He opened his mouth to rebut but closed it again. He took the saltshaker and held it in his hand. She knew that there was nothing special about it, no wires, no condensation on the table that could have made it move through capillary pressure. She saw his mind working, trying desperately to debunk what he had just seen.
“You picked this place, so you can’t accuse me of setting this up. There’s no special effects, no smoke and mirrors. Just you, me... and Craig.”
He looked up at her. “Craig?”
“Craig Whitehorse, my guide.”
Tyler looked around. “Where...?”
“Sitting beside me.”
He swallowed hard. “Hello, Mr. Whitehorse...”
-Yeah, hi.-
“He says ‘hi,’” she supplied helpfully.
The ghost hunter stared at the saltshaker in his hand. “This is incredible. Quinn is going to be really sorry he wasn’t here to see this.”
“Well,” she said. “Maybe if he’s nice, Craig can do it again.”
All through the meal, while she quizzed Tyler about the school and things to do on campus, he studied that saltshaker. She was surprised he didn’t steal it when they got up to leave.
Chapter Six
On Saturday morning, the Ghost U team assembled in Professor Montcalm’s office. Avila was there, as well, along with two young men that Quinn had never seen before. Tyler and Quinn sat down, and Brent looked around.
“Where’s Emma?”
“Emma will not be joining us,” the professor said.
Quinn smiled. “So she quit?”
“No.”
His smile died.
“She’s not party to this meeting, because we’re going to go over some basics of the case I’ve chosen for our test investigation, and she doesn’t want to know what’s happening. In fact, she and another camera operator have already left for the location.”
The news pissed him off more than he would have expected. “What? Without us?”
“I’ll explain,” the professor said. “First, let me introduce you to Rick Chester and Steve Morris. Rick is the sound tech, and Steve will be running the cameras.”
They shook hands, and Quinn greeted amiably. “Welcome to the team.”
Steve, a dark-skinned man with a serious demeanor, nodded. “Thank you.”
Rick grinned, his freckles shining like beacons across his milk-white cheeks. “Pleasure to come aboard, cap’n.” He saluted, his fingers brushing the red forelock on his brow.
Professor Montcalm continued. “After this meeting you’ll all be taken to the haunted location. You’ll meet the witnesses and do your base-level sweeps. Tonight, while you’re all getting settled in the hotel, Emma will be doing a walk through while the camera operator films in night vision. On Sunday, you’ll do research. Sunday night will be the first night of investigation, just you five. Monday night you’ll investigate with Emma.”
Quinn rolled his eyes. “Great. That’ll be a wasted evening.”
“Or a very good one,” Tyler said quietly. His friend shot him an annoyed glance.
The professor took a deep breath. “May I continue?”
Quinn stopped glaring daggers at Tyler, and Brent said, “Yeah.”
“Thank you. Tuesday through Friday will be evidence review. Saturday we’ll coalesce our findings in light of what Emma sees, and that will be the reveal.”
Adding the psychic was adding extra time to the investigation, and it was going to be an editor’s nightmare putting it together. Quinn wondered again why the network had decided this was such a grand idea.
“So we’re missing an entire week of school for this?”
“Yes.” Professor Montcalm stroked his chin with his hand. “We normally do our investigations during breaks, but the network wanted this test run done as soon as possible so the producers could judge the interactions and chemistry on screen.”
“I’ll bet he’s hoping that we go for each other’s throats,” Brent commented, rubbing the back of his neck.
“You know what he says,” Avila shrugged. “Conflict makes ratings.”
“And ratings make dollars,” Quinn mused. He looked around at his team and thought about the offer that Henry had made to him, and guilt stabbed him. He looked down at the table and ran his fingernail through a channel in the woodgrain.
“Exactly,” Avila said.
Rick laughed, and it was like a donkey braying. “I used to work for Henry on Hook Up Island, and there were these two guys who didn’t like each other. Henry started a rumor about the first guy that everybody thought the second guy started. First guy confronted the second guy, and, shit, that was the wildest fist fight I ever saw.”
“We’re not going to fist-fight,” Professor Montcalm said quietly. “And we’re going to conduct ourselves professionally.” His pale eyes flickered to the faces of the young men seated around his table. “Aren’t we?”
“Of course,” Tyler agreed immediately.
Brent shrugged.
Quinn sighed, annoyed. “If you want to make me swear to give this girl a fighting chance, just say so.”
“Would you swear?” the professor asked.
“I forced,” he admitted. “It goes against everything I believe. You know that.”
Brent snorted. “Shit, Quinn, everybody knows that.”
“One investigation,” Professor Montcalm said. “Can you do that much?”
It was easy enough to promise, and he would do his best to keep it. “Yes.”
The professor nodded, satisfied. “One last thing... I said we would conduct ourselves professionally.”
“No sex,” Brent translated.
“I don’t care what you do off-camera, nor can I control it,” the professor said, sounding as if he deeply regretted that inability. “But I must remind you that Miller College is associated with this show, and some of the docents are less than thrilled with us already. If we do anything to cause embarrassment for the school, they will pull the plug not only on the show but also on the parapsychology sub-department as a whole.”
“So your job goes away,” Brent said, still taking it upon himself to act as translator.
“And you will be expelled. I’m not the only one at risk.”
Tyler scowled. “That’s... unkind.”
The professor nodded. “Indeed.”
Quinn leaned forward. “Okay. We’ll be perfect gentlemen in every way where Emma Ray is concerned. We’ll give her a chance, and we won’t give her any reason to file suit for sexual harassment or anything else. Cool?”
Professor Montcalm chuckled. “Cool.”
“Right. So. Where are we going?”
Avila activated the laptop, and the image on its little screen was projected onto the white-erase board. The photo showed a white clapboard farmhouse standing alone in a field of grain. There was nothing particularly unusual about the place, but even through the photograph, there was a glowering, ominous air about it.
“Goshen, Iowa,” Avila said. “Twenty miles outside Cedar Rapids.”
She clicked the laptop, and a grainy photo of an unsmiling man appeared on the screen. His full white beard was shaggy, and above it his dark eyes were flinty and cold.
“Ezra Keifer was from the Palatine region of Germany and moved to Iowa in 1870 with his wife Greta and their five children. All of his kids and his wife died of dysentery, leaving Ezra alone. He wrote to New York for a mail-order bride, and that’s how he met Catherine Harvey.”
The photo changed to show a young woman with a swan-like neck and limpid doe eyes. Her dark hair was in a classic Gibson girl updo, and her full lips were prinked into a tiny smile. Quinn thought she was beautiful.
“Catherine was seventeen years old when she married Ezra in 1899. He was fifty-one. By all reports, they disliked one another intensely, and their marriage may never have been consummated. They had no children.”
“Well, he could’ve been her dad,” Brent commented. “That’s kind of gross.”
“That sort of age difference was common, “ Professor Montcalm told them.
The photo shifted. The quality was poor, but it showed a handsome young man with dark hair and eyes.
“Paul Brennan,” Avila told them. “Irish immigrant and itinerant laborer. He was hired in 1907 by Ezra Keifer to help bring in the wheat harvest, and he stayed on to help around the farm. His began an affair with Catherine probably very soon after his arrival in Iowa.”
Professor Montcalm took up the tale. “Ezra suspected the affair. On Valentine’s Day, 1909, he told Catherine that he was going to Cedar Rapids to sell some livestock, but he doubled back and came home unexpectedly, finding Catherine and Paul in bed together. He shot Paul in the head and beat Catherine to death with the butt of his pistol. He then hanged himself in the barn. The bodies were found a week later by a neighbor who was concerned when they didn’t come to church.”
Tyler ran his hand over his face. “So which one is haunting the place? All three?”
“That’s part of what we hope to find out.”
Quinn studied the face of the murdered lover. There was something familiar about it, as if he had seen him somewhere before. It was a queasy feeling.
“So is the house empty now?”
“No. It’s currently the home of April and Jesse Whiting and their two kids,” Montcalm answered. “They’ve reported hearing voices, footsteps, bangs, cold spots, feelings of being watched...”
“So, the usual,” Brent shrugged. “That’s pretty much textbook haunt right there.”
“Well, there are also things that they report that aren’t so ordinary,” the professor told him. “They also claim that animals are being killed in the barn, and they suspect that there is an element of possession going on.”
Quinn raised an eyebrow. “Possession?”
“Yes. April had reported lost time episodes, during which Jesse saw her acting out of character.”
“That could be psychological,” Tyler pointed out.
“Indeed it could. But it still bears looking into.”
Quinn grabbed a notebook and pen from the professor’s desk and started taking notes. “So who are we going to be interviewing?”
Avila answered. “April and Jesse. The children are too young, and even though they’ve had their own experiences, their parents want to keep them out of the investigation as much as possible.”
“And how much of this has the psychic been told?” Quinn asked.
“By her own request, nothing. She doesn’t even know what city she’s going to. She knows they’re in Iowa, but that’s all.” The professor checked his watch. “Their plane should be landing right about now.”
“And when does ours leave?”
Avila handed out the tickets. “You’ve got four hours. Use them well.”
Quinn stood up. “Okay, then. Let’s get rolling.”
Chapter Seven
Emma met Talia and a camera man named Sean Carter in the lobby of the hotel. She had chosen not to wear any of the clothes the network had sent for her, and she saw the disapproving way that Talia scanned her jeans and bulky sweater. The corners of the production assistant’s scarlet-painted mount turned down, but she kept any comments to herself.
Sean stepped forward with a smile. “Okay! Ready to go?”
“Ready as I’ll ever be,” she said.
He picked up his camera and put it on his shoulder, pointing it at her as Talia approached her, a black blindfold in her hands.
“We’re going to conceal the location from you,” Talia said, speaking loudly for the camera. “This way you’re going to be able to do a totally cold reading.”
“Okay.” Emma held still and let the other woman cover her eyes, tying the black cloth behind her head. “You’re going to have to help me get around.”
“We will. This is just until we get to the location.”
They guided her out of the lobby and into a vehicle. As soon as she climbed into the back seat, she heard voices whispering, too far away or perhaps just too indistinct to understand what they were saying. She reached for her guides but got only silence in response.
The drive seemed to take forever. Talia and Sean, who were both in the front seat, stayed silent the whole time. Emma could hear the occasional click of the camera, so she assumed that she was being filmed. It was a strange experience.
The closer they got, the clearer the voices became, but they only repeated the same phrase over and over.
-What do you want? What do you want? What do you want?-
They finally stopped the car, and she was helped out onto a gravel surface. Talia untied the blindfold and Sean filmed her reaction as she saw the place for the first time.
Her first reaction was to turn around and leave. Dread hovered over the house like a shadow, clinging to the walls and the roof, staining the white wooden walls like tar. The voices in her head grew louder, and it was now a chorus led by one angry man.
-What do you want!?-
I’m supposed to talk to you, she answered mentally.
-We don’t want to talk to you.-
“Okay,” Talia said. “Let’s hear it. Just talk your way through the walk. Tell us what you’re feeling and what you’re hearing.”
Emma nodded. “I’ve been hearing voices during the ride here. Three, maybe four different voices, male and female, asking me what I want. One of those voices just got louder than the rest, a man, but he’s still asking me what I want.” She steeled herself for the unpleasantness to come. “I told him that I want to talk to him, or them, and he said that they don’t want to talk to me. So we’re off to a great start.”
Talia chuckled. “Okay. Go on in.”
They went up the front steps onto the covered porch that ran along the front face of the house. Sean kept the camera trained on her face the whole time while Talia stayed by the car, fussing with her phone. Emma looked around and pointed off into the distance.
“There used to be a barn there, but it’s gone now.” She turned to Talia. “Are you coming?”
The production assistant laughed. “No, no. Not if there’s really ghosts in there. I’ll stay out here, thank you very much.”
Emma shrugged. “Suit yourself.”
-Don’t you come in here.-
She hesitated at the door. “The man who’s speaking doesn’t want me to come in.” She sensed emotions from the spirit, and she saw him in her mind’s eye. “He’s an older man, dressed like a farmer. White hair. White beard. Very cold, dark eyes. He’s got something wrong with his throat and neck, like maybe his neck got broken?”
-Shut up, girl. Don’t you come in here.-
I have to come in, she replied.
-You’re gonna get hurt if you do.-
“He’s warning me that I’m going to get hurt if I come into the house.”
Sean asked, “Can he hurt you?”
Emma took a moment to size up the spirit. “Maybe.” She shrugged. “I’ll know more once we’re inside. He’s sort of keeping a distance from me right now.”
She pushed the door open and walked into the house, stepping from the porch into an old-fashioned parlor. The furnishings were thoroughly modern, but for a moment she saw other furniture, older in style and darker in color, like an image superimposed over what was physically there. It was disorienting. The flooring shifted constantly between modern low-pile, tan carpet to an ornately woven rug over a hardwood floor.
“I’m seeing the image of what this place must have looked like when it was new,” she told Sean. “Victorian style furniture and rugs, or maybe Edwardian. Either way, older than what’s really here.”
They walked farther into the house, Emma leading the way with Sean faithfully trailing along behind her. She went into the dining room but shook her head.
“Quiet in here, but I think sometimes people might hear chairs scraping on the floor.”
“The floor’s carpeted.”
“Yeah, but it wasn’t always.” Emma put her h
and on the wall. “They might hear raps and taps inside the walls... maybe scratching sounds...They think it’s mice, but it’s not.”
Her steps led her to the kitchen, and she looked around. “Cabinets open and close on their own in here, and dishes break for no reason. Like, they’re flying out of the cupboards on their own and smashing on the ground. There’s a dead woman here, and she’s the one doing it. She’s frustrated and angry, and she grabs plates and just smashes them on the floor.”
“Do you know her name, or what she looks like?”
Emma considered the image that she was seeing. The ghost in question wasn’t present, but her energy had left an imprint that she could read. “She’s young. Pretty. Dark hair, dark eyes. She’s wearing a dress from the turn of the last century, so the early 1900s.”
-You leave her alone,- the man thundered.
“The man is back, and he’s threatening me to leave this woman alone, but she’s not really here right now. I’m just seeing impressions of her and the energy she left behind.”
“So is the woman a ghost, or a memory?” Sean asked.
Emma looked at him, turning her face toward the camera. “Both. Right now it’s just energy, but she does come in here sometimes.”
“Where is she now?”
She reached out with her mind, and she found the answer. “Upstairs.”
“Well, let’s go there, then.”
The man’s voice roared in her head. -Stop!-
Emma hesitated at the landing. The energy of the presence downstairs, the angry man, ended here, and new energies began. She could sense two entities in the rooms above her. They were watching her.
Waiting.
She took a deep breath and reached out for her guides, but they were still absent. The lack of protection made her nervous, and she probably should have ended the walk through right then. Instead, conscious of the camera and the things that were at stake, she continued on.
“There are two different dead people here on the second floor,” she said. “A man and a woman. They’re both younger than the guy downstairs, and they’re doing their best to keep him down there while they stay up here.”
Hearts of Darkness: A Valentine's Day Bully Romance Collection Page 24