Speed Dating With the Dead (11 page)

“His aura is gray,” Tonya whispered. “With a little bit of purple, like clouds at sundown.”

“What’s he want?”

“I can’t tell,” she responded. “I don’t think he knows.”

“Come on, Ann,” Duncan said. “This is getting a little silly.”

“Shh,” Ann said. She pressed the button on her Flip cam and held it in front of her. Perhaps Tonya’s hallucination was a bit of reflected streetlight or a prismatic effect from the bedside lamp. The cam also had an audio track so she could monitor Tonya’s remarks.

“Can I talk to it?” Ann asked Tonya.

“It’s a he,” she said. “You can try. But I don’t think he’ll stay long.”

Ann had studied investigation techniques and knew some hunters took a provocative approach, on the belief that ghosts were like caged tigers and only needed to be poked a little to growl.

“Why did you kill yourself?” she asked, the words coming out louder than she had intended.

The heating system kicked on, the hum accompanied by a mild vibration in the floor.
So much for a simple answer in English.

“Maybe you should have it sing the ABC’s,” Duncan suggested.

“The aura is changing,” Tonya said. “Now it’s like a dark cloud.
”

Ann waved her hand at head height before her, imagining the aura dispersing like so much mist. The air before her was now frigid, despite the ventilation system pumping warm air into the room. A pungent aroma assailed her nostrils, as if a rat had died in the air duct and reached a ripe state of corruption.

“Do you see anything?” Ann asked, intending the question for Duncan.

Tonya answered. “The aura is getting bigger.”

Ann took an involuntary step back and the pillar of cold air seemed to expand to meet her. Tonya’s steady, calm voice was somehow more chilling than if she’d gone for a dramatic stage whisper. Ann kept the Flip cam as steady as she could in her now-trembling hand. The tension in the room swelled and the overhead light dimmed.

“It’s drawing power,” Tonya said.

“Electrical surge in the wiring,” Duncan said, but Ann wasn’t so sure science was behind this little display. She knew most of her experience was subjective, and that the visual and auditory record would reveal nothing unusual, but she found herself glad for Tonya’s steady presence.

As the light grew bright again, the room warmed. Tonya exhaled as if she’d been holding her breath since exiting the bathroom.

“What was that?” Duncan asked.

“It’s gone again,” Tonya said.

“He’s gone,” Ann added, realizing that the force had projected a definite masculinity. But that was absurd. Even if the various experiences could be corroborated, physical events by their nature were indifferent and neuter. Science was marked by gender, not sex.

“Come on,” Duncan said, taking her arm and leading her to the door. “You need some rest.”

Ann was listless, as if the entity had drained power from her as well as the light bulb. As Duncan guided her from the room, he whispered, “Good show.”

He must have thought she was faking the performance, both to assuage Tonya’s suspicions and raise expectations among the hunters. But Ann wasn’t quite sure how to assess the experience. The various phenomena combined to create a cumulative effect that left her wondering what had happened.

As they reached the door, Tonya said, “Your aura.”

Ann turned, though Duncan frowned.

“The black is in yours now.”

Chapter 15

Lame-o-rama. Ain’t that right, Momma?

Kendra had lowered her expectations for her dad, but this was a little embarrassing. She would have just given the two ladies their refunds and sent them on their way, but Wayne Wilson never let a dollar slide out of his pocket without a fight. Even the little melodrama with the fainting fat lady had turned dull. This whole conference was shaping up as nothing more than another wasted weekend.

The control room was in chaos, with the hunt schedule already thrown off barely two hours in. A dozen people were complaining about their groups, and one woman said her butt had been fondled in the dark. Wayne had tried to appease her by suggesting she’d been touched by the spirit, but apparently the woman’s feminist ardor trumped her belief in the paranormal.

“Ladies and gentlemen, we’ll get back on track in just a minute,” Wayne shouted in his best barker’s voice, momentarily quelling the rebellion. The room smelled of menthol and stale tobacco smoke, with a faint tinge of body odor. As he huddled with Burton over a clipboard, Kendra sidled through the murmuring crowd to Cody, who was rattling the keys of his laptop.

“Hey, Future,” she said. “Got any goods yet?”

Cody’s brow furrowed as he studied the computer, which was perched on a card table and wired to a bank of video monitors. “Check this out,” he said without looking up.

He tapped some keys, bringing one of the video thumbnails to full size on his screen. The video began playing, and Kendra leaned over Cody’s shoulder to look. His neck smelled clean, with an outdoorsy freshness that made her a little light-headed. She debated brushing her chest against his back, but decided he was too deeply into his work to notice, and she didn’t want to waste ammunition.

She smirked to herself.
Tiny bullets.

“The attic,” Cody said, stating the obvious as he pointed to the screen. The image showed rafters, dusty boards, a crumbling brick chimney, and fluffy piles of old insulation.

“Creepy.”

“No more so than any other dark place. Now look.” Cody pressed a key and the video began streaming.

Kendra saw no movement on the screen and couldn’t tell whether the image was a still photograph until a moth finally fluttered past the camera. Her dad, like most hunters, spent more hours poring over potential evidence than they did hunting, one of the mundane and overlooked aspects of the field. Ghost-hunting shows on television didn’t show the tedious research that went into gleaning the oddities; the audience would be clicking away to reality shows and other forms of instant gratification. Cody was as impatient as any teen, so he didn’t bother building suspense.

After 20 seconds, Wayne appeared on the screen, crouching and walking awkwardly toward the chimney. He placed his hand on the bricks as if sizing something up, then he retraced his steps.

“So, it’s just Dad being dorky,” she said. “Nothing special about that.”

“Wait.”

Five seconds later, a faint image of a person appeared against the bricks. The image had no movement, but appeared to fade in and out. Just as the woman’s features became distinct, showing her flowing dress and long hair, it blinked out.

“Whoa,” Kendra said. “Did I just see that?”

Yep.” Cody let the footage continue as Wayne herded the groups together and began sending them out of the control room. Cody stopped the streaming video and backed it up, then replayed the segment. This time, he zoomed in and increased the screen resolution so that the image was revealed in large rectangular pixels.

“Here’s the weird part,” Cody said, touching the screen with his finger. “See the digital information on the regular image?”

“Yeah. It’s pixelated.”

He froze the image just as the shadowy figure appeared. “Now look how fuzzy the blocks are.”

Kendra wondered if he was testing her skepticism. She couldn’t decide whether to call his bluff or act ignorant. “Well, if it’s a ghost, isn’t it supposed to be fuzzy?”

“It’s sort of like when you keep making photocopies of a photocopy. Pretty soon the image degrades.”

“You’re saying Dad rigged a fake image?”

“No. This is my personal video. I would know if somebody hacked it. He didn’t even know I’d set this one up because I did it before the rest of the crew hit the attic.”

Burton’s group was the last to leave, and Wayne came over to the monitor desk. Kendra was about to ask if he’d seen the video when Cody shot her a “Cool it” look and minimized the screen.

“Murphy’s law,” Wayne said. “The group hunts always work on paper, but people don’t hunt on paper.”

“Got it sorted out?” Cody asked, bringing up the split-screen view that showed small versions of all the live camera images.

“Trains are back on schedule,” he said. “Kendra, can I talk to you a sec?”

She rolled her eyes just enough for Cody to notice, and his lips pursed in sympathy. “Sure.”

Wayne escorted her to the hall and faced her, lowering his voice so Cody couldn’t hear. “You know I trust you and give you lots of leeway, and maybe that comes across as being inattentive, or ‘spaced out,’ as you like to say. And I’ve never worried about bringing you along on my hunts because you’ve always been so mature.”

Because when Mom died, somebody had to be the grown-up.
That was the kind of response that would require years of psychotherapy, so she merely nodded.

“But this time I want you to stick close to me,” he said. “I’ve got a bad feeling about this place.”

“It’s just a creaky old hotel,” she said.

“Don’t be so damned hardheaded.”

“Is this about Cody?”

Wayne’s eyes narrowed and flicked back into the control room. “What about Cody?”

Dad was so shut off from his emotions that he couldn’t recognize teen lust when he saw it. Not that she was quite sure what to make of it herself, or how far she wanted to go, but if two heterosexual teens were stranded on a desert island, somewhere along the way things would get natural.

“Nothing. He’s just a tech geek.”

“Cody can take care of himself. It’s you I’m worried about.”

“Like I
can’t
take care of myself?”

“Look. Some stuff is happening, okay? Things I can’t explain.”

“I thought that was the point,” she said, then slipped into a mocking delivery of one of his marketing slogans. “‘All the shivers you can stand, or your money back.’“

“That was show biz, but this is real.”

“Digger Wilson calling something ‘real’?”

“Honey.” His features curdled, his pretense of patience drained dry.

“You said I was mature for my age, but I think you just forced responsibility on me so you wouldn’t have to bother with me.”

Digger slammed the bottom of his fist against the wall, the suddenness causing her to jump. “Damn it.”

“Great, a few more punches like that and this whole place is liable to collapse.”

Digger walked away just as Cody poked his head out of the control room. “Something fall?” Cody asked.

“Just my high hopes,” Kendra said. Dad had already turned the corner. Kendra was still flushed with the thrill of cheap victory. In younger days, she would cry, her tears driving him into helpless rage. She’d grown a little subtler since then, but he was just as vulnerable to his anger. The violence was a new manifestation, but nothing she couldn’t turn to her advantage.

“Thanks for keeping our little secret,” he said.

“Hmm?” She was only half listening, thinking of Dad.

“The superimposed image. I need to break it down a little to see if it’s legit.”

“And if it is?”

“Then somebody’s trying to set us up.”

“What’s the third alternative?”

“I don’t believe it’s an intelligent haunt. No interaction.”

“Well, you believe in demons, right?”

“Yeah, but–”

“Why couldn’t a demon superimpose an image, or manipulate your video data, if they’re so powerful?”

“It doesn’t work that way.” Cody looked a little less certain than he sounded.

“You have rules for everything, but not everything follows the rules.” The combative mood still lingered, and she couldn’t shake it, even though Cody had done nothing wrong. To her horror, she felt a surge of heat in her self-righteousness, and wondered if she had inherited the Digger’s anger issues.

She needed to get away before Cody wrote her off as a bitchy lunatic. A little down time with some paper and pencils was the cure for her mood.

“Sorry,” she said. “I’m starting my period.”

Cody grinned, which she took as a sign of forgiveness. “My deepest sympathies.”

“Good luck with that image thing. Gotta run.”

“Later.”

Kendra headed for her room, yearning for escape into two-dimensional worlds and cartoon ghost faces, where the characters behaved the way she wanted.

Chapter 16

The Psychic’s Room was set up in 131, and Cristos Rubio was holding court in style.

When Wayne entered the room, Rubio was sitting cross-legged in the middle of the floor, eyes closed, hands resting on his knees with his palms turned up. He wore his signature purple cloak, a silk cord holding it around his neck. His wrinkled brown face was etched with secrets, and his skin looked as if it were flaking. His eyes were small, dark, and reptilian.

A young man sat in front of Rubio, a deck of playing cards on the floor between them. The man pressed one of the cards against his chest.

“The card you’re holding is the seven of diamonds,” Rubio said in his rich Spanish accent.

The man turned the card over and flipped it to the floor, where the half-dozen onlookers gaped at it. It was the six of spades.

“Three out of eight,” the man said.

Rubio opened his eyes. The left one wandered, swiveling toward the corner of the room. In the Middle Ages, those with wandering eyes were considered seers, and the lucky ones managed to earn their bread by telling fortunes, preferably good ones. The rest were burned at the stake or exiled.

“Cut the deck,” Rubio said.

The man did, and Rubio touched the top card. The onlookers fell silent, as if they were also trying to tune into the card. Wayne admired Rubio’s sense of drama, letting the moment play out. Rubio took his fingers off the card and the man picked it up.

“It feels like the jack of hearts,” Rubio said.

The man turned the card over, revealing that Rubio had predicted it correctly.
Or else examined the marks hidden in the patterns on the back of the card.

“Four of nine,” the man said, with a slight bit of awe.