Chapter Six

"Welcome to suburbia, small town Illinois style." With a wide, sweeping motion, Chris indicated the rows of modest, white frame houses

complete with manicured lawns and matching shrubbery.

"Oh, please. This is hardly the sticks." Ginger used one hand to shield her eyes against the glare of dusk sunlight that sent brilliant shards of light straight through the windshield. "Although, it may be damn close," she admitted, taking stock of the cornfields waving lazily in the distance.

"The word you're looking for is rural," Adam supplied, shifting in his seat with a grin. "I like it out here. It's peaceful."

"That blue sky does seem to go on forever," Ginger agreed with real feeling. Her moment of harmony froze like ice, however, when she remembered why they had come to Falcon County, Illinois.

"You're not going to back out now, are you? We haven't even begun." Adam's quiet drawl broke her concentration and, judging from the look he fixed her with, Ginger could guess at what "they hadn't yet begun."

She pinned him with a look of her own that she hoped conveyed something along the lines of "don't even think about it," but he only turned away, laughing as he did so. We'll see about that.

Ginger heard loud and clear the promise that remained unvoiced. Even as he tried to look innocent.

Like she wasn't already well versed in Adam's many, many flaws. She could have dug up a pad of paper and a pen right then and there and come up with a mile-long list of his transgressions. Not a bad idea, she reasoned with a small, self-satisfied smile. A waste of time all the same, but not a bad idea. Who knew? Maybe it would provide an amusing distraction on this trip to crazy town.

Yet another thing that, lately, had her on edge. She was waking up each morning with the renewed energy of a woman on a mission to see her commitment through to the bitter end. Chris needed her help, and he deserved her support. Her past antics had caused him enough heartache. It was time to put someone else's needs above her own.

Besides, family counted for a lot. If you couldn't rely on your own family, then who could you trust? So, really, she had no choice but to go along with the insanity. And it was insanity, as far as she was concerned. Each day seemed to start out semi-normal, only to degenerate into some twisted remake of the Twilight Zone by nightfall. She didn't believe in all this hocus-pocus. She believed in God, of course, and she supposed she believed in heaven and hell and maybe even Satan, although hellfire and demon spawn were not things that typically entered her mind.

But ghosts? Psychic mediums? That was taking everything she knew about the "spirit world" and stretching it far past her comfort zone. To be fair, she knew exactly zip, zero, and nada about the spirit world. Still, the things that Chris believed in were quickly proving to be almost too much for her to take in.

She found solace in one thing and one thing only: He approached his beliefs and his work with a dedication that was mostly rooted in science. He didn't own a Ouija board or a deck of tarot cards. Sometimes, that made what he did all the more discomfiting, but she supposed it was still better than a crystal ball and a robe.

She mentally counted the days that remained until they would return to Atlanta, where things made sense. Fourteen. She sighed. There were fourteen days remaining before this ordeal could be counted as over and done with. She glanced at Adam's profile in the passenger seat and resisted the urge to bury her face in her hands and groan. How would she ever make it? It was bad enough seeing him for short periods of time, but to spend two solid weeks in close quarters with the jerk?

Ginger still couldn't figure out why he had agreed to come along in the first place. Oh sure, Chris had asked him, indirectly, to become a part of their impromptu rag-tag team, but Adam seemed genuinely eager to join forces with the Malhaven clan.

For the life of her, Ginger couldn't imagine why. His scathing remarks from four years ago flashed through her mind.

"You're crazy. Your whole family is crazy. The miracle is that I didn't run from you sooner."

She cringed at the memory and turned her face toward the car window. Considering Chris's occupation, Gran's … well, everything about Gran, and her own arrest record, his stinging comments cut deep.

"What are you thinking about back there, Red? You're quiet."

"I was just thinking that I don't give a damn about you or your narrow-minded opinions."

"Ginger. We need him—be nice," Chris warned with a sharp look in the rearview mirror.

"You need him."

"It's okay," Adam murmured to Chris. "It's about what I expected."

"And not nearly what you deserve." Ginger shrugged.

"If you say so."

"Oh, look, here we are."

Ginger leaned forward at her brother's too-loud announcement. "This is the street?"

"Walnut," he confirmed. "The house is at the end of this road."

"Six-twelve Walnut," Adam put in. "The two-story blue Victorian next to the tan house. According to the GPS, it's the last lot at the dead end."

"How appropriate," Ginger muttered, straining to catch a glimpse of the so-called haunted house, or rather, haunted houses. She recalled from Elizabeth's earlier communication that the neighboring property was also experiencing odd phenomena.

Chris pulled up along the curb and cut the engine. "This is it."

"Where is everyone? I thought they were meeting us on site for the initial consultation."

"I don't know. Let's have a look around the grounds, though. If they don't show by the time we've finished, then I'll call Peter's cell phone. We're a few minutes early."

"Fair enough." Ginger all but leaped from the backseat of the car, grateful for the opportunity to stand on her own two feet again after the long ride.

The house didn't look haunted. The absurdity of the thought hit her and she bit back a chuckle. She wasn't sure what she'd been expecting, maybe something out of Amityville Horror, or the Addams Family, but whatever image she had concocted in her mind of the traditional "haunted manor," this wasn't it. This house simply looked … abandoned.

A little eerie, maybe, but nothing super unusual. It looked like a lonely, empty house because that's what it was. She had seen lots of houses that had that same wistful quality. Some homes were waiting for a family to love and care and tend them. This one, in all likelihood, was waiting to be torn down, she remembered.

"Is it safe for us to set up in there?"

"You mean the foundation?"

"Yes."

"It's fine. I wouldn't have brought us out otherwise."

Ginger wasn't so sure about that, but she decided to let it go. Chris couldn't pass up an opportunity to study his beloved ghosts, and they both knew it, but at the moment she didn't feel like arguing that point. She followed her brother and her ex along the fence line that bordered the neighboring driveway, taking in the hundred-year-old piece of history that sprawled before her.

Modern blue vinyl siding had replaced the asbestos shingles, which had replaced the wooden shingles that would have been used in turn-of-the-century new construction. White eaves curled around the front and rear doors, as well as the windows of the second floor. She was a huge fan of decorative eaves and considered them a dying craft. Such small touches were rarely seen anymore on modern construction. They added that special something today's houses greatly lacked.

The extra-tall, narrow windows were another feature that dated the house. Ginger found herself longing to peer into the murky glass to the interior of the home, even though there wouldn't be much inside to see. She knew from Elizabeth and Peter's letters that the house had been completely emptied months ago.

Rose bushes grew untended near the front porch, pale pink-and-orange blooms perched on long, sharp-thorned stems that seemed to strain toward the shared drive between the two properties. A hearty green plant with long, straight blades protruded from the side of the house. It had overgrown and actually did reach into the driveway. The plant was enormous, at least chest high. She made a mental note to look it up when she got back to Atlanta.

A small wooden deck with a dog-chewed rail graced the back door, which was technically on the side of the house. She thought that was odd until they stepped into the backyard and noticed the large, capped well with the cracked concrete slab only a few feet from the back of the house.

"That explains why they couldn't put a door in the back," Adam said.

"I was thinking the same thing." Ginger nodded before moving past him to the heart of the backyard. "Privacy fence looks brand new."

"It is," Chris replied. "Peter Scott put up that fence two months before the foundation shifted."

"Ouch. Talk about bad timing."

"And wasted effort."

"Pretty much."

It was hard not to feel sorry for this family. Whatever else they turned out to be, there was no denying they had gotten a raw deal. A movement at the side of the neighboring garage caught Ginger's eye and captured her full attention.

The black-and-orange tabby cat disappeared around the side of the tan structure, probably spooked by so much activity in what was normally a desolate, empty place.

Desolate may have been an accurate term for the Scott residence, but the opposite could be said for Heaven and Harley Feldman's beige two-story. The property fairly brimmed over with life and the evidence of it. While the yard was not as long or as wide as some of the neighboring plots, the family made good use of what space they had. Toys and other paraphernalia scattered the otherwise tidy yard, adding a vitality that contrasted sharply with the Scotts' bare mass of overgrown foliage.

What the Feldmans' yard lacked in size, the house more than made up for. Although it was much the same style as the Scotts' Victorian, it was done on a much larger scale. The porch on the back appeared to be an add-on, if Ginger was any judge of such things, and she considered herself to be a fairly accurate one. Her aunt's husband's brother had been designing and building houses for a long time. By the time Ginger had graduated from Eastern, she had known her way around a job site.

"Will we be investigating the Feldmans' property, too, or just the Scotts'?"

"Both." Chris flipped his cell phone out of the back pocket of his slacks. "But home base will be here. For one thing, the place isn't being used, so we'll have unlimited access. Besides, the bulk of the activity reported has been on this property. We will focus primarily on this home, but I expect we'll set up some video surveillance at the Feldman residence, possibly some still-frame shots with a camera."

"No audio?"

"No. There's supposed to be five people living in the home, along with two cats and three dogs. Audio won't be accurate under those conditions."

"We could put them up in a hotel for a day or two, or at least have them do dinner and a movie. That would give us a few hours to set up."

"Possible. But we don't want to inconvenience the family, and the Scotts are the ones that contacted us, not the Feldmans—although they seem willing enough to participate in what we're doing here. Mr. Scott?" Chris suddenly spoke into the phone. "Chris Malhaven here. We've arrived at your property on Walnut. Yes. Okay. Great, I'll see you then."

"Is he coming?"

"They're on their way now. Elizabeth had to drop the boys off with the grandmother."

"That must be nice," Ginger mused, leaning back and placing her palms against the cool stone of the front porch.

"What must be nice?" Chris snapped a picture of one of the second-story windows.

"Being able to leave your children with your grandmother."

"You don't have any children."

"So? I might, someday."

"And you would want to leave them with Gran?" He snorted.

"Are you kidding? I wouldn't leave a house plant with Gran. She'd probably paint it pink and then lose it."

"Let's hope you don't have to make that decision anytime soon." Chris chuckled before squatting down to sit next to her on the porch steps.

"I don't think you have to worry about that. I've made it this long without getting myself in the family way."

"In the family way?"

"It's a nice way of saying knocked up."

"Is it now?"

Ginger shrugged. "Little House on the Prairie was on last night."

"So…" Chris seemed at a loss for words. "Are you going to be okay working with Adam?"

"I guess so." No.

"I'm sorry about that, by the way. I know this has got to be uncomfortable for you, but I can't work an investigation of this magnitude without a crew, and…"

"Yours quit. I know, Chris, and I understand. There's no need to apologize."

"Maybe I should have tried harder to find someone else."

"Sure. I just bet there are people lining up to do what you do." She smiled fondly at her brother, waving away his concerns. "Don't give it another thought. Yes, it's true that I would rather not spend the next two weeks with him. But I can be professional about this, you'll see. Adam means less than nothing to me. And you have to care about someone to hate them, after all. I'm incapable of dredging up even that much emotion to waste on the scumbag cretin."

"Ah, if you say so…"

"I do. Hey, I think Peter and Elizabeth are coming down the street. Green mini van?"

"That's them."

"Let's do this."

* * *

Peter and Elizabeth Scott made a very attractive couple, on the young side, both trim enough to be considered healthy without being overly thin, or even slender, and both with dark hair and eyes. Ginger wondered if Elizabeth might be part Italian, but was too polite to voice the question. Whatever else they were, the Scotts seemed … normal. Most of the strain from their ordeal seemed to vanish as Chris made the introductions all around. Liz had set up a small folding table in the enormous, empty kitchen, and Peter arranged five folding chairs in quick succession.

"Thank you for having us," Chris was prompt to offer once they sat facing one another.

"Thank you for coming out. This is has been … difficult for our family, to say the least."

"Yes, I imagine that it has." Chris nodded and paused before continuing. "If you both feel that you're ready, I'd like to go over our itinerary for the next couple of weeks."

"By all means," Peter said, gesturing to the folder in the center of the table.

"You already know about our company, and what we do, although if you have questions of any kind, at any time, please ask. You have my cell number and my office number. And don't worry, there's nothing that I haven't heard before. I don't scare easily, and my team and I will do whatever we can to help your family."

"Do you think you can get rid of them? The … things?"

The question came from Elizabeth, and she seemed hesitant to even form the thought as she worried her bottom lip between her teeth. The way her gaze darted around the room and her voice became hushed didn't escape Ginger's notice. Whatever was going on here had her frightened.

"That's not what we do, Mrs. Scott. Paranormal activity—hauntings—are all different, for one thing. I can honestly say that no two are ever very much the same, although they can be similar. The motives behind the activity are often different and difficult to pinpoint as well. Some activity is mild. Some is taken to the extreme. It's hard even for a trained professional to know what you're dealing with and why."

"That's what we really want to know—why this is happening," the woman whispered before looking away from the group gathered at the table.

"I understand. And we are here to help. You're not alone anymore. We will do our best not only to investigate, but more importantly to document the activity in the house. I would love to be able to tell you that we can come in here and fix everything, and I wish it were that easy, but it simply doesn't work that way. Think of us as part of a team. When you take your car to a service station, it's diagnosed by a master computer, and then by a technician, and then a mechanic steps in to correct the problem. We're that diagnostic technician, and these," Chris held up a high-end recorder, "are our master computers."

"So, you're going to tell us what we're dealing with," Peter interjected, his face suddenly tense. That he voiced it as a statement, rather than a question, spoke volumes to the rest of the party around the card table.

"Yes, I should be able to tell you what you're dealing with. But more important than that, I'll document what's happening in this house and to your family. Believe me, I wish I could wave some kind of magic wand and make this all go away, but there's a process that must be followed if we're going to achieve any measure of success. This is the first step. We're here to help get to the bottom of this."

"That should be a relief, to finally get some answers," Peter admitted.

"But?" Ginger prompted, acting on instinct.

"Don't get me wrong, I want to find out what this, this thing is, and why. But you have to understand something. I've spent my whole life living in what Elizabeth likes to call ignorant bliss about things like this—ghosts and spirits … demons… I never gave a second thought to stuff like this. I think I had subconsciously put them on the same level as horror flicks and bad late night television. And now…" he swallowed, obviously uncomfortable, "…and now I don't know what to think. But most of the time I'm tempted to force myself to come around to my old way of thinking. I shouldn't believe in this kind of crap. No offense, Mr. Malhaven."

"None taken."

Ginger watched her brother closely, her breath held in her throat, waiting to see how he played out his hand. Yet she could sympathize with Peter Scott on the believing in "crap" bit.

"You know," Chris linked his fingers together, folding his hands under his chin, "terms like paranormal and activity don't always mean bed sheet-toting spectral beings roaming the halls in the middle of the night." He paused to smile at the couple. "There are a number of different theories and scientific evidences that suggest many plausible explanations for strange occurrences, things like sounds, electrical malfunctions, doors and windows slamming shut on their own, and even EVP recordings."

"Really?" Elizabeth looked up from her own tightly clasped hands, hopeful yet doubtful.

"Absolutely, and I put stock in those theories just as readily as I do less conventional theories. My job, and that of my team," he gestured to encompass both Adam and Ginger, "is to seek the truth and build evidence. We will work to uncover the problem through hard evidence and science. Bear in mind, some explanations are not easily accepted, or comfortable to consider. Ultimately, though, that's going to be up to you, just as the steps taken after my team and I complete our investigation and return to Atlanta will be up to you. We can make recommendations, but you will both be in complete control and will have to decide what to pursue and what to let go."

"I can live with that."

"I'm scared," Elizabeth blurted, looking embarrassed.

"Don't be. This sort of thing happens all the time."

"It does? Really?"

"You bet. Ask most anyone in the Deep South. Most of them not only have ghosts, but are proud to show them off." Chris's lips curved into a smile, and he gave a mild toss of his head before retrieving a pen and a pad of paper from the case at his elbow.

"Ginger, would you please take notes?"

"Of course."

"Mr. and Mrs. Scott, we're just about done here, but I would like to ask you both some questions. I know we've talked about this before, and I have your letters, but I like to make the initial face-to-face consult as complete as possible, if you don't mind?"

"Yes, of course, please continue. My wife and I have some time yet before we have to pick up the boys."

"Thank you. Now, let's see. You say the activity began almost immediately after the purchase of your home?"

"Yes."

"Shortly after you began renovations on your home."

"That's correct."

"Did you notice anything unusual prior to that time frame?"

"Well," Peter hesitated, "that's tough to answer. Renovations began shortly after we purchased the home, but I doubt there's been a day that Elizabeth has felt comfortable here, even from the first."

"You've indicated that strange sounds, voices, and electrical disturbances have occurred. Is that about right?"

"Yes."

"Anything else?"

"Ah, it's hard to think right now," Elizabeth confessed. "To sum it up in a sentence seems wrong somehow. But yes, I think that's about right."

"Understandable, Mrs. Scott. Let me just ask you this. Has anyone been touched, or hurt in any way?"

"Well…" She looked at her husband, who looked back at her.

"I don't think so, no."

Ginger's pen stilled an inch above the paper.

"You don't think so?" Chris's tone gentled.

"Our son," Peter explained, "fell down the stairs. He's fine, and we don't think that, that is…"

"No, we don't think that had anything to do with…"

"No, it couldn't have," Peter finished.

"The Feldmans have experienced similar happenings in their home?"

"Yes."

"Do you remember when their activity began?"

"Heaven began hearing strange sounds coming from our property after we moved out of this place. A … a woman, and children crying, sometimes laughing." Elizabeth shuddered.

"Okay, got it. Now, can you remember about when their home became affected?"

"Well," Liz scrunched up her face and chewed absently on a fingernail, "I think it was right after that New Year's Eve ghost hunt."

Ginger's hand stilled once more. Chris's face went carefully blank.

"New Year's Eve ghost hunt."

"Yes," the couple said in unison. Elizabeth looked down. Peter looked away.

"I see. Well, would you like to talk about that?"

"Maybe it would be better if you saw it for yourself." Liz dug a packet from her purse, then slid it across the table.

"You recorded it?" Chris sounded surprised.

"We also videotaped it and took pictures."

"Okay." Chris nodded as he walked the couple to the front door. "My team and I will be going to a hotel for the night. If you think of anything else, call me tonight. Tomorrow morning we'll set up our equipment. After that, we'll be bunking here in the house for the duration of our stay."

"Are you sure?" Elizabeth paused at the front door and cast a worried glance toward the stairwell in the center of the dining room.

"Don't worry, Mrs. Scott. As I said, we don't scare easily."

Elizabeth exhaled slowly. "If you say so."