Coalescence (Camden Investigations Book 1) (3 page)

I
RIS OBSERVED
Mitchell as if he too were some
kind of unidentified entity. They were standing at the rear of her car, with
the trunk open, in the parking lot of Starbuck’s. That was quite normal. The
way Mitchell stared into the bag wasn’t.

The brown-haired man gazed into the bag containing the
strange object with apprehension. He kept his hands embraced on the car as if
he feared it might pull him away somewhere. If this man was afraid of something
like that happening, Iris feared he was just another nutcase too willing to see
what he wanted to see.

Iris was doubtful about Mitchell. Specifically, his
qualifications and motives to assist in her investigation. He called himself a
scientist, but he hadn’t finished his degree and instead worked as a
photographer. She hoped liked hell he wasn’t doctoring pictures for supermarket
trash magazines. Yet when Mitchell appeared just as perplexed by the dial as
she was, it began to alter the word “suspicious” from capitalized to lowercase
in her mind. It was as if he was afraid to handle it, possibly because he was
out of his depth to validate whether or not it possessed extraterrestrial
origins. Or, could it be he was simply afraid of its supposed ability to levitate
and fly about homes?

Lead investigator of Eyes on Colorado’s Skies, the man
appeared boyish for someone just past thirty. He wore a green button-down
shirt, blue jeans, and boots. Iris wondered if this man was the authority of
extraterrestrial events he claimed to be. Considering his attire, she desired
any excuse to deride his credentials. He claimed to have been working on his
PhD in Theoretical Physics when he abruptly quit because of financial concerns.
Why would a career-oriented person turn to UFO hunting if money was a problem?
Investigating the paranormal sure didn’t pay the bills.

Her ultimate reason to ghost hunt was her psychic
ability. What was this man’s inspiration? She drew in a long breath and
resisted the temptation to judge further. She took her eyes off the
intangible—what Mitchell might represent as a personage—and perused
his attire. Okay, judging again. But jeans didn’t exactly scream professional.
Her friends were often attired in this means. Apparently, paranormal
investigators lacked dress codes, fashion sense, or both. She dug her toe into
soft gravel. “So, are we going to analyze this thingy sometime today?”

Mitchell raised a hand to caution. “What are your last
Geiger readings from the EMF?”

“Gamma. Not really enough to kill us—if we minimize
exposure.”

“Good idea. We should minimize contact. I’ll just take a
quick peek to photograph it.” Mitchell’s eyebrows rose in wonder as it slid out
of the bag. “Will you trust me to secure this somewhere safe, away from human
contact?” He didn’t wait for an answer, snapping off three consecutive shots.

“I would. But first, can you answer the very nagging
question I’ve had running through my mind since yesterday: Where did this come
from?” Iris postured, hands on hips.

“I thought about that during my drive here. Right now, I
would classify this item as unidentified.” Mitchell tucked the object back into
its hiding place.

“Unidentified, but not a UFO?”

“I realize you observed it in flight. But you came into
this investigation looking for a poltergeist. It could stand to reason, no
matter what this object is, that it levitated because of your haunting and not
by extraterrestrial means.”

Iris paused to consider. So he wasn’t quick to claim
alien intervention. She liked that. She nearly grinned.

“What’s on your mind?” Mitchell asked. Iris cleared her
throat, resisting the urge to smile. Mitchell was unable to mask the slight
grin of curiosity plastering his face. Iris found it kind of cute. Maybe she
was allowing this man to peer a little deeper into her soul than she would like
in this circumstance. But what if Mitchell was more than just another guy
staring into her eyes for a bedroom destination? What if this man was really
about finding out how the universe ticked?

“In your investigations, you try to keep objective? I
mean, you try to rule out misinterpretations of witnesses, hoaxes, and such?”

Mitchell slammed the trunk closed and then pocketed his
cell phone. “Any good investigator does. I imagine you do the same when
examining a scene claimed to be haunted.”

“I do. Yet this case definitely has unexplained phenomena
that can’t be dismissed. Like I told you on the phone, objects not only
levitated but morphed in and out of walls. Now, I have seen levitation before,
but never objects moving through walls. I had believed only apparitions were
capable of manipulating matter. There appears to be more than just a
poltergeist at work.”

Mitchell scrubbed a hand along his neck. “And did anybody
witness an apparition moving through solid objects?”

“No. I wouldn’t be capable of this. My psychic ability
alerts me of a presence. A connection usually made without the benefit of sight
or sound. I’ve only been able to
see
an apparition on one other
occasion. I believe our equipment might have recorded a voice, and although our
camera took a pretty good hit, its screen remained intact, so I’m hoping my
team can salvage some video as well. And there’s one other thing I didn’t
mention over the phone. We lost time during the investigation.”

“Interesting.” Mitchell’s posture straightened in
response.

“I didn’t tell you this because you probably would have
screamed extraterrestrial intervention or whatever term you use for it.”

“Time loss is generally associated with abductions, Iris.
Do you have any nagging feelings, intuitions that something else might have
occurred during your investigation? Something which might lead you to believe
you were taken somewhere?”

“No.” Iris folded her arms across her chest. “Hell, no. I
wasn’t abducted if that’s what you’re getting at.” Now Iris felt annoyed at the
inference. Yes, she still subscribed that the little green men theory was
nothing more than a yarn for lonely people to feel connected to the universe.
The dial had forced her to consider other possibilities, but she was miles away
from coming to terms with alien life. Her father had instilled this doubt in
her. Looking at Mitchell, she wondered why he was so open to the idea. He
didn’t look like a geek, loner, or nutcase. He looked pretty fine in his
attire. That was all Iris could agree on at the moment.

“How about your team? Any feelings that they might have
had a waking experience that might be confused with a dream?”

“I can’t speak for my team, but I doubt it. Besides,
we’re all still a little fuzzy from our overindulgences last night. I couldn’t
trust our memories as evidence.”

“That’s good. I appreciate your cautious nature.”
Mitchell’s hand went back to scrubbing his neck.

Iris raised a hand over her mouth and feigned a cough.
She wanted to laugh at this repeated gesture he kept making. It was comical as
much as it was cute. “In your opinion, Mitchell, can you attribute our time
loss, mechanical failure, and the odd temperature of the home to
extraterrestrial phenomena?”

“In other circumstances, I might. I really have to know
what kind of presence was in this house. Despite the levitations, can we
definitively rule out a visitation from the spiritual world?”

“In my opinion, no, we can’t. As I said, I felt its
presence.”

“But there was no communication you could discern at the
time. In other words, can you say
for
sure
, the house wasn’t
visited by a spirit?”

“I’m not certain. There seemed to be some intelligence in
the home that related to the dial. But we would really need to have acquired an
EVP or validation from a medium.”

“Well, there you go. Why don’t you consult a medium?”

“I could it’s . . .
just . . . My sister is a medium, but she’s not really
active
at the moment.”

“What does that mean? Did she lose her gift?”

“No, Mitchell. She just lost her will to use it. It’s a long
story.”

“That’s something. You and your sister both possessing
supernatural abilities.”

“Would you find this even more difficult to believe if I
told you we were really half-sisters?”

“Honestly, I would. I mean, I thought these abilities
were passed from family members. And even if you’re half-sisters, that
transference is still possible.”

“I doubt it. DJ and I have two different mothers, neither
gifted. There’s no way my Dad would believe he passed genes onto us. He’s never
around anyway, always working some government gig. He’s probably signing a
non-disclosure form as we speak.”

“Ooh. I detect some anger. Don’t let me stop you. That’s
healthy.” Mitchell leaned against the car. His eyes grew distant. “And you’ve
got every right. If I ever have children, the one thing I wouldn’t do is
abandon them.”

Iris explained how Dad left her mom and remarried a
younger woman, Doris Jean, when she was in first grade. “I never realized how
much younger this woman was until later. I can’t speak badly of her. She always
did right by DJ. And she didn’t deserve to die in such a horrible fashion.”
Iris wondered what life would have been like with her biological mom. It was as
big a mystery as the dial was becoming to be. Mom had stopped speaking to her
when she chose Dad over her.

“But you still were never that close with her, were you?”
Mitchell’s comment nagged at her.

Iris whisked bangs from her eyes. “I feel guilty that I
blame her for losing my one last biological parent. I think Dad did his best.
It was his career choice that ruined both marriages. And the funny thing is, I
still don’t have a freaking clue as to what he does.”

“Okay, you seem certain that your dad doesn’t possess
abilities. Maybe it’s from your grandparents? Or, I know this may seem like a
harsh question, but did Doris Jean ever have an affair?”

“Shit, I don’t think so. But does lineage validate our
abilities for you? Can you tell me, do you really believe I have psychic
abilities and that my sister can talk with the dead? Because if you don’t, you
might as well call me and my sister liars.” Iris felt awful accusing this man
who’d come here to help. But she was certain it was her abilities that mattered
bottom line, no matter how her dad figured into the picture. Still, when she
made the choice of which parent she wanted to live with, she chose her dad for
some inexplicable reason. Maybe it was simple as his gushy laugh.

Mitchell squinted. “Hey, I don’t doubt your sister can
communicate with the beyond. I’ve never witnessed it firsthand myself. All I
can say is that I keep an open mind. That applies to this investigation and
every past and future investigation I will conduct.”

Mitchell’s serious tone caught Iris off guard. The part
of her feeling guilty and hurt from her family’s past wanted to argue. Another
part of her sought a kindred spirit. She’d always believed her future husband
might be an investigator as well. She didn’t imagine the exact nature of their
investigations might lead them to be at odds with each other on more than one
occasion. She fantasized about whether this man in the green shirt might become
more than just a one-time colleague. When she allowed her anger to subside, she
couldn’t deny an attraction to the man who chased phantom objects in the sky.
He did have other respectful attributes. He appeared to be a thorough
investigator. And he might one day become the scientist his family would surely
be proud of. She thought of his family, probably residing somewhere on the east
coast. She needed to soften her first impression. He needed to see she wasn’t
always this defensive. Iris extended her hand.

“I feel rude. I think we skipped formal introductions. My
name is Iris, Iris Camden.”

“And I’m Mitchell.” His smile was forced. He extended a
hand to shake.

“Come on, Mitchell
 . . .
?” Iris kept a grip on his hand.

“I just prefer Mitchell. It’s my last name. I hate my
first name with a passion, and if you can believe it, I hate my middle name
more than that.” They released hands.

“Ouch. Is that the reason you left your family?”

She cringed at her candid response. It was a harsh thing
to say. But Mitchell smiled and dug his hands into his pockets. “Would you like
to get coffee, Iris Camden?

Iris liked how Mitchell changed subjects, forgiving her
callous remark. She could attend to his fashion sense some other time.

T
HEY ENJOYED
lattes, sipping from paper cups in the parking
lot of a Starbucks.

“I guess this is what it means to be an investigator,
doesn’t it?” Iris asked.

“Please explain.” Mitchell sipped his coffee gingerly.
“Ooh. Still hot.”

“I’ll say.”

They laughed.

“I mean, Mitchell. Look at us. We don’t even feel the
need to share a table inside. We linger in a parking lot. It’s as if we expect
or even need to be on call for that next investigation.”