Chapter 5

To Lucky’s eternal disappointment, nothing more happened in Hennessee House.

She’d slid off the bed, hurrying to the dresser only to watch with complete devastation as the flower drifted back to the bottom of the jar. She’d stood there willing it to move, concentrating so hard she gave herself a headache. Confirming, once again, that telekinesis would continue to be her great white whale.

Eventually, she’d fallen into a dreamless sleep with her phone clutched in her hand. Hennessee House wouldn’t catch her slacking again, but the only action the phone saw was ringing.

“Lucky?”

It took a full three seconds before she remembered where she was, why she was there, and realized who was calling. “Maverick. Hi.” She buried her sleepy smile into her pillow.

“You’re okay?”

“I am. Wait, hold on, let me actually check.” Her full-body stretch ended in a yawn. “My muscles are in working order, I can wiggle my toes and fingers, and I have all my senses. I think I just might have survived my first night.”

“Good. I wasn’t worried. Not even a little bit. Didn’t think about calling you again at all.”

She snickered. “That’s very sweet. Thank you.”

“Yeah. Well.” He cleared his throat. “We’ll be there in about an hour. Don’t leave your room until you hear the doorbell.”

Lucky glanced at the window. The first colors of rising dawn had barely crested over the horizon. Great. More waiting. She’d planned to use at least a few minutes of her sunrise-provided freedom checking things out solo. So much for that.

She started getting ready, from her usual morning journal session to agonizing over what to wear. Her picnic basket provided an assortment of snacks and prepackaged breakfast foods because they really didn’t want her leaving the room a millisecond before she had to. With time to spare, she ended up sitting on the bed, bored and all but twiddling her thumbs while waiting to meet Maverick Phillips.

Beyond a Reasonable Doubt, BARD for short, was entertaining, thoughtful, well written, award-winning, et cetera, et cetera. On the show, Maverick interviewed people claiming to have had paranormal experiences. Whether they’d been haunted, tormented, or comforted by their encounters, he gave them the space to exist free of judgment or ridicule. He asked questions that expertly exposed the hearts of their stories, allowing their truths to finally be seen. Afterward he attempted to investigate their claims with his team to support a larger narrative based around his character, but that was neither here nor there.

Those interviews with Maverick’s empathy, compassion, and respect on full display were what captivated viewers. Lucky could easily binge-watch it for hours on end if she had a day off or was too sad to move. It honestly didn’t matter. She was always in the mood for it. But that was the show.

Maverick was a very real person whom she’d already seen up close, in night vision, being alternately pensive and playful, and even scared and seconds away from screaming. He exuded a protector kind of confidence and there was a keen, seeking intelligence behind his dark brown eyes—alert and focused, driven by his curiosity, and with an open mind constantly spinning with ideas to explain the unexplainable.

Lucky hoped he’d be like that in real life too.

She gnawed on her thumbnail as anxiety acted like a hook crocheting her organs together in disgusting knots. Getting overexcited and making mistakes was forbidden. No matter what or whom she encountered, she vowed to be the epitome of focused. She refused to let a celebrity disappointing her change that.

The doorbell rang and Lucky shot out of that suite like a runner at the start of the race. Common sense kicked in right as she touched the first dead bolt. She slid on her ability-blocking dark sunglasses in record time.

“Hi, good morning.” Lucky stepped to the side, gesturing for him to enter. “Welcome to my haunted house. Please come in.”

Amazingly, Maverick was even more attractive in person.

Nothing surprised her about how lean and muscular his body was, his cool brown skin, or his closely cropped beard. While his hair had grown out some, he was exactly as tall as she’d thought he’d be. With the right pair of heels, they’d stand eye to eye. All of that she expected, but there was…more. She couldn’t quite put her finger on the difference. Almost as if the camera only caught a fraction of his radiance, enough to draw the viewer in, and gave up on capturing the rest because it couldn’t. With no filters or lenses, he was just…more. Whole and mesmerizing.

Her brain felt empty. No thoughts. No words except more.

More to him. More of him. More Maverick in her life, please and thank you.

Getting starstruck apparently existed in her emotional wheelhouse. Who knew? She sure didn’t!

“Everything okay?” Maverick remained on the porch. A large black bag rested at his feet.

“Why wouldn’t it be?”

“You’re wearing sunglasses.”

“Yeah, because I’m not ready to take them off yet.”

He eyed her carefully, as if he were searching for something. “You also seem a little…flustered.”

“Impossible. That’s something that happens to other people. Not me.” She glanced outside, spotting Stephen and two others near the back of a black van. “Are they not coming in?”

“The team is reshooting some exterior shots. Stephen is directing under the guise of producing. They’ll join us once they’re done.”

“Oh, perfect,” she said, genuinely relieved. “Are you going to come in? Unless you planned to interview me here?”

Maverick stared at her for a beat, face unreadable. “Let’s do it in the library.”

“I love libraries.” She cringed so hard she almost bit her cheek. Shit, she did sound flustered. And breathless. And starstruck.

“Perfect. Follow me.” Maverick smiled, clearly amused.

As he led the way, she gestured to his camera bag. “Are we filming right away? I was only able to change my outfit six times. I’m not sure if I want to make my Caretaker debut looking like a long-lost Super Mario sibling.”

Pointing out her blue overalls and purple sweatshirt seemed like a cute way to make a joke. Hopefully he’d think she’d been acting funny on purpose instead of being betrayed by her brain on the biggest day of her career so far.

“We can go audio only if that’s what you prefer. You look fine, by the way.”

“Fine?”

“Yeah. Very…wholesome.”

She laughed at that. “I’m not, though.” Her thoughts were growing darker by the second. If she embarrassed herself one more time, she was going to throw herself down a well.

“Film and TV are all smoke and mirrors. You’ll fit right in.” He shrugged, seemingly not noticing her despair, and turned left at the previous night’s perpendicular temptation.

Lucky had no idea Hennessee House had a library. Stephen wanted her to discover the home layout gradually and wouldn’t let Xander tell her much. Even the map he’d used to show her the security cameras used generic labels like downstairs room three.

“Ooh,” she breathed.

Fully stocked bookshelves wrapped around the entire room with breaks only for the door and windows. Non-matching armchairs draped with decorative pillows and throw blankets had been staged over a circular, slate gray rug that covered a large section of the floor. A modest chandelier hung in the center of the ceiling, but there were also standing lamps with curved poles that created intimate overhead spotlights above a few of the chairs.

“It’s nice, right? It’s my favorite room in the house.”

“I love it.” She nodded, wandering farther inside and ending up standing at the window facing the orchard.

The compulsion to run out there hit her again like a shot of pure dopamine. Small miracle that she didn’t press her hands and face up against the glass, breathing heavily through her restraint.

Interesting. Perhaps her reaction meant something other than her usual impulsive desires getting out of hand. She made a note on her phone—create an outline for orchard sub-investigation. Include sensation map as it relates to being inside HH and out.

Maverick appeared next to her. “Ready?”

“Yep.” She switched documents to her prepared outline for the day.

The Caretakerwould be Lucky’s official, main stage debut into the supernatural industry—and she needed her ESP to be spotlighted in the show. Years of being ostracized had taught her to hide her ability at all costs, but it was time. She felt ready (or at least had convinced herself she was).

Her plan involved establishing that while she was familiar with Maverick, she could prove her first impression ability by knowing things only he would. He’d then hopefully vouch for her before she read the rest of the team.

When they inevitably asked why she hadn’t disclosed her ability during the interview, she already had her answer prepared.

The main objective of The Caretaker was storytelling—an ordinary person relaying their supernatural encounters over time. Her contact at NQP disclosed production was rapidly becoming a shit show. No one had anticipated Hennessee House’s darkly enthusiastic participation. In short, the house had been taking things too far.

NQP wanted people from all walks of life that they could mold to fit their narrative. A college-educated, super believer, ESP girlie like her wouldn’t have made it past the first round. But now that she was there, she’d make it worth their while. As promised.

Lucky’s ability only worked on people. Humans, to be specific. A haunted house might be impossible…but what if it wasn’t? What if she found the equivalent of its eyes and willingly stared at it?

Three caretakers couldn’t hack it. She’d not only be the exception, she’d also be able to explain why. Lucky began, “I’ve always wondered how much of the real Maverick is in the show version. Is it really all an act?”

“Show Maverick’s backstory is made up.” He spoke slowly as if he were considering each word. “I’ve never been married. My parents are alive. I’m nowhere near an only child. I’m more interested in writing stories than being one.”

She nodded, unable to resist looking out the window again. A black cat was curled underneath one of the fruit trees.

“I purposefully made his life the opposite of mine to keep myself grounded. I had a feeling I would need that space,” he continued, the words tumbling out of him now. “But I think we’re both lethally curious. It’s a sickness really. We both want to understand everything. If there’s a reason for something, he wants to know what it is and won’t stop until he gets an answer. Personally, I’m okay if an answer doesn’t exist. I care more about what I can learn from an experience and how I can move forward with that information.”

“Oh.” That got her attention. Bit of a rarity for people to be that self-aware.

She’d made it a point to not get that deep into the BARD fandom. Her own adventures were more important to her than discussing his online. Still, she’d known about the long-standing debate on whether Maverick was playing a fictional character or a thinly veiled self-insert. No one knew for sure.

The answer resided somewhere in the middle like a rabbit in a magician’s hat—the illusion in place well before the audience arrived. The notable details about him were probably true: the deep empathy he displayed while interviewing, how inquisitive and brave he could be, and the unwavering hopeful look in his eye whenever he was unable to solve a case after giving it his all. He wanted to believe.

Lucky had been right in deciding to play it this way. Everything truly began with Maverick. BARD viewers trusted him and his character. NQP was banking on that crossover audience. If Lucky could convince him, everyone else would fall in line and believe her.

“I suspected as much.” She nodded. “Would you like to know more about yourself? I can tell you if you’re up for a little challenge.”

He frowned, confused. “What do you mean by that?”

“Is that an on-the-record question?”

“Doesn’t have to be.”

“It should be. Turn on your camera. It’ll be good for the show.”

They repositioned a pair of armchairs in front of the windows to make use of the natural lighting, setting them next to each other at an angle to ensure they’d both be in frame. After handing her a small microphone to hold and a quick sound test, he made some preliminary notes for someone named Therese.

He asked, “Have you ever been interviewed before?”

“Probably not in the way you’re thinking.”

“What makes you think you know what I’m thinking?”

“Oh, it’s way too early for you to have all my secrets. You only get one today and that’s not it.”

His eyes narrowed quickly before relaxing. “Do you always make cryptic little remarks like that?”

“No.” She grinned, leaning toward him. “I’m trying to be mysterious. Is it working?”

“It’s not not working,” he admitted. “Before we officially begin discussing your first night in Hennessee House, could you tell me a little about yourself? Specifically, what you were referring to earlier.”

“I’m not psychic,” she said immediately. “I can’t tell the future, and no, I don’t know what you’re going to do next, but I can read people. People, not their auras or anything like that. I’m talking about personality, likes, dislikes, core beliefs, important events that shaped them, repressed memories, and their secrets—the ones they know about and some they might not. First impressions truly tell me everything I need to know.”

Surprise rippled across his face like a wave before subsiding. He smoothly transitioned back into his usual neutral interviewer expression she’d seen dozens of times. Kind of impressive to see it in real time. “I have to admit, I wasn’t expecting you to say that.”

“No one ever does.” She gave him a rare, wistful smile. “I don’t know why or how I can do it. I just can. And I’m almost never wrong.”

Maverick glanced at the camera, purposefully displaying a concerned look. She knew he wanted to create tension for the audience. She also knew he wanted them to know he knew what was coming and, against his better judgment, decided to share it with them.

“I would never say that I don’t believe you,” he said, measured and certain. “Is there any way you can demonstrate this ability for me? Would you be comfortable doing that?”

He was so delightfully wonderful at his job. She felt herself beginning to relax, sinking back into the chair, a contented sigh waiting to leave her lungs. This was how she felt watching his show. Something about the way he worked always set her spirit at ease.

When she didn’t answer, he pressed, “Lucky?”

She looked away, staring at the floor as if they’d rehearsed it. “I could read you. If you want.” She removed her glasses, folding and hanging them on her front pocket. “I normally don’t warn people before I do this, so if you’re game, I’m going to read you now.”

His nervous laugh didn’t sound entirely fake. “How does it work?”

“Once per person. Repeat first impressions highly unlikely. Individual experiences may vary.” Her delivery implied a joke, but it wasn’t. Especially that last point. “Really, I’ll just look at your eyes and then I’ll know.”

“Don’t look at me yet.”

She almost did, reflexively jerking toward him. “Okay?”

“Do you mind if we pause for just a second? I thought of something, and I don’t want to lose it.”

She kept her gaze down, using her hand like a shield on her forehead to block herself from accidentally looking at him. His nimble thumbs typed expertly fast as she leaned in closer to see…

“It’s just some notes,” he said, still going.

“I saw my name.”

“Because I’m writing about you.”

“Interview questions?”

“Nope.”

“A true-or-false personality test to see if I’m not psychic psychic?”

He laughed. “No, again. That’s an interesting way to phrase it. Is that what you call your gift?”

“Only when I’m being funny. I don’t vibe with words like clairvoyant or psychic. Formally, I’ve dubbed it a ‘first impression ability.’ Informally, I’m an ESP girlie.”

“And what made you decide to tell me about it?”

She heard the smile in his voice and relaxed that much more. “Because you believe people. Everyone always thinks I’m lying. I thought you might give me the benefit of the doubt like you do to guests on your show. Which you did, so thank you.”

His phone rang—Stephen’s picture appeared on the screen. “Ah, hold on, I have to take this. Don’t look at me yet,” he said playfully.

“I won’t.” She laughed.

“Hey, what’s up, we’re in the library— No, why would she be with me—? What do you mean she’s gone?” He stood up, speed walking toward the hall. “Lucky, I’ll be right back!”

“Okay. I’ll wait here,” she said to the empty room.

A few moments later, she heard a chorus of voices yelling outside but couldn’t make out what they were saying. From the window, she didn’t see anyone in the backyard. They must have been on the side or toward the front of the house. Part of her thought she should go see if they needed help. Then again, if they needed it, Maverick would’ve asked. Overstepping on her first day seemed like a bad idea.

Besides, and most importantly, sunrise had officially come and gone.