meant driving out into the open the thing that’s inside this house, I would have done it. Don’t blame Gabriel.”

  Lonetree nodded, unconvinced. They heard the creak of a door opening. The sewing room door stood wide open; they could see the sheet-covered furniture inside, even through the gathering darkness. No one moved or said a word. It was as if the five of them were standing in front of an old enemy and both sides were sizing each other up. If it weren’t for Julie Reilly coming up the stairs with a script girl, the stare-down would have continued.

  “What’s wrong?” she asked as she gained the third floor landing. Her eyes went from face to face and then settled on the portrait of the Lindemann clan on the wall facing the staircase.

  “Oh, we were just discussing how to keep Kelly Delaphoy from making a mockery out of our attempt to find out what’s going on here,” Jenny said, lying smoothly.

  “Well, I think one of the answers to that just came in. He’s down in the ballroom with Lindemann and Peterson. Detective Jackson made his grand entrance a few minutes ago. He’s taken up station in a corner of the ballroom after threatening anyone that would listen about what will happen to them if they get his face on camera.”

  “Any other demands?” Gabriel asked, his eyes moving back to the sewing room door.

  “As a matter of fact, yes,” Julie said. She wrote something on her notepad and read it over, then tore the page out and handed it to the script girl. The girl didn’t even see the instruction Julie had written out; she was staring at all of the camera equipment and Leonard’s strange devices lining the hallway. Julie pushed the paper at her and the girl finally took it, then started for the stairs.

  “Miss,” Gabriel said, stopping the girl. “No one goes anywhere in this house alone. Leonard, will you see that she makes it back to the first floor?”

  Leonard smiled at the young, pretty girl and nodded. “You bet, Doc.” He took the girl by the arm and started down the staircase.

  “You were saying?” Gabriel said, getting Julie back on track.

  “He told Dalton and Peterson that he wants to travel the house tonight with your team. Specifically you.”

  “And this cop is camera shy?” Lonetree asked.

  “Lionel, the big mouth that he is even when he’s sober, said it would be no problem. They can get shots of the team without including Jackson. So I guess he’ll be behind the camera and sound men the whole night, but he’ll be there watching.”

  “It sounds like he would be better off watching Kelly if you ask me. She’s the real danger here.”

  They all looked at Jenny, who stood with her back to the sewing room, not wanting to give her cold chills any credence.

  “Harris will have her in the production van right at his elbow. He’ll be watching her. After all, his reputation is on the line here also.”

  Gabriel didn’t say anything. Damian Jackson was one small problem in a chain of them. He finally looked away from the sewing room and at the four people with him.

  “Remind me to tell Leonard to concentrate his investigation in the archives on that room and the person who used it the most—Mrs. Lindemann. I’m wondering if something may have happened to her inside there. It seems to be making sure it’s noticed.”

  “I agree, there’s more power coming out of there than any other room,” George said. He took a step toward the sewing room. Gabriel took his arm and stayed him from going further.

  “Not now,” Kennedy said. “We’ll accept its invitation later.”

  Julie looked at her watch. It was well after four-thirty. “I agree. Right now we have the final run through of the opening sequences, and Harris wants a word with everyone. And, just so you know, since the promos for the show have been running, the anticipated viewership has risen to close to fifty million.” Julie looked around the third floor and at the sewing room, then finally back at the others. “So if we fall flat on our faces, the whole country’s going to witness it.”

  “I think we can bear up under the pressure,” Gabriel said staring directly into Julie’s eyes.

  “That’s nice, Professor, but your career was already in the shitter. My fall will be from a much higher plateau than yours.”

  “That shouldn’t bother you, Ms. Reilly. You should be more worried about what’s going to cause your falling to your professional death—a flop, or a success?”

  Julie looked at Jenny. Her tense and smile said that she was only concerned about the flop portion of the equation.

  As she watched the others start down the stairs, Julie looked up at the Lindemann family portrait and the smiling faces of the large clan. Then she heard a noise and turned. The sewing room door was once more closed. She shook her head as she turned
and followed Gabriel and the others, wondering for the first time which death would be worse: the flop she fully anticipated, or something Summer Place had in mind. The possibilities of the latter alternative might just be the worse of the two.

  “Goddamn creepy place.”

  The commissary tent was packed with technicians, electricians, cameramen, soundmen, hair and makeup stylists, production assistants and producers. And, of course, the people who were going to be seen live across the nation in less than three hours—the group that a lighting technician had dubbed the Supernaturals: Gabriel Kennedy and his team, along with Julie Reilly and Detective Damian Jackson.

  While everyone sat around the ten long tables drinking sodas and coffee, Jackson stood in the far corner of the tent with one hand in his coat pocket and the other at his chin, listening but not hearing as Harris Dalton addressed the hundred or so crew. The lieutenant’s eyes were squarely fixed on Gabriel Kennedy. And what was most irritating to the state policemen was the fact that Kennedy stared right back. Jackson realized for the first time that the psychologist actually believed this night would bring him the redemption he sought over the disappearance of his student seven years before. But Jackson knew he would never see that redemption. He knew Kennedy would throw up a smoke screen at some point during the night to mask his culpability in the incident years before—to make people believe, or guess at his innocence. Jackson would be right beside Kennedy the whole night and he would make sure that the smoke screen was not as thick as the professor would like it to be.