She'd known some of that. Seeing ghosts meant she had a slight interest in the field, but she hadn't realized it was so complicated. She'd never done it for a career.
"Oh. Sounds like a lot of work."
"It is, and unfortunately I've got some hearing loss in my left ear, which makes it harder for me to pick up the lower frequencies. Carson's a whiz at it, though."
He had a fond tone when he spoke of her, and April tried to remember that the girl couldn't be that bad if a decent guy like Jerome liked her so much.
"So she does the audio, and you do the visual? Seems like you two make a pretty good team," she said, smiling at him.
"Well, we hope to, make a team, I mean. Once we get our degrees, we want to do this full time. Travel around the country and investigate. The Winchester house out in California's our dream, but they don't let anyone inside to do paranormal investigation unless you've got major credentials," he said, excited to talk about it.
His eagerness and determination were just two more things to like about him, and she laughed. "Well, I guess if this house helps you get where you want to be, then I'm glad. Do you think you'll get enough evidence before the month is up?" she asked.
He frowned and then shrugged. "Oh, yeah; I mean, to be honest, we've already gotten a lot more than anyone expected. It's going to suck pulling out of here when we're through. There's so much to learn from it," he said wistfully. He straightened and shook his head. "Anyway, I better get back to work. So much happened last night, I might just leave the audio for Carson to do tomorrow, anyway."
She snorted. "I'll, um, try to make sure tonight is less interesting so you guys can catch up," she called after him as he left the library.
She could hear him laughing as he went down the hall. Working with Jerome had made her day a little easier. Not that Ben wasn't just as nice, but with him, it was always one question after another. Jerome just seemed friendly. She sighed and pushed herself to get back to work, writing up a short description of her punishment and all it entailed.
She made it a lot less descriptive than the professor would like, she was sure, but no doubt he'd make up for that during the interview with five hundred questions. She scooped up the pile of papers, stacked them in order, and carried them off to the parlor to endure his daily grilling. He was friendly and professional, showing little in the way of judgment during the interviews, but he did like to shake every single detail out of her. She often walked away feeling wrung out from his detailed analysis.
She handed him her version of the events of the previous night and then dropped onto the overstuffed sofa, forgetting her sore ass until she landed on it forcefully. She winced; even with the thick cushioning, she could feel the remnants of the spanking John had given her. She couldn't say she hadn't deserved it, some of it, anyway, but she did wish the effects wouldn't linger so long. The professor gave her a knowing look, one eyebrow going up as she flushed and shifted her position with a little more care. When she settled down, his eyes dropped to the paper, and he began to read through her report quickly.
When he was through, he set the pile aside and turned on the camera. Unlike the ones installed in each room, this one didn't move, and it focused directly on them as he began the interview, or the debriefing, as he sometimes called it.
"Good morning, Miss Cassidy. Quite an eventful day yesterday, wasn't it?" he asked.
"You might say that," she admitted slowly and without looking at the camera.
"I understand this is embarrassing for you, so let me know if you need to take a break," he said solicitously. "I'd like to start with you entering the house. You'd been outside for about an hour having a conversation with the owner. After she left you came inside and—" He stopped there and gave her an encouraging look.
She straightened, taking a deep breath and trying not to look as miserable as she felt. "Well, the first thing I saw was John—the ghost," she said.
"Is John the only ghost you've seen in this house?" the professor asked immediately.
She nodded. "I've felt others, and the destruction in the hall wasn't him, but he's the only one I've been able to see."
"Thank you. Please continue." He offered her a reassuring smile to tell her she was doing fine, and she reluctantly took up the thread of the story again.
"Well, I was surprised, of course, because it was still daylight. I'd been told that nothing ever happened here during the day. So I hadn't expected to see him," she said with almost an accusing tone about the surprise.
"Supernatural phenomenon isn't really restricted to any specific time of day, Miss Cassidy, but some entities or locations get focused on certain times. For instance, the ghost of a woman who was killed at sunset might never be seen except at the time of her death. Or the ghost might frequently run through the house screaming on no set schedule. These things are very hard to predict," he said as he gave her an apologetic look.
"Yeah, well, it was a surprise I wasn't expecting. I'm sure you heard that we had a little bit of an argument in the kitchen. John is extremely bossy, which I guess is to be expected for someone from his time, but it gets a little frustrating. It led to a fight, which led to—upstairs." She trailed off, clearing her throat nervously as they reached the embarrassing part of the day.
"Yes, I—" The professor stopped and, for once, he didn't seem exactly sure of how to proceed. Finally, he seemed to make up his mind and started with a line of questions that went straight to the emotional aspects. "I have to ask this because things between you and the entity you call John have gotten intense. His actions, they're not against your will? I mean I gathered from the—events upstairs that you and John have come to some kind of an understanding?" he asked delicately. There was a frown of concern on his face that left deep lines at the side of his mouth and made him look older.
"The first time he—" She flushed and dropped her eyes to her lap, gathering a bit of strength before continuing. "The first time, in the kitchen, was definitely against my will, but everything since then I've agreed to, sort of. We discussed the fact that I'm not a woman from his time, but there are parts of the relationship that I—enjoy." Her voice got lower throughout the sentence, and the last word was pitched so softly that he had to ask her to repeat it for the camera.
She frowned, sighed audibly, and did so. "I said, there are parts of it that I enjoy. I never thought of myself as a submissive woman, but I'm discovering that parts of me are very submissive, with him. I agreed for the length of time I'm in the house to let him be in charge, and we'll see how it goes."
"I see." He scratched out a few notes on his paper as he thought that over. And she worried her bottom lip as she waited to see where else he'd take the interview. "As far as the physical aspects. You've had sexual relations with it?" he asked.
"Him," she said firmly. "Not it, him. And yes, we have a couple of times now," she admitted, ignoring the heat in her cheeks.
"Him," he agreed thoughtfully. Normally he'd feel pressure to warn her not to get emotionally attached to a ghost, but he knew about the agreement and where this was supposed to be leading. He would keep his opinions on how wise it was to have a relationship with someone who had passed on to himself. "Tell me, when you have physical contact with him, what does it feel like?" he asked, leaning forward slightly with an eagerness he couldn't quite hide.
On anyone else, it would seem like he was a pervert, but she'd gotten used to the man by then and knew it was all about the science for him. "It feels normal, really. I mean, at first it felt a little different. His skin was just a little cooler than normal, and there was an odd buzzing sensation when he'd first touch me, but that's gone now," she explained slowly, thinking it over in her head at the same time. She'd noticed that his skin had warmed, but not that the odd sensation had gradually vanished over time until just then.
"There's no different between touching him and touching a living human being?" he asked.
"None," she assured him. "And he looks completely solid and corp
oreal to me, too. I mean he's not see-through or anything. I sometimes forget he's a ghost at all," she admitted. And it was true; when she watched him carrying her from the bathroom to the bed on the cameras, she'd been momentarily shocked that he wasn't visible on the films. Just her naked body gliding through the air and settling on the bed.
"Interesting. That's very unusual," he commented as he scribbled frantically in his notebook.
"It is? What's it usually like, professor?" she asked curiously. She'd never touched a ghost before John. Seen, yes; touched, no.
"It's usually reported that there—" He cut himself off and shook his head. "No, I'd rather not. Remember that you're currently part of a scientific investigation. I'd rather not bias the data by giving you information that could affect how you react." There was a hint of apology in his voice, and she sighed.
"Fine. Well, there's no difference," she grumbled. It was annoying when he suggested that he had information she didn't and then refused to share.
"I wonder, do you think you could get him to cooperate on camera for us? You seem to have a rapport with him; perhaps you could convince him to join us since, as you say, he is able to come out during the day." He sounded so childlike and hopeful that she couldn't use it to punish him for withholding information.
She shrugged. "I suppose I can ask him. You mean now?" she asked.
He straightened. "Oh, heavens, no. I'd need to set up equipment. There are tests. I'd need to— No, just find out if he's interested, and we'll schedule something." Marlowe said excitedly.
From the far away look in his eyes, she could tell he was already planning it out in his mind. She wondered if John would agree to it.
They continued the debriefing; some of the questions were embarrassingly personal, but she could tell that Professor Marlowe was refraining from probing as deeply as he'd like to. He skirted over the actual details of the punishment, though he did ask, more for himself than for the study, she thought, why the ghost had felt a need to punish her.
"He wasn't thrilled with my tantrum in the kitchen," she admitted. Her cheeks flamed hotter, and she hoped it wasn't too visible on camera. "I pushed my plate at him because I didn't want to eat and he was insisting, and then things escalated, and I slapped him."
"Oh." He didn't seem to know exactly what to say to that at first. "Well, I suppose I might feel like spanking you, myself, if you slapped me," he said finally.
"Professor!" she blurted, scandalized by the comment. Her hands went up to her mouth, covering it as she stared wide-eyed at him.
A hint of pink darkened his pale skin. "I didn't say I would have. Only that I might feel like it," he pointed out calmly. "Used to be the main cause for spanking women in movies when I was a child," he added.
Was there a hint of smugness to his voice? She couldn't quite tell.
"Yes, well John has seen some of those movies, too," she muttered. "Anyway, I admit he had reason to be angry," she said grudgingly.
There seemed to be many more questions that the older man wanted to ask her, but he looked at the clock and then firmly closed his notebook, leaning over to shut off the camera and audio recorder.
"I suppose I shouldn't have made the comment about spanking you on camera," he said thoughtfully. "Probably will come off as unprofessional if someone should see it."
She rolled her eyes. "Why should I be the only one saying embarrassing things on the record?" she said.
He laughed at that, eyes twinkling as he packed up for the day. "I suppose you have a point there. Turnabout is fair play." He paused, giving her a serious look. "I have to admit I'm a little jealous of your ghost," he said, and then without explaining what he meant by that, he swiftly moved into another conversation. "An attorney is coming to see you this afternoon. I believe you've met him already. Mr. Bruebeker," he said in a questioning tone.
She frowned, wondering why he was coming back, "Yeah, he's the one who hired me."
She counted up the days in her head and realized she'd been in the house for a week. That had to mean it was pay day, and he was bringing her a check for twenty-five thousand dollars. She had to admit she was beyond excited about that; she'd never had twenty-five thousand dollars all at once before. It was looking more and more like she'd end up with the grand prize in the end, but just having another check in her possession was going to be an incredible high.
"I hadn't realized it had been a week already," she said.
The professor looked startled and then nodded slowly. "So it has. Time flies when you're hunting ghosts, I suppose."
He was suddenly wearing a look of worried concentration, and she could tell he was trying to decide if three weeks would be enough time to collect all the data he needed. It occurred to her that maybe, if John agreed, they could work out some arrangement to allow the team to continue on with their research. It would have to be in a more limited capacity, of course; no more cameras in the bedroom; but it was something to consider, she thought.
There was a serious issue that she hadn't allowed herself to put any thought into yet. Her month in the house would earn her a large chunk of money. And while the house itself would be handed over to her without charge, there were bound to be taxes involved. That money she was earning, she hoped would be enough to cover the taxes for transferring the house, but she really had no idea how much that might be. Then there was the much larger problem of how she'd continue to keep up the costs on a house of this size. Perhaps they could figure out a way to make up the expenses by allowing investigators in from time to time.
Originally, of course, she'd thought to sell the house and use the profit from the sale for a more reasonable home or to live off until she found a new job. She knew with the reputation and the high value, it would take a long time to sell, and she'd probably end up selling it for considerably less than it was worth, but even so, she was sure she'd end up with more cash than she'd ever had in her life. But that was no longer an option. This house came with strings attached, permanent ones.
"At any rate, he wants to discuss some of the data with us, and then he has some business with you afterwards, I'm told. I'll be reviewing footage from other parts of the house until he arrives, so I suppose you're free until then. Incidentally, did you know that while you were upstairs with the—with John, some of the other entities in the house were active? Several incidents, actually," he said.
She shook her head. She'd been far too busy dealing with John in the bedroom to have noticed any disturbances, no matter how loud they'd been.
"Interesting. I wonder—" He stopped. "I better get back to work," he said, interrupting himself then giving her a polite smile.
A short time later, she was settled on the bed with a book and a sandwich, looking to relax for a while before she had to deal with Bruebeker. She hadn't counted on him stopping by each week in person to hand over the check. That seemed a bit odd and unnecessary, but as the professor had said, he had other business in the house, so maybe it was just the most convenient for him. Her stomach rolled as she suddenly realized that the lawyer might be one of those people who had access to the very graphic video footage from the night before.
She bit down on her lip. The idea of that man watching her like that, naked and writhing—it made her distinctly uneasy. She didn't enjoy the idea of anyone seeing it. It was humiliating to think of the paranormal team viewing it over and over, but with Bruebeker it was different. She had a feeling of dread deep in the pit of her stomach when she thought of him seeing her like that, and she didn't know why, but she felt like it was one of those warnings she sometimes got. Still, John was there, and he'd more than proven that he could protect the house, so what was the worst that could happen?
She tried to push the worry out of her mind and focus on the book. She'd brought a stack of novels, thinking she'd have the time to plough through them, but so far, that was only the second time she'd had a chance to crack one open. She decided to stick with a nice fantasy novel; she'd break out the hot romance at
a more convenient time. She'd expected to be bored out of her skull, but so far she'd been anything but lacking in entertainment. Her ghostly lover hadn't reappeared; maybe he thought she was still busy or maybe he was resting, or whatever passed as resting when you were dead. Either way, she was glad for some alone time to relax, and shortly she'd gotten deeply involved in the plot of her book. It involved dragons and a quest and quickly pulled her in.
She had gotten to the point where she could tune out the cameras that were on her at all times. Some part of her mind was always aware they were there, of course, but she couldn't keep obsessing over the fact that she was being recorded constantly. If people could live with it on reality television, so could she. Apparently, being able to see where she was at all times was useful for tracking her down when she was needed and she jumped when there was a sudden knock on the bedroom door.
She got off the bed hastily; lying there would be way too vulnerable if it was the lawyer. When she opened the door, though, she saw it was just Jerome and relaxed.
"Hey, April. Sorry to bother you. Looked like you were really into the book," he said, letting her know awkwardly that he'd seen her on the monitors. "The guy is here. The lawyer? And we're on our way out," he said.
She saw him sneak a look at the cover of the book she was holding, curious, apparently, about what she was reading, but he didn't comment, and she followed him downstairs.
"Bye, Jerome! See you tomorrow, professor," she said as she walked them to the door.
"Ben, please," he reminded her patiently.
She laughed softly, "Sorry, Ben. I keep forgetting. I guess you just look like the professor type to me," she said, teasing him a little bit. It was true, though. If she was asked to guess what his job was without knowing him, she'd have said teacher. He was handsome for an older man, but he had a scholarly look about him, and his demeanor was definitely that of a teacher.
A Haunting Experience Page 18
