He believed all of it, and that had been the basis for his beliefs seven years ago. The history of the disappearances, the assaults and the strange happenings had to be brought on by hysteria, mass hallucination or a group mentality that forced people into believing there could be such a thing as an actual haunting. The property that Summer Place was built upon also stood up to scrutiny. No Indian massacres, no settler disappearances, nothing. Only F. E.’s old hunting camp; the house was built over the small gorge once used as a hunting blind to catch deer and other animals off guard. No, the property was as clean as the family history. Since there was nothing in the past, there could be nothing haunting Summer Place. Easy: two plus two made four.
Kennedy smiled as he slowly made his way around the darkened stable. Two plus two makes four, he thought. That night with his students, he had found out the hard way that Summer Place wasn’t good at math. Two plus two equaled whatever the house wanted it to equal. All through the night he debunked his students’ feelings, or sightings, or misadventures, one after the other. He was proving that he was in control, to not only them, but to himself. He was proving beyond any reasonable doubt that his theory on haunted houses was the correct one. About the time that he was patting himself on the back for his brilliance, was when Summer Place came alive and started showing its true power. The doors slamming, the power surges and outages, the screams, the cries, and finally the apparition that every student on staff claimed to have seen up on the third floor.
Gabriel felt his knees weaken at the memory of that night. He leaned heavily against one of the solid wood support posts in the stable and took a couple of deep breaths to calm himself. He thought back to that long climb up the stairs after Warren Atkinson, the brightest kid in the graduate program, had disappeared. At the top of the stairs, he saw the sewing room door close on its own and he heard the laughter — he had never told Damian Jackson, nor anyone in authority. He remembered finding Warren’s glasses at the base of the wall. His class ring was also there; the bulging plaster, the wetness of the wall and paper that covered it. He had gone into shock at the discovery of those items on the carpet runner, and had torn into the wall with one of the table lamps that lined the hallway every thirty feet. He had seen the emptiness of the interior of that wall, and the slat work behind it. Yes, Summer Place had done its own math that night — it subtracted very well indeed.
When the hand reached out and touched him, Gabriel jumped. Julie Reilly stood beside him with a makeup tissue still tucked into her collar. She looked at him curiously.
“I would say you looked like you saw a ghost, but that would be a little too cliché, considering.”
“Past mistakes,” Gabriel mumbled.
“Excuse me,” Julie said watching his face in the darkness. She reached out and turned on the light. The man did look like he was scared, and indeed looked as if he had seen a ghost.
“I will not underestimate this house again.”
“I hope you don’t. Even if I don’t believe like you do, I always cover my bases.”
“What do you want?” he asked when he got his heart and breathing settled.
“You’re due in makeup, we only have forty-five minutes to air.”
“I was already there,” he said.
“Harris and Kelly said you messed up your makeup and that you have to go back in.”
Gabriel smiled and looked back at the camera mounted on its tripod. As Julie watched, Gabriel raised his right hand and flipped the camera the bird.
“Any particular reason you don’t like that camera?” Julie said as she turned to leave.
“Yeah, but none that I care to share at this particular moment.”
Kelly Delaphoy stepped out of the production van to get a breath of air. The trailer was air-conditioned to accommodate all the electronic equipment, but she still she found it hot and oppressive. Kelly was used to a small Chevrolet production van and a minimal staff, one reason for Hunters of the Paranormal’s minimal production costs. Being this close to an expensive special was starting to eat away at her confidence. She looked at her watch and the bright lights of a camera caught her eye. When she looked up she saw a network crew setting up on the lawn just inside of the half-moon drive in front of Summer Place. The news division had come on site without having notified her.
Kelly saw Wallace Lindemann walking toward the network reporter, a woman not far beneath the stature of Julie Reilly. He was being tagged by one of the makeup people, who dabbed at his face as they moved toward the reporter and camera crew. She saw Lionel Peterson standing off to the side, impeccably dressed in a black three piece suit, standing as if he were king of Summer Place. She made a beeline toward the head of the entertainment division.
“What is this?” she asked Peterson.
“Well, let me see. From this distance I’m not sure, but it looks like Wallace Lindemann is about to do a news interview.” He looked at Kelly as she came to a defiant stop in front of him. Then he grimaced when he saw Julie Reilly come out of the stables with Professor Kennedy not far behind her. She saw the bright lights of the news team, and then him and Kelly. She ripped the makeup guard from around her neck and sprinted toward them.
“What the hell is this?” Julie asked. Her question wasn’t directed at Peterson, but Kelly.
“That’s what I’m trying to find out.”
“Look, both of you need to get a grip. This interview is going out live on the evening news. As much as I hate the news division piggy-backing us the way they have,” he shot Julie an ugly look, “we need a solid lead-in to the show.”
“We don’t need a lead-in; all the projections are skyrocketing. And we surely don’t need a loose cannon like Wallace Lindemann walking the news audience through his hoax speech.”
“And if the network wanted this, why didn’t they have me do it? I could have controlled Lindemann,” Julie Reilly chimed in. As much as she hated Kelly Delaphoy, she knew the producer was right. Lindemann was dangerous with a live camera. She looked into Peterson’s eyes. “You set this up, didn’t you?”
Peterson looked from Kelly to Julie and shook his head. “Now, why would I try to sabotage a show that has control of the trapdoor underneath my feet?”
“Because, you sanctimonious son of a bitch, you actually think you can survive this thing,” Julie said before Kelly could open her mouth. She looked beyond Peterson and saw two men who had been with the CEO inside of the boardroom watching the test broadcast. They were standing side by side and seemed quite content with the happenings.
Julie’s mouth fell open — she realized finally what Peterson’s game was. He had played the dummy, acting his way through the indignity of the special as if he had no choice to do so, while all the while he had been playing a game, making fools out of everyone from the CEO to Julie and Kelly. Julie actually smiled as she turned from the two board members to face Peterson once more.
“You’re not just out to solidify your position as the president of entertainment, you bastard, you’re out for a full blown coup against Feuerstein, aren’t you?”