by Jen Jensen
“Did you build this? It’s amazing.”
“I like computers,” Sapphire said.
“Obviously,” Jamis said. “With this kind of talent, why are you here?”
“I don’t like the world. But I like it okay here.” Sapphire typed while she spoke, querying a database. She sorted through lines of returned data, pressing a series of buttons on her laptop and then turned a computer monitor to face Jamis.
“There you go. House was built in 1922. Owned by James Davis. Looks like the house belonged to Rick Davis until 1993. Probably passed down in estate. Probably his son. Let’s look.” She typed and names popped up on another monitor. “Yup. That’s his son.” Jamis watched, enraptured.
Sapphire scrolled through lines of fast moving data flying at her, pushing information to another screen. “Sold to Michael Alger in 1993. Foreclosed in 1995.” She pointed with one finger while she typed. “Then it was sold to an out of town investment group. There’s the sale paperwork. Look.” The date was July 16, 1996. Sapphire continued to scroll. “Ooh, foreclosed in February 2002. They didn’t pay taxes on it. Look.” She put up the tax repossession notice on the middle monitor. “Looks like the county took possession of the house until 2015. Here’s the sale paperwork to a Salt Lake City investment group in 2016. Brings us up to date.”
“Why did the county have it for so long?”
“Back in 2015, the county sold off a ton of land, property, and such to raise some revenue. It probably got bogged down in bureaucracy.” She continued to scroll. “I can’t find anything else.”
“Would police reports be in here?”
“That’s the only thing I don’t have in here. They have their own archive.” Sapphire said “archive” while making quotes with her fingers. Obviously, it wasn’t well managed. “I’m working on getting access though. What are you thinking? Why?”
“Well, if there were disturbances about the house, that’s where it would be.” Jamis stared at the screen, thinking. “Wait, was it a rental?”
Sapphire turned to type and fell into silence, sorting through data. “Yeah, good call. It was. For a long time, actually.” She pushed a picture to a monitor with a swipe of her fingers on the tablet. “Look there. That’s an eviction notice for the property in 1973, and ooh, wait,” she said. “Check this out. Another one from 1991.” She pushed it to the monitor. “Eviction notice served to Stephanie Gardner. January 4, 1991.” Sapphire continued to type. “Ooh, another one. Same woman. September 23, 1991.”
Jamis looked at the eviction notice. A renter who couldn’t pay the rent on time but who was granted a reprieve only to regress again. “Are there any others?”
“Nothing after September 1991. Just the sale records and tax repossession. Nothing about renters.” The data moved so fast at Sapphire, Jamis was overwhelmed watching it.
Jamis put her elbows on Sapphire’s desk, held her chin in her hands, looked away from the code. “How were you able to get this information? I mean, how is this possible?”
“Well, I rendered every paper record in the county to digital. When I did that, I created a metadata infrastructure and then associated searchable phrases and taxonomy. Even though the record is flat and scanned, in the background I’ve associated data I can query. It wasn’t that hard, really.”
“If you say so. Your education?”
“PhD in computer science from ASU.”
“That’s where I went. I didn’t get that far, though,” Jamis said.
“When were you there?”
“Late nineties. You?”
“Little after that. We missed each other. Though it’s a big school.”
“You’re extraordinary,” Jamis said. Sapphire blushed, rich red flooding her cheeks. Sapphire scooted back to look at her. “So, the house has transferred ownership multiple times since 1992. Before then, it was with one family.” Sapphire agreed. “Then it passed hands a number of times and was empty, owned by the county because of unpaid taxes, until 2016 when it was purchased and renovated by an investment company, bringing us up to date.”
“Why do you want to know about this house anyway?”
“I wondered how long it would take you to ask,” Jamis said with a grin. “It’s haunted.”
“No way.”
“Yup.” Jamis shared what happened at the house the day before. “I think things get wonky in the early nineties. Would you agree?”
“I do, actually. Let’s see if we can find anything about Stephanie Gardner.” Sapphire began to type again. “I’m curious now.” Sapphire tossed a death certificate onto a monitor, then pulled up a browser and typed “Stephanie Gardner” into the search engine which returned thousands of hits. “Holy shit,” she said.
“Holy shit is right,” Jamis said. “Can you go to that one?” Jamis pointed to a search result that linked to a Wikipedia article.
Sapphire clicked on the link and Jamis read out loud. “It is widely believed that Richard Crespin murdered Stephanie Gardner in Sage Creek, Utah, in March 1992. She was found on March 16,1992, though her date of death was undetermined. However, he never took responsibility for this murder before he was executed by lethal injection in Idaho in 2007.”
“If that doesn’t make a poltergeist, I don’t know what does,” Jamis said.
“If she was murdered, it would have been really big news. I started archiving the local paper, but I’m only up to 1982. We’ll have to go to the library and review the microfilm to see what they were saying about it then. I don’t remember anything.”
“You can just point me there. You don’t have to go.”
“Are you kidding me? Like I’m not seeing this through. Let me call and tell them we’re heading over. They can get the microfilm ready for us.” She spoke into the telephone while Jamis ruminated. Was this an actual poltergeist of a murdered woman? What were the implications of it? Should she document it differently? Call someone? The authorities? Her thoughts whirled. It wasn’t like there was a ghost hunting council, though there should be. Or maybe there was, and she wasn’t a member. No clubs wanted her as a member.
Sapphire finished talking, hung up the phone and interrupted her reverie. “Oh my God, Jamis, do you think she’s the poltergeist?”
“It’s possible. It would make sense. I mean, if she was murdered at the house? Or somehow felt tied to the house?” Jamis wasn’t certain of anything but felt the excitement of a chase emerging. Maybe Stephanie was the figure from her dreams and her encounter at the house the night before. “I guess we’ll just see where this leads us.”
* * *
A librarian greeted Jamis and Sapphire at the public library. She pulled microfilm from March 1992 through the end of the year. Jamis thanked her profusely, while Sapphire wound the March reel, pausing on the front page to twist the view right side up. “We’re looking somewhere in the middle of the month forward. She was found on March 16.”
Sapphire scrolled and stopped abruptly, adjusting the image on the screen. It was a black-and-white grainy photo of a semi stretched across US Highway 6 and a car to the side, the front end mangled. She looked at Jamis and wiped a tear.
“It’s March 14,” Jamis said, reading the date. “Why did you stop here?”
“That’s the wreck that killed Johnna’s mom and little brother. Crushed Sam’s legs.”
“I had no idea.” Jamis nudged Sapphire who scooted to the right of the machine. “Do you mind if I read?” Sapphire motioned for her to continue. “An afternoon accident took the lives of a local woman and her seven-year-old son yesterday. Two other children were in the car. One is in critical condition at Sage Creek General Hospital. The other has minor cuts, bruises, and a broken arm. The semi-truck driver is also dead. He lost control of his truck and it jackknifed, impacting the car at speeds over sixty-five miles per hour. The highway was closed for fourteen hours as police investigated the scene.”
Johnna’s mom died too. Jamis put her hand on her chest and sat back in the chair. Did their stitche
d together hearts recognize each other?
“What are the chances that I’d meet Johnna, investigating a poltergeist who might be the woman murdered around the same time her mom and brother died, exactly twenty-five years ago?” The level of interconnectivity was astonishing. Jamis was nauseous, though, like she pried into someone’s diary. “Oh my God, Sapphire, I wish I could unread that.”
“Do you understand the statistical improbability that you would meet Johnna, come to me, flip through this newspaper looking for your poltergeist?”
Sadness welled in Jamis’s throat. It was consuming. “Are you familiar with Jung’s theory of synchronicity?”
“Vaguely. Basically, it says that events that appear unrelated actually are, right?” Sapphire turned back and began to scroll.
“More or less. I think it’s when events are somehow related without evident external causation. Events manifest via internal processes, or in quantum dimensions, fields, or spaces we are unable to see. Somehow, unrelated objective occurrences share a common, underlying pattern.” Her heart hammered. Johnna’s mom died too. “Anyway, I don’t need to get stuck there, so yeah, what you said, mostly.”
“What does it mean? What does this mean?” Sapphire pointed at the microfilm.
“Honestly, I don’t know. I have no idea. It might not be related at all.” Jamis twisted the ring on her right index finger, and then worried at the thumb ring. She stared at the desk and focused her eyes on the corner of the microfiche machine. “I think I want to talk to Johnna about this.”
“If you’re going to talk to any of them, Johnna is the best one,” Sapphire said.
“Why do you say that?”
“She’s hyperrational and super calm. Sam and Sara, their older sister, are softer. You’ll see when you meet them.”
“You’ve known them all a long time?”
“We grew up together,” Sapphire said. “Johnna, Sam, and me are the same grade.” She stopped the microfilm again. “Here she is. March 16, 1992. Stephanie Gardner is found at the dump. Police are investigating. Her mother is dead. No family.” Sapphire skimmed the article. “Not a lot here.”
They put the next reel on the machine, skimming through the newspaper for the next few months. When they finished, sometime in October, Sapphire said, “Nothing. I can’t believe a murder like this would only be mentioned once.”
“No family, no money. No one cared,” Jamis said. “Can we get police records?”
“Well, we can, but can you be comfortable not knowing how?”
“I won’t ask any questions,” Jamis said.
“Give me a day or two.”
“Thanks,” Jamis said. “No one cared then, but I care now. I want to know Stephanie’s story.”
“Someone should always care,” Sapphire said, winding up the microfilm roll.
Chapter Seven
In her car, Jamis responded to comments on Facebook while waiting for Sapphire to power down and lock up the archives. Someone wrote, “You suck so bad. Stupid lesbo.”
Jamis wrote back, “That’s not what your mom said. XOXO ~ Jamis.”
Sapphire knocked on the passenger window, startling Jamis. “What are you doing? I texted Johnna. Dinner will be ready about six.”
“Want to go to the house?” Sapphire scrunched up her face. “Ah, come on. You said you’re a fan.”
“I’m going to regret this,” Sapphire said, expression pinched. She got in the car and tucked her bag behind the seat.
“You know, you and me could be partners. Like Starsky and Hutch. Cagney and Lacey.”
“Buffy and Willow? Mulder and Scully?”
“Oh my God, are you gay? Because if you are, I might ask you to marry me.”
“I mean, I might go for you. You’re adorable. But sadly, I like men.”
“It’s better to be platonic, crime solving partners. Romance jacks it up.”
“What about Bones and Booth?”
“Well, except for them.” Jamis pulled onto the road. “Mulder and Scully had issues.” Sapphire agreed.
At the house, Sapphire paused in the front seat. “I don’t want to get out of the car.”
“Come on,” Jamis said. “Please?” Jamis left the car and stood in front of it, hands pressed together. “Sapphire, please?”
“I’m going to regret this,” Sapphire said, climbing from the car.
“I can’t tell you how excited I am to see what happens tonight.” Jamis rushed up the porch stairs. “I’ve had the video equipment set up since last night. It’s set to record with motion, like a security system. I checked earlier and there were no clips, so my thought is the activity happens when someone is present.”
Sapphire followed her up the stairs, closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and stepped into the house. “Like the old adage, if a tree falls and no one is there to hear it, does it make a sound?”
“Exactly. It’s hard to know how this works,” Jamis said. “It’s the creating force of observation. We know that particles behave differently when they’re observed. Perhaps the force of our observation, and the projection of our consciousness, is what allows ghosts to manifest.”
“I have to ask. Do you really believe in ghosts?”
“I do,” Jamis said, moving into the kitchen. “I don’t have conclusive proof they exist, though. Only evidence. I don’t know what they are, either. I mean, is it our consciousness hanging out in another dimension? Our soul? Who knows. I wish there was more formal, scientific, and academic support for paranormal investigation. Because there isn’t, it’s relegated to outer space, which attracts nut bags.”
Maybe that was her. This was the last ghost hunt, she reminded herself. Either this produced enough tangible evidence for her to justify continuing, or it was time to let go. “So, I do.” Sapphire still stood by the front door. “You going to come in?”
“Maybe. I don’t know,” Sapphire said. “Do you have some gadgets? Gadgets might make me feel better.”
“No proton packs,” Jamis said. “Gadgets don’t really do anything, so I gave them up.” Sapphire took a tentative step into the house. “Don’t think of a marshmallow man, whatever you do,” Jamis said. Sapphire held up her birdie finger. The house was cold, but the thermostat was set to seventy-two degrees. “Feel that cold?” Jamis opened the camera case and handed Sapphire the night vision goggles. “You can use those.”
Sapphire put them on. “Are you my mummy?”
“You don’t love Doctor Who as much as I do,” Jamis said.
“I’ve watched every episode since 1963. I’ve read every book, comic book, listened to every full cast production.” Sapphire took the goggles off.
“We’re soul mates.” A gust of wind smacked into the windows. They rattled, and the curtains shook. The back door opened and hit the kitchen counter. Sapphire moved to close it. As she passed the refrigerator, the door flew open and hit her. She crashed into the kitchen chairs. Jamis grabbed her around the waist before she fell.
Jamis stood in front of her and closed both the fridge and back door. Any heat accumulated in the house was gone. Their breath marked the air. It was twenty-two degrees outside. The house felt below zero.
“I knew I’d regret this,” Sapphire said, hand on her heart.
“Come on,” Jamis said. “This is fun.”
Then the front door flew open with another gust of air. There was nothing on the stoop. Only their footsteps were visible in the fine dusting of blown snow on the sidewalk leading to the front door. Jamis moved to close the door. Sapphire watched from the kitchen. As Jamis lifted her hand to latch the chain, something emerged from the far left corner of the room, right where Vince saw something. It moved from her peripheral vision to direct line of sight. It emerged as a tickle, erupting in her consciousness and sounding her survival alarms. Time stilled, and silence enveloped her again. It was so quiet she heard the blood rushing through her veins.
The room was dark, though it should not have been. Jamis lunged for the light s
witch near the door, which lit enough of the space that the shadow dispersed. Jamis put her hand on the back of the door to find balance.
“What? What did you see?” Sapphire rushed toward her and followed her gaze.
“Something. Coming from that corner,” Jamis said, pointing. “Shit. The cameras.”
She grabbed the tablet from her bag and tapped it to life, the sensation of earwigs crawling down her spine. She navigated to get to the footage of the last few minutes, rewinding it to see herself walking to the front door. The back of her head was visible but there was no movement recorded in the corner of the room.
“Are you sure you saw something? It wasn’t a shadow?” Sapphire waited in the doorway between the kitchen and front room
“I’m sure. I mean, I’m really sure. I don’t know what else it could be. Something came at me. I shouldn’t have panicked. Should have kept watching it.”
“Maybe it’s in pain,” Sapphire said. “I mean, that’s what you used to say on your show. It means they’re scared, really hurting. Like a hurt animal or something.”
“Well, if Stephanie was murdered here, it could explain the anger and darkness.” Grief and love were the two emotions powering the human experience. Jamis knew that when turned inward, grief turned to anger and despair. In the years following her mom’s death, she cycled between despondency and volatility. The instability of foster care and the abuse there added layers of trauma, which then bled into adulthood. It manifested in broken relationships, obsessive work, and depression. Such heavy emotion demanded a recompense. It was true for the living and the dead.
A clock ticked in the background; otherwise, the house was silent. Jamis opened her mouth to speak again, but Sapphire stopped her.
“Jamis, don’t look behind you, but there is someone in the corner of the room.”