Hearts of Darkness: A Valentine's Day Bully Romance Collection

by Joanna Mazurkiewicz

  Chapter One

  Professor Charles Montcalm flipped off the lights in his office at Holzer Hall, the home of Miller College’s Parapsychology Department. The white-erase board on his wall doubled as a movie screen, and Brent Hill, tech geek extraordinaire, was manning the projector at the end of the long meeting table. Montcalm sat down one side between the team from the network and across from the guys on the Ghost U cast.

  The DVD set for season two of Ghost U had just been completed by the Hometown Mystery Network, and producer Henry Rogerson and his assistant, Avila Singh, had brought to Boston from Los Angeles. The boys in the cast were eager to see their faces and watch the final versions of their show, and Quinn Riley, the team’s lead investigator, had purchased popcorn, pizza and soda for everyone.

  They turned their attention to the screen as the first images appeared. Sepia-toned and flickering, they were the show’s signature opening, with antique photographs melting beneath white handwriting that scrawled itself across the screen.

  Quinn’s recorded baritone voice, beautifully modulated after a lifetime in church choirs, began to speak.

  “Ghosts. Phantoms. Specters. To some, they’re nightmares.”

  The images flickered and changed, the melting photographs giving way to shots of the team approaching the Schuyler Mansion, equipment cases in hand. The three young men of the cast - Quinn, Brent, and Tyler Sullivan - looked up at the house with matching expressions of grim determination.

  The real Quinn laughed and tossed a handful of buttery popcorn into his mouth. “Yeah!” he cheered their recorded images. “Get some!”

  Brent joined in. “Ghostin’ in!”

  The voice-over continued. “To us, they’re a scientific mystery that we intend to solve.”

  The screen showed the serious faces of the team, their names appearing beneath their faces. Quinn was handsome, with dark curls and flashing dark eyes. Brent, a boy-next-door type with a rock band T-shirt and messy brown hair, stared out from the screen. Tyler’s studious face was next, and his credit image showed him standing in a tie and white button-down shirt, his sleeves rolled up, as he pushed his black-rimmed glasses back up his nose. Like Quinn, he was dark haired, but his eyes were piercing green.

  “Brainiac!” Quinn cheered.

  The image changed to show Montcalm, sitting at the very table they were using now. Quinn’s voice over went on.

  “With the backing of our faculty advisor and the Miller College Parapsychology Department, we’re armed with knowledge, state-of-the-art equipment, and the need to solve the greatest mystery of all. Is there life after death?”

  The scene shifted to show the three young men in wedge formation, marching toward the camera as if they meant to eat it. Quinn’s voice announced firmly, “This is Ghost U.”

  “Whoo!” Brent cheered.

  Henry, their producer nodded and grabbed a piece of pizza. “I love these new credits, guys. Great hero shots of all of you.”

  “The girls are gonna die for it,” Avila predicted.

  Quinn and Tyler high-fived, and the boys’ leader grinned. “That’s what I’m talkin’ about!”

  With grins on their faces, they settled in to watch.

  GHOST U was the most popular paranormal investigation program on cable television. The boys themselves were famous, with a rabid fan following made up mostly of young women. They had a website, an official Facebook page, personal Facebook and Twitter accounts, and dozens of fan sites that were a monetizer’s dream. Photos of the three cast members appeared on social media, and whenever one of them “accidentally” had a shirtless photo posted, their fans went berserk.

  Quinn loved it.

  They watched the entire season, bingeing on all twelve episodes, taking only the occasional bathroom break and snack run. When the twelfth episode ended, Brent turned off the projector and sat back with his hands on the back of his head.

  “Wow,” he said. “That turned out great.”

  “I still can’t believe the evidence we got in that last case,” Tyler said. “Getting that apparition on film is, like, the paranormal investigator’s Holy Grail.”

  “White mist,” Montcalm corrected.

  “What?”

  “White mist. An anomaly, possibly ectoplasmic. It wasn’t an apparition.” Their advisor looked at them and sipped his coffee. “You still haven’t managed to catch a ghost on camera.”

  Quinn nodded. “It’s a matter of time. There are these new ultraviolet...”

  “No new equipment,” Henry interrupted.

  The cast stared at him as if he’d lost his mind. Quinn, as was his wont, spoke first. “What did you say?”

  The producer sat back. “I said, no new equipment. The network isn’t springing for any more toys.”

  Brent was affronted. “Why not?”

  Henry and Avila exchanged looks, and Quinn frowned. The producer answered, “The network feels that you’re getting a bit predictable, and they think that watching you operating your EM detectors and stuff is getting a little boring.”

  “Boring?” Quinn challenged.

  Tyler straightened in his chair, alarmed. “Are we being canned?”

  Brent leaned in. “That’s industry standard stuff.”

  “Ghost hunting is not an industry,” Avila objected, her Indian accent light and lilting.

  “The hell it isn’t.” Quinn stood. “Everybody uses that stuff.”

  “Exactly my point.” Henry looked at them. “You’re getting repetitive, and you’re looking like every other ghost hunting show on TV.”

  Montcalm looked down at his hands. “The producers have decided on a change of direction for next season.”

  Tyler looked stricken and gripped the arms of his chair. Brent shook his head, and Quinn asked the obvious question. “What change of direction?”

  “The network isn’t buying you more cameras or anything, but they are going to send you a new team member.”

  Quinn paced between his buddies and Montcalm’s bookcase. He didn’t like there this was going. “What new team member?”

  The trio on the other side of the table exchanged another glance, and Henry said, “There’s not enough of a female component to the show.”

  “Says you,” Brent snorted. “Have you seen the fan mail we get? My Twitter feed is full of thirsty girls, and I’ve got nothing compared to Quinn.”

  “That’s the fan base,” Avila said. “We’re talking about in front of the camera.”

  The three young men looked at one another. None of them liked what they were hearing.

  “Go on,” Quinn prompted.

  Avila opened a manila folder that she’d had in front of her the whole time. “First of all, we’re adding a camera operator and a sound tech to accompany you on shoots. The fans want to see more of Brent, so we’re going to give them what they’re asking for.”

  Brent grinned. “Cool.”

  She put headshots down on the table. “Steve Morris is a camera operator with ten years of experience with documentary filmmaking. Rick Chester has been doing sound for various films and television for a decade.”

  The men were on the pleasant side of plain, and they looked capable, if the expressions in their photographed eyes were anything to judge by. Quinn looked at the pictures and nodded.

  “I’m cool so far. But there’s something else.” He gestured toward Montcalm, who was still looking at his hands. “I mean, you look guilty as fuck.”

  “We’re adding another investigator,” Henry told them. “And her name was given to us by Professor Montcalm.”

  Quinn narrowed his eyes, but Tyler perked up hopefully. “Her?”

  Montcalm spoke without looking up. “Her name is Emma Ray. She’s...”

  Quinn crossed his arms over his chest and sat back down angrily. “Don’t say it.”

  The professor gave him a rueful smile. “She’s a psychic.”

  Brent slapped the table. “Aw, hell, no.”

  “She comes highly
recommended by the American Parapsychological Society and has been successfully participating in ongoing experiments at the University of Arizona under Dr. Begay.”

  Brent snorted. “That guy’s name still cracks me up.”

  “Grow up.” The professor directed most of his comments at Quinn. “She’s a physical and mental medium, and she’s very talented.”

  Avila added another picture to the table, and the boys all leaned forward to have a look. The young woman in the photograph was in her late teens, no older than they were. She had an impressive mane of auburn hair and doe-like brown eyes. She was wearing a blazer and jeans in the photograph, standing with one elbow propped up on a heavily laden bookshelf.

  “She’s pretty,” Tyler allowed.

  Brent shrugged. “She’s okay.”

  “She’s very pretty,” Quinn said, looking at the photo, “but that’s meaningless. We do serious investigations. We’re not interested in sideshow freak mumbo-jumbo. We’re seeking the truth.”

  “You’re seeking rating, money, and pussy, not necessarily in that order,” Henry laughed.

  “We don’t do psychics,” Quinn responded, his voice little more than a growl. “They’re charlatans. Fakes. You’re going to completely destroy all of our credibility with this move.” He tossed the photograph back onto the table and crossed his arms again. “This is bullshit.”

  Avila took a shot at convincing them. “The network thinks that a little sexual tension would add to the ratings, and one member of a focus group suggested that a female presence might be reassuring to some of the ghosts you encounter in your investigations.”

  Quinn squinted at her. “Don’t patronize us. I know you don’t believe in this.”

  “I believe that other people believe,” she countered. “And I also know that people love psychics... especially sexy ones.”

  He looked back at the photograph. It was hard to see the girl’s body in the picture, but she had a nice enough face. “She doesn’t look sexy.”

  Henry laughed. “Wait for it.” He pulled out another photograph and presented it. This one showed Emma Ray in a bikini, kneeling on a beach somewhere, her bounteous curves on full display.

  “Ooh,” Brent approved. “Much better.”

  “She used to model for a department store in Arizona,” Henry confirmed. “She’s got a bangin’ body.”

  “She’s going to change everything,” Quinn bitched. “It’ll be all about her hair and her clothes and making her comfortable and keeping her safe and catering to her every damn minute of every day... No. I’m not doing it.”

  “You don’t have a choice,” the producer told him. “Either you accept her as part of your team, or...”

  He looked at Montcalm, who turned away, a fierce glower on his face. None of the team had ever seen their professor so muzzled.

  “Or what?” he prompted.

  “Or we’ll cancel Ghost U and build a show around her.”

  Tyler put his head in his hands, and Brent flopped back with a groan. Quinn slammed his hand on the bikini photo.

  “That’s fucking blackmail.”

  “It is.”

  “What if she’s no good?” he demanded. “She’s going to make us look like idiots.”

  “Don’t worry about her,” Avila said. “We’ll make sure she gives you what you need.”

  “Real hits?” Quinn challenged. “Valid and confirmable information from spirit communication?”

  Brent piped up. “Blow jobs?”

  Henry burst out laughing and pointed at him. “Yes! I like how you think.”

  “You’re a pig,” Avila grumbled.

  Her boss ignored her. “The network wants sexual tension. If all three of you end up banging her by the end of the season, that’s even better.”

  Quinn’s face was burning red. “We’re filming paranormal investigation, not Hook Up Island.”

  “One of my best rated shows,” Henry bit back. “Glad you’ve heard of it.”

  “Jesus...”

  Tyler and Brent watched as their lead investigator stalked out of the room, slamming the door behind him. Henry followed him out into the hallway.

  Montcalm turned to the cast members who had stayed. “Will you at least give her a shot?” he asked. “As I said, she’s highly recommended, and she could add something amazing to the show.”

  Brent ran a hand over his face and slumped in his chair. He gestured helplessly. “Can we... can we do a test investigation with her, just to see how we get along? Film it, see how she does?”

  “I think that’s more than fair,” Avila nodded.

  Tyler leaned on his elbows. “Given that we don’t have any choice, we might as well make the best of it.”

  “That’s the best choice you could make,” she smiled at him. “Thank you for being reasonable.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  She glanced at the door. “What about him?”

  They all knew that as it stood now, there was no show without Quinn. He was the face of Ghost U, their fearless leader. He was the one the girls on the internet all wanted to bang, and the charismatic center of their group.

  “Let Henry talk to him,” Montcalm suggested. “I’ll try, too. Just plan on bringing her in for a test investigation.”

  “I’m glad you said that,” she smiled, “because she’s already moving in on campus.”

  Chapter Two

  Emma finished unpacking her suitcase and straightened to look around her dorm room. She had been told that one of the requirements of joining the Ghost U team was to be enrolled as a student at Miller College, and since she was eager to get away from Arizona, she’d jumped at the chance.

  She’d seen a couple of episodes of the show, and it had left her cold. The guys on the team seemed far too full of themselves, especially their so-called leader, Quinn Riley. They weren’t shy about sharing their unflattering opinions of psychics, which didn’t exactly endear them to her. She hoped that some of the flagrant animosity they displayed on TV was put on for effect. If it wasn’t, then this would be a very short experiment.

  Someone knocked on her door, and she went to answer it. Talia, one of the production assistants for the show, was standing there with garment bags in her hands and a huge smile on her face, her lipstick shocking red. She was dressed in African-inspired prints, a colorful nod to her heritage.

  “Hey!” she greeted. “Can I come in?”

  “Of course.” Emma smiled and stepped back, letting Talia and her burdens come through the door. “What’s in the bags?”

  “The producers have picked out some clothes for you to wear during filming.” She hung the garment bag in the closet and looked around. “Not bad, I guess.”

  “No, not at all. It was nice of the producers to arrange it so I don’t have a roommate.”

  Emma closed the door and went to the garment bags. Talia followed her and stood behind her, arms crossed, watching as she unzipped the bag to see the clothes inside. Emma stared, then turned around.

  “I’ve seen more fabric on a washcloth. What the hell?”

  Talia grinned. “Come on. It’ll be fun. You’re a pretty girl, with a great body - the boys in the cast will be impressed with you when they see you in these dresses.”

  She shook her head in dismay. “I don’t want them to be impressed with my body. I’m here to do a job, and I want to impress them with that.”

  Talia sighed. “Well, that’s the problem, isn’t it? These guys don’t believe in psychics, and they don’t want you to be part of the team. In fact, the lead dude...”

  “Quinn Riley. The ego maniac.”

  “That’s the one.” She grinned. “He’s already pitching a fit about you being involved in this. But the producers have laid down the law, and he’s going to have to deal with it.”

  Emma closed the garment bag. “Great. So what does Riley’s attitude problem have to do with me dressing like a skank?”

  “Rogerson wants some sexual tension to gin up some more in
terest in the show,” Talia shrugged. “I mean, you were hired 90% for your looks and 10% for your gift, and we’re gonna manage that 10% anyway.”

  She felt a chill wash over that settled in a knot in the pit of her stomach. “What do you mean, manage?”

  “We’ll feed you information about the location, so you can mention things in the walk-through. Then we’ll have Tyler do his research and plant the same information for him. You look like a star, the viewers will be impressed, and then the boys will have to give you some credit.”

  Emma stared at the production assistant in horror. “Absolutely not!”

  Talia looked taken aback. “Well... how else are you supposed to give accurate information?”

  Apparently, Quinn Riley wasn’t the only one who doubted her veracity. Anger burned at the back of her neck. “I’ll give accurate information because I’ll repeat what the spirits tell me.”

  Talia snorted. “Yeah, okay. But how ‘bout we tell you some things anyway?”

  “Professor Montcalm said he wanted my valid, honest impressions. He said I was hired because of my abilities, and ...”

  “Professor Montcalm doesn’t sign your paycheck,” Talia pointed out flatly. “So are you going to be a good girl and play along, or are we going to have to hire someone else who’ll do the job? I mean, I thought you wanted out of Arizona, but if you want to go back, just keep balking at the requirements, and...”

  “That’s blackmail.”

  “That’s show biz.”

  She looked away, weighing her options. “And if I say no?”

  “Then we ship you back to where you came from, and you get to figure out how to reimburse the network for its expenses in getting you admitted and registered to the school, set up in a private dorm room, and your relocation costs.” The friendly look Talia had worn when she’d first arrived was completely missing as she stared at Emma. “So, what’s it going to be?”

  There was only one answer, and both of them knew it. She sighed. “Fine. I’ll do what you want me to.”

  The production assistant beamed. “Excellent.” She strolled toward the door. “There’s an introductory meeting for you and the rest of the cast at Mr. Rogerson’s hotel at 7 pm. Wear the black dress and I’ll pick you up at 6.”