Cinema of Shadows

by Michael West

  “I wrote your new prescription.”

  Her face warmed. “Oh.”

  There were a lot of older structures on campus. If she spent enough time in them, she got physically ill; headaches, nausea, chills. Her family physician had prescribed Nasonex, but her supply ran out at the worst possible time and she’d had huge hives all over her arms and legs. Very attractive.

  “I can’t believe you remember me,” she said.

  “I can’t believe I didn’t ask you your name.”

  She straightened and offered him her hand. “Kim Saunders.”

  He took it. “Tyler Bachman.”

  “Don’t you mean Doctor Tyler Bachman?”

  “I still can’t get used to that.” He turned away; pulled the X-ray off the light board. “Your boyfriend will be fine. Hairline fracture. I’ll stitch up that gash and set it for him, but he’ll have to see a specialist in the morning.”

  Kim blinked, then remembered Kevin. “Oh ... him? He’s not my boyfriend. I don’t actually have a boyfriend right now ... actually. What about you?”

  Tyler chuckled. “Do I have a boyfriend?”

  “No ... No, you wouldn’t have a boyfriend. Would you?”

  “No, I wouldn’t.”

  Her face felt as if it might catch fire. “Of course you wouldn’t.”

  He smiled warmly at her. “Would you like to go out with me sometime?”

  “Go out?” Kim’s eyes widened. She blinked and said, “Isn’t there some rule against dating patients?”

  He stuffed the X-ray into a large manila envelope. “You’re not my patient anymore.”

  “Oh ... right.” She gave a nervous little giggle, mulled it over for an instant, then said, “Sure, yeah, that would be great.”

  “How’s tomorrow night?”

  Kim smiled. “Tomorrow’s good.”

  3

  Monitors replayed the investigation from different angles. Joss watched, comfortable in his chair, a can of Red Bull in his hand as he looked for something, anything of interest in the recordings they’d made. He was alone with his audio/video equipment, at home in his element.

  At home.

  He smiled a little at the thought. It was a pleasant smile, but there was sadness behind it as well. He looked at his surroundings, at the textured, sound-proof walls, at the digital readouts that showed the passing of time in decimal-pointed numbers, at the images on the screens. Much of his life had been spent in dimly lit edit bays like this one.

  In high school, he’d been in charge of the video yearbook, and he’d watched the major events of his junior and senior years unfold through the lens of a camera. But this was what he loved to do, his passion, the reason he came to Stanley University in the first place.

  Years ago, a wealthy New York businessman, Roger Hays, donated a large sum of money to the campus. Some said the man’s son had low SAT scores, that he’d been buying the boy’s way onto campus. True or not, the faculty cashed Hays’ check, and the money was used to purchase new state-of-the-art film and television equipment, equipment to rival anything found in California or New York. In fact, Stanley’s curriculum was now so good that the school was often referred to as “the USC of the Midwest.”

  Joss’ family could not afford to send him to the real USC, but they could pay the tuition for Stanley U. So here he sat, spending the night in yet another edit bay, alone with his footage.

  Alone.

  He frowned at the realization; thought of his drive with Tashima. The streets had been empty, but he drove the speed limit. Campus cops liked to sit on the dark side streets and catch kids who were leaving the bars.

  It had been quiet, but he’d kept the radio off just the same. He’d known Tashima for over a year, but he still didn’t have a clue what kind of music she liked.

  She’d had the window down, her arm hanging out with a lit cigarette pinched between her fingers. Occationally, she would bring it to her lips, inhale, then blow a trail of smoke into the wind.

  Finally, Joss got up the nerve to ask, “You wanna catch a movie?”

  “No, I’m kind of tired and —” She looked at him. “Wait ... you mean just you and me?”

  “Yeah.”

  “On a date?”

  “Yeah.”

  She’d smiled and Joss hadn’t been able to tell if she were flattered, amused, or both. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

  “Okay.” He sank back into the driver’s seat, but after a moment, he’d turned to her and said, “No, it’s not okay. I’d like to hear one good reason why we shouldn’t go out.”

  Tashima blew smoke. “I’ll give you two. One: we’re friends.”

  He’d given her a sly grin and raised his eyebrow. “We could be friends with benefits.”

  Her voice was as cold as the breeze through the window, “Which brings me to two: sometimes I think you’re a jerk.”

  “If I’m such a jerk, why are we still friends?”

  Tashima gave a little snort. “I ask myself that question every time I see you.”

  And it sounded as if she meant it.

  Joss held up his arm, flexed, and studied the bicep.

  In high school, he’d been a skinny little geek. He’d worked hard since then, lifted weights, gained muscle. Now, he could be mistaken for a football player, but he still fared no better with women. At the end of the day, his life was still solitary confinement, still darkness and video monitors.

  He turned his attention back to the screens, to Tashima’s image, adjusted the grain, the sharpness, and wondered what it would be like to touch her.

  I’m so pathetic. He shook his head and thought, Why am I sitting here torturing myself?

  Joss stopped the video; turned his attention to the computer, to the audio Kim had recorded. He pressed “play.” As he listened, a line moved across the peaks and valleys of a graph on the screen.

  The first spike was Kevin’s voice, “... act like you’re going to sleep.”

  Next came the rustle of movement as Kim lay down, followed by a long silence. And then ...

  “... you.”

  What the hell was that?

  Joss clicked the mouse, pulled the audio back. He adjusted the volume, EQ’d the background noise down, then let it play again. This time it was much clearer.

  “Take me with you.”

  He felt a chill climb his back. It was a female voice, but it wasn’t Kim’s, nor was it Tashima’s. He isolated it, then ran it through over and over.

  “Take me with you ... Take me with you ... Take me ...”

  “Good morning, Mr. Giler.”

  Joss jumped in his chair and whirled around.

  Geoffrey Burke stood in the doorway, a steaming Stanley University coffee mug in his hand. He wore a tweed jacket and slacks with a white, button-up shirt. No tie. Burke never wore ties. The golden frames of his glasses caught light from the overhead spots and gleamed brightly. The look on his face was friendly, but serious.

  “Professor ...” Joss glanced at his watch. “You’re here awful early.”

  “So are you.”

  There were women who took Burke’s class because of his boyish looks and English accent. The accent was still James Bond, but today the face appeared haggard, dark circles around red eyes.

  He sipped his coffee; looked at the monitors. “Your group’s investigation was last night, am I right?”

  Joss nodded. “Yes sir, I was just reviewing the recordings.”

  “Anything noteworthy?”

  “I’ve found some EVP.”

  “The more accurate term is ASP, Mr. Giler. Anomalous Sound Phenomenon. Chains rattling, knocks at the door, pipes banging ... these are all sounds that might have a paranormal origin. About five years ago, I captured the buzz of German propellers, World War II era bombers, in a remodeled flat in downtown London. It was all very exciting. More often than not, Mr. Giler, you’ll find that spirits communicate with something other than their voices.”

  Joss backed up th
e audio and said again, “I’ve found some EVP.”

  He hit “play” and the little girl whispered through the speakers once more, “Take me with you.”

  Burke sat down in the empty chair next to Joss. “Is there video?”

  “Oh, yeah.” Joss typed on the keyboard and the monitor images rewound. “Kevin had Kim lie down on the bed, like you suggested —”

  “Show me.” The professor placed his coffee cup on the console. “And let me hear the audio from the video camera only, if you please.”

  Joss nodded. “Sure thing.”

  On the monitor, Kim slowly lay down on the bed, and for a moment, there was no activity, no sound at all, then she suddenly sat up and looked around.

  Burke leaned forward. “Did you see that?”

  “What?”

  The professor tapped the monitor. “The expression on Miss Saunders’ face. Run it again.”

  As the images played out a second time, Joss saw what Burke was talking about. There was fear in her eyes. “It’s like she could hear it.”

  “Now sync up the other audio recording with this video,” Burke suggested.

  “No shit?”

  The professor nodded. “I think so.”

  It took only a few keystrokes to set it up. This time, Kim’s audio and Kevin’s video were married. The whisper came through the speakers, “Take me with you,” then Kim’s eyes sprang open as if a gun had just gone off beside her. The mysterious voice wasn’t audible in the video camera recording, and yet she was able to hear it.

  “Son of a bitch,” Joss said, impressed.

  Burke was awed as well. “Play the rest of the tape.”

  Joss did as the professor ordered, and together they watched the action play out, saw the book fly, the bed move, and the door slam.

  When the monitor went black, Burke turned to him and asked, “No one mentioned hearing the voice?”

  “No.”

  “Not even Miss Saunders?”

  “No, she ... no.”

  The professor nodded. “Mr. Giler, I would like to see the four of you in my office this afternoon. I have a proposal that I think your group may find very interesting.”

  4

  Kevin looked at the splint, a hard plastic brace with Velcro straps that firmly hugged his hand and wrist. He’d hoped for a cast. He wanted something everyone back at the house could sign, a kind of fraternity souvenir, but that wasn’t how it was done anymore, not for a hairline fracture.

  Kim had dropped him off at the house just after three in the morning, and then it was back to the hospital at eleven to be fitted for this brace. In between, he’d received a phone call from Joss, telling him that Burke had already viewed the tapes, listened to the audio files, and was so impressed with their work that he now wanted to speak to them about it.

  Kevin could barely contain his excitement. He should have been tired from lack of sleep, not to mention the pain medication the doctors had given him, but as the group gathered in the profesor’s office, Kevin was full of so much adrenaline that rest was the furthest thing from his mind.

  The desk was too large for the room. Professor Burke had to turn sideways and slide around it to get to his chair. It was stained a dark brown and nothing on it was out of place.

  The computer was a Dell, which was odd. Kevin thought the university had made some kind of pact with Gateway, filling the computer labs and library with cow-printed mousepads. Burke’s mousepad displayed a spooky mansion, a lightning bolt flashing above its eaves. A stack of blank paper sat to one side of his printer. The professor’s name, centered in bold at the top of each page, was followed by a string of degrees: M.D., Ph.D., etc. Several of the letter combinations held no meaning for Kevin, like some nonsense combination found in a spoonful of alphabet soup.

  A Stanley University coffee mug full of pens sat on the right-hand corner beside two black plastic trays. The top tray had a sign that read, “Feed In Basket at Your Own Risk!”

  Kevin stared past the professor, looked at the books that filled the man’s shelves, quickly read the spines. Every book in the office had “ghost” or “haunted” somewhere in the title, and Geoffrey Burke had authored or co-authored more than a few of them, but the one that almost brought Kevin to laughter was by Allan Zullo, Haunted Animals: True Ghost Stories. He pictured Lassie’s head spinning as the dog growled, “Fuck Timmy! Leave his ass in the well!”

  He smiled and turned away, glancing at the others. Joss sat in the chair next to him, yawning, wearing the same clothes he’d worn the night before. Tashima and Kim were the last to arrive. They stood by the door, Kim checking her watch as if she had somewhere else she had to be.

  Burke looked at them, his reading glasses hanging precariously on the end of his nose.

  Kevin cleared his throat. “Joss said you liked the work we did on our investigation.”

  “Indeed I did, Mr. Heiliger. I’ve reviewed your group’s data, and the work was top notch. It wasn’t merely up to standard, it set a new standard.”

  A proud grin slowly bloomed on Kevin’s lips. He looked around the office, finding similar expressions on the faces of his friends.

  “Which leads me to believe that each of you is ready for this.” The professor turned in his chair and reached into a drawer. He hesitated, then produced a red file folder. He removed some photographs, spread them out across his desk. “Ladies and gentlemen, meet the Woodfield Movie Palace.”

  Kevin leaned in to see various views of the theater, some showing a brightly lit marquee. As he studied the photos, Burke covered them with the Xerox copy of an old newspaper clipping. The headline read, “WOODFIELD GHOST?”

  “It has a long history of paranormal activity,” Burke announced, and the knowing grin on his face was ripe with potential experiences. Before Kevin could ask him to elaborate, the professor shrugged and said, “Unfortunately, the cinema and surrounding land have just been sold for development. In the space of a few weeks, this building will no longer exist and a unique opportunity for spiritual investigation will be lost forever.

  “I’ve asked you here because I need field assistants.”

  Kevin’s eyes widened and he sat taller in his chair. After a few moments of stunned silence, he found he was able to speak again, “Thank you so much, Professor. This is such an honor. I hope I don’t disappoint you or —”

  “You’ll do fine,” Burke cut in, and then his eyes swept the group. “As I said, I’ve gone over your evidence, your logs and reports, and I need detail-oriented people such as yourselves, people who will take careful notation of what they see, hear, and experience. Serious-minded individuals.”

  Joss snickered. “Then what am I doing here?”

  “Mr. Giler. You’re here because, in addition to your recent improvement on my exams, I’ve seen you demonstrate advanced knowledge of digital camera and sound equipment. And I might add that your participation in this little exercise will greatly improve your classroom average.”

  Tashima spoke up, “How many ghost hunts have you been on, Professor?”

  He wagged his finger at her. “This will be a scientific investigation, Miss Ishmail, not, let me repeat this so it’s clear to everyone, not a ghost hunt. A ghost hunt would have us traipsing off to some bloody place, a graveyard for instance, where there has never been a recorded sighting. All this on the off chance we might see something.

  “We are going to a location known for spectral activity. We will be collecting data via video, still photos, and devices that record audio, movement, and temperature. We will be taking detailed notes and collecting evidence to prove, or to disprove, a haunting.” He turned back toward Tashima. “And to answer your query, my dear, I’ve conducted over two dozen investigations in my professional career, most in my native England.

  “Any other questions?”

  Kevin gave another glance at his hand, at the brace that covered it, and his excited smile waned a bit. “I just don’t know how much good I’ll be to you with this.”r />
  The professor indicated his other hand. “You can still hold onto equipment, EMF meters, a digital audio recorder?”

  “When is this?” Joss wanted to know. His tone was less than eager.

  “How can you not be totally psyched about this?” Kevin’s eyes returned to the photographs on the professor’s desk, to the newspaper article. “Don’t you understand what an incredible opportunity this is? This place was a local legend.”

  “We’ll go this weekend,” Burke told them. “But I’d like to schedule a walk-through beforehand, sometime in the next few days. Rule number one of an investigation: find out all you can about the locale. Is that agreeable to everyone?”

  Joss frowned. “All weekend?”

  “What, you got a date or somethin’?” Tashima asked with a grin.

  “Maybe I do.”

  “Won’t your other hand get jealous?” she asked.

  Burke rolled his eyes. “Mr. Giler, Miss Ishmail, please tell me we are all adults here?”

  Kevin glared at them. “Yes sir, we are.”

  “Very good, Mr. Heiliger. I know I can count on your assistance.” Burke looked over to Tashima. “What about you, Miss Ishmail?”

  She pursed her lips, thought it over. It was no secret that she needed this credit, and while Kevin didn’t know what her grade had been on Burke’s mid-term exam, he knew it hadn’t been good. If Tashima flunked, she’d have wasted the entire semester. Finally, she nodded and said, “If it’ll help my grade, count me in.”

  “Mercenary,” Burke grinned at her. “That’s fine.” He then shifted his glance. “Mr. Giler?”

  Joss was still looking at Tashima. “What the hell, I’m in too. Sounds like fun.”

  The professor next turned to Kim and his smile wilted a bit.

  Kevin looked over at her. She was pressed against the doorframe, her face white as a sheet.

  “No,” Kim said.

  Burke sweetened the offer. “Our findings will be published. And of course, all of you will share in the credit. I know you want to teach, Miss Saunders. Publication would be a wonderful —”

  “No,” she insisted, her voice trembling. “There’s no way I can —”