Skeptic

by Denise Mathew

  "Oh that, I was just rehearsing my lines."

  He cocked his head to the side. "But I was sure I heard another voice, and..."

  I shook my head, and gave him a condescending glare. The last thing I wanted to do was alienate Dakota any more than I already had, but it was either that, or come clean about me being a medium.

  "Dakota, you and I both know, that there is no one and nothing other than our crew here. I think you're buying way too much into the ghost stories..."

  "No, I don't think so," he said, bristling. "To be honest, this isn't the first time I've caught you talking to...something that wasn't there."

  I flushed, and put my hand on my hot cheek, hating that yet again my Poker face was sliding.

  "You're wrong," I snapped, more angry at my own carelessness than with him. His face went hard and I regretted my tone, he deserved better than that. Then, in an unexpected move, he put his hand up in front of his body, like he detected something was off. It was then that I noticed the thermal camera in his grasp.

  "Well, since there's nothing here, I guess there's no harm doing some thermal imagery, huh?"

  I kept my focus on him, refusing to let my gaze drift to the place where Anny now stood observing us.

  "Fine," I said casually, and moved toward him. "But you're not going to find anything." Then in a flash of brilliance, I pretended to trip, and fell forward into him, ensuring that I hit him with enough force that there was no way he could catch me, and keep hold of his camera.

  My head hit his broad chest, and the spicy scent of his cologne flooded my senses. I was half glad that he had caught me talking to a ghost, because being so close to him again was almost worth it. I felt a muscled arm wrap around my waist, and he stumbled back. The camera fell to the stone floor with a crunch, then skittered into the corner. I pressed the palms of my hands against his chest, regaining my balance, then smiled with satisfaction, knowing my mission had been accomplished.

  Without thinking, I tilted my face up to Dakota's, and stared into his gorgeous eyes, and damn, did I want to kiss him right then. Dakota responded to my move, leaning in closer, until I felt his breath, light and warm, on my lips. He cupped my chin in his palm, and just before he touched his lips to mine, I shot out of his grasp. A hurt expression raced across his face, and I hated that I had made him feel that way.

  I stepped a few feet away from him, breathless and flustered, and when he bent down to retrieve the camera, I took the opportunity to search the kitchen for Anny. I was more than relieved to see that she had disappeared. My gamble had paid off, but I wasn't sure if the cost had been worth it.

  "Sorry," I murmured. Dakota nodded in response, keeping his eyes glued to the camera, as he appraised the damage. From what I could see, the lens was cracked, and a few knobs had broken off, it didn't look like it was going to be usable for this investigation, or any other for that matter.

  Dakota scowled. "This isn't over Elise," he said, his lips now a hard line. "You're hiding something, and I won't give up until I find out what it is."

  I gave him a superior look, which was difficult to maintain, because he didn't deserve it.

  "I have no idea what you're talking about," I said, and even I heard the shakiness in my voice. He blinked a few times, and unexpectedly, the corners of his mouth nudged into a smile, that made my skin burn for his touch. He shrugged and shook his head, then locked me in his gaze.

  "I'm not the enemy Elise..." He dragged a hand through his hair and sighed, then rolled his eyes to the ceiling and back down to me. "I know you've got secrets, we all do, but you can trust me. I'd never hurt you."

  His face was expectant, and in that moment, I wanted to confess everything that kept me up late at night with worry, but I just couldn't, there was too much at stake.

  I swallowed a few times and stiffened my spine.

  "You're wrong Dakota, what you see is what you get, there isn't anything else."

  His expression lost its warmth, and he pressed his lips together, clearly disappointed. Seeing his hurt made my heart ache; yet again I had screwed with his feelings. The last thing Dakota needed was my hot and cold responses, he was the most amazing guy, and if the circumstances were different, I would have given my right arm to be with him.

  I opened my mouth to speak, but before I could blurt out an apology, he turned and stalked out of the kitchen. Every fiber of my being wanted to run after him, tell him everything, admit that ghosts and spirits did exist, and that I was a fraud. Instead, I let him go, and once again regretted the web of deceit, that had me trapped as the Skeptic.

  2. ELISE

  "I guess that's a wrap," Turk said, packing up his equipment.

  I nodded, quietly thrilled that we had gotten through the investigation without anything occurring that I couldn't explain away. Of course I had led the team to all the, cold spots, areas where I knew no ghosts were present, and made sure our time in the kitchen was brief, because I had no idea if, or when, Anny would pop up again.

  The only thing that kept me composed after the confrontation and near kiss with Dakota, was my ability to get lost in my Skeptic persona completely. Even so, the house was admittedly one of the most haunted places we had ever entered, so I had to work overtime at keeping it all together, especially with Dakota scrutinizing my every move.

  There had been a few close calls, the worst being when we met up with the ghost of a middle-aged man in a dark double-breasted suit with silver grey hair, and a pink carnation in his lapel. I had spotted him at the end of the hall striding toward us confidently, and I had held my breath, slowing my pace ever so slightly until I saw him veer off into one of the bedrooms. Sue Ellen's EMF machine went nuts for a few unsettling moments, yet because the activity was so fleeting, she rapidly explained it away. When I had glanced back at Dakota, he shot me a mischievous grin and I shuddered involuntarily. I was once again grateful that I had broken his infrared camera, because after our conversation, I was sure he wouldn't have ignored even the slightest blip from his equipment.

  "Another ghost story put to rest," Turk said with a yawn. He snapped the clasp of his camera bag closed, and slung it over his shoulder. "I still don't get why people buy into all that shit anyway," he said, shrugging.

  I tilted my head to the side and managed a smile.

  "Who knows?" I said.

  I could tell by the look Turk gave me, that he expected me to give my characteristic spiel on why everything that was supposedly paranormal, could be explained by science, but I just didn't have it in me. After a tense day I was exhausted, and all I wanted to do was relax in a hot bath and forget everything. Since I wasn't offering anything else, Turk grabbed the rest of his equipment, mock saluted me, and left. Before I followed his lead, I felt a hand on my shoulder and turned to see Dakota standing there.

  "You okay?" he said, staring at me with genuine concern. I could have been irritated after he had grilled me in the kitchen, but of course I wasn't. I nodded.

  "Yeah I'm fine, just drained, nothing a bath and a good night's sleep won't fix," I said, trying to pry my eyes from his.

  He put his hands on my shoulders and studied me, and I wanted to melt into his grasp. What I wouldn't have given to have fallen back into his arms without having to worry about what tomorrow would bring.

  "I know I was tough on you today and I'm sorry," he said. "I just worry about you, you work so hard at being the Skeptic that I wonder how much time you have left to be Elise."

  I dropped my eyes to the floor, then back up to his face, and had to resist the urge to run my fingers through his silken hair.

  "It's who I need to be..."

  "But why?" he asked.

  The question was so loaded that I didn't know how to begin to answer it, so I didn't bother. I shook my head.

  "I don't know..." My voice trailed off, and the back of my eyes burned with tears. My mask was falling, and I couldn't let that happen, not here in front of him. I pulled out of his hold, and his hands dropped to his si
des. There was disappointment in his face, and it made a lump form in my throat. I cut my eyes away from his, then buttoned my trench coat, before painting on a half-hearted grin.

  "See you tomorrow?" I said.

  He nodded, cocked an eyebrow my way, then opened his mouth like he wanted to say something, but instead put his hands up in surrender.

  "Sure," he said, and strode away without another word.

  I watched him retreat, all the while appreciating the way his jeans hugged his butt in all the right places. I moved to the front of the house, and the clack of my shoes against the floor of the foyer seemed too loud for my over-stimulated senses. The spot in the center of my forehead, that my grandmother Nanny Flo had told me was my third eye, ached like someone had hit my skull with a mallet. She had told me that the third eye, was like an invisible mystical focus point where all human intuition, pre-cognizance and the ability to see things like ghosts, chakras and auras, resided. She was convinced that all people had a third eye, but not everyone chose or even knew how to use it. In her opinion, if you worked on your intuition you could theoretically open it, though some people, like me, had it wide open from the time they were born.

  The unbidden thought of Nanny Flo made me forget Dakota for a minute, and unfortunately brought up a whole new set of emotions, the strongest being guilt. What kind of jerk cut all contact with the person who had singlehandedly brought them up?

  Me.

  Another pang of remorse speared my insides, as I remembered the last time I had seen her. No more than five feet tall, with skin so wrinkled that she reminded me of a Shar Pei dog, she was a wisp of a woman, who practically disappeared beneath her oversized billowy house dresses. The only thing that remained of her youth, was her raven black hair, that seemed out of place with her otherwise aged appearance. From the time I was a small child, I believed in her wisdom, because she always seemed to know things that nobody else did, but not everyone in Cape Glenn shared my love for her abilities.

  I opened the door to the plantation house, then slipped out into the cool night. There was a hint of some kind of fragrant flower on the breeze, and I inhaled and released an exaggerated sigh when I closed the front door behind me. Nightfall had descended while we had been taping our investigation. Being completely alone in the dark, in a place that was supposed to be haunted, might have been eerie for most people, for me it was just another day on the job. There were much scarier things in the world than ghosts and spirits, like murderers and rapists, but trying to convince the average person of that, was an exercise in futility.

  I hit the remote door button for my rental, and it emitted a peeping sound when it unlocked. I opened the door of the black Mercedes Benz E 550 coupe, and slid into the drivers seat. The dark grey leather seat squeaked beneath me, and I wondered why my assistant June had booked such an ostentatious vehicle for me. I wasn't one for cars, saw them as something to get me from A to B, but even someone as complacent as me, couldn't help but appreciate the comfort and ease of a luxurious ride. From the Napa leather heated steering wheel, to the top of the line navigation and entertainment systems, it was a force to be reckoned with, too bad it wasn't mine.

  I pushed the ignition button, and the car started soundlessly. I tuned the radio to a classical music station, programmed the GPS to the airport coordinates, and sped out of the driveway. I yawned, and ran my hand through my hair that was stiff from too much hairspray. As I turned onto the highway and finally shook the dust from Maple Plantation house from my shoes, I let my guard fall away completely, and thoughts of Nanny Flo emerged, making me realize that I missed her more than I wanted to admit.

  It had been five years since I'd picked up and left, and in that time I had barely spoken to her. When I'd moved away, I had been determined to be a movie star, but nothing had worked out quite as I had planned. All the same, I had fulfilled my dream to be famous, but I hadn't expected my road to success to be paved with lies.

  For a moment, I thought about canceling my flight back home and booking one to Cape Glenn. I was convinced that if I went back to the Cape, everything would be just like it had been before. Nanny Flo and I would sip black tea, then read the leaves, flip tarot cards and catch up. But even as the idea formed in my mind, I knew it was impossible. She had been vehement that I not leave the Cape, and had begged me to stay back, but I had been too star-struck to listen. And now I was the Skeptic, how could I possibly explain how I so readily denied what she called my gifts, and trashed the mystical world in front of millions of viewers every day?

  I shoved the idea out of my mind and concentrated on the road ahead. With nothing but the headlights and the GPS to guide me for the forty-five minute drive, my thoughts drifted back to Dakota, and once again I started wishing for things I knew I couldn't have. A part of me wanted to believe that if I repeated the mantra that we could never be together enough times, it might somehow erase my feelings for him.

  Thankfully, the ride went faster than expected, and in no time I was seated on my flight back home. With just minutes before take off, I buckled my lap belt, put my chair upright and waited for the plane to take off. Seconds after the fasten seatbelt light came on, a heavy set woman in her mid-forties, with piercing grey eyes and shoulder length poker straight, ebony hair, sat in the seat next to me. When her elbow brushed against my arm, I instinctively flinched, because it felt like she had poked me with something sharp. Before the woman even buckled her belt, my head throbbed and my ears buzzed, with what sounded like radio static on full volume. I pressed my fingers to my temples, and shifted my eyes to the side. Her eyes met mine, and she glared at me, then her painted, blood-red lips, curled up into an unexpected sneer.

  Before I could read much into her reaction, the fasten seatbelt sign pinged a few more times and the woman cinched her belt tighter around her hips, then she tapped her long nails on the metal buckle. The sound of nail against metal seemed amplified, and was enough to make my already pulsating head, feel like it might actually explode. I reached forward and grabbed the airsickness bag in the pouch in front of me, buried my face in it and retched. When I had evacuated the sandwich I had eaten in the airport restaurant and folded the top of the bag, I laid it on the floor beside me, then leaned back against the seat. A thin film of sweat broke out on my skin, and I closed my eyes and swallowed a few times, hoping that my still roiling stomach would settle.

  A sweet scent, like fresh summer roses, wafted in the air, and for a second I welcomed the aroma, but too soon it became overpowering and had me gasping for a breath of clean air. Without warning the smell shifted to something that was a cross between road kill and embalming fluid, and I pinched the bridge of my nose and breathed through my mouth. The plane began its ascent, and as it did, I grew lightheaded and everything went blurry. I squirmed in my seat, eager to escape the assault on my senses, all six of them, but there was nowhere to go.

  "Well, this is interesting indeed," the woman purred, her voice barely a whisper. I knew she was talking to me, but my brain was too muddled to respond. Then just like that, the smell, the pain in my temples, and the nausea, went away.

  "A skeptic and a powerful medium too," she muttered into my ear, and the feel of her hot breath on my skin made my flesh crawl. Yet more than her invasion of my personal space, was her statement, that in just a few words, exposed me for the fraud I was. I ignored her comment, and closed my eyes, willing away the fear that pumped through me like poison.

  "You can't hide from me, you little bitch," she whispered, and the edge in her tone scared me. I gripped the armrests and forced my eyes shut, praying she would leave me alone. When I felt her icy fingers on my wrist, my eyes popped wide, and I jerked my hand away.

  "Excuse me? Can I help you with something?" I said with as much venom as I could muster. Unaffected by my tone, she grinned and it was so much like a cat that had just eaten a bird, that I half expected her to have a few feathers on her glossy lips. She skewered me with another intense stare, and I dropped my gaze do
wn to the black pentagram tattoos on her palms. Witch marks, I thought.

  "My name is Tansy," she said, and flattened her palms upwards as if she wanted to make sure I had noticed the pentagrams. "And you of course are Elise Weston."

  I nodded and smiled tentatively. Maybe she was just a fan who happened to be a witch too, though it didn't explain why she had labeled me a medium. I shook off my doubts and decided on another tactic.

  "Did you want my autograph?" I asked. I tried to pull off an amiable tone, but there was something off about her, and my voice gave away my fear.

  Her face twisted with what I could only read as rage, and I shrank away, quickly regretting my offer.

  "No, I do not want your autograph you stupid girl," she hissed, and her eyes turned to dark slits. "I want your life," she said.

  It took me a few minutes to realize that she hadn't said the words aloud, but had instead somehow spoken in my mind. In all my years of seeing spirits, ghosts and things that most other people didn't know existed, I had never met anyone who had the power of mental telepathy, and it terrified me. I opened my mouth to speak, but then closed it again, deciding that mentioning the fact that I had heard her voice in my head would sound crazy.

  "Do I know you?" I asked.

  She made a low growling sound in the back of her throat, and it sent chills through me. My instinct was to get as far away from her as I could, but I was fourteen thousand feet in the air, so there was nothing I could do but stay put.

  "You don't know me, but you knew my sister and you ruined her," she said.

  My brows knit together. "You must be mistaken. I don't know you or your sister," I said, attempting to maintain eye contact with her.

  Her hands clasped tight on her ample lap, and the black lacquer polish on her fingernails glittered in the artificial light. She flipped her face toward me and I noticed something new in her expression, grief, and I couldn't fathom why she believed that I had done anything to harm her sister. The shift in her attitude lasted only a second, then her penciled eyebrows melded together and she huffed and said. "Oh you know her, she was the Hedge witch you called a fraud..."