The innocence of youth. Where do you think your own sins come from, Digger Junior? And you don’t even have to rely on evil’s influence spreading from within, because sooner or later the Devil’s hammer is going to hit you from the outside.
“Demons can’t work without invitation,” Roach said. “So it’s a choice. That’s what the whole heaven-and-hell thing is all about.”
“Lighten up,” Cody said. “You’re going to give the paranormal industry a bad name. I’d rather be seen as a bunch of opportunistic flakes than Gloomy Doomies.”
“What good are numbers in matters of faith?” Kendra said. “You can pile up specs until the end of time and never come up with an answer to the big question.”
Cody grinned a little at the compliment, but uncertainty clouded his features. “What’s your point?”
“You’re trying to prove the unprovable, Dad’s trying to know the unknowable, Roach is trying to defeat the invincible. We’re all just going through the motions and it all comes out the same in the end.”
“Whoa,” Cody said. “I didn’t realize you were an existentialist.”
She slid off the table, mussing the linen, and headed for the door. “Nah, I’m just a cartoon character. Don’t mind me.”
Roach watched Cody’s eyes as they consumed every detail of the girl’s movement. Confident she was being watched, she gave a flip of her hair, blending shadow and light, and lapsed into a subtle imitation of her catwalk strut.
Yes, he’s watching, you little vixen. But he’s not the only one.
The demon in the corner, which had not yet given itself a name, nodded in agreement.
Chapter 14
“You shouldn’t have tipped the lamp so fast,” Duncan said.
Ann, aiming her digital camera into a mirror so that it caught a slanted view of the third-floor hall, said, “It wasn’t me, it was that cranky old cynic, Gelbaugh.”
“You’re the cranky old cynic. Besides, he was all the way across the room.”
The hall was buckled, the decades warping the wood beneath the frayed gray carpet. The skewed geometry no doubt contributed to paranormal delusions, and Ann figured to play it to her advantage. Using the mirror, she was able to distort the architecture even further. She clicked, and the flash illuminated the grim passageway.
“I wouldn’t put it past Digger Wilson to rig it himself,” Duncan said. “Maybe a thin fishing line tied to the lamp cord.”
Ann took another photo. “Doubtful. He would have played the crowd a little, let the drama build toward a satisfying climax. He’s a showman if nothing else.”
A small group turned the corner at the far end of the hall, led by a middle-aged man in an SSI jumpsuit. While some of the hunters were solemn and had haunted looks about their eyes, this group was boisterous and laughing.
“No respect for the dead,” Duncan said.
“Judging from the roster, most of these people are from established groups,” Ann said. “I guess they all want a paranormal show on the Sci Fi Channel.”
“Light on the ‘science,’ but heavy on the ‘fiction,’” Duncan said. “But I doubt if there’s a lot of demand for the ‘Skeptic’s Channel.’”
“Skeptic? I’m not a skeptic. Skeptics are still open to possibility.”
Ann and Duncan pressed against the wall to allow the group passage. The jump-suited group leader smiled at them and glanced at their name tags. The walkie talkie on his hip hissed and squawked, and Digger’s voice rode a wave of static: “We’ll have to regroup, folks. Please return to the control room.”
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.