After we finished, Ellen was lying across the bed with the sheet partially covering her luscious body. “Can we have something special for dinner? I’m hungry.”
“Sure, what do you want, steak fish or seafood?”
“As long as I get strawberries for dessert with double whipped cream and chocolate sprinkles then you can choose the main course.”
I picked up the phone to order two seafood salads and dessert as Ellen wrapped her arms around my waist, trying to pull me back down onto the bed. We only had a few hours to eat and talk before we went back in the building. If she kept going like that, I wouldn’t have the energy left to eat, let alone drag my ass out of the room.
“Hon, we need to talk about what happened earlier,” I said, gently but reluctantly untangling her arms.
“What happened earlier?”
“Don’t mess with me; you know what I’m talking about, your encounter with the not-so-nice ghost.”
She smiled as if she was trying to reassure me in some way but it wasn’t working. This wasn’t like the Ellen who shared every single one of her paranormal experiences at a drop of hat.
“Ellen, why don’t you want to talk about what happened?” I asked again.
“I do, but there’s nothing to say…I mean, well….umm…..can we go out after dinner?”
She’d ignored my question and was more interested in having a good night out. Something was amiss here. This was a woman dedicated to her psychic work and who would never let anyone down or refuse a wandering stuck ghost the opportunity to go into the light.
“Let’s eat first” I said. “Then we’ll grab a cab and go where we’re supposed to be.”
“Okay, as long as I get the strawberries.”
I watched as she applied her make-up, always putting on the right amount, never too much or too little. But the way she applied her lipstick is nothing short of sensual, slowly and lightly painting small strokes with a fine brush pursing her lips. I was forced to turn away as my body heat rose.
“Can you cancel room service?” she suddenly said. “I’d like to eat in the restaurant. It’s like we’re living in this room and it’s making me claustrophobic!”
“Okay, but why didn’t you say before I called? What if it’s on the way up?” Her mood change killed my mounting desire and replaced it with concern.
“Then they can take it down to the restaurant. I’m not eating in here.”
Compliantly, I called reception, apologized, and told them we were eating in the restaurant.
“Is it nearly the time of the month?” I asked cautiously in the elevator.
“No, it’s not, there’s nothing wrong, so why ask me?” she snapped.
“Sweetheart, I hate to tell you this, but you’re acting real weird right now. Or haven’t you noticed.”
Her eyes narrowed in anger. “Weird as in what? Just because I want to go out instead of going back there and I want to eat in the restaurant instead of the room. That makes me pre-menstrual and weird?”
“Must be the time of the month, so I rest my case. Can’t wait to eat, can you?” I said, changing the subject and hoping it was nothing sinister. It wouldn’t be the first time I’d suffered the hell of her pre-menstrual tension.
There was no sign of Chris or Lucy in the restaurant and as we’d planned to leave in less than an hour I wasn’t impressed. Sipping on plain water, we waited patiently for them to show up and as much as we’d both preferred a beer, we never drank alcohol before we went to work. It would alter our energy levels and weaken Ellen’s focus. Worse-case scenario? It could allow spirits to enter Ellen’s body.
Our food arrived beautifully presented on a large platter with two types of mayonnaise piped on the side. Just as we were admiring a work of culinary art, Chris showed up with a concerned look on his face, “Do you really need me over there?” He blurted. “Lucy has a headache and…and she’s bitching like hell. I’d rather stay here if you don’t mind, but you can get me on my cell if it’s urgent.” He handed me a scrap of paper with the address, his cell number and a bunch of keys.
“You’ve got to be kidding me!” I remarked angrily.
Ellen wasn’t impressed as she slowly put down her knife and fork and challenged him head on. “That wasn’t the arrangement. Marcus assured us that you’d be with us at all times. It’s a large building and we still don’t know our way around. What if something happened because you weren’t there?”
“Sorry, guys, it is what it is, call Marcus if you want. Report me, I don’t give a shit. The truth is I don’t care for this ghost stuff.”
“As you wish.” Ellen replied. “Monty and I are skilled investigators. We’ll find our way…enjoy your evening.”
“Take a hike, buddy, we’ll be just fine.” I answered, pulling no punches. I never really liked the guy but gave him a chance, although the hunch I had was right—he was a flake and Ellen, being such a good hearted woman, wouldn’t call Marcus to complain. She’d worry that the sucker would loose his job. Together we were totally confident that we could handle it alone; hell, we’d been in worse situations and survived. Chris scuttled off with his guilty tail between his legs and I told myself it was no loss.
“Let’s enjoy this wonderful meal, shall we?” I said reassuringly.
“Okay, and by the way, it’s that time of the month, so don’t freak out thinking something’s trying to possess me. I know I can be a bitch when I’m pre-menstrual, so forgive me?”
“Sure, I forgive you. Even when you’re the meanest bitch, I still love you.”
“I still love you even when you’re snoring your head off.”
“Ouch, touché.” I replied. She always got the last word, or at least the last wise one.
We were a team in the truest sense of the word. Nothing or no one got in our way and I didn’t have a single moment of regret for what we did. It went with the territory, encountering sceptics, but it was good to have them to keep us honest. We respected their views and didn’t judge their beliefs, even when the insults flew. I figured out early on that we needed to grow a thicker skin with each new negative encounter. Just saying the words “paranormal investigator” freaked some people out and Ellen and I once had to hold back the laughter when one guy thought we looked out for aliens.
The weather was still good and, having eaten a wonderful meal, we were relaxed as we headed outside. Cabs were always waiting by the hotel entrance, and as I gave directions to a driver, I noticed he spoke good English. This time he took a different route, probably to rack up the fare as it was such a short journey, and I didn’t blame him one bit. He had to weave through heavy traffic, negotiate one-way streets, and endure endless traffic lights just to take us a couple of blocks. We were dropped at the same spot, the entrance to a street that was too narrow to get a vehicle through even if traffic were permitted.
“Why are you going in there?” The driver asked.
“We’re doing research on historical European buildings that have been abandoned,” Ellen said.
He turned to look at us as if he was afraid of something. “The locals say it’s haunted. There was an accident in there just this week. Didn’t you see the news?”
“Yes, we heard. It was so tragic,” Ellen said, with sympathy and understanding.
“I have lived in this city my whole life. Take my word for it, stay out of there. It’s a very bad place.”
“What do you mean?” I asked, hoping to glean as much information as possible.
“That so many bad things have happened in there over the years, people say it’s filled with ghosts. Homeless people used to break in before they secured it. But they didn’t stay long. They were seen running out of the building screaming in the middle of the night. I’ve heard that even the police don’t like to go in there.”
“We’re paranormal investigators.” I told him, thinking it was best to be honest at that point.
“Then you will have…what is it you say in English? You will have your work cut out f
or you. I wish you the best of luck and when you need a taxi, here’s my number.” He handed me his business card, shaking his head in disbelief.
The homeless story would have concerned me if I hadn’t known that Chris had new locks installed so no one could get in. Otherwise, I would never have left the equipment there.
Yet I couldn’t help wondering. What was it that made them run out screaming?
The short walk to the building was uneventful. It was quiet compared to the noise and activity on the main street just a few feet away. We stopped to look in a shop window that specialized in selling cigars and pipes. “That’s not something you see much of these days,” I remarked.
Tall and imposing in the early evening light and built to block any access from the streets behind stood city hall, holding on tight to its ghosts and secrets.
I took a quick peek at the driver’s business card when we reached the imposing door. He could be a mine of information and maybe put us in touch with others in the vicinity that had information. It could be fate that Pieter Herremans picked us and up and started a conversation, and I suspected he knew more than he was letting on. We’d find out soon enough what was behind the neglected double doors as I fumbled to find the right damn key from twenty others.
“Just relax, Monty, the more stressed you are, the less chance you’ll get the right one. Give them to me.”
I knew what she planned to do. Grasping the keys in her left hand, she closed her eyes and concentrated. A short distance away, people sitting outside a café were staring at us wondering what we’re doing. If it was me, I would think they’d be breaking in. Their curious stares didn’t bother Ellen and after a few seconds she nailed it. “It’s this key, the long one…try it.”
I placed it in the rusty lock and after a few strong turns the door opened. But unlike earlier when Chris opened the door, this time it was as stiff as hell.
I had little choice other than to use my shoulder to give it a push. Unfortunately, I pushed too hard and it flew open. I fell hard down onto the concrete steps.
“Oh my God, honey, are you all right?” Ellen shouted as I lay crumpled on the floor.
“Yeah, yeah, I’m okay. Maybe a bruise or two, nothing serious. Don’t worry.”
I picked myself up and dusted off the dirt. I wasn’t accident prone, and I didn’t remember pushing the door with a force that would be powerful enough to propel me like a rocket. It was almost like I’d had a little help.
Invisible help.
Chapter Five
When life dished out the punches, I was ready to take them head on. Knowing my limits, there came a moment when I went into fight mode and this was one of them. Whoever wanted to take me on, alive or dead was welcome to try. I was ready to roll.
“Let’s explore the ground floor first, shall we?” I said, being the man and doing my best to ignore the searing pain in my right side. “What a klutz I am. I know a great joke. Wanna hear it?”
Ellen looked at me in exasperation. I knew what she was thinking: having just fallen on my ass, I was horsing around.
“Go on, then, but make it short,” she said. “You know how I feel about your jokes.”
“Why didn’t klutz do any homework on Saturday?”
“I don’t know, why didn’t he?” she answered, scratching her chin in thought, although I believed I’d told her that one before.
“Because he was in a weekend condition, get it?”
“No, not really, but I’m trying.” She looked more like she was trying not to get annoyed.
“Week-end as in weakened.’’
“Oh, right. I get it now.”
My joke went gone down like a lead weight, because she was still pissed that I’d made light of the fall when she was so worried. The joke reaction when something bad happened was a family trait that I’d inherited from my father, the king of jokers in any serious situation. Since childhood, it came naturally, such as when my frantic mother tried to stem the blood flow from an open wound when I fell off my bike. I couldn’t stop giggling even when I was being stitched up in the hospital. I pulled faces at the doctor, which horrified and embarrassed my poor mother who was desperately trying to convince the doctor that I was in serious pain. Ellen had been married to me long enough to know that sometimes I reacted the wrong way. She called me insensitive. I wasn’t. It had always been a defence against fear, and I couldn’t be blamed for my DNA.
We made our way through to the main hall to search out the area where the construction had begun, forced to cross a floor that was littered with debris to get to where we needed to be. Every step we took was a hardship and I bristled at the thought of Don’t-Give-A-Shit Chris.
Ellen was mesmerized by the surroundings. “Look at these awesome pillars, Monty, all the sculptured carvings are inlaid with intricate designs. This must have taken so long to do. It’s a work of art.”
I had to agree with the beauty of the large Gray-stone pillars that supported the first floor. Whoever carved them was very gifted and they’d managed to stand the test of time even though they were neglected. Halfway across the room, Ellen stopped dead in her tracks.
“There’s a presence here, it’s very strong…a female form—and she’s trying to tell me something.”
That sent a chill up my spine, or maybe the room had grown colder. I cursed myself for leaving my digital thermometer and other equipment inside the building.
“I can’t make it out, hold on…” Ellen said, mostly murmuring to herself. “I...I think she’s telling me not to go upstairs.”
“What does she look like? Describe her to me.”
“Very young, long dark hair and she’s very emaciated...so thin...washed-out clothes. She has sad eyes and she’s pointing up and shaking her head. No, don’t go upstairs!”
“Why is she telling us not to go up there?” I asked.
“She’s fading in and out and hard to understand. I think we’d better just carry on down here for now.” She tilted her head as if listening, and then she frowned. “I’ve lost her.”
“Wait…I’m going up to get the camera. Then I can at least set it up on the tripod and the EMF.” I took off not in the least troubled by the ghost warning. I’d fight to the death for our equipment, especially after making the rookie mistake of not keeping it with us. The strange energy of the place must have fogged our minds a little.
It stung that we were still paying off the plastic for the latest acquisition to lift our status above the amateur. The new triaxial EMF linked to the laptop for real-time data had a lot more attracting power in the magnetic field than our old hand held one. That plus the new laptop put paid to any extras for the next few months including sex-charged week-ends away. It was for that reason that I defied any ghost to try and spook me out of my equipment, foreign or home grown.
By the time I came back down, Ellen had already found the spot she was looking for. The plastic ‘do not cross’ crime scene strips were lying on the floor and the deadly ladder was still propped up against the wall. The construction materials had been covered up with heavy-duty plastic and, on top of one stack of bricks was a solitary flower. “Someone showed their respects,” Ellen remarked.
“Feel anything?” I said, setting up the folding table for the laptop.
“Yes. I’m getting a headache…I think he landed head first…oh…” She walked over to the ladder and touched it lightly. “It was no accident. He was pushed.”
“I think we both figured that one out.” I searched for an electrical socket. Chris had assured me there was power and I took his word for it, but what condition the wall sockets were in after years of not being changed was anybody’s guess. I scrambled inside the bag for the foreign adaptor, extension cable, and the voltage converter to avoid fireworks. Europe ran on 220-240 current so there was no way I would risk blowing everything up even for a reimbursement from Marcus. We needed the equipment and it had already cost enough for the extra adaptors, proving that ghost hunting was an expensive busin
ess when you took it worldwide.
“Shit, I can’t see a plug anywhere,” I said.
“There must be one; better find it soon before it gets dark,” Ellen replied
She waited by the ladder, her psychic powers on hold while I tried to find a way to get power, sorry that I’d even brought a laptop that had a battery defect.
“Look in the corner to your left near the door, there’s a plug.”
I loved that she had such cool abilities and not just in the ghost department. She’d located the right key and directed me to a live socket that was exactly where she said it was. What a sixth sense.
“Oh, my God!” I called out in despair. “This is an accident waiting to happen.”
“What’s wrong?”
“This plug is ancient. How do I know it’s safe and I’m not going to fry?”
“There’s no way you’ll fry. I’d sense the danger. Just go ahead and plug it in,” she replied in a calm steady voice.
I couldn’t believe the stress I was under in Belgium. It felt like everything was building up, which was why I had no patience for messing around with plugs and fifty-year-old sockets, and I was very pissed at the laptop. I was praying I’d have something to work with when angry thoughts crossed my mind—namely Chris. Then I was reminded that Ellen always told me not to think ill of people because it would decrease my spiritual energy. “I’m plugging in now,” I said, trying not to panic.
“Just do it; don’t stress. If there was a problem, I’d know. Trust me.”
Slowly and very carefully, I pushed the adapted plug into the socket. It took some wiggling around before it was in and I was relieved to see I was still breathing.
“I told you, silly,” Ellen said.
I switched on the laptop and it began to load. Relief.
Ellen was watching my every move. “Don’t check your emails? I know what you’re like.”
“Very funny. I’m more concerned that the voltage regulators hold up in the multi- plug extension. This is a nightmare. Look how much I’m sweating!”
“Better get used to it, honey, maybe we’ll become worldwide investigators. I hear the paranormal is big in Australia.”
Ghost Hall (The Ghost Files Book 4) Page 3