"Yes, salt. It's a purifier, a protector from spiritual beings that wish to harm you. It forms an unbreakable barrier. Certainly you've heard of this technique before?" It was Conroy's turn to sound astonished now, and in Justine's way of thinking, it was unjustified.
"So you're telling me that salt is going to prevent a poltergeist entity from tossing me around the room?"
She threw up her hands in frustration and stood up to pace around the room.
"Conroy, with all due respect, with all your years of experience, surely you know that the poltergeist entity can be extremely violent. Some cases have even resulted in death."
Conroy stood up, rolling his neck over his shoulders to release some of the tension.
"Everyone, please take 10, excluding you, Justine."
The rest of the team quickly got up.
Abandoning me to the wolf, she thought. Suddenly she felt the integrity of the word 'team' was severely lacking. Even Patrick quietly stepped out, his eyes burning into hers with warmth and encouragement.
"Justine, please calm down. We will also have a safety harness on you."
Conroy's eyes pleaded with her but Justine couldn't help feeling as if she were being used and violated.
"A safety harness? So, if for some reason I need to get up and run, I can't, because I'm stuck to a chair dealing with a pissed off ghost?" She threw her hands up in the air and glared at him. "This is nuts!"
"Justine, we will be in the very next room. We’ve employed this technique before and have always had very successful results." He sighed heavily and sat back down. "This would get us the biggest grant we've ever had if we can pull this off. It's one for the history books."
At my expense, Justine couldn't help but think to herself, as she found herself slowly nodding at Conroy.
"Fine, okay."
Chapter Five
So there she sat within a thick circle of simple table salt on the wooden floor beneath her, in the dining room of the old home, feeling dimwitted, and bright eyed with fear. There were four tiny suctioncupped wires stuck to Justine’s chest in various places to keep track of her physical condition and vital signs. Conroy had encouraged her not to fear the ghosts adding that, “everyone knows these entities will play on a person’s fear”.
The dining room was dark, lit with only two small, low wattage lamps that didn't help the situation, because each window had been boarded up tightly. Any glass items-mirrors, knick knacks, an so on-had been removed for safety. There was the large dining room table, which had been anchored to the sturdy floor with three-inch wood screws, and finally the single chair to which she was tied. The only other presence in the room, as far as she knew, was the extensive equipment which had been anchored down in the same way as the table.
Justine knew that the team was a room away, quietly watching her. And actually hoping that she would have an encounter with the ghost or ghosts who claimed the home as their own. The room seemed too quiet to Justine, even with the soft beeping and bumping of the monitors and other equipment. She waited, reviewing the evidence in her mind once more.
The last part of yesterday had been spent researching the history of the house. Their results had revealed a tragic story of a love triangle that had gone terribly wrong. A father and son had been in love with the same woman, and had killed one another in a violent duel over her. The young woman, with both suitors dead, had then seen to her own demise.
Justine concluded to herself that there were two very pissed off male ghosts and a lovesick, forlorn female ghost occupying this residence. Great, she thought, and here I am, their bait to do with as they please.
Conroy's voice came over the portable Spectrum supplied intercom, and quickly brought Justine out of her thoughts.
"Alright, Justine, the fifteen minutes are up, you can come out."
Gee, thanks boss, she thought to herself as her fingers-clumsy with nerves-undid the metal latches of the safety harness. She quickly exited the room and grabbed a bottle of spring water from the snack table that Conroy provided on long cases, to ease her overly dry throat.
The team was kind to her, patting her on the back, offering her reassuring words. Patrick outright hugged her in front of everyone. Justine already dreaded the next 15 minute encounter.
The night wore on slowly with no incidents. By midnight, Justine was exhausted and starting to feel confident in her knowledge that there would be no activity at all.
She had just begun another 15 minute session. Ghosts made up their own game plan, whether mere mortals liked it or not. She was also amazed at her own desire of hoping that something would happen, anything minor that could be recorded. She assumed that was the scientist in her and wondered not for the first time if maybe her mother was right about her odd career choice.
Her mother! She'd forgotten to go see her mother! How stupid! How selfish! Brushing aside the thoughts, Justine forced herself to be calm so that the equipment readings would not pick up her anxiety. She quickly lost herself in her thoughts again, comfortable in the old room, but still peeved at herself for being so inconsiderate to her mom. She was usually so reliable, so dependable. . .
"Hello." The voice was raspy and male.
Justine started to jump up before remembering she was tied to her seat. Her eyes searched around the room, as she tried to locate the speaker. She fought back her fear with a deep breath and a large swallow of her throat.
"Show yourself to me." Justine put every ounce of courage she had into her voice and words.
"Oh, my lovely, you do not wish to see me."
Suddenly, there was something akin to a breeze but not as gentle, and definitely more solid, lifting her hair off the back of her neck in a sickly, sensual caress. Justine tensed up, ready to push the alarm button that would notify the team that she may need assistance.
Everyone else was in the other room, jumping in pure excited chaos because they could completely see the form of the ghost that was visiting Justine in thermal waves on the infrared monitor. His profile was sharp, outlining a straight, aristocratic nose, and thick dark hair wavy around his face.
Conroy barked orders as he dashed from monitor to monitor, jotting down readings. The rest of the team forced themselves to sit back down and record even the tiniest of details as they watched the barely concealed fear on Justine's face. The ghost had practically perched on her shoulder, and stroked her hair casually.
"Why are you in my house?" The voice was almost pleasant in a lyrical sense. Each timber of it was currently being recorded on both digital and audio recorders.
"I am here to find out why you torture the people who live here." Her breath was coming rapidly, her courage swiftly waning.
"Because it is my house. I built it." The voice was no longer as amused and carried a sharp, angry edge to it now.
"But you are dead."
A short while passed before the ghost replied, so long in fact, that Justine began to wonder if he may have left. Then from a far corner of the dining room came a menacing laugh that grew in strength and volume. Justine found herself instinctively digging her finger nails into the table top.
"I am dead only to the living, to people like you. In my world, a world much more authentic and fulfilling, I am quite alive."
Suddenly Justine's chair started rocking back and forth violently beneath her. She clamped her hands down on the edge of the table in an effort to steady herself.
"I wish you no harm or disrespect. Please do me no harm." Justine’s voice quivered nervously.
"You could not harm me even if that was your intention. I am already dead, as you just stated."
Again, the long building laugh rose out of the darkness before it was accompanied by a bright, shrill scream. It took Justine a full five seconds to realize that it wasn't her own voice screaming.
"Leave her alone, Master, please!" This voice was female, soft and young. It trembled with the same fear that Justine felt.
"You dare tell me how to act in my own home!
"
And suddenly Justine's gyrating chair was completely still, so still that it left her disoriented for a moment. But the air around her stirred with a whirl of crimson violence as the man growled and the woman screamed. It appeared they were violently fighting one another!
The team was in frenzy, from their vantage point, it was like watching a movie, or a nightmare, with Justine sitting in the middle of it all.
"Conroy." Patrick's voice was stern, "We need to move in. Now!"
Briefly glancing up from the monitor, Conroy waved off Patrick, his reluctant distraction clearly over shadowing any concern.
"Not yet," He barked.
"Yes! We need to move in now." Patrick was up and stalking toward the door of the dining room.
"Patrick." The heavy authority of Conroy's voice, stopped Patrick in his tracks.
"She is fine, Patrick. Breathing and heartbeat are a little accelerated but that's to be expected."
Patrick stared at the door. He felt torn between the orders of his boss and his new self-assigned duty of keeping Justine from being harmed.
Meanwhile, the dining room went dead quiet and as still as a cold winter night around Justine. She glanced at her watch, noticing that the 15 minute interval had expired nearly 10 minutes before. She cautiously pressed the intercom button.
"My time is up. I'm coming out."
"No, Justine don't move! They are still in there. And a third has entered the room." Conroy's voice crackled back excitedly from the intercom. "Just a few more minutes Justine, and then we can wrap it up for the night."
Instead of being miffed, Justine felt the gnawing edge of panic that was sliding into her gut. The room was still dead silent in its deep darkness. It was too quiet for there to be three other beings in the room with her, wasn't it?
A hurricane gust of wind suddenly hit Justine, blowing back her hair and skin with its icy force. She struggled, fighting against the wind, trying to quite literally, hold her ground. She desperately reached out and clamped onto the table again. Her heart beating so fast it began to hurt.
"Conroy! Now! I'm going in."
"No, Patrick, she's fine they are nowhere around her."
"But she's scared!" Patrick swiftly walked over and put his face into Conroy's. "Does she have to die for this grant, Conroy?"
Conroy grabbed Patrick by both shoulders and shouted,
"For God's sake, Patrick! Sit down, damn it! Where is your professionalism? We're almost done. She's fine!"
"Let go!" This voice was so loud and booming that it shook the walls of the old house. There was a deep, wolf like growling, along with shrill screaming bouncing off the walls. Justine felt like she was trapped in a violent ghost war zone.
"Get off of her!" It was a different male voice. “You're hurting her, again! You always hurt her." This softer male voice was followed by loud, dismal sobs.
And suddenly the forceful wind stopped as quickly as it had begun. The room went dead silent and had an eerie feel all of its own.
"Justine, you can come out now," Conroy announced evenly before glaring at Patrick.
Momentarily, she was too stunned to move, not even sure whether she had actually heard Conroy's voice or not.
Cautiously Justine stood up after unsnapping her latches. With unsteady legs, she carried herself to the door and turned to look back one last time. The room was completely silent, void of any movement, any energy. She knew with a deep sobriety that the anguish she had heard in those sobs would stay with her forever. Such a strong love destroyed over hate and jealousy. It seemed so human, and it was.
"Blessings to you all," she said quietly under her breath before finally opening the door.
All but one member of the team, Liz, ran up to her, arms thrown around her, kind words, thanks. It should have mattered, but it didn't, not really. Not after the drama that had unfolded around her only moments before.
So there was still sorrow, regret, even anguish after death, she thought wryly. What a hell of an afterlife to look forward to.
Justine looked down to find Conroy clasping her hands within in his own.
"Justine, thank you, you are a true warrior indeed." And to her startled surprise, he pulled her into a warm embrace. The naive young girl inside her hoped it was from genuine sincerity, yet the wise woman in her hoped it wasn't for her help with the grant that Spectrum would now undoubtedly receive.
Before Justine could clear her thoughts, Patrick was pulling her tight into an embrace that was both tender and full of something more. He held her for a moment too long in the company of the team and their boss. But Justine didn't care because she couldn't help but cling to him, finally feeling safe and protected.
"That's a wrap. Let's get the hell out of here!" Conroy clapped his hands together loudly, and the team scurried into activity.
Chapter Six
Dinner with the team was spent celebrating over a lavish seafood feast in one of Jacksonville's finest restaurants, boasting its own “Mayport shrimp” at Conroy's (or better yet,)Spectrum's expense. The team bubbled with excitement, many of them continuing to thank Justine for her courage and patience in the investigation, along with recognition for her dedication to the team that she had so recently joined.
When everyone was happily full and feeling satisfied, Conroy stood up and cheerfully announced that in two weeks time the team would be making a trip to the battlefields of Yorktown in Virginia as well as attending the annual paranormal convention. Each of them was silent upon hearing his announcement. No one got to set up equipment in Yorktown; not only was it a historical land mark, but it was the
“Commonwealth State”, as well. To the conservative bluebloods of the nation’s oldest state, the nonsense of the paranormal was well, just nonsense.
The team would then be given a four-day vacation to canvas the Williamsburg and Tidewater Virginia area, specifically leading toward The Edgar Cayce museum located in Virginia Beach. Everyone was thrilled and excited. Conroy quietly excused himself, after giving Justine a proud nod and a beaming smile. He told the team to happily carry on the celebration without him as they definitely deserved it.
Dinner became drinks and by 9 P.M., Justine was feeling a little sloppy with liquid courage. Happily, Patrick drove her home and stayed with her as the night hours moved on. Tomorrow was a day off for the entire team, no need to wake up early. This enhanced the desire to stay up later--no matter how tired Justine might have been.
Together, she and Patrick shared a pot of coffee and a companionship that had become surprisingly very comfortable and relaxed in the short time they had known one another. They lay on the living room floor facing one another with overstuffed pillows supporting their chests.
"So what do you like to do when you're not chasing ghosts?" Justine asked lightly.
Patrick chuckled softly before answering, his face lighting up warmly. "Well, I guess you could say that I'm not the Average Joe in that respect."
Justine, brave with the warm alcohol still swarming through her system, nudged his shoulder with her hand playfully. "Come on, that's not a real answer," she chided. Her voice was challenging in a sultry way, which warmed up Patrick even more.
"Well, as you know, I'm a professional ghost hunter which takes up most of my time, even as much as I love it, it keeps me very busy. When I’m not chasing ghosts with the team I also enjoy my Earth or Nature based spirituality."
Justine's easy laugh turned into an outright giggle,
"Oh, so you're one of those tree huggers!" She couldn't help but roll onto her back and laugh.
"I guess," he stated flatly. When she noticed that he seemed a bit miffed, Justine rolled back over onto her stomach.
"I'm sorry, I didn't mean that in a bad way." Her sharp green eyes quickly showed her instant regret.
"I know you didn't, but like most people you don't understand it, but one day, Justine, you will." He sighed and sat up.
"Yes, I'm Pagan, for lack of a better term, a believer of eart
h, Mother Nature, and yes even magick," he added, winking.
To her surprise Justine found herself very intrigued. As most of North eastern Florida, she'd been raised Baptist. However, she had never really taken much of the theology seriously because it was too sober and oppressive. She believed in morals, helping out fellow man and constant self
improvement.
“What exactly is magick?” Justine asked before even considering the quick question.
Patrick smiled and thought for a moment before answering.
“Well first, the magick I’m talking about is spelled with a ‘k’ at the end of it. It’s different from magic without the ‘k’, which means the type of acts performed by entertainment magicians, hat tricks and such.” Patrick paused, before continuing, “When performing magick in say a ritual or ceremony by a Pagan, it’s used much like prayer, for the
improvement of something or to aid someone in a goal.”
“Oh okay, so it’s sort of like an enhanced prayer?” Justine asked, intrigued.
“Exactly,” Patrick smiled brightly.
"Does your family have a problem with it, I mean that you practice that?" She hesitated, then added, “Paganism?”
Patrick paused, feeling his confidence return before lying back down, while gathering his words thoughtfully.
"No, my family, or well, I come from people who believe differently."
"Wow, that's pretty cool! I bet they don't mind your profession then?" She asked, briskly pushing her chestnut locks out her face.
"No, not at all; in fact, they encourage it."
"Must be nice." Her mood quickly dipped to somber. "My mother hates it, and my father, well, he passed two years ago."
Patrick reached over and put his hand on top of hers.
"Damn, Justine, I'm sorry."
"Oh, it's been hard, and I still miss him, of course, but I get by. It's my mother that I worry about." She toyed with the tassels on the beige pillow. "I need to go see her."
"Your mom, too?" There was a knowing humor in his voice.
"What do you mean?" she asked curiously.
"Oh, you know, always nagging you about not visiting, not calling enough."
Journey of Souls (The Mortality Series) Page 6
