Ghost Hunters, Pt. 10

Just joining us? You may want to start at the beginning.

JD walked across the hallway to the microfiche room, and fully expected to find Dillon sleeping.

In the nearly 80 minutes since they'd last spoken, he hadn't heard a sound out of Dillon. That was pretty much unheard of in his experience, so he was convinced that Dillon would be laying on the floor under the desk soundly sleeping, or that he'd actually already left the room and was off doing something else instead.

What he found make him freeze in his tracks inside the doorway.

Dillon was reading.

He was staring intently at the microfiche screen, and occasionally panning about on the page to move from one to the next. He was actually sitting forward on his seat, leaning in toward the screen.

JD stared in wonder for another moment, then knocked lightly on the open door so as not to elicit another screaming fit from him in the library.

Dillon whirled rapidly around to face him.

"Oh, hey, dude, whattup?" he said casually.

"You're doing the research. You're actually doing the research."

"Yeah, I toldja I would. You owe me lunch, too, by the way."

"I do?"

"Pff ... yeah, dorkwad. I don' work fer free an' shit."

"No one's paying me," JD protested.

"That's YOU, bro. You gotta feed me if ya want work done, dude."

"What have you learned so far?"

"Whaddaya mean?"

JD blinked in surprise. "I mean, what have you found out?"

"Well, a couple things," Dillon said, panning the page again.

JD waited for a moment. "Such as?"

"Oh," Dillon said, and turned back around. "Such as, comics in papers ain't funny at all, dude. Not at all."

"Wh ... what?"

"Yeh, I been readin' Sunday comics an' stuff. None of 'em're funny at ALL, man. It's like, lame or for little kids er somethin'. Stupid."

"Dillon, what are you reading?"

"I jus' told you, dude. Comics."

"Did you even bother to read the articles that Bea found for us?"

"Yeah, I read 'em."

"When?"

"Before I started readin' comics. Duh, dude. You sure ask dumb questions for a smart guy."

"Dillon, what did you learn??"

"About what, Homey?"

"About the case!"

"Oh, yeah," Dillon said, turning back to JD. "Keep it down, dude, we're in a library an' shit. You wanna get us thrown out or somethin'?"

"Dillon?"

"Yeah, right," Dillon said, adjusting his seat to face JD more fully.

"So ... there was this cop, see ..."

"Yes, Robin Brown."

"Right, Robbie. So anyways, he's doin' stuff ... you know, cop stuff ... and he goes missin'."

"Yes, he disappeared investigating a rash of robberies in the neighborhood of our supposedly haunted house."

"You heard this one before'r somethin'?"

JD closed his eyes. "Just ... go on, please."

"So Robbie gets a call t'go check this dump out, an' he goes missin', right? So then nobody finds 'im. Ever."

"Yes, the last contact police had with him was as he was going to check the house out. Then radio silence."

"Yeh. So he's missin', an' nobody can find 'im and shit."

"For nearly thirty five years."

"Yeah. An' the cops don' keep lookin', neither, 'cause right after that the crap in that neighborhood stops, an' they figger it's ol' Robbie doin' it."

"What?"

"Yeah, ain'tcha heard that part?"

"No, there was nothing like that on the Internet."

"No? Damn, you must suck at searchin'. Anyhoo, ol' Robbie's gone, an' all the B.S. down in the 'hood stops."

"The robberies stopped after his disappearance, yes."

"Yeah, an' ol' Robbie's partner, who ain't workin' with 'im that night, says he figgered Robbie was the one doin' all the stealin' and shit, an' then he took off with the loot an' stuff."

"Several hundred thousand dollars in cash and merchandise were stolen over a very short period of time."

"Yeah, like, three, four months. So dude, can we eat now?"

"What of the partner? What was his name?"

"I dunno ... Stinkins, Pinkins, some crap ... he just slammed Robbie pretty good an' then nothin'. Papers don' say nuthin' 'bout him no more."

"Dill, do you remember the name? The exact name? I can look it up."

"Naw, man, y'can't look it up ... I gotta eat."

"I'll feed you, I'll feed you ... IF you find the name."

"Dude, the food's for all the stuff I done already."

"You receive payment when I receive a name."

Dillon sighed in an over-exaggerated and dramatic way, flopping his arms over the desk to work the microfiche reader again. He buzzed about for a few minutes, and then swatted JD's arm.

"Here," he said firmly, "now frickin' gimme some food, dude."

"Yes, yes ..." JD said, bending to read the article. "Darren Jenkins. How'd you get Stinkins out of Jenkins?"

"Whatever. I'm hungry, brain ain't workin' right."

"It never has, why is hunger the reason now?"

"You're a butt-head, dude. Seriously. A butt-head."

JD read on unperturbed. He made careful mental note of the name, and he made careful mental note of the article.

Both Brown and Jenkins had been under investigation. Both were taking rotating second shifts to go on beat patrol in that neighborhood. The affluent tax payers were pressuring city officials, not least of whom was the mayor, for action. Several houses had been robbed, in an area where crime had not existed before, and in each case, the police had failed to apprehend or even identify a suspect. In each case, the complaints were filed but nothing ever substantiated. In several cases, the paperwork about the incident had been lost, so that when the homeowners tried to follow up, there was no record of a report ever having been filed. Pressure was being put on the city to do something about the crime wave, and some residents had threatened to go to the county or even state authorities to get resolution.

JD knew most of that; the Internet information he'd uncovered from the local town paper had most of that information online. What was conspicuously absent from the information currently online, but was clear in the original articles, was that the entire police department was under investigation. Rumors of corruption and suspicion of dirty cops and bribery were rampant.

At the center of that investigation were officers Brown and Jenkins.

Brown volunteered to go on beat duty there to clear his name, vehemently protesting accusations of his involvement in any corruption or conspiracy within the police department. Jenkins took offsetting shifts to assist his partner. On one or two occasions, Jenkins had been summoned to a robbery either in progress or upon discovery by the homeowners. In every case, the perpetrator, or perpetrators, got away and nothing was ever uncovered by investigators. Brown only received one call while on beat patrol in the neighborhood the one he never returned from. That brought suspicion to him more fully. The police suspected that he cased homes on patrol and returned when off-duty to perpetrate the crimes. His partner Jenkins was thought to be involved because he never apprehended the perpetrator or perpetrators, even when he received notice that there was a robbery in progress.

After Brown's disappearance, the police closed the investigation. Jenkins was cleared of all charges, and Brown was considered to be the perpetrator of most, if not all, the robberies. Any accomplices he had disappeared with him, vanishing into the dense fog rolling in off the river. His car was found but never a body, despite a search of the river banks, bed, the home where he'd been dispatched, and the surrounding neighborhood. He simply ... vanished.

JD noticed the address of the last call the officer was dispatched too, also. It was the same address as his client's house, that ancient old Victorian near the river.

"Very, very interesting," JD said slowly and softly.

"Yeah, like watchin' grass grow. Can we eat now, dude?"

"Sure," JD smiled. "I just want to ask Bea one more thing on the way out."

"Whatever, dude, I'll be at the car."

"Sure," JD said, still eyeing that article as if it were a treasure.

He wondered about the events the three of them had seen the night before. They seemed to contradict the story in some senses. Why would Brown be killed if he'd been the perpetrator? Who were the murderers? Under what conditions had that murder taken place?

Was Brown even the one being murdered?

JD stood upright at that last thought. Maybe ... just maybe ... they'd misinterpreted what they saw. They didn't see the whole thing play out. The heavy fog and the immediate belief that he was an actual, living police officer made them hesitate before they followed through the yard. There were likely events being played out they hadn't seen, perhaps a conversation.

What if Brown had been the murderer and not the victim? In the dimness he could only see a figure with a flashlight. Because of what he'd seen before, he assumed it was Brown, but there was a period of time in which other things could have taken place. In fact, he may not have even seen contiguous events. These things, if played back through some mechanism LIKE the Water Tape Theory, may not have all been the same night, or even the same decade. There was no way to know for certain what they'd seen.

"DUDE," Dillon said impatiently, leaning back in, "FOOD. NOW."

"Okay, sorry," JD said and he strode out of the room behind Dillon. They passed by the front desk where Bea was busying herself with librarian tasks, humming ever so softly to herself.

"Excuse me, Bea," JD said softly, and she looked up, tipping her head far back to see through the spectacles that slid far down her nose, and smiled broadly.

"Oh, were the fiches of any help?"

"Incredibly so," JD said warmly. "I don't know how to thank you, and I hate to be a pest, but ..."

"Oh, not at all, that's what I'm here for," Bea said, coming around toward JD and pushing her glasses back on her face. "What can I do for you?"

"Well ... I ran across a name in my research, and wondered if you might have some actual memory of the person, being that you've lived here for so long."

"I can try, but I can't promise anything," Bea said, less enthusiastically.

"I was wondering if you remember a police officer, around the time of the disappearance, named Jenkins ... Darren Jenkins."

"Oh, heavens yes," she said, waving dismissively. "I remember when he was a boy coming in here for his school papers. He lived here most of his life."

"Do you recall what became of him?"

"Oh, yes ... he stayed here in town and did well with the police force for a bit. Then he decided to try his hand at politics. Most folks here were convinced he had something to do with that other officer being missing though. No one voted for him. After that, he left. A few years later, I read in the paper he'd committed suicide."

JD started. "Suicide??"

"Yes, it was terrible. No one knows why. He didn't even leave a note."

"Did he have a family?"

"Oh, not that I know of; his parents passed away long ago, and he didn't have any siblings. He never married, either, that I recall. It was sad, really."

"Oh, God," JD whispered, genuinely surprised.

"Yes, and the worst part of it was that the people found him outside their home, below a window."

"Who? Who found him?"

"The homeowners ... they live in the same house where his partner was last heard from. They came home and found him outside of their parlor window."

Technorati Tags: fiction

Ready to go on to Part 11?

Ghost Hunters, Pt. 9

Just joining us? You may want to start from the beginning.

The old brick building stood sentinel at the end of the street, part of a town square that once was the center and hub of a community that was its own haven of commerce, industry and homes. It was a tall, wide but shallow brick design, in the tradition of the old New England architecture sporting a high cupola. The octagonal protrusion from the the high-pitched ceiling had eight windows overlooking the valley, the river, the forested hills to the north and the town's homes and affluent subdivisions from each of its eras. Through those heavily wooded hills nestling snugly around the village, a tiny blacktop ribbon wound casually away toward neighboring, larger suburbs. A 45-minute journey over that rolling, winding road brought them to the little hamlet, and another five minutes of through-town wandering brought them to the foot of the sturdy old brick library, with its concrete steps gradually narrowing toward the double wood-panel doors sent behind the colonial arches and stark white pediment.

JD rolled to a stop in one of the numerous open parking spots just in front of the building, ringed with ancient and beautifully autumn-clad trees and admired the little town's nostalgia not just for days gone by, but for centuries gone by.

He glanced over at Dillon, soundly sleeping -- in fact, snoring -- in the fully reclined passenger seat beside him.

He sat back and rubbed his chin contemplatively, watching Dillon sleep. He scratched somnolently at the ever-present stubble on his jaw, and dropped his hand back onto his chest, resuming his snoring rhythm.

JD leaned carefully over.

"DILLON!! DILLLLLLLOOOOOOONNNN!!!!" he screamed as if being attacked, putting his hands on his chest and shoulder and shaking violently.

Dillon screamed, abject terror stamped over his visage, his eyes glassy and unfocused, limbs gyrating like a bundle of boiled spaghetti tossed helter-skelter into the air. He tried to sit upright but the safety belt snapped taut against his panicked motion and both choked and slammed him solidly back down. JD shook once more then sat back, and finally Dillon's wail of horror died in the confines of the car.

He was panting, mouth slightly agape, trying to gather his bearings.

"Whuh???" he puffed weakly, hand clutched tightly over his heart, "whuh???"

"We're here, Dillon," JD said calmly.

Dillon stared in disbelief, still fighting for breath, and then his head fell heavily back onto the seat as he groaned.

"God ... oh, God ... I so hate you, dude ... I so effing hate you ..."

JD laughed hysterically then, just for a few moments, then collected himself again. "C'mon, let's go. You can't scope library babes from out here."

"I can't go in, dickhead. I have to change my drawers, man. You, like, made me soil my tighty-whities, jackass."

"See you after you wipe, then."

Dillon righted the seat while JD started to open his door.

"I'm so gonna get you for that -- ya know that, right?"

"Please. That's repayment for all the slanderous remarks you made about me last night."

Dillon stretched and a guttural grunt slowly escaped him as he pulled himself up onto tiptoes, long and luxuriant as a cat. Then he surveyed the library with hands on hips, and shook his head.

"Aw, man. There ain't no hot chicks here."

"What made you think there would be?"

"Dude, hot brainy chicks hang out at libraries. Most of 'em have coffee shops 'n crap inside now, too, so you can get yer flirt on an' shit without bein' in the bookwork part. But this? Dude, there ain't nothin' in there but, like, a dried up ol' lady librarian with her hair pulled so tight she can't sneeze or she'll tear her face."

JD stared at his friend in wonder, chuckling and shaking his head. "You have this all figured out, I see."

Dillon shrugged. "I been around. I ain't like you, dork-wad."

JD sighed, still grinning, then headed up the stairs. Dillon followed beside him and they crossed through the wide, heavy wooden doors together. Just inside to the left was a men's room. Dillon slugged JD hard on the shoulder, and gestured toward the facility.

"Thanks t'your ass, I gotta stop here first," he said, slipping inside the bathroom.

JD made sure he was gone, then grimace in pain, rubbing his shoulder and mouthing "OW" largely but silently as he passed through an inner door to the main reception area of the library.

It was richly appointed with beautifully varnished wainscoting and wood accoutrements, the thick, plush hunter green carpet deadening the sound of footfalls as he approached the main desk.

Dillon, it seemed, was right: the woman behind the counter, a stiff, elderly woman with rigid posture and reading glasses perched at the end of her beak-like nose, was the only person he could see. Her shoulders were draped with a black webbing of knit shawl, her hair pulled viciously into a tight bun and pierced with what looked like a pair of miniature knitting needles. JD stifled his laugh, still rubbing his shoulder, and approached the desk.

The librarian looked up at him quizzically before an unexpectedly warm smile crossed over her regal features.

"Good morning," she said softly, obviously accustomed to working in the quiet hallows of a library for decades, "may I help you?" JD noticed the name tag perched just beneath her collar bone that read:

HELLO! My name is BEA."

"Good morning, ma'am," JD said as pleasantly as he could without exceeding her volume, "I certainly hope so. I'm trying to find some town records, and I'm specifically interested in newspaper articles and media items that might relate to the town's history and crime events."

"Oh?" she said, her face genuinely curious. "There really isn't very much crime in our town's history ... it's a very nice place to raise children."

"Oh, absolutely," JD agreed heartily, trying to be pleasant and not intimate that the town was crime-ridden. "I'm looking for a potential missing person report, or perhaps a murder. Because nothing like that ever happens, I'm sure, it would have made the news and I'd like to see those reports."

"Oh, I see," she said, her smile returning. "I thought you may be someone looking to relocate here."

"I'm actually doing some research for clients. I was wondering about town legends and myths, that sort of thing. It's quite fascinating."

"Yes, it is. If you'll follow me I'll show you where the microfiche files are and you can also look through the town documents if you'd like specific information about a location. Those are found in the Reference section, just through the door there," she pointed a prim but aged finger at the sign hanging from the high, white ceiling.

"Oh, thank you very much," JD said as warmly as he could. "I really appreciate your help." He followed a half-step behind her, then ventured another question. "Are you a resident here, ma'am?"

She turned and beamed proudly. "Oh, please, call me Bea. Yes, I've lived here my whole life. In fact, my parents moved here just after the depression. I've been here my whole life."

"Oh, that's wonderful," JD said, the wheels in his head turning. "Then you'd be familiar with any town legends and stories about murders and things like that."

"Oh, yes," she continued, still proudly smiling as she led JD through an open doorway into a hallway with several tiny rooms branching from it. "But there really isn't much of that sort of thing here."

"Oh no," JD said reassuringly. "As I said, the rarity of it would probably make it stand out in your memory ..." he trailed off, trying to prod her.

"Now that you have me thinking of it," she said, tapping her lower lip with the tip of her finger, "there WAS an incident a long, long time ago ..." she was thinking, staring off into the middle distance between them. JD watched her face closely. "... when was that? Oh, goodness, that had to be -- oh, before you were born, I'd guess ..."

JD wanted desperately to help her remember and decided against it. The research had to be factually based, not random -- and potentially false -- memories of interviewed townspeople.

"Let's see," she continued, and opened a door to a room with a desk that held two microfiche machines, each one on the opposite side of a two-person desk, back to back. She went to a wall beyond the desk and opened one of a large bank of drawers, her fingers quickly fishing through the stacks of film plates there.

"I just don't remember the time frame," she said, "but I'm certain there was a person killed here about 30 or 40 years ago," she said. "It shouldn't be too hard to find ... I think if you search the Internet for the town name, the newspaper, and put in some criteria, you'll find what you want. In the meanwhile, I'll see if I can dig up something here. Will that be all right?"

"Well, I don't want to take too much of your time ... you seem to be here alone ..." JD said carefully.

"Oh, that's all right. There's a bell if someone needs help. I'll just be a few minutes. We have computers in the room across the hall. If you need to print something, please see me, though. There are a few processes to go through before you have an account to print."

"Bea, I can't thank you enough," JD said, smiling. "I would've been here for hours searching without your guidance."

"I'm happy to assist," she said smiling back. JD left and went across the hall, opening a glass-paned door to reveal a sterile, white-walled room with two computer set-ups. He sat down at one of the terminals, and launched the web browser.

He thought for a moment, then entered the address of the old Victorian in that affluent subdivision; he typed in the town name; finally, he entered the term "police officer murder" into the search bar and clicked on the "SEARCH" button.

"Sir?" the soft voice said from behind him. Bea spoke so gently he didn't start despite not hearing her on the soft carpeting.

He turned, "Hi," he said smiling.

"I've found some tapes of those articles I mentioned," she said smiling proudly again. "I'll have them at the front desk for you when you're ready to use the fiche machines."

"That's fantastic, thank you!" he said genuinely. He was actually amazed at how easy this was, and felt a bit guilty about making the trip. He could have done it on the Internet from home.

But he felt certain that the local folklore would prove valuable yet, and what Bea produced may yet yield something more than he could find online, particularly if the local newspaper wasn't fully digital yet.

As Bea padded quietly away, he heard her gentle voice drift from the hall. "May I help you?"

"Didja see a dweeb in here somewhere? Nerdy guy, lookin' fer weird stuff?"

Bea said nothing but a moment later Dillon entered the computer room.

"Didja find it yet?"

"Find what yet?"

"Whatever the heck yer lookin' for, dork," Dillon said. "Jeez, dude, don' tell me ya don' know whatcher doin' again."

"Dillon, this is going to take a while. Did you find anyone else you can annoy while I do this?"

"Pff. You gotta be kiddin', dude. Place is a MORGUE -- what's t'do here?"

"I thought you said you were going to 'scope women', or something."

"I toldja, there ain't none. The only chicks in this dump're gonna be, like, fifth graders an' shit."

"I saw a diner up the street," JD said flatly, "why don't you see if you have better luck there?"

"You tryin'a get ridda me or somethin'?"

"Yes."

"How come?"

"Because you're easily bored, I have work to do, and you have the attention span of a goldfish."

"Why don'tcha think I can help ya?"

"Because you're easily bored, I have work to do, and you have the attention span of a goldfish," JD repeated monotonously.

"Dude," Dillon said, "y'gotta lighten up on me. You're just ... you're just flat rude t'me, y'know?"

"Does that hurt your feelings?"

"Yeah. Not really. But still, I can help."

JD sighed, looking up from the monitor. "Okay. Bea has some microfiche films at the front desk. They contain some news articles that she says are about a crime that took place several decades ago. It would help expedite things if you read those and told me whether they're related to what we're doing or not."

"Okay, so ... wait, what now?"

JD sighed. "Forget it."

"Naw, naw," Dillon emphasized, "jus' gimme that one more time."

"You'll forget what I said before you reach the front desk."

"Will not."

"Yes you will. I'll bet you can't even remember why we're here."

"We're lookin' for th' ghost, jerk."

"See?" JD said, gesturing evidentially toward Dillon. "I told you."

"Ain't that what we're doin'?"

"No."

"What're we doin' then?"

"We're researching the events we witnessed last night."

"The ghost."

"It wasn't a ghost."

"Uh-HUH. Gotcha. It was a movie, right?"

"Dillon, please let me ..."

"Waitaminnit -- that's what you said, right? We didn't see no ghost. We seen a movie 'bout a ghost. The house, or the yard, or somethin' stupid like that, recorded the movie. Ain't that what you said last night?"

JD stared at him, a bit shocked. "The water tape theory was just a potential explanation. It wasn't the actual event happening is all I was trying to say."

"So how'd Aunt Bea know how to look it up an' stuff?"

"She remembered hearing about it. She's lived here a long time, and her parents lived here, too."

"So what're you doin', if she found everything you need?"

"She didn't find everything I need. She found something. I want you to check and see if it's something we need."

"Now it's 'we'?"

"Do you want to help or not?"

"Not ... but everything else is boring too, so what the hell?"

"I don't want to put you out or anything," JD said snidely.

"Too late for that, dumbass."

"You wanted to come."

"I wanted to hunt ghosts, lamebrain. Not, like, spend my day bein' bored as all get-out at the frickin' library. That's for nerds like you, dude."

"I told you it was going to be research and that it was boring. I even used the word 'boring' so you'd understand that it was boring. You wanted to come along."

Dillon shrugged. "It beats work."

"The fiches, if you will."

"Will what, dude?"

"Go. Look. At. The. Micro. Fiche. Tapes. The. Librarian. Has. Them."

"See? ... rude."

Dillon left the room, and JD dropped his head into his palms, shaking it slightly, then returned to the monitor.

What he found there was extremely enlightening.

Technorati Tags: fiction

Ready to go on to Part 10?

Ghost Hunters, Pt. 8

Just joining us? You may want to start from the beginning.

He raced through the fog, running break-neck through the mist toward the glaring white light and the shadowy figures ahead of him. He flailed his arms wildly in front of him, trying to feel his way through the dense wisps that threatened to swallow him as the silhouette raised the club over its head. He felt like he was running through deep water, every motion slowed and exerted, the club flashing down and reflecting beams of the flashlight blindingly at him, taunting him for not moving fast enough to reach the helpless figure on the ground in time. Down the club flew, moving maddeningly slow, yet faster than he could force himself to go, and he felt the shout bellow out of him from the depths of his core as he tried to ward off the impending blow. And the club fell faster and faster with every step he drew nearer until ...

He felt the adrenaline rush through his veins in a sudden burst as something touched his shoulder and shook him. His head shot off the pillow with in a start and a tiny yelp escaped him involuntarily.

He heard a shout then that sent another burst of adrenaline through him, jarring him the rest of the way from the dream. He whipped his head around and stared through the bleariness of his slowly waking eyes. He blinked and it felt like his eyeballs were made of sandpaper.

Dillon was standing a few feet from his bed holding his hands over his chest as though trying to keep his heart in.

"JEEZUZ, Dude!" Dillon shouted. "What the hell ya doin' scarin' me like that??"

"Dillon," JD sighed heavily, letting his face fall back onto the pillow heavily. "For God's sake, what time is it?"

"It's ..." Dillon stepped forward and leaned toward the clock on JD's night table. "... about nine. Dude, are you goin' back there? Tonight, I mean?"

JD thought about lying, for a moment. He'd been friends with Dillon since fourth grade, and except for the few years in college when they'd gone to different schools, they'd been close. When they both graduated college, they decided to room together. They had separate jobs and interests, but still spent most of their time together, and no amount of distance and time could make them less fond of one another.

But Dillon wasn't really cut out for paranormal investigation, and JD had known that all along. He invited Dillon along on last night's probe because Dillon had insisted, but things hadn't gone the way he planned. Dillon had been bored and restless, and too easily convinced that the house was haunted. If they continued together on the investigation, JD knew Dillon would probably be a hindrance along the way.

He also found it hard to just tell his friend he wasn't welcome to come any more, either. Dillon was JD's oldest and closest friend, despite their differences. He finally sighed deeply and rolled over onto his back in the bed, throwing one hand over his eyes.

"Yes. I'm going back there again. But not tonight. I'm going back to town this morning."

"Back to the town, but not the house?" Dillon seemed confused.

"Yes."

"Why not the house? Ain't all your tweety crap still there?"

"Yes. I will go back to the house, but this morning it's time to do research."

"Aw, MAN," Dillon groaned. "That sounds boring."

"It is. You won't like it at all."

"Dude," Dillon said, dropping hard onto JD's bed and bouncing a bit, "what's to research, man? We saw a ghost. Just deal, JD."

JD sighed. "Well, something weird's definitely going on there, that's for sure."

"It's a ghost, dick-weed."

"Dick-weed?"

"You heard me. Why won'tcha say it's a ghost? We all seen it."

"We saw something unusual, that's all."

"Dude."

"No, that's all. What are you doing up at this hour anyway? Don't you usually sleep until noon?"

"I wanna go with ya, bro," Dillon said. "It was kinda fun. When're we catchin' up with Wen? She's goin' back too, right?"

"She has a job, Dill," JD said flatly. "She can't go with us. She'll probably catch up to us tonight at the house."

"So what kinda research we doin'? Goin' to the cops an' find out if one of 'em got whacked an' shit?"

"Please," JD snorted, rolling onto his side and propping himself on his elbow. "The police aren't going to say anything to us about any cases. We have to look through public records."

"Pubic what?"

JD shook his head, rolling his eyes. "Public, not pubic, records."

"Like what?"

"Like the library -- newspapers, town history, maybe we can find out something about the house itself. If there was a police officer murdered there, it would be in public records and news items. We'll start there and see where that gets us."

"Sounds boring, dude."

"It is."

"Can't we do somethin' excitin' like last night?"

"Paranormal investigation is very boring, Dill. You do a lot of watching and waiting and observing. I told you all this yesterday."

"Yeah, but things got excitin' yesterday."

"Wendy scared you."

"And we seen a ghost, dumbass."

"We saw something unusual, yes."

"Yeah, that ghost."

"Whatever. Are you coming with me or aren't you?"

"Well, yeah -- DUH, dude. What else am I gonna do today?"

"Don't you have a job you have to go do?"

"No. Do you?"

"I've taken a few days off for this investigation. Why don't you have a job?"

"Well ... I had one, see, doin' stuff for this one comp'ny downtown. I hadda give people their mail an' drop stuff off, an' shit like that. An' it sucked. So ... I told 'em I didn't like it and I quit."

"How ... how are you going to pay the rent and utilities? Put gas in your car? Pay for your auto insurance? Buy food, toothpaste, toilet paper --"

"I get it, DAD. Don' worry, dude, I'll get another job. Are you gettin' outta bed or not?"

"Not with you standing there staring at me like a museum exhibit, no. Leave. Now."

"Dude, you're grumpy in the mornin', you know?"

JD set his jaw. "Leave, Dillon."

"Sheesh," Dillon muttered and left the room, closing the door behind him.

JD shook his head again and got out of bed. 20 minutes later he was showered and refreshed. He found Dillon in the kitchen shoveling a bowl of chocolate cereal down his throat, chuckling at the cartoon characters on the box.

"Heavy reading, I see," JD sniped cheerfully. "Getting ready for the research?"

"HA! You're a real gas, dude. I'm not doin' any friggin' research, that's your gig. I'm gonna scope the chicks at the library."

"You don't have a job."

"Dumbass, of course I do. I called in sick is all."

"Why did you lie to me?"

"You my dad?"

"Not on a bet, thanks."

"So don' worry 'bout it. I gotta be there Monday but I got today off so I could go help ya."

"Help me, huh?"

"Yeah, like I did last night."

"Oh, is THAT what you were doing? Because I could've sworn it was you being a pain in the --"

The phone chirping electronically cut off the insult, and JD snatched it from the base station on the counter.

"Hello?"

"Hi, baby, did you miss me?" Wendy's voice sent another rush of adrenaline through his body and he caught himself involuntarily smiling. Quickly he straightened and wiped his hand over his face.

"Hi!" he said, realizing too late he'd said it more brightly than he intended. "How ... are you?"

Wendy laughed. "It's okay to be glad to hear me, you know. I'm always happy to hear your voice, too."

"You ... you are?"

She laughed uproariously. "Don't make me laugh while I'm at work! They'll know it's a personal call, goofy."

"I ... I am glad to hear you. You know that."

"It's still nice to hear," she teased.

"What's up?" he said, trying to change the subject.

"I'm just saying good morning. And finding out if you're going back to the house tonight to follow up."

"That seems to the subject on everyone's mind this morning," he said, glancing at Dillon, who was still chuckling at the cereal box.

"Last night was pretty intense," Wendy said.

"You'd better be careful how you say that," JD teased, "it could sound like you're talking about something else."

"Like sex?" she said frankly.

"Wendy!"

"What? Does that word embarrass you, sweetie? SEX?"

"Wendy, you're working!"

She giggled in his ear, and he again found he had a smile plastered on his face.

"Do you want to try phone sex, lover? Right now?"

"With whom?"

She gasped. "JD! How dare you!"

"At any rate -- yes, I'll be there tonight. Will ... will you?" He grimaced at how awkward and shy he felt with her.

"Just try and keep me away."

"I'll do nothing of the sort."

"Better not. Wouldn't work anyway. I'll see you tonight."

"I'll be looking forward to it."

"I love you, JD."

His heart jumped wildly in his chest and he nearly collapsed.

He was frantic, internally arguing with himself rapidly. He should say it back. He wanted to say it back. He believed he would mean it and not just be saying it to be in response to her statement. He couldn't imagine another woman more perfect in every way in the entire world. Why was he having a debate, then? He should say it back, quickly, not hesitantly, with authority and --

... and the phone went dead in his hand.

"Hello?"

Silence.

"Wendy?"

Nothing.

She'd hung up. She never waited for a response from him at all.

He looked at the phone as though it had just asked him the meaning of life, and slowly put it back into its charging base.

"She hitcha with the 'L' word again, bro?"

JD snapped out of his quandary. "What're you talking about?"

"Did Wendy just say she loved you again? What're you, stupid?"

JD stared off into the middle distance, considering the conversation with Wendy.

"Yes," he said softly. "I must surely be."

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Ready to go on to Part 9?

Too Long Away ...

I'm sorry for being quiet for so long, blogosphere.  I know you don't need my input to carry on, and I'm trying like hell not to be a traffic whore (thanks to Stranger for that term), but I'd started to garner a readership with my "Ghost Hunters" tale and I'm losing you all now (all three or four of you).

On the bright side, however, I have a job interview today with the company that I've been contracting for since November of 2006.  This is a big day for my family and me, because it's the first legitimate opportunity I've had at a full-time, salary-and-benefits position in more than five years.  Needless to say, we're gun-shy about getting too happy, but we have a bit of hope.  Our hopes have been dashed before though, so we season that with a grain of skepticism and realism.  The pay rate may stand as a minor barrier between me and the offer, but we'll see.  Wish me luck, y'all.

So anyway, stay tuned.  I have every intention of posting the continuing saga of JD, Dillon and Wendy tonight and hopefully a couple of more segments over the weekend.  If you've enjoyed the story, come back and keep reading.  And thanks for your patience.

-JDT-

Technorati Tags: life, writing, work

Ghost Hunters, Pt. 7

Just joining us? You may want to start at the beginning.

JD's light snapped back on suddenly, startling him so badly he nearly dropped it. He turned the small flashlight over and over in his hands, heart pounding, studying it as if the reason it was extinguished might suddenly be apparent on the exterior casing. A half second later, he yelped in start and jumped again when Wendy ran up behind him and seized his arm hard.

"Wendy!" he complained.

"JD, what is going on? What was that??"

"Dude!" Dillon exclaimed racing up to the others. "DUDE! That was -- holy crap, dude! Holy CRAP!"

"I know, I know," JD said calmly, holding up his hands to simmer them down, "this is very strange, but we --"

"JD, we just watched a man get hurt! Maybe killed! We have to call the police!"

"Wendy, we can't --"

"JD, man, we gotta! Quit bein' a shit-licker man!"

"Dillon, we don't have any -- did ... did you just call me a shit-licker?"

"JD, we have to call someone! We can't just do nothing!" Wendy was close to panic, her breathing shallow, her entire body shaking violently.

"Wendy, we can't! Look!"

JD shone the light on the scene, revealing empty grass and an undisturbed yard in the red glow of the light.

Wendy reached into her pocket and pulled out a smaller version of his flashlight, and her white beam lit the yard as she panned it in the area.

"Oh my God," she whispered. "Oh my God."

"Yes," JD said to her softly, "I don't think we saw anything."

"Aww, naw," Dillon said shaking his head from side to side vehemently. "Naw you don', dude. We SO saw somethin'. Two dudes wastin' another dude. We SEEN it. All of us, man. You ain't gonna wiggle outta this, bro. No way."

"That isn't what I mean," JD said slowly.

"JD, if you're going to try and tell me there's a natural explanation for this, I'm going to smack you so hard your mother will feel it."

"No, no," JD said patiently, "just listen. That's not what I mean ... well, not exactly, anyway. What I mean is, what we witnessed weren't actual events -- at least, not recent ones."

"Dude, you're bein' a geek again, ain'tcha?"

"Well ... yes and no. There is a theory, held among some paranormal researchers, that events from the past can be recorded and under certain conditions those events can be played back. Like a recording, only the recording media isn't a magnetic tape or video. The mechanism is similar, but not manufactured."

"JD, what are you talking about?"

"Yeah, dude, you're gettin' all nerdy an' crap."

JD shook his head firmly. "Listen. It's possible that this lot, this area, the house, whatever -- something in this particular area recorded the events of some other time and just played them back. It normally takes some sort of release of some kind to make that happen, like a triggering event, but --"

"JD, you're not making any sense."

He sighed impatiently. "The things we just saw weren't live events, they were recorded ones that happened another time. Some time in the past. The energy of the events transmitted through the recording media -- that theory used to be called Stonetape Theory -- but that's gone by the wayside for the most part. But some others believe that it's recorded by water, and there is some research that suggests it may be possible for water to record events in the same way that a cassette tape does or a video tape does. In some circumstances, the location is disturbed -- like this house being restored, for instance -- and the water trapped inside the very material releases the recording and plays it back."

They were looking at him dubiously.

"I'm not making this up! Some paranormal researchers believe that ghost sightings can be directly related to materials in a particular area being disturbed sufficiently that the playback mechanism is activated and the residents in the area, or passersby, or whomever, will see what they believe are ghosts."

"JD, this 'recording' interacted with us."

"Dude, my DVDs don't talk t'me and tell me t'call the cops and pretend they're cops an' stuff, man."

"No, no ... we only think that person we saw was interacting with us. He wasn't. He was only a recording being played back. He probably spoke to someone in that time frame and we just happened to --"

"We just happened to be standing in JUST the the right spot at JUST the right time for the recording to LOOK like it was interacting with us, but actually wasn't? C'mon, Jaded, even YOU can't believe that drivel."

He shrugged. "It's plausible, Wen. Nothing else explains what ..."

"DUDE, IT WAS A FRIGGIN' GHOST!! That explains it!"

JD drew a deep breath, shutting his eyes. "Dillon, I know how badly you want this to be an apparition, but --"

"But nothing, Jaded," Wendy said very sternly. "It was a ghost. We all saw it. You're going to have to admit it."

He shook his head adamantly. "No. Not yet. When I have evidence to verify the veracity of that claim, I will affirm it. Not until."

"Dude, you're a weeny."

"Perhaps, but I'm not going to ascribe this to something supernatural until I have no other choice. If what we saw was an actual replay of events in the past, then the fog, the wet ground and mud, the warm and humid air -- all contain elements of water. The water could have recorded the events. The sudden and unseasonable cold snap may have caused the water to evaporate and release those recordings recently. I'm not ready to cry 'ghost' until I'm sure I've seen one, though."

"As far as I can see you're already past the point of no return on that, JD."

"Maybe, Wen ... maybe. I'm not the most sophisticated outfit around, either. And I'm sure that someone like Benjamin Radford could find a hundred different natural explanations for these events. I'm just not able to do that right now."

"Dude, y'want evidence? What 'bout them prints, man?"

Wendy and JD looked at each other, then whispered simultaneously, "The footprints!"

They raced back toward the corner of the house, rounding toward the parlor windows at a full sprint. JD held his light steadily on the area beneath the windows, in the exposed dirt between the bare, harsh shrub skeletons that jabbed and poked at them as they approached.

"It was here ... right over here ..."

"I can't believe Dillon thought of this first."

"Dude, why you gotta hurt me? I got a brain."

"Huh," JD said as though mystified.

"Ow, man. Just ... just ow, dude. You can so be a dick, man."

"It was right here ..."

"I thought it was more this direction."

They were clambering about in the rustling dead leaves, crawling on hands and knees, looking for the muddy footprint beneath the window of the parlor.

"Dude, it was, like, right by th' corner o' th' window, man, over there."

"Here?"

"Naw, man, more thataway."

"This way?"

"Yeah, but ... naw, naw, back th' other way, dude."

"Where?" JD crawled around in the dirt and leaves, shining his light in front of him and wincing as the twigs and rocks nipped at his flesh. "Do you mean this way?"

"Naw," Dillon said, "th' other way."

"I just was the other way, which way??"

"Back thataway, dude, over there more."

Wendy looked up at Dillon and trained her light directly on his face. "Dilly ... are you just making JD crawl around in the dirt?"

"Um ... nn-ooo ... well ... yeah."

"Dillon, we don't have time for your childish games," JD said irked.

"I know," Dillon grinned. "I'm sooooo sorry, dude. Seriously."

JD shook his head.

"No, I was right here," Wendy said finally. "I can see the depressions my hands left in the dirt where I was leaning over before. I remember commenting that I didn't have any dirt on my hands. This is the spot."

JD and Wendy both trained their lights steadily in the area.

There was no sign of any mud, no footprints, no indication of any kind that anyone had been through the area at all. It was as if nothing happened.

"You gotta be kiddin' me, man," Dillon said. "Whiskey tango foxtrot, dude?? This ghost's muckin' with us BIG time, man. An' it's all YOUR fault, JD."

"MY fault? How is it MY fault??"

"He's muckin' with us 'cause you won't believe in 'im, man. He so wants you to believe, dude. If you just say you believe, he'll, like, split an' stuff."

"Don't be ridiculous ... if that's even possible."

"There's nothing here, JD," Wendy said, standing up.

"Freakin' freaky, dude," Dillon said, and a shiver twisted down his spine, racking his wiry form from head to foot. "I'm hungry, too. Can we get a pizza now?"

JD scowled at him. "This is impossible. That was a physical trace of someone passing through, not some optical representation of the events of ... oh."

"What?" Wendy said, watching his face drop.

"It was all part of the replay, Wen. Every bit of it. Even the footprint. And the man you and Dillon saw in the house. And the assault we witnessed. All of it, from the beginning ... it was all part of the recording."

"No, I don't believe that," she said strongly. "That 'replay' interacted with us, JD. You can try and justify that with a huge series of coincidences if that makes you feel better, but that's nothing but a load of crap."

"Yeah, a load o' crap, you tell 'im, Wen."

"Wendy, we don't have any other --"

"Yep, loooooooad o' crap, dude."

"-- any other explanation for wh--"

"Yessirree, one big looooooooooooooooad o' crap, that's what we got there."

"Dillon, do you mind?"

"Mind what, bro?"

"Not interrupting me!"

"Oh, was you sayin' somethin', dude? All I heard was one big loooooooooad o' --"

"Thank you -- thank you, I understand the point. Please stop it."

"I will if you will, dude."

"So anything I say is now dismissed as a 'load of crap', is that it?"

"Pretty much, yeah," Dillon nodded.

"No, JD," Wendy said, cutting Dillon off, "of course not. But you have a ton of visual evidence and auditory evidence AND witnesses to the events here, and you're being very, very stubborn about this."

"And you're fulla crap."

"This coming from the biggest airbag balloon-head I've ever met."

"Balloon-o-what?"

"Knock it off," Wendy snapped parentally. "Jeez. I'm just saying that there's enough for you to move on the assumption that we have a paranormal event here and to look at it from that perspective."

"All right, Wendy," JD said, beginning to pace. "Let's move on that assumption. Now, what's the next thing we should do?"

"We should report what we've seen to the police."

"Duh, dude. Duh."

"Report what we've seen? Let's assume you're filing said police report. What will you tell them?"

"I'll tell ya what we say. We go, Dudes, we seen this ghost, man, an' he was whacked by these other ghosts in this yard, see, an' the two ghosts that whacked 'im, they split an' then the fog went away and we had nothin' to show you but we seen it an' this sounds like a load o' crap don' it?"

JD folded his arms across his chest.

"Damn it, Jaded," Wendy said through clenched jaw, "what do you suggest, then?"

"We have to have something we can show them. Some evidence. Until then, we can't do a single thing about this."

"Maybe that's all it wants."

JD knit his brows. "What do you mean?"

She cocked her head in thought. "I think ... I think maybe we're supposed to figure this out on our own."

"Duuuuuuudes," Dillon said slowly, "do you know what this could mean?"

JD looked at Dillon expectantly. "No, what?"

Dillon looked back quizzically. "How the hell should I know? I was asking, do you know what this could mean?"

"Oh, for the love of ... Listen, we have to collect evidence. I don't know if this replay is going to be a one-time event -- in which case we can't do anything, period -- or if it will be something that plays out over a few days or weeks, perhaps even months. But if we have any further opportunities, we need to record what we see, what we hear, what we find, and see if there's any way that we can figure out what's going on."

"So we can't do nothin', right? We're back t'doin' nothin' again?"

"No, we're back to waiting and observing."

"Like I said, doin' nothin'."

"Not nothing, Dillon," JD reiterated. "IF it's possible -- IF -- we can actually do something to demonstrate we're not suffering from mass hysteria, and have something documentable to show the police."

"Hmm. Lotta 'ifs' in there, dude."

"Just like life in general, Dillon. If what we saw recurs, we can be ready to record it."

"How long do you have in the house, JD?" Wendy said. "Won't the homeowners be coming back eventually?"

"Eventually," he said, "but they shouldn't be a problem for now. We should have plenty of time to do this. If the replay doesn't recur before the homeowners return, it's not likely to recur at all anyway."

"Dude, this sounds like it's gonna be a whole lot more boring comin' our way."

JD shrugged. "We'll see. We will see."

"Dude, is it cool if we do all that boring crap AFTER pizza? Seriously, dudes, I'ma die if I don' eat soon. And if I do, I'm so gonna haunt you."

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Ready to go on to Part 8?