Oleander House: A Bay City Paranormal Investigation

by Ally Blue

  “Damn straight.” David glanced at Andre. “Wonder if it’s safe to talk to Bo yet?”

  Andre shrugged. “Who knows. He looked like he was seriously pissed.”

  At that moment Bo came around the corner from the front hall. “Thought I heard y’all out here. Dinner’s ready.”

  He turned on his heel and went back down the hall. The group followed silently, Sam hanging back behind the rest. The tension inside him wound tighter with every step.

  Bo was coming into the dining room when they got there. He carried a platter of blackened chicken in one hand and a big bowl of mashed potatoes in the other. His gaze lingered on Sam’s face for a moment before darting quickly away.

  “Dig in,” Bo said. “Broccoli’s on the way.”

  “Sit down,” Amy ordered, entering at that moment with her wet curls dripping on her T-shirt. “I’ll get it.”

  She brushed past him into the kitchen before he could protest. Bo gave her a dark look. Sam watched him from across the table as he sat stiffly on the edge of a chair. His expression radiated anger, but there was something lost and wounded in his eyes that tugged at Sam’s heart. He wanted to reach over the table and take Bo’s hand in a gesture of comfort. It was all he could do to stop himself.

  “So,” Amy said brightly, breezing in from the kitchen with a large, steaming bowl of broccoli in her hands. “Anything show up on the video and audio from yesterday?”

  Andre shook his head. “Not a thing.”

  “We talked a bit about our dreams,” Cecile said, nibbling delicately at a strip of chicken. “There’s another similarity that we uncovered.”

  Bo looked up from his plate for the first time. “What is it?”

  Sam jumped in before Cecile could answer, telling himself he wasn’t doing it just so Bo would look at him. “In all of our dreams, the structure of the house is…” He fumbled for the right words. “Different, somehow. Warped.”

  “You said the angles were all wrong,” Andre added helpfully. “That’s a good way to describe it.”

  Bo met Sam’s gaze, professional curiosity overtaking the sadness in his eyes. “So you’re dreaming about this house as well?”

  “I’m not one hundred percent sure, but I think so,” Sam said. He licked mashed potatoes off his fork, simply to watch Bo watching his mouth. “I can’t ever seem to focus on my surroundings, and there’s no windows or doors, but it feels like Oleander House. If that makes any sense.”

  Bo licked his lips, unconsciously mimicking the movement of Sam’s tongue. “You said earlier that your dream was much worse than before, just like Andre’s and Cecile’s. Can you elaborate on that?”

  Panic flashed through Sam’s mind. He fought it down and made himself hold Bo’s gaze. “It started like before, with me having sex with someone whose face I couldn’t see. But this time, I dreamed that you and Amy were both dead. Torn apart.” And the thing inside me killed you, he added silently.

  Bo stared blankly at him for a moment. Sam could practically see the wheels turning in Bo’s brain as he put two and two together. Then his eyes got fractionally wider, his cheeks went pink and he looked away. Sam smiled grimly at his half-eaten dinner. He knew Bo had realized he was the anonymous lover of Sam’s dreams.

  “That’s pretty fucked up, man.” David’s voice was unusually serious.

  Andre slipped a protective arm around Amy’s shoulders. “Bo, did you and Amy find out anything in Gautier?”

  “A few things,” Bo said softly. “I found a couple of articles in well-respected parapsychology journals about places with characteristics similar to Oleander House. As in violent deaths under mysterious circumstances, each one with witnesses who survived and were physically unhurt, but psychologically devastated.”

  Andre laughed without humor. “That sounds like us, all right.”

  “There’s one other thing I found,” Bo continued, “I found a short piece from 1962, about an abandoned house in Chicago, where a homeless woman was found dead. Her system was chock-full of a chemical that the medical examiner couldn’t identify.”

  “That’s interesting,” Cecile spoke up hesitantly, “but what’s it got to do with us?”

  “You’ll see.” Bo leaned forward, hands clasped together. “A few days after the body was found, a teenage boy was brought into the psych ward of the local hospital. The police I.D.’ed him as a prostitute, they’d picked him up several times before for soliciting. They said his name was Jonah, they didn’t know his last name.”

  “Let me guess,” Amy said. “He was catatonic.”

  David’s eyebrows shot up. “What, he didn’t already tell you?”

  Amy shrugged. “We got distracted.”

  Bo shot her a stormy look. “To get back to the subject at hand, no, he wasn’t catatonic. He was diagnosed with acute psychosis. Kept babbling about a monster that came out of the air and killed the homeless woman by biting her.”

  “Wow. Just like that little girl that died on the tour. And you said her blood was full of an unknown chemical too.” Sam tapped his fork against his plate. “This is starting to sound familiar.”

  “I know. Wait’ll you hear this.” Bo’s eyes glittered with the light of discovery. “Jonah had a friend who was with him the day that woman died. They slept in the abandoned building during the day. Once he was medicated enough to be halfway rational, Jonah told the doctors that strange things used to happen sometimes when he was with his friend in that building, like weird noises and black fogs and things. And get this. He said that after the monster killed that homeless woman, it disappeared into thin air and took his friend with it.”

  There was a moment of tense silence as everyone absorbed this information. Sam remembered the sensation of the alien intelligence squirming in his mind, trying to break free, and shifted uncomfortably in his chair.

  “That sounds like what Josephine was trying to do,” Amy said, echoing Sam’s thoughts. “She wanted to follow whatever killed Lily to the place it came from. Maybe she succeeded.”

  “You think Jonah’s friend somehow made the ‘monster’ he was talking about appear, don’t you?” Andre asked, nervously fiddling with his fork.

  Bo nodded. “I do, yeah. And I think it’s possible that the same sort of thing has happened here at Oleander House.”

  Cecile picked up her iced tea and took a sip. Her hands trembled. “You’re right. I can feel it.”

  Andre frowned fiercely. “But how? Explain to me exactly how you think monsters could appear like magic, kill people and vanish again. It’s physically impossible, Bo. Surely to God you’re not basing this theory of yours on the rantings of one psychotic street kid.”

  “No, I’m not.” Bo pushed back from the table, stood and leaned against his chair. “Are y’all aware of Fodor’s poltergeist theory?”

  Sam thought he knew where Bo was headed. Dread sat like a stone in his guts, but he spoke up without hesitation. “Repressed anger, hostility, sexual frustration or other strongly negative emotions can cause subconscious psychokinetic powers to become active in susceptible people. That’s why poltergeist activity tends to center around a person rather than a place, because the person involved is actually causing it without realizing it.”

  Bo glanced at him with raised eyebrows, and Sam felt a sharp pang of annoyance that Bo would be surprised that he knew such a theory. “That’s exactly it, Sam,” Bo said. “It’s been the most widely accepted theory for the cause of poltergeist activity for over fifty years now.”

  “And what’s it got to do with Oleander House?” David asked impatiently. “There’s never been any poltergeist activity reported here.”

  “There was a theory proposed last year by a Dr. Lingerfelt, over the internet because no reputable journal would publish it. Hell, even the shady ones wouldn’t publish it because it was so out there.” Bo started pacing a slow, tight circle behind his chair. “What he basically proposed was a theory that takes Fodor’s theory a few steps further.”

&nb
sp; “And this crazy idea of his was…?” Andre prompted when Bo fell silent.

  Bo stopped pacing and leaned on the chair again, long braid swinging down over his shoulder. “He proposed that those same latent psychokinetic powers at the root of poltergeist activity could cause beings from another dimension to manifest in ours.”

  David laughed. “I don’t guess this quack managed to explain how his other-dimensional critters got around the laws of physics.”

  “He did explain,” Bo said. “And strange as it sounds, no physical laws were broken. Lingerfelt’s doctorate is in theoretical physics, so that part actually made the most sense of any of it. That section took up ten pages in PDF format and contained a whole lot of complex equations, so I won’t go into detail right now. Anyone who’s interested can look it up later, I wrote down the link. What it boils down to is that in areas with a strong or unstable electromagnetic field, the barrier between dimensions is sometimes very thin. Things can pass through under the right set of circumstances.”

  “And he thought that people with psychokinetic abilities could cause enough disturbance in the electromagnetic field to break down that barrier,” Sam guessed. It felt right. All the hairs stood up along his arms.

  “Exactly.” Bo stared at Sam, and he stared back, unable to look away. A sudden wave of desire surged through Sam’s body. He fought it with all his strength. I promised, he thought desperately. He resolutely ignored the heat in Bo’s eyes.

  “That’s nuts,” David said, bringing Sam abruptly back to earth. “Even if you buy that moving between dimensions is possible at all, hell, even if you buy that there are all these other dimensions, the idea that there could be homicidal monsters living in them is just crazy.”

  “Is it?” Bo resumed his pacing, faster this time. He tugged the rubber band loose from the end of his braid and snapped it around his wrist. “There’s plenty of evidence to support the existence of what could be infinite dimensions in addition to the three we experience. Who’s to say, really, what inhabits those dimensions? We don’t know enough about them to know what’s possible and what’s not. And there are several documented cases of unusually violent poltergeist activity that center on a place instead of a person, or in addition to a person. No one’s ever been able to explain those cases before. I think this theory, crazy as it sounds, could explain it. It could explain the history of this place, too. The killings, with no suspect ever caught, and only intermittent paranormal activity.”

  “Oleander House has got the unusually high EMF, that’s for sure,” Andre said. “But what about the focus? Assuming that a person with psychokinetic abilities was here each time a death occurred, that person would be the gateway for the things to come through into our reality, right?”

  Bo nodded. Andre glanced around the table, his expression solemn. “So who was the focus in those cases? The witness, or the one who died?”

  No one said anything for a moment. When Sam finally spoke, he cringed at the hollowness in his own voice. “It wasn’t the ones who were killed. It was the ones who saw it. The ones who were found unhurt but unresponsive.” He looked up into Bo’s face, wishing he was wrong but knowing in his heart he wasn’t. “Remember what Josephine said?”

  “She said the door opened when she was angry,” Cecile murmured. “She was a focus, wasn’t she? When she and Lily fought, her anger caused the barrier between dimensions to break down, and something got through. Something that killed Lily.” She leaned closer to David. “I’m scared.”

  Sam glanced around. Everyone was looking carefully in any direction but his. That more than anything else told him that they knew what he was. They’d figured it out just as he had. Moving carefully, Sam stood and began gathering dirty dishes, needing an excuse to get out of that room. He felt singularly exposed.

  As he piled the plates in the sink, Sam heard Bo’s muttered “excuse me” and knew what was coming. Ignoring Bo’s footsteps behind him, he strode through the kitchen and into the mudroom without looking back.

  Bo caught up to him on the sun porch. “Sam, wait!”

  Sam stopped, but didn’t turn around. “I’m a focus. That’s what’s wrong with me, that’s what it’s been my whole fucking life. All those things that have happened, the things I saw when I was a kid, the things that’ve happened here. It was me all along.” Sam wrapped both arms tight around himself, trying to stop the tremors shuddering through him. “It almost got through, that time in my room. I could feel it inside me, trying to get out.”

  “That scares you, doesn’t it?”

  Bo’s voice was gentle, without a hint of blame or fear or anger. Sam turned slowly around, needing to see Bo’s face. What he found there was understanding and a desire to help. He tried to recall a time when he’d seen that look in anyone’s eyes, and he couldn’t think of one.

  “Yeah, it scares me,” Sam answered. “Nothing’s ever happened unless I was there. Have you noticed that?”

  “Yes,” Bo said quietly. “I’ve noticed.”

  “It’s trying to use me as a passageway into this world.” Sam shook his head. “Why? What makes me the one it wants?”

  “I don’t know, Sam.” Bo reached out and laid a tentative hand on Sam’s arm. “We’ll research it. If others have experienced this same sort of thing—and I’m positive that they have—the information’s out there. We just have to find it.”

  “Yes.” Sam felt some measure of relief at the thought of taking positive action. “But in the meantime, I don’t think it’s a good idea for me to stay here anymore.”

  Bo’s eyes widened. “What, you want to leave Oleander House? Give up on this investigation just because you’re scared?”

  “If that’s how you want to put it, yes,” Sam answered, irritated by Bo’s not-so-subtle suggestion that he was being cowardly. “Hasn’t it occurred to you that I’m putting you all in danger by being here?”

  “No.” Bo thrust his chin stubbornly forward. “You’re a strong man, Sam, and you’re smart. I think that if you are a focus, you can learn to control it.”

  Sam drew a deep breath, trying to suppress a burst of helpless anger toward Bo. “No, I don’t think I can. Maybe one day, but not yet. I don’t even know where to start!”

  “Then what better time to try and learn than here and now, huh?” Bo moved closer, dark eyes blazing. “I’ll help you. We all will. Don’t give up on this.”

  Sam took a step backward. Having Bo so close made his head spin. “I’m all for learning about this house, and about what I can apparently do. But this isn’t the time or place. Not when people’s lives are at stake.”

  Bo’s hand clamped down on Sam’s arm, his grip painfully tight. “Don’t leave. Please.”

  The note of desperation in Bo’s voice was unmistakable. Sam stared at him. “Why not?”

  Bo blinked and looked away. “Because… Because I…”

  “Because you don’t want me to go,” Sam supplied, knowing in his bones that he was right. “That’s it, isn’t it? It’s got nothing to do with me learning to control this ability at all. You just don’t want me to leave.”

  Bo’s expression turned thunderous. “Don’t try to make this about your fantasy of you and me together. I happen to believe in your mental and emotional strength, and I’m not about to give up on this investigation just because you’re afraid. That’s all.”

  “Uh-huh. Right.” Sam paced toward Bo, anger boiling up inside him. “You keep right on telling yourself that, Bo. Maybe you’ll convince yourself it’s true, eventually.”

  Bo stumbled backward until his back hit the wall. His face was flushed, his pupils so dilated the irises were barely visible. “Stop it, Sam,” he said through gritted teeth.

  “You don’t really want me stop, do you?” Sam planted his palms on the wall on either side of Bo’s head. A tiny corner of his brain screamed at him to quit while he was ahead, that he was letting his emotions get the better of him. But his body was on fire, his vision washed in red, and he could
n’t make himself stop. “You lied before. You do want me, even though you know it’s wrong.” He leaned forward, pressing his body against Bo’s. “Don’t you?”

  A violent shudder ran through Bo’s body as Sam’s thigh shoved between his legs. For a second, Bo’s face softened as his cock hardened against Sam’s leg. Then before Sam knew what was happening, Bo pushed him away and punched him hard in the jaw.

  Taken by surprise, Sam fell backward onto the floor. Bo landed on Sam’s stomach, knocking the breath out of him, and punched him again. Sam felt his lip split, felt the inside of his cheek tear on his teeth. The salty copper taste of blood flooded his mouth. He snatched a handful of Bo’s hair and yanked as hard as he could. Bo cried out, his head bent back at an awkward angle.

  “Beating me up won’t make it any better, you know.” Sam turned his head and spat a mouthful of blood on the floor. “You still want me.”

  Bo glared down at him. “Fuck you.”

  “Exactly.”

  Bo snarled, clamped a hand around Sam’s wrist and twisted. Sam’s fingers opened with the sudden pain and Bo was free. Bo’s fist clenched. Quicker than thought, Sam grabbed both of Bo’s arms and rolled on top of him, straddling his hips and pinning his wrists above his head.

  “Let me up, dammit!” Bo panted, writhing wildly under Sam’s weight.

  “Why, so you can hit me some more?” Sam shook his head. “I don’t think so.”

  “Fucking bastard,” Bo spat.

  Sam laughed. “Go ahead and yell at me, call me names, I don’t care.” He leaned down, letting his lips just brush Bo’s. “Just keep squirming like that. I like it.”

  He flicked his tongue over Bo’s mouth and ground his now-full-blown erection against the answering hardness in Bo’s jeans. Rearing up, Bo bit Sam’s bruised lip. Sam hissed in pain, his grip on Bo’s wrists loosening, and before he knew it he was on his back again, with Bo kneeling over him. He stared, more aroused than ever by the feral shine in Bo’s eyes and the blood smeared on his mouth. Feeling his gaze turn heavy, Sam smiled.