“Regina,” Bjorn says, annoyance creeping into his voice.
We fall silent. He has our full attention.
“What…” He looks afraid to ask. “What happened in Boston?”
It’s our turn to be dumbfounded.
Reggie flinches like she’s smelled something foul. More than once. “You said you watched the news.”
“There wasn’t anything about Boston,” he says.
I turn on the wall-mounted flat-screen and return to my seat, confident that any channel will have news on the partial destruction of a major U.S. city. I realize the fault in that logic when a woman from the Home Shopping Network appears, shilling a new way to peel an apple.
“I got it,” Bjorn says, picking up the clicker and pointing it at the TV.
The channel changes to a local ABC affiliate. The news is on. But no panicked voices. No breaking announcements. No frenzied reporters. And something is off. The cityscape behind the desk-jockeys isn’t Boston, or any other recognizable Massachusetts city. “Is that…Providence?”
“It is,” Bjorn says, sitting up a little straighter. “Why would they be showing Rhode Island news? He changes the channel to NBC. It doesn’t take long to figure out that the local news on this channel is out of New York. “What the hell?”
CBS is broadcasting out of New Hampshire. So is Fox.
“They’re keeping people in the dark,” Reggie says. “Why would they do that?”
“To obfuscate the truth,” Bjorn says. “Clearly. But…what is the truth?”
“That ghosts are real.” Rain punctuates the statement by popping the last of her munchkin feast into her mouth, and then saying, while chewing, “And they’re fuckin’ huge.”
“Excuse me?” Bjorn says. “Did you say…” He turns to Reggie. “Did she say…”
Reggie nods. “It’s our best hypothesis.”
“Ghosts…” he says, sounding surprisingly doubtful for a paranormal scientist/warlock. “And they did what, exactly?”
“Picture Stay Puft,” I tell him. “But six times as tall and about as cute as the ghost in Poltergeist, the one in the upstairs hall that roars like a lion. But with more eyes, a mouth on its chest, and not a puppeteer in sight. They destroyed a portion of the North End. One of them was chasing us. The other was, I don’t know, trying to protect us. Or people in general. I don’t know.”
“And you all saw this?” I don’t appreciate his raised eyebrow.
Nods all around.
“Why would a six-hundred-foot-tall ghost be interested in you?” he asks me.
“Not me,” I say, and I turn to Rain. “Her. We think.”
He swivels toward Rain as she chugs the last of her coffee. “Same question.”
She wipes her mouth. Shrugs. “Best guess, they’re just as offended by my presence as I am by theirs.”
Bjorn’s laugh is nervous. “Are you suggesting that you’re somehow in contact with these…spirits?”
“Only when they cross my path,” Rain says.
“And you can feel them…”
“She can do a lot more than that,” I say.
Bjorn leans forward, more challenging than interested. “Show me.”
“I don’t think you’d like that.”
“I think I’d like it very much,” Bjorn says. “If it’s true. If any of what you’ve said is real.” He turns to Reggie. “I’m sorry, but I’ve been studying this subject for two decades, and I still have only hypotheses to show for it. What I can conclusively declare is that every medium I’ve ever encountered has been no more a conduit to the supernatural than I am a warlock able to cast fireball spells.”
“It’s just that he’s already angry,” Rain says.
“He—who?” Bjorn says, and then he turns to me. “He doesn’t look angry.”
“Aww shit,” I say, scanning the room. “Someone’s already here?”
“You felt him downstairs,” she says.
I glance back at the staircase, where I felt the chilly presence. “How come you’re not…you know?”
“I’m containing it,” she reveals.
“You can shut it off?”
She shakes her head. “More like plugging a hole with a finger. The moment I forget about the hole, and my finger slips…”
“Move your metaphorical finger,” Bjorn says. “Please.”
“I warned him,” she says to me.
“I heard you.”
She closes her eyes.
After just a moment, Bjorn loses his patience. “If you start talking with an accent or something, I’m going to—”
Rain opens her eyes, blazing with white light.
Bjorn flails back, falling up and over the love seat. By the time he rights himself, Rain’s skin is lighting up. She turns her brilliant gaze toward the door leading downstairs. “Here he comes.”
20
“I don’t understand,” Bjorn says, eyes locked on Rain’s glowing face. “H-how are you doing that?”
“We don’t know how it works,” Reggie whispers in awe, and then with a stern voice, “And I’m not sure this is a good idea. Rain…”
It takes just a moment for me to realize why Rain’s ability has Reggie on edge. The giants seemed drawn to Rain, once she lit up and got close. Moths to a flame. I’m not sure activating that beacon is a good idea anywhere. For starters, we could end up inundated with normal ghosts, if there is such a thing, but she could also summon those giants again.
“Rain,” I say. “If there’s a big one—”
“Don’t worry,” she says. “It’s just us and this guy.” She motions to the door, like there’s someone to see.
“I don’t see anything,” Bjorn says.
“Don’t try to see him,” Rain says. “Try to feel him.”
I’m about to warn her off again when the hairs on my arms rise up from a chill. It’s the same thing I felt earlier. There is something here... I glance to Reggie and Bjorn. “You can’t feel that?” I ask, holding up my arm, so they can see the hair standing tall.
Their stunned expressions say they can’t.
I’m no one special. I’ve never experienced anything like this before. Why would I suddenly be able to sense when ghosts are around? Everything about the idea is insane. And yet, it’s far more believable than everything else I saw last night.
So what makes me different?
Maybe the better question is, what makes Rain different? She was at the epicenter of the explosion that removed SpecTek from the face of the Earth. But she was protected. Her exposure to the blue energy limited. Or maybe filtered.
But mine wasn’t. I felt the frigid energy on my skin, for just a moment, as it rushed up into the sky. Maybe that was enough to grant me just a touch of what Rain can do? Enough to make me sensitive to spirits, or if Bjorn is right, another dimension of reality.
“Who is he?” Bjorn asks, sounding a bit panicked. “What does he want? How…how long has he been here?”
“I can’t talk to them,” Rain says, a trace of annoyance.
“Have you tried?” I ask.
Rain’s high beams shift to me for a moment. I can’t tell if I’ve annoyed her. Her expression is lost in the light. Then she says, “What’s your name?”
We all hold our breath, waiting for, but not really expecting to hear, an answer.
“See,” Rain says. “He’s not going to—”
The painting on the hallway wall falls to the floor. It’s subtle. Not really violent, but hair follicles where I didn’t know I had any are rising as goosebumps.
A few feet closer, the leaves of a potted tree rustle.
Closer still, a chair slides, as though someone has absentmindedly walked into it.
“He’s confused,” Rain says, now grimacing, the deepening connection making her uncomfortable. “And angry.”
“Angry at whom?” Bjorn asks, truly frightened. Seriously, this guy is the world’s worst warlock. I can’t help but like him because of it.
“Hol
d on,” Rain says, standing up. “I’m going to try something.”
She moves toward the approaching disturbance, growing brighter as she does. She reaches out a hand. “He’s right here…”
I reach out and take her hand, intending to pull her back. There’s no way this is a good idea. But the moment our hands make contact, my sense of proximity to the strange increases ten-fold.
For a moment, I see what looks like a shadow. Then it steps into Rain, enveloping her. It’s not inside her, per se. Not inhabiting her. But she is immersed in it, the brilliance of her glow pulsing through the shade.
“Someone’s here,” Rain says with a gasp. For a moment I think she’s talking about another ghost, or someone in the store below, but then I hear her deepened voice and a strange, old-world accent. “My spectacles. I can’t see!”
Her voice becomes ragged, like that of an old man. Her body hunches with age. “No! No, stay back!” Her hands stretch out, defending. Cowering. “Please. No. Not my doubloons.”
Fascination overrides fright. We are hearing the voice of a man who’s been dead since a time predating the United States, when doubloons were a recognized currency.
“Who is this?” I ask, really to myself.
Rain gasps, spinning toward me, her old frame bending away in surprise.
“Who is that?” she asks, and I get a sense that the…spirit is no longer reenacting its end, but reacting to me.
“You can hear me?” I ask.
“Speak your piece!” the grumpy old man says. “I’ll not have you delaying my…my… Where am I?”
Rain looks around, flinching as she seems to notice the apartment for the first time. “Who are you?”
“Saul,” I say.
“Named for the apostle before his conversion?” Rain asks. “Your parents must have been cruel.”
“For the king,” I say, correcting him.
“Ahh, ye’ve been given a name from the Old Testament, then.”
My heart races, blood roaring behind my ears. I want to let go of Rain’s hand and end the conversation, but I’m rooted in place, my reporter’s instincts kicking in.
“What’s your name?” I ask.
Rain hobbles closer to me, her head craned to the side. “Name’s Captain Joseph White, procurer of rare Earth elements.”
“Joseph White!” Bjorn whispers with the force of a fog horn. Rain—or rather, the Captain—doesn’t react to the outburst. I don’t think he can hear it. Only my physical connection with Rain, and maybe my brush with the unknown energy at SpecTek, allows us to communicate.
“What kind of elements?” I ask.
A wide, glowing grin slips onto Rain’s face. “People.”
“People?”
“I trade in slaves, boy. Don’t you—”
Repulsion snaps my hand back. The connection is severed. Rain’s light flickers, and then dulls as she concentrates, her posture returning to normal. When she speaks, it’s with her own voice. “Well, I feel dirty now.”
“He was a treat,” I say, hands shaking.
“He was murdered,” Bjorn says. “Almost two hundred years ago. He was bludgeoned, in bed. The mystery of his death, which was something of a scandal at the time—like who shot J.R.—inspired the writings of Edgar Allen Poe and Nathaniel Hawthorne.”
Bjorn flinches, as his mind returns from the past. Eyes twitching with fear. “Is…is he still here?”
“Does your hypothesis about spectral duality make you afraid or give you comfort?” Rain asks.
“I’m not following you,” he says.
“She means,” Reggie says, “if there are people around us all the time, does it matter if they’re in a parallel dimension or if they’re spirits?” To Rain. “Is that right?”
Rain gives a nod.
“I…suppose.” Bjorn finally works up the courage to walk back around the love seat and reclaim his spot next to Reggie.
Rain hisses through her teeth like he’s just stepped in shit.
“What?” Bjorn says, ready to bolt. “What happened?”
“You just sat on him,” Rain says, triggering an explosion of lanky limbs. Bjorn dives from the chair, trips over himself, and sprawls onto the rug.
For a moment, stunned silence. And then, laughter.
Rain has a peculiar laugh, almost like she’s trying it on for the first time. Takes me a moment to realize she was screwing with him. And then I’m laughing, too, unleashing pent up tension from the previous night. Reggie joins in, too, bellowing like she does.
Bjorn chuckles along, but I can tell he’s more embarrassed than amused.
As the laughter fades, Reggie turns to Bjorn and asks, “So, what do you think?”
He just stares at her, dumbfounded. “I…I don’t know what to think. I mean, there are more questions than answers, right? Joseph White is a historical person, who lived and died in Salem two hundred years ago. That seems to discount duality…unless time moves differently in other dimensions.”
“Which is extremely unlikely,” Reggie says. “And if it did, our different Earths would rarely align in space-time.”
“Then what we saw…” Bjorn’s voice shifts from embarrassed to genuine awe. “What we saw was real evidence of the spiritual realm. And if ghosts are real, so is the afterlife! If we can get data on this…tangible evidence…then it would change the world.”
His excitement is palpable, and intellectually understandable, but I don’t share his enthusiasm. “What about her?” I motion to Rain. “What she can do.”
“What you both can do,” Reggie says, and I decide to let it go. If we can understand Rain, I should be easy to explain.
“I don’t know…” Bjorn says. “I would need data from the explosion in Cambridge. Samples from what was left behind.” He motions to Rain. “Bloodwork, obviously. But science isn’t quick. It could be a long time before we understand any of this.”
“How long is a long time?” I ask.
Bjorn makes eye contact with Reggie. He clearly doesn’t want to field that question.
She sighs. “Years. But we don’t have anything from Cambridge, aside from the two of you, of course.”
The development is discouraging, but then I realize there is one piece of evidence from Cambridge that maybe no one knows about. “Would video help?”
“Video of what?” Bjorn asks, leaning forward.
“Morgan FaceTimed me from the explosion. To…to say goodbye.” I take a moment to swallow my emotions. “I screen-captured the whole thing. You can see the lab in the background. And Rain. It cuts out just before the explosion.”
“Yes, of course.” He reaches out a hand. “Can I see it?”
“I don’t have it,” I admit. “It’s still in Cambridge. In my bedroom. The EMP killed the phone, but the data should still be there.”
The news sucks the wind from Bjorn’s sails, but he’s undaunted, lured by the possibility of scientific discovery. “We won’t know until we—”
Bing, bing! His phone chimes.
He stands and heads for the door. “I’ll send them away.”
“Send…who away?” I ask.
He holds up his phone. “It’s an app. Lets me know when someone has entered the shop.”
“Bjorn, honey,” Reggie says, voice tense. “You locked the door.”
21
“Is it another ghost?” Bjorn asks Rain, his voice nearly a gasp.
“Pretty sure spirits don’t need to use doors,” I say, already on my feet. I turn to Reggie. “They must have tracked us to you. And you to him.” I motion to Bjorn.
“Tracked you?” Bjorn asks.
“The government,” I say. “Whatever agency or black op was overseeing SpecTek’s work. They’ve been after us since Cambridge.”
“Because of what you saw?” he asks.
“Because of what I took,” I say, watching Rain tip-toe toward the stairs, moving toward danger rather than away from it.
At least she’s not glowing.
&n
bsp; Despite her readiness to fight, Rain doesn’t reach the stairs fast enough, and the rest of us haven’t really moved, our instincts closer to fainting goats than any kind of predator. A man emerges from the dim stairwell, a silenced handgun leading the way. He levels the weapon at Rain’s chest, stopping her in her tracks. She’s brave, but she’s not stupid.
“Targets acquired,” the man says. I can’t see it, but he’s obviously speaking into a live mic hidden on his body, which is clad in black from head to toe. Unlike the men chasing us last night, he’s not dressed in armor and military fatigues. He’s wearing a suit. The only splash of color comes from the bottom of his tie, which is dark red, like it was dipped in blood. A pair of cold blue eyes glare from the mask concealing his face.
He’s not a soldier. He’s a killer. A mercenary at best…an assassin at worst.
“Two primaries and two secondaries,” the man says. “Advise.”
The man waggles the gun toward me and speaks to Rain, “Back there. With them.”
Rain hesitates.
“You don’t want to push me,” the man says, and I believe him.
“Rain…” I warn.
Her coiled stance relaxes. She backs away from the man, stepping closer to me, while keeping herself between the gun and us. I don’t know much about Rain, but I do know she’s brave as hell and a good person. I think she would take a bullet for us.
But I can’t let that happen.
“What do you want?” I ask, trying to keep my voice calm and noncombative.
The man just stares at me, waiting for the person on the other end of the comm.
Rain’s hands clasp behind her back, like she’s hiding something. But her hands are empty.
And then they’re not. A dull glow moves from her fingertips to her palms, growing brighter. If the room were dark, he’d have already seen it, but with the morning sun streaming through the skylights above us, the light just blends in.
What is she doing?
“Copy that,” the killer says, and then he turns to me. “It’s your lucky day. You’re coming with me.”
“W-why?” I ask.
“I’m guessing what they need from you is information,” he says, revealing that he is, in fact, a gun for hire rather than an employee. “What they need from them is silence.”
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