Midnight Investigation. Sheryl Lynn
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went.
Sexy.
Not so sexy was her dislike for psychics and mediums. A dislike so deep and contemptuous it sounded like a phobia. He’d been subjected to skepticism, scoffing, fear and, worst of all, painful hopefulness that his gift—curse—could solve problems. But Desi acted as if his very existence offended her.
He heard voices.
Desi froze, her head cocked. “Did you hear something?”
“Sounded like people talking.”
They heard faint laughter.
“I know that laugh. It’s Ringo.” Desi crouched next to the vanity, where a large floor vent was covered by a fancy-work grill. She held her hand over the vent. “No wonder it’s so cold up here. There’s barely any hot air coming through.” She pulled the walkie-talkie off her belt. “Dallas? Desi here. Where are you?”
Buck leaned in to better see the vent. He caught the scent of Desi’s hair, a mixture of sweetness and tang. He backed away.
“Basement. Furnace room. Where are you?”
“Still on the third floor, and we can hear you through the vent. Are there any doors?”
“One wall is covered with cabinets.”
“Check the doors, would you?”
In a few seconds came the eerie creak of old hinges.
“That’s it!” Desi exclaimed.
“It’s loose,” Dallas said. “It won’t stay closed.”
“Did the furnace come on within the last few minutes?”
“As a matter of fact, it did. Ah ha! The sudden rush of air moved the door?”
“That’s exactly what I’m thinking. This vent must come straight from the furnace room. It makes it sound like there’s a door opening in here.” She flashed a big smile at Buck. “Mystery solved.”
Her smile struck him right in the heart. It made her beautiful.
“All right,” she said. “We’re going to do some EVP work.”
“Wait,” Dallas said. “Do you have a K2 meter?”
Desi said, “I do, but it only works for you and Ringo.”
“Exactly,” Dallas said. “It’s making me paranoid that Ringo is working some kind of hoodoo on it.”
Ringo’s “Hey!” drifted through the vent.
“I’ll give it a shot.” Desi rose to her feet. In the main room she headed for the bed. She set the digital recorder on the quilted coverlet. Velcro ripped and she reached into a deep pocket on her pants.
Buck peered at the unit she held. It was about ten inches long in a plastic case and had a bank of glass bulbs.
“Electricians use them,” she said. “Dallas gets some interesting results with it. Me?” She shrugged. She turned it on and the glass bulbs lit up one by one, flashing from yellow to green to red. It darkened. She set the unit near the digital recorder.
The paranormal researchers had more gadgets than a patrol car. “What does it do?” Buck asked.
“Measures magnetic fields. Dallas and Ringo keep getting what looks like intelligent responses through it.”
An image of a wooden rocking horse flashed through Buck’s mind. Eyes half-closed, he listened with his inner ear. The entity felt friendly and very young, and it was aware of Buck and Desi. Another image danced in and out of his consciousness. A striped rubber ball, the paint rubbed away by use.
Buck and Dallas had talked at length about how they might use Buck’s ability in investigations. The discussion regarding the Moore house focused solely on Buck needing to learn about the research equipment and how to conduct an investigation. Dallas hadn’t told Buck what to do if he saw or felt something in this house. Buck took seriously Desi’s warning against woo-woo stuff.
The spirit felt playful and curious. Buck moved closer to the door, attempting to pinpoint the spirit’s energy with the camera. He said, barely a whisper, “I know you’re here. I see your toys.”
Coldness blanketed Buck’s skin as the ghost’s delight sparked through Buck like static electricity. A pang of pity tightened his chest. Ghosts needed to move on, release or be released from this plane of existence. They had families and loved ones on the Other Side, or so he hoped. Children’s ghosts saddened him. They were lost and too far from home.
“Bring the camera over here,” Desi said. “Let’s do some EVP work.”
“If you don’t believe in ghosts,” he said to Desi, “why do you do this?”
Desi sat on the edge of the bed. “Belief is for church.” She lifted her chin. “Either I know or I don’t know, and whatever I claim to know better be backed up by hard evidence. I’m looking for facts. Anecdotes and sightings are interesting, but they don’t mean squat as proof. You’re filming the floor.”
He jerked the camera up to level.
She pointed at the nightstand. “Set the camera over there. Focus it on the K2.”
Buck was familiar with EVPs—electronic voice phenomena—where recording equipment picked up disembodied voices the human ear could not.
A man said over the walkie-talkie, “Desi? Tony here. Check the IR camera on the third floor. See if a cord got knocked loose. It’s acting up.”
Buck didn’t envy Tony’s position in the command center van. Colorado was in the grip of a cold snap. It had been over a week since the temperature had made it above zero. He wasn’t looking forward to his turn in the command center.
Desi tested the power and line cords to the IR camera. She spoke into the walkie-talkie. “Everything is fine here. What’s it doing?”
“Cutting in and out. Never mind, it’s working now. Shees, hope it’s not the computer. How’s Buck doing? Being a good soldier?” Tony’s laugh sounded like a cackle over the unit. “Tell him if he survives a night with you, I’ll buy him a beer.”
Buck chuckled. He felt the brush of a ghostly hand against his fingers and the youthful spirit seemed to laugh, too.
“Shut up, Tony.” Desi hooked the unit on her belt. She returned to the bed and crossed her arms, looking at the digital recorder and K2 meter. “Is there anyone here who’d like to speak with us?”
Buck glimpsed a glow near Desi’s face, a ghostly outline of a boyish cheek. Buck’s mouth twisted in bemusement. Spirits couldn’t read his mind, so he had to speak to communicate. He wanted to ask the ghost why he was here, and why he would not or could not leave.
“I’m Desi and this is Buck. We aren’t here to bother you or harm you in any way. If you want to talk to us we have equipment here that can help you.”
The ghostly glow hovered over the digital recorder. A wispy hand touched it.
Buck said, “May I ask a question?” He really wanted to ask why she disliked him so much. Most people got to know him, at least a little, before declaring him scum.
She gestured at the digital recorder.
“Do you like being here?” he asked.
A smile flashed, revealing a missing front tooth. Buck sighed unhappily. This child had been very young when he died. Buck’s theory was that a parent’s grief prevented the spirits of children from passing to the Other Side.
“Do you like what the people who live here are doing to the house?”
He got a clear vision of a playroom with striped curtains, a shelf of books and the wooden rocking horse. He caught himself before asking if the child missed his toys. “Would you like it better if