We both looked up. To the naked eye, there was nothing. The shadow person, if that's what it was, was camouflaged perfectly by the graveyard's darkest crevices.
Jordin took another look at the viewer and launched into a sprint toward the shadow person. I followed close behind, trying my best to hold the thermal camera steady enough to see if the figure moved. But it was too hard to run flat out and keep the camera trained on one spot, and before I knew it, the figure was no longer on my screen.
"Where'd it go?" I whispered as we pulled up at the spot where it had been standing. I turned the camera 360 degrees, trying to spot the shadow person again.
"I think I saw it go this way," Jordin said, pointing to the right.
We turned down the aisle she indicated and followed at a walk this time, catching our breath and taking the time to inspect each side row on both sides of the aisle. If it was a real, living person we saw on the camera, they were very good at hiding. If it was a shadow person, they were even better.
By the time we reached the end of the row, I had a feeling the apparition was gone for good. There had been no sign of it by infrared, flashlight, or any other means. So we returned to wandering the small courtyard aimlessly, hoping to get lucky again.
Ten minutes later, Jordin tried making small talk once more.
"So have you ever seen-" She stopped and I heard a sound as if Jordin had tried to gasp but her lungs clenched halfway through.
I spun and saw that Jordin was frozen, like a movie that had been paused. She wasn't twitching; she wasn't even breathing. Her color had drained completely away.
All of this I took in instantly, and then I turned to follow Jordin's line of sight off to the right. But I saw nothing save white crypts in the darkness.
"What is it?" I whispered.
She gulped in a lungful of air. "I saw a face! But just a facethere was no body!"
I shivered.
I ran ahead of her and looked where she was looking. "Are you sure?"
"Yes!" she shrieked. "It peeked out from behind that crypt. Like it was hiding but wanted to get a look at us." She placed a hand over her heart as if trying to force it to beat slower. Her complexion was still alarmingly pale.
We ran to the crypt together and walked all the way around it. There was no sign of whatever she had seen. I didn't catch anything on the thermal camera, either.
"It's colder here," I whispered, my throat tight, my muscles tensed.
She rotated slowly and nodded in agreement.
I looked at the objects in her hands. "Did you get it on video?"
Jordin's eyebrows jumped a foot into the air. "Oooh, maybe!"
She knelt to the ground and quickly rewound her recording. It only took a moment. She stood again and we watched the replay together.
A chill ran down my spine as the image came up. The face was tiny and barely visible in the dark, and would look a lot better on a larger screen whenever we got around to reviewing the evidence, but it was there. It had a pale gray tint, and you could only see about half of it-the other half was obscured in shadow. But the eyes gave off a slightly yellow glow, and it was unnerving.
"That doesn't look human," I observed, as burning bile slid up my throat.
Jordin didn't reply.
An hour later, we took a break and sat on the ground to recharge with some snacks Jordin had brought along.
"Can I ask you something personal?" Jordin said.
I sighed. Oh, yay. Let's talk about me.
"Okay."
"Why are you helping me?" she asked.
"You hired me, remember?"
She smirked at me. "That's not a good enough reason. You have such passion for this. A lot more than I'm paying you for. So tell me the truth. Why are you really helping me?"
"Isn't it obvious?" I turned to her with great sincerity and replied, "I'm a giver, Jordin."
That's the first and only time I can remember makingJordin Cole laugh out loud.
Half an hour later, we jumped up from our seats on the ground when I spotted the shadow person again. But I lost it before we could even get to our feet, and wasn't sure which way it had gone at the end of the row.
I instructed Jordin to go left while I went right.
I had just rounded the next corner when my heart pounded like it was being hit by a sledgehammer. I put a hand to my chest and almost fell to my knees, instead bracing myself by leaning against the nearest stone crypt.
Something isn't right, I realized, finally seeing it. There had been moments when my heart had beat irregularly hard on almost every investigation Jordin and I had been on, but only now did it enter my consciousness that a pattern was emerging.
I didn't feel scared. I rarely allowed myself to be frightened during investigations. But what I was feeling now left me gasping for breath like I was drowning. My chest was so tight it was painful, and the intensity of the pain only made the panic more intense.
This wasn't fear beneath my chest. It was something a lot worse.
It was earlier than usual when we ended the investigation. We'd teetered on feeling unsafe for most of the evening, but a group of wildly partying frat guys that passed by on the sidewalk outside pushed us over the edge. Jordin muttered something about being spent for one night, so we returned to our hotel just before two. After we'd been there over an hour and I was sure Jordin would be fast asleep next door, I called a cab and had the driver take me to the closest emergency room.
I knew there would be a long wait. I'd never been to an emergency room when there wasn't. This one was almost two hours, so it was nearly dawn by the time a doctor saw me.
They ran about half a dozen tests on my heart, with all sorts of contraptions, and roughly ninety minutes later, the verdict was delivered.
A palpitation. I'd had a heart palpitation.
I couldn't believe it.
I couldn't fathom sleeping that morning after I returned to the hotel, choosing instead to hit the shower while agonizing over this news. All I could think about was what this meant to my career goals. How could I be an effective police detective with a heart that could collapse into full-bore arrhythmia at any time? It wasn't something I could hide; it was bound to betray me in the field.
I'd be a joke, laughed out of every job interview I dared to undertake.
Tears soaked my towel almost as much as the shower water did. How could this be happening? It was a total emasculation of everything I wanted to do with my life!
What was causing it? Was there an effective treatment? I would have to wait until I got home to find out; the doctor in New Orleans was reluctant to offer long-term options, suggesting that "any number of reasons" could be to blame. He said it was a "somewhat mild case" and preferred to let my primary care physician in New York handle the full diagnosis and treatment. So seeing him would be job one when we returned home.
But that was still three days away. There was one more stop on our little tour of the South, and it was a location less known to be haunted than the last two. But I knew this place all too well, and it was not a haunting to be undertaken lightly.
I worried that it might be too much for me to handle in this condition. Was it wise to investigate the paranormal with a weak heart? I'd already had several flare-ups while in the field, which could have been caused by being startled or alarmed. Did I really want to tempt fate?
By morning, I'd decided that this little heart thing wouldn't defeat me, wouldn't control me, and wouldn't define me. I was still Maia Peters, and I was going to find a way to get past this.
After Jordin's phone call, I'm happy to say I managed to avoid blacking out entirely. Making a fool of myself out in the middle of the school grounds, with dozens of people passing by, was never high on my priority list.
I vaguely recall Derek saying things like "Jordin?!" "Is she okay, Maia?" "Is Jordin alive?!" in a frenzied voice. I don't think less of him for it. I'm sure he was concerned that I was okay but just couldn't help himself at hearing me talk to
his fiancee on the phone.
After a few minutes of deep breathing, I was more or less steady again. I talked him out of taking me back to the hospital, but I was going to die of embarrassment if we didn't get away from the crowd that was starting to form. I heard whispers begin to imply that I was drunk. Or worse.
So Derek guided me to a quiet corner in the back of a fastfood place just one block away. He insisted on getting us both sodas-I think he was concerned I might have low blood sugar or something-but was unrelentingly cheerful as he set off to do it. More than five times as he all but dragged me inside the tiny restaurant, he'd said to himself, "She's still alive!" or "Thank you, God."
While he stood occupied in line at the front counter, I took the opportunity to pop a pill. I also grabbed a few napkins so I could write down some thoughts. My head was swimming with possibilities, and I needed to connect some of these dots. Derek returned while I was still lost in thought and placed my drink in front of me.
"You're sure it was her?" he asked, for the third time.
"I'm sure, Derek."
"Can I see your phone?" he asked.
I saw little point in arguing and handed it over, though I knew he would find nothing useful. I'd told him while I was taking deep breaths on the ground that I had pressed the Talk button on the phone without looking at the caller ID. And once the call was over and I was back on my feet, I looked back at the "recent calls" list and saw that no call had been logged. In fact, it didn't even look like my phone had been activated in the last hour. So no phone number had been recorded for the call, and there was no evidence that my phone had even been in use. Jordin may have been speaking to me through my phone, but it wasn't with the help of Verizon.
Derek mashed buttons on my phone like a mad man, as if trying to will it to reveal its secrets to him. "How can someone call you and not actually activate your phone?" he asked.
I took a deep breath. I couldn't put it off anymore. It was obvious that, whether Derek would like it or not, something very not normal was responsible for what was happening all around us.
I gently took the phone out of his hand and pocketed it. "I need to tell you something," I announced, not quite meeting his gaze as he looked at me with anticipation.
Here goes, I thought.
"I sawJordin the night before you came to my dorm looking for her."
Derek nearly stood up out of his seat. "What?!"
"Breathe, Derek," I said. "It's not what you think."
"Why didn't you tell me!"
"You wouldn't have believed me-"
"What does that mean?"
I began to see that this wasn't going to go well. "I sawJordin at that new Ghost Town amusement park. But she wasn't there. Not physically. She appeared to me-and only me-in the form of an apparition. A ghost."
Derek's posture froze. He didn't register disbelief, amusement, or anything else as he continued to stare at me. It was like someone had taken a photo of him, freezing him in place.
Finally he leaned back in his seat and contemplated my words deeply, looking me in the eye. I knew he had to be wondering if I was serious or ifI was crazy in the head. Was I enjoying a sick joke? Had I really uttered aloud the words he thought he'd heard?
"A ghost," he repeated softly, as if afraid someone else in the restaurant might overhear him saying such a ridiculous word. Or maybe he'd lowered his voice because of the anger I saw bubbling beneath his surface and he'd trained himself to keep such things suppressed.
I nodded, bracing myself for the onslaught. I was mad, or I was cruel, or I had been dreaming. Any or all of these accusations were about to be shoved down my throat.
He cleared his throat and looked at me as if he was about to counsel me with his best pastorly advice. "Tell me exactly what happened."
"It was the end of the Haunted House. Except what happened wasn't part of the tour. I was surrounded by this white mist that I can only describe as possessing intelligence, because it moved around me in ways that no naturally occurring airflow could. And for just a second, I saw a face in the mist, and it was Jordin. She called me by name, and she said to me the very same phrase that Carrie Morris heard in her dreams. The same phrase that was used as a threat right after my room was turned upside down. The same phrase that Jordin whispered to me ten minutes ago on the phone before asking me to help her. The nightmare is coming. Then she and the mist vanished."
Derek stared at me for a very long time. He neither frowned nor smiled, though he did run his fingers through his hair at one point. But he never took his eyes off of me, as if waiting for me to crack and reveal that it was all a joke.
"Why didn't you tell me?" he repeated, and I could barely hear his voice.
"You wouldn't have believed me," I said again. "You still don't, do you?"
He frowned. "I don't know you to be a liar. If you say you experienced something, I have no reason to presume you didn't. We just have different frames of reference for what an experience like the one you described really is. If you say it happened, I believe you. But that doesn't mean what you saw is really what you think it was."
I tried to swallow his words. "So ... you believe I saw her, you just don't believe it was really her?"
He hesitated. "I don't know. I don't believe in ghosts, so if it really was her you saw, there has to be another explanation. But at least now I know why you're so obsessed with helping me find her. And don't misinterpret that as ingratitude. You're doing a lot more than helping-you seem to be the epicenter of all the action."
I couldn't argue with that. Though I had no idea why everything was happening to me.
"Aren't you ever going to ask me why I don't believe in ghosts?" asked Derek, leaning back in his seat.
"No," I replied. There was no need.
"It's more than just my religious beliefs," he barreled on, ignoring my response. "It's illogical. There are so many things about haunting reports that make no sense. The clothes thing or why ghosts are always stuck in one place and not able to move on?"
"I respect that your particular areas of interest give you a uniquely colored worldview," I said slowly, with more patience than I was feeling.
Derek offered his best grim smile. "Which is a really nice way of saying, `I could explain it to you, but your rigid beliefs will prevent you from accepting anything I say.'"
I stopped for a moment and stared at him in mild curiosity. He was surprising, this one.
"Maybe we should just agree that I see the world one way and you see it differently," I tried, attempting diplomacy.
But Derek was restless. "What is a ghost? Define it."
"A ghost is regarded as a disembodied soul. The idea has been around since-"
"-since ancient times, I know," he finished. "People have reported encounters with the dead for millennia. I'm a religious studies major."
I crossed my arms and examined him. "All right, then, you know so much about my opinions.... I know what you think, too. I know exactly what you believe all hauntings really are. Demons."
"Absolutely," he replied. "And that's why Jordin shouldn't have been dabbling in this stuff. It's dangerous-and not just physically."
I pursed my lips and narrowed my eyes. "That's not good enough," I said.
Derek was caught off guard. "What?"
"'Demonic activity' is not a compelling enough answer for all of the things happening under the umbrella of `paranormal activity.' I'm sorry, but it's not. And you're not qualified to say otherwise."
I knewJordin wouldn't have wanted the two of us to get into this, and she would have advised either one of us, separately, not to start something with the other. But backing down from a challenge isn't my style.
"I'm not qualified to have my own opinion?" Derek retorted. "I thought everyone was entitled to their own opinion."
"Sure, but ifyou have no personal experience with the subject matter, then how is your opinion in any way valid? Christians base a lot of their opinions on what they're taught and precious f
ew on anything learned through firsthand experience. Even this stuff you're telling me right now about ghosts being nothing but demons, you're just regurgitating opinions-from your dad, probably, no offense-you've been told all your life."
Derek leaned back in his seat, listening to my argument with great interest and a wry smile. Clearly I wasn't the only one who enjoyed a challenge.
"I respect my father more than I respect any other person alive," he began. "But he would be the first to tell you that I am my own man. Because he was the one who pushed me to be an independent thinker, to own my beliefs and know why I believed them. And believe it or not, he and I disagree about quite a few things. Doctrinal issues, mostly-"
I put up a single finger. "Have you ever encountered a ghost? Yes or no?"
"Not that I'm aware of," he replied.
"Then how can you be so sure they're not real?" I asked, pressing my point. "I mean, even as a Christian, I don't see the disconnect for you. Christians believe in life after death. Why can't they believe in ghosts?"
"Christians believe," he said, speaking with authority, "that death results in your soul being routed to one of two placesheaven or hell. There's no room for dawdling on earth in between."
"But that's the thing," I said. "We don't know the mechanics of how it works. Nobody does, because no one has died and come back with indisputable evidence ofwhat it's like. So many people with near-death experiences have reported seeing the bright light beckoning them to `cross over,' but nearly every story like that implies that in order to move on, you have to decide. You have to choose to `go toward the light.' "
Derek sat up straighter. It wasn't hard to imagine that he'd been wanting to get this topic out in the open for a long time. "Why would a person be allowed the choice to stay here-even if only for a little while-if their final destination is eternal punishment in hell? Criminals don't get to choose the day and time of their judgment.
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