by AJ Sherwood
“So the story here is that this place functioned as a morgue. Ellis liked to take his deceased ‘patients’ and dissect them to study the disease. There were multiple barrels of formaldehyde down here at one time.” Dave looked at Mack for confirmation. “At least that’s what I was told.”
“You’re correct,” Mack assured him.
“Ewww,” was Jon’s opinion, which others voiced in mutual disgust.
My new lover kept close to me, which I appreciated, as it was easier to keep track of both men if they stayed nearby. Jon just stood at my elbow. Mack had his hand in mine, our fingers laced together, and he sort of leaned into me. I liked the contact. He clearly did too. I tried not to focus on just how much I enjoyed having him pressed up against my side. We were down here for a reason, after all.
“How many ghosts down here?” Harry asked Mack hopefully.
“Not a single one so far, but ghosts do roam sometimes. They like to stay in one area, but that area isn’t always a single room. Ah, something I should mention before we really get started—I think some of the things on your list are residual hauntings and not actual spirits.”
“Like what?” Les inquired.
“You said people have reported seeing Dr. Ellis on the second floor? Going from elevator to office?” Mack shook his head, mouth screwed up on one side. “I’d be very surprised if that’s him. Ellis died in Florida.”
Everyone in the room startled.
I looked down at him in curiosity. “How do you know?”
“I looked him up the day I got here. I was curious about the history of the hotel. I dug a little deeper when I learned you all were coming. Ellis died of cirrhosis in his sixties in Florida.”
“Well.” Dave pulled his hat off and scratched his head, looking perplexed. “That sheds a new light on things. No wonder you think it’s a residual haunting. The reports are only of a man in Victorian-aged clothing walking across. Maybe it’s a case of mistaken identity?”
“Could be,” Mack allowed. “People tend to forget Ellis wasn’t the owner of the hotel for long. There were people before and after him. He’s just the most famous of the lot. It could be it’s someone else or—oh, here we go.” Mack pointed to the locker sitting in the room. “Point your cameras there. Looks like we have a soldier visiting us.”
“A soldier?” Marianne questioned, even as she pointed what looked to be a thermal camera toward the locker. “Holy shit, you can see him clearly! Look, the cap on his head is visible and everything.”
I nearly whined in disappointment. I couldn’t see a damn thing. Why was I so insensitive?
Mack stepped two feet forward and gave the area a welcoming smile. “Good evening to you, sir. Yes, it’s quite a crowd. Don’t be alarmed, they’re all friendly. Just curious and investigating the history of this place.” He cocked his head, listening for a moment. “I see. No, I’ve not seen her. I’ll certainly pass along the message you’re looking for her, though. What was her name? Amelia Hartford. Yes, sir, I will relay the message.”
“Annnd he’s gone.” Marianne whirled and pointed to Harry. “Back up the mini-recorder; see if we caught anything on it.”
Harry rewound a few seconds then hit play, cranking up the volume.
It was faint, but I could distinctly hear a raspy baritone saying: “…I’ve not seen her in a fortnight, sir. I’m both perplexed and worried.”
“What was her name?” That was Mack.
“Miss Amelia Hartford. She normally meets me in the foyer. I’m not sure where she’s gone to.”
“Amelia Hartford. Yes, sir, I will relay the message.”
“I thank you for the kindness. Good luck on your endeavors tonight.”
Dave and Les linked arms and did a do-si-do in victory. I didn’t blame them for the excitement. It was quite the feat to capture so much evidence at once.
Mack returned to me, capturing my hand again. I think he did it in part because he was cold. His fingers were distinctly chilled. It was a little cold down here in the basement, that could be why.
“We never get voices that distinct, or I should say, rarely,” Marianne said in puzzlement. She stared at Mack suspiciously. “Did you do something?”
“It’s not that I’m doing something, it’s just part and parcel of me being me.” Mack shrugged, not bothered by this semi-accusation. “Have you ever heard that psychics and mediums are under the same umbrella? This is why. The only point we overlap on is that we both have a psychic aura. In Jon’s case, for instance, it allows him to read anyone within range of his eyes. In my case, it magnifies and energizes any spirit within my range.”
Marianne’s eyes widened in understanding. “So they have more power to manifest with?”
“Exactly. They’ll be more visible and audible as a default of being near me. I can give them energy and help them manifest, granted, but most of the time I don’t need to bother.”
Now that, I had not known. Judging from everyone’s expressions—including Jon’s—they hadn’t either. I wondered if this was one of those things everyone in the business knew as common knowledge, but it wasn’t something spread outside of it.
“I’m learning all sorts of stuff tonight. Why a soldier, though?” Jon asked, puzzled. “Was there a battle near here at some point?”
“Civil War.” Les stopped dancing to answer the question. “The battle of Pea Ridge. It was a march in 1862 that saved Missouri for the Union. There’s a military park nearby in commemoration of it.”
“Huh. In that context, I suppose a soldier makes sense, then.” Jon looked about and asked, “Do we stay a little longer?”
Dave flipped his wrist over to look at his watch. “Another thirty minutes, maybe. Then we’ll move. If there’s enough time tonight, we’ll cycle back through.”
It seemed a sensible enough approach. They had a camera going on in the corner nonstop, so it wasn’t like they were leaving this place completely. I hoped they caught some good footage. Apparently, my naked eye couldn’t see jack squat. It was frustrating. Aside from one sighting as a teenager, and the glimpse I’d seen of Miss Emma earlier this afternoon, I’d not seen any ghosts. Just those two. And it’d taken a medium’s assistance for me to see the second one.
I felt a little torn about this. As much as I wanted to be more sensitive, in a way, it was good I wasn’t. If I could see them more readily, then I wouldn’t be a very good anchor. I’d be as confused by ghosts as a medium. It was probably better in that sense for me to not have the ability. It smarted, though. I wanted see them too, dammit.
We waited another thirty minutes but didn’t see anything else, so we went up to the second floor. We stayed about four feet away from the office door, close enough to see and/or hear things but still giving the ghost some psychological distance. Jon stayed well clear of the elevator and the sconces on the walls. I leaned my shoulders up against the wall to act as a buffer between him and the electrical wiring, leaving him the clear space in the middle of the hallway to comfortably stand in.
He noticed, of course he did, and shot me a smile. “You’re really good at anticipating where I need to be.”
“It’s more like I’m copying what I’ve seen Don do,” I corrected him. “And I try to think of where all the electrical in the building runs. Some of this stuff you avoid automatically, like the light switches and automatic doors. I react off of what you’re doing.”
“You have learned well, Young Grasshopper,” he intoned.
“Thank you, Master,” I deadpanned back.
Harry took notice of this byplay, and she stepped in a little closer to ask, “I don’t get it. What are you doing?”
I pointed to the recorder in her hand. “Harry, switch that to the other hand, if you don’t mind, and hold it away from you. Try to keep a three-foot distance between any electronic and Jon.”
She promptly did so (she really was a good kid) and looked at Jon curiously. “You said earlier you can fry stuff, but don’t you have to touch it?”
“Prolonged exposure will do it, too. Best not to take chances, considering what you’ve got recorded on there right now.” Jon shrugged in a resigned fashion.
“To answer your question, Harry, I’m still training on how to be an anchor.” I waved to indicate our general vicinity. “Jon’s compliment to me was that I’m aware there’s not a lot of safe space for him to stand in. Think about it. These light sconces and sockets in the walls have wiring connecting to them. The only safe spot for him is the middle of the hallway.”
“Oooh.” She nodded in understanding. “That’s rough, though. Wait, I thought you were already an anchor.”
“Not quite yet. Mack and Jon are two of my trainers. My brother’s the third.”
Her eyes crossed. “Three trainers?”
“That’s how important this is. I have to be very situationally aware of my guy at all times because his safety depends on my observational powers. If I’m not paying attention at the wrong moment, it means life and limb is in jeopardy for him.”
Mack grimaced. “I wish that was an exaggeration. But it really isn’t.”
“Ditto,” Jon sighed. Then he perked up and swung around. “Oh?”
Mack looked where he did and gave a soft grunt of surprise. “Well, what do you know. Not a residual.”
Multiple devices snapped into position to face the elevator.
“Good evening, sir,” Mack greeted. He moved to intercept whatever was coming his direction then paused and grimaced a smile. “No, I’m not a member of the staff. I’m looking for Miss Amelia Hartford. Have you seen her? I see. Are you the owner here? Ah, a pleasure, Mr. Maddox. Indeed, sir. No, that’s quite alright. I was looking on behalf of a friend. I’m sure they just missed each other in passing. Thank you, and good evening to you as well.”
Once again, I saw and heard nothing. But Dave’s camera tracked something, because the man slowly panned to the office door before he threw up a victorious fist. “Got him. Or at least a vague humanoid shape with a top hat and what looked like a cane. Who was that?”
“Mr. Maddox,” Mack answered. “He’s the president of Crescent College, or so he introduced himself as.”
Les was already on his phone, looking it up. “He’s probably not lying. Crescent College was established in 1908 by A. S. Maddox and J. H. Phillips, with Maddox serving as the first president.”
“We’re getting some great footage tonight,” Harry enthused. “Can we keep going?”
“Of course,” Mack assured her.
Marianne took her head away from the camera long enough to look him over and asked in concern, “You’re not tired?”
“Pfft, with just this much? We’ve only been at this two hours.” Mack rubbed his hands together and asked with excitement, “So which one next? Room four-nineteen, where bags mysteriously pack themselves, or Room twenty-five hundred, where cancer patients were sent to die once the ‘treatments’ stopped working?”
Eight hours later, I more or less manhandled Mack into the bed. He slumped bonelessly into the mattress with a sweet smile up at me. “That was awesome fun. I’m so glad we get to do one more night with them.”
“I think you overdid it, though.” He seriously looked like he was one blink away from going comatose. I undid his shoes and took off his jeans—because who wanted to sleep in jeans?—before pulling the duvet up and over him. “Mack, is using your sight tiring?”
“Hmm, no,” he sighed and snuggled into my pillow. “’m just tired. Can we have sex when I wake up?”
I snorted at his priorities. “Absolutely, sweets. No one’s expecting you home today, right?”
He waved this off—I assumed that meant no—and a second later was snoring. Yup, he was out like a light. Shaking my head, I stripped down to my undershirt and boxers before climbing in behind him, curling around his back. He snuggled in a little, then went right back to his snoring. Fortunately, it was light. I could easily ignore it and sleep. Well, I was also a heavy sleeper.
As I settled, fatigue pulled at me, and I had no intention of fighting it. I was just as pleased with tonight’s results. It had been great fun, even if I didn’t see anything with my naked eyes. The crew had rolled back the footage in a couple of places so I could see it on the small digital screens, and that alone was amazing stuff. I was pleased all around that not only had we captured some good evidence, but I’d successfully wrangled both men. Mack hadn’t walked into any walls or tripped down any stairs. Jon hadn’t fried anything. It’d been a good night.
I made a mental note as sleep overtook me to dig into Mack’s ability a little more. I needed to know his limits. But for now, I could enjoy the warm body curled trustingly up against me.
12
We went to Beau and Hannah’s for lunch, in part because Beau wanted to do all the paperwork. That, and I think he wanted to properly meet Brandon and talk to him. I did warn Hannah to cook lots, which she’d taken to heart. She had a spread of seven-layer burrito fixings out on the table. It was a safe recipe for me, as I could pick and choose what to put on my own plate, and I had safe chips to use with it.
I loaded up my plate and settled at the table. It was nice to eat something I hadn’t cooked. Brandon bit enthusiastically into his food and sighed in pleasure as he chewed.
“Your mother called me this morning,” Beau informed me with a look meaning potential trouble brewed.
I almost lost my appetite. “Let me guess. She wanted you to somehow wrangle me getting stationed near Opelousas.”
“Look at you, going all psychic.”
I rolled my eyes. That didn’t take much psychic power. My mother was lamentably predictable.
“Don’t worry. Told her it wasn’t up to me, and it wasn’t up to her. That you’d go where the FBI needed you to. She wasn’t too happy with my answer. But I’m not happy with her for delaying your training, so I didn’t have many fucks to give.”
“Beau, I love you,” I told him seriously.
He snorted. “I mentioned you found a guy you liked, someone you might anchor with, and that got her going on a whole other tangent. Might want to call her and get that straightened out. I don’t think she was clear on what I said.”
My mother routinely misunderstood things, so that didn’t surprise me. For all that the woman loved to talk, she wasn’t actually a good communicator. “I’ll call her later. Assuming she doesn’t call me first.”
Something buzzed, and Brandon pulled his phone out of his pocket. “Speaking of mothers. Excuse me for a second.” He stepped away from the table and into the living room, answering, “Hi, Mom.”
We could clearly hear him from the living room, and the open doorways allowed me to see him. Brandon turned, caught me watching him, and a flash of mischief crossed his face. He stopped speaking English abruptly, and his next words were a sing-song language heavy on the vowels and Ls and Ks. It had a rhythm to it I’d not heard before. I found myself fascinated listening to him, my food forgotten in my hands.
Hannah craned her neck around, too, trying to see him. “What is he speaking? I’ve never heard it before.”
“Tongan,” I answered, still watching him. Damn, that was sexy. Why was it sexy? Did I have some intellectual kink I wasn’t aware of?
Brandon’s head dropped back for a second, and I could tell he was growing frustrated. His next words held a growly undertone. “‘Oku ikai te u ilo. Why don’t we just ask him? Mack?”
I left the table to answer his summons. “What’s up?”
“My mother wants to know where you’re going to stay when you come down,” he explained. “She doesn’t like the idea of you being in a hotel. I’ve been staying in Jon and Donovan’s guest room. She doesn’t want you on their couch, so she’s offering her guest bedroom for your use.”
While it was flattering a woman who’d never met me would open up her home for her son’s sake, I wasn’t following this conversation. “And is there a reason why I can’t sleep with you?”
Mama Havili clearly
heard me fine, and her Tongan was fast and furious.
Brandon pulled the phone away from his ear with a wince. “Mom. Mom, chill. Why do you jump to that conclusion?! Excuse you, I am not my brother. It’s Don who seduces men, not me.”
I found this byplay fascinating and amusing in turns. He must have a good relationship with her to argue like this. I also found it amusing Brandon thought his brother so much better at dating men than he was. I’d have to find the right moment to assure him I had no complaints with our relationship. He’d been lovely so far.
She simmered down a little—from volcanic anger to a mild thunderstorm—and said something else I had no prayer of understanding. Did they make Tongan phrase books? I felt the need to invest in one.
“’Io. ’Io. U mahino. Mack, she wants to talk to you. My mother’s name is Alani.”
I appreciated the heads-up and took the phone from him. “Hi, Mrs. Havili.”
“Hello, Mack. I apologize for my son. I thought I raised him to not jump someone on the first date.”
I was curious how she knew it’d been the first date but decided to dig into that later. “You have nothing to apologize for or be upset about. Your son’s been exceptional to me since the moment I met him. And I take the blame for seduction. I kinda jumped him.”
She spluttered on a laugh, and the sound was warm and infectious. “Did you? Well, I suppose I shouldn’t have jumped to conclusions. Brandon’s just now figured himself out, after all. But each phone call I get from him, he tells me something earth-shattering. It was like a rapid-fire series of punches. I got dizzy just listening. My sons, you know, they have no patience when they find someone they like. They steamroll them. You should hear what Donovan was like with Jon.”
