I turned. They were all staring at me.
“Guess you’ve seen this kind of thing before, huh?” Cameron said, trying for a laugh.
“Never.” I lifted my fingers to my flashlight. The red was faint. Without a werewolf nose, I couldn’t smell anything, and I sure as hell wasn’t going to taste it. “I can’t tell if it’s really blood.”
“I’m going to vote yes,” Frank said.
“Jaime?” Rory said. “Can you get us out of here? Please?”
I looked at them. Ricardo was still on the floor, but the other four were huddled close enough to touch shoulders, all watching me, faces pale, gazes shooting to the blood-sweating wall then back to me. Waiting for me to save them.
Well, that’s a twist.
I laughed softly under my breath.
“I’m glad you find this funny,” Rory muttered.
“I wasn’t laughing. I was—”
“Hide!” a voice said behind me.
It was Clara, the first victim. She raced past and “hid” in the corner, gesturing for me to join her. I struggled to keep my breathing even. Struggled not to think of what was coming.
“You do see something,” Frank said. “Damn it, Jaime. I know you do. It’s them, isn’t it? The girls.”
I took a moment to compose myself and to turn away from Clara. Turn my back on her. That’s what it felt like. A girl was about to be killed behind me, and I was turning my back on her.
“I don’t know what I’m seeing,” I said. “I’m catching flickers—”
“Bullshit,” Frank said.
My head shot up. “Excuse me?”
“You’re seeing them. I can tell by your face. You’re seeing those girls.”
Cameron answered before I could. “Then why would she lie about it? She’s a spiritualist. She’s not going to pretend she doesn’t see ghosts.”
“She’s scared,” Frank said. “This isn’t some stage act. She’s seeing real murdered girls and—”
“Frank?” Rory said. “Shut it.”
“I do see something,” I said. “It might be the girls. It might be the killer. It might be a completely separate entity. Or it might be nothing at all. But I’m going to suggest—”
“A séance,” Frank said. “If these ghosts aren’t making contact on their own, they need help. Talk to them. See who they are and what they want.”
I argued against that, of course. But I was the only one who did.
Even Ricardo chimed in, translated by Cameron, who apparently hadn’t failed his high school Spanish. Ricardo wanted to find out what had happened to him. Conversing with the spirits seemed the best way to do that. It wasn’t as if anyone was coming to our rescue anytime soon.
We could hear the occasional faint voice below, as if someone was on the attic steps, but they sure as hell weren’t banging down the door to get to us. Hell, no. We were trapped in a room by supernatural forces. Real supernatural forces. I almost hoped there were hidden cameras, or I feared Frank would lose his job when they realized he’d stopped filming.
I didn’t like summoning real ghosts in front of non-supernaturals. What bothered me more, though, was summoning ghosts who weren’t acting like ghosts. Doors slamming and people getting injured suggested a telekinetic half-demon spirit, the only kind that could manipulate objects in the real world. But locking doors without obvious locks? Cutting someone without an apparent weapon? That made no sense, and I was reluctant to open the lines of communication when I wasn’t sure what I was dealing with. But that also seemed like the only way to find out what I was dealing with. So, with trepidation, I agreed.
“Séance” implies a lot of things to a lot of people. To most, it conjures up images of people sitting on the floor, holding hands, burning candles and incense, maybe playing with a Ouija board. None of that is necessary. To talk to the dead, I simply … well, talk. I focus on opening my mind and making contact. I did have everyone sit and join hands, though. It would make them feel better. Frank resumed taping, too.
When I started the séance, Clara’s ghost had faded and Dawn’s hadn’t yet arrived. So the room was spook-free. It remained that way as I entreated and cajoled any spirits to appear.
“Why are you doing that?” Frank said finally, as he paused the filming. “You know who they are, so why aren’t you summoning them specifically?”
“That’s not how it’s done. You risk offending the ghost if you call it by the wrong name. Instead, you must remain open to all possibilities.”
“What other possibilities?”
Rory turned on him. “What the hell difference does it make to you? Is the studio paying you extra if she conjures a specific spirit?”
“Course not. But this seems silly.”
“The whole thing seems silly,” Rory said. “But we’re stuck with it. So, once again, shut—”
The light overhead turned on. Then it flickered out.
“What the hell is with that?” Rory muttered.
“I think—” Frank began.
“No one cares what you think,” Rory said.
I lifted my hands for quiet. “I’ll go ahead and call the girls by name. It can’t hurt.”
When everyone settled down, I said, “I’m trying to contact the ghost of Clara Davis. If she’s—”
“Run.”
I didn’t jump this time. I’d heard that disembodied voice often enough. But it did stop me mid-sentence. And it stopped everyone else, too.
“Did you hear that?” Cameron whispered.
I looked around. They’d heard it.
What the hell?
“Keep going,” Frank said.
I took a deep breath. “I want to speak to the spirit of Clara Davis. If she can hear—”
“Help me.”
Ricardo leapt up. “¿Que eseco?”
“It’s a woman’s voice,” Cameron said. “The first was a man’s. I think it was the killer.”
Frank motioned for me to keep going. Ricardo cursed in Spanish and pointed. The wall was sweating blood again.
“You need to talk to those girls,” Frank whispered. “They have a story to tell. Help them.”
I looked around. To my left, a shape flickered. It was Polly. Her mouth was working, but I couldn’t hear anything.
“If you’re trying to talk to me, then talk,” I said. “Who is it?” Frank whispered.
I ignored him. “I want to know what happened to you. I want you to find peace—”
“He killed me,” she said.
I looked around the small circle. Everyone was watching intently, giving no sign they’d heard her.
“Who killed you?” I asked.
Frank leaned from behind his camera, mouthing for me to say who I was talking to. I ignored him. I tried to get Polly to give me any details on her killer, but she started getting frantic, insisting she didn’t know. That wasn’t surprising. Violent death usually wipes the last minutes from a ghost’s memory. Merciful for the ghost; terribly unhelpful for crime solving.
“What’s she saying?” Cameron asked. “It’s a she, right?”
Frank switched off the camera. “We need more, Jaime. The studio will kill us if you actually made contact with a spirit and this is all we get. Let’s back up. Tell us who she is and what she’s said so far.”
I looked over at Polly. She was kneeling in the center of our circle, skirt pulled demurely over her knees. When she heard Frank, she started to nod.
“I want to tell my story,” she said. “The whole story.” She met my gaze. “Only you can do that.”