Jumpsuit groaned and banged his clipboard against his hip. “This is no way to run a railroad.”
As he herded his group toward the stairs, Ann grabbed Duncan’s sleeve and went in the opposite direction. “Come on, handsome, time for a little game.”
“We just did that. You know it takes me a couple of hours to recover.”
“Not that kind of game. This is for keeps.”
“Where we headed?”
“I saw on that guy’s clipboard that they’re headed for 302. We have time to give them a little show.”
“What about all the cameras they’ve got rolling?”
“We’ll use them.”
After the turn of the corridor, they reached a set of stairs that squeaked with every step. Ann admired the cleverness of the maintenance staff. From the mirrors on the walls to the careful disrepair, a Hollywood construction team couldn’t have concocted a better stage. The hotel even had a chilly draft snaking through the hallway.
They found 302 unlocked, as Ann knew it would be. All the hunt locations were guaranteed to be open around the clock, just in case some hardcore spirit junkies needed a late-night fix.
“So what’s the plan?” Duncan asked.
“There you go, talking in questions again.”
“I have a probing mind.”
“And probing other things. But once in while you should just shut up and follow my orders.”
“What do I get out of that deal?”
“My undying gratitude. Now go to the window and wrap yourself inside the curtain liner.”
“Nobody’s going to fall for that.”
“I’m going to flash the lights. Anyone standing outside will see your silhouette but won’t have time to observe any definite features. So you’ll become a ‘sighting,’ and everyone will want to run in here with their instruments.”
“I still don’t get it.” Even as he was expressing doubt, he headed for the window, and Ann smiled to herself. She knew how to get what she wanted, and he likely had a few good months left before she burned him out.
“If 302 becomes a hot spot, then we have time to set up stuff in the other rooms.”
“What stuff?” The woman coming out of the bathroom surprised Ann, and Duncan was already untangling himself from the curtains.
“Uh, sorry. Didn’t know anybody was in here.”
“Yeah, our group hunted here and I had to….” She rolled her eyes into the bathroom. “Darned thing didn’t flush.”
“We were just goofing off,” Ann said.
“You said something about a sighting.”
Ann had been thrown off her game with Duncan witnessing. The woman looked to be in her 30s and was attractive, but had none of the spaciness of the other hunters, that vacant-eyed desperation that made them so easy to fool. “I heard this room was haunted.”
“It is,” she said. “I’m Tonya, by the way. Tonya Townsend.”
“I’m Ann, and that’s Duncan.”
Duncan moved away from the window and pretended to investigate the closet, going so far as to flick his flashlight on and peer into the corners.
“Nothing in the closet,” Tonya said. “It’s gone. I felt it.”
“You’re a...what do they call them, a ‘sensitive’?” Ann figured the woman would be flattered.
“I’m a hairdresser,” she said. “The head is a powerful place for spiritual energy and when you’re styling someone’s hair, you’re messing with the crown chakra.”
Ann had heard of the seven-point energy system derived from a Hindu-based healing tradition, but she wasn’t sure it held any more validity than ghosts and goblins. But she nodded, more to distract Tonya from her suspicion than because of any interest in the subject. “And you know when ghosts are around?”
“Yes,” she said, eyeing Duncan, who was now peering under the bed. “I can feel them. Sort of like the static before a thunderstorm.”
Or maybe exactly like that. One of Ann’s theories was that minor electromagnetic fluctuations could lead to disorientation and hallucinations, and people who were hard-wired to be susceptible were also more likely to report paranormal experiences.
“Did you sense one here earlier?” Duncan asked. His eyes met Ann’s, and she saw a conspiratorial glimmer in them. He was changing the subject.
“Yeah. It was the suicide guy. The one who jumped from the third floor and got skewered.”
“I thought he jumped from 318,” Ann said. She was losing track of the haunted rooms.
“He wanders from room to room. No need to worry about walls, right?”
“I guess not,” Duncan said.
“He has a sad energy. I’ve encountered ghosts that had post-traumatic stress disorder, and they usually don’t know what happened. This guy acts like he knew he made a choice and now he regrets it.”
Ann bit her lip to keep from grinning. Tonya’s face was so earnest that Ann almost believed her, except the part where the guy was many years dead and she was talking about him like he’d just returned from a vacation.
“Do you think he’ll come back around?” Ann said, pulling a Flip video camera from her breast pocket. “I would love to get some footage for my YouTube site.”
Tonya narrowed her eyes. “You can’t see him. He’s an energy spirit. He doesn’t draw enough charge to become substance.”
“Sort of like a battery that’s gone weak?” Duncan asked, trying to impose a plausible science.
“You’ve heard of auras, right? The energy rings above people’s heads? It’s sort of like that.”
“Cool,” Ann said. “Can you see them?”
“I see them with both the living and the dead. That’s how I can tell their moods.”
“What color is mine?”
“Orange, the color of fire and passion.”
Ann felt a small surge of pride, despite not believing a word of it.
“What about me?” Duncan asked.
“You’re a greenie. Earthbound and bright.”
Ann couldn’t resist. “And the dead guy?”
Tonya closed her eyes. “You’re not going to believe this.”
You can say that again. Ann felt her flesh tighten as the room temperature dipped noticeably.
“He’s here,” Tonya whispered.
Duncan, who had sat on the bed, looked around the room. Ann found herself pulling out the pocket-sized video camera. “Where?”
“Right behind you.”
Ann’s heart skipped a beat despite her doubt. As she turned, she imagined a slow exhalation of breath drifting along the back of her neck. She wondered if she were beginning to suffer a peculiar version of Stockholm Syndrome, only as a willing hostage of the paranormal community. She was more than a hostage; she was a spy.
Ann saw nothing but put her hand out. The air in front of her felt cold and her fingers tingled with a faint trickle of electricity.
“His aura is gray,” Tonya whispered. “With a little bit of purple, like clouds at sundown.”
“What’s he want?”
“I can’t tell,” she responded. “I don’t think he knows.”
“Come on, Ann,” Duncan said. “This is getting a little silly.”
“Shh,” Ann said. She pressed the button on her Flip cam and held it in front of her. Perhaps Tonya’s hallucination was a bit of reflected streetlight or a prismatic effect from the bedside lamp. The cam also had an audio track so she could monitor Tonya’s remarks.
“Can I talk to it?” Ann asked Tonya.
“It’s a he,” she said. “You can try. But I don’t think he’ll stay long.”
Ann had studied investigation techniques and knew some hunters took a provocative approach, on the belief that ghosts were like caged tigers and only needed to be poked a little to growl.
“Why did you kill yourself?” she asked, the words coming out louder than she had intended.
The heating system kicked on, the hum accompanied by a mild vibration in the floor. So much for a simple answer in English.
“Maybe you should have it sing the ABC’s,” Duncan suggested.
“The aura is changing,” Tonya said. “Now it’s like a dark cloud.”
Ann waved her hand at head height before her, imagining the aura dispersing like so much mist. The air before her was now frigid, despite the ventilation system pumping warm air into the room. A pungent aroma assailed her nostrils, as if a rat had died in the air duct and reached a ripe state of corruption.