Chapter 20

The simplest explanation is usually correct.

Too bad secret governmental underground laboratories were anything but simple.

A few hours ago, if you’d asked me whether the joint was haunted—I would have said no, because I swept it regularly. Of all the places in this facility I’d run into something disembodied, the sub-basement was surprisingly low on the list. In fact, the only time we’d had a ghostly encounter in the lab—the Jennifer Chance incident—was the result of luring her spirit down here ourselves.

Now, though, I wasn’t so sure we could chalk up the evidence to something as simple as air currents or sabotage.

“Let me take a look,” I said. Once Alisha pried her hands off me, I slipped into containment, studiously avoiding stepping on the contents of the file folder. It would be awfully convenient if ghosts left fingerprints behind, but unfortunately, that’s never been my experience. Without a ghost actively tossing things around, the papers were just papers. And the more I thought about it, the more I wondered if maybe the HVAC system hadn’t chugged on, just for a moment, and scattered the stuff. Because, seriously, I didn’t see how a ghost could move anything in the physical plane.

Or maybe there was no energy blip, and the file folder had just teetered off the edge of a shelf as Jibben and Alisha hurried out of the room. Since everyone left in a rush, with Jibben last on his creaky office chair, it was a definite possibility that he’d simply knocked it over on his way out.

Unfortunately, since I couldn’t be 100% certain it wasn’t a ghost, I really couldn’t write off any potential explanation…especially since my flashlight had been perfectly fine out in the hall, but now it was strobing like a pothead laser show.

Like cold spots and goosebumps, flickering lights actually were a ghost thing—though not because they had an etheric finger on the light switch. My theory was that certain things exist in more than one plane at a time, and some aspect of electricity might be one of them.

Still, if that were the case, then maybe a determined enough ghost could have caused the HVAC system to churn to life, if only for a brief burst of power.

Jacob eased into the room. “Well?” he asked.

“All clear as far as I can see.”

He mirrored my pose with his hands on his hips and scanned the scattered documents. “This lab is a maze. There’s no way of knowing where something might be hiding.”

“There’s nothing a ghost can do to any of you,” I said. Me, on the other hand? I considered myself lucky my sidearm was locked in the safe. “Unless you’re worried about death by a million paper cuts, there’s no reason to panic.”

I sounded pretty convincing…but then my flashlight cut out.

Fine. Jacob was right. I’d feel a lot better if I knew what we were dealing with—a confused security guard who didn’t know he was dead, or the woman who kidnapped me, having clawed her way back from beyond the veil. He powered on his phone and cast the room in a different light, one with way too many shifting shadows.

The underground lab was a big place—and I didn’t want to let the air out of cold storage unless there was absolutely no other choice. If only I had some hint as to where else to look. Jibben wheeled himself into the doorway and came to the same conclusion. “I’ll check the manifest—I suspect there’s something in the shipment we can use to narrow down our search.”

I was doubtful that after all these years anything in those crates could still function, but we needed all the help we could get.

He grabbed the clipboard and ran a finger down the fine print, scanning. “Aha, here it is—the Telekometer. It runs on magnetics. Same principle as a compass.”

I turned to the daunting pile of crates.

Jibben said, “Don’t worry, everything’s numbered—and luckily, the Telekometer is in one of the boxes that hasn’t spilled.” While Jacob and I got to work locating the device, Jibben tried to explain what it was supposed to do. “Dr. Hinman theorized that telekinetic activity could be measured by calculating the difference between the Earth’s magnetic fields and ambient electric fields.”

Alisha was watching from the doorway. “What are we trying to measure, then? Telekinesis—or ghosts?”

“Nonphysical entities,” he corrected absently. “And the answer is, neither. We’re just looking for the source of the fluctuations. Coming to any conclusions about what the cause of those fluctuations might be is premature at best—”

I tuned him out. All the science made my head hurt—and besides, I was worried about more pressing concerns. Maybe Luther Hinman—with his crazy sideburns and his outdated tech—did come off as some kind of joke. But what if he’d been onto something?

And what if his gizmo pointed a big red flag at Jacob?

Too bad I couldn’t be concerned enough for both of us. “Here it is,” Jacob declared as he triumphantly plucked the numbered box from the shipment.

He handed it directly over to Jibben. And while the scientist carefully pried open the cardboard, the rest of us all held our breath. Reverently, he lifted the handheld device from its protective case and presented it to the rest of us with evident satisfaction.

“It’s a compass,” I said.

“It’s a modified compass.” Jibben said.

I managed to keep from rolling my eyes. I knew for a fact that compass readings didn’t pick up on ghosts. I’d been using them since my Camp Hell days to find the cardinal points and plant my exorcism candles. And while I don’t generally use candles nowadays—and my partner Carl handles those details for me if I do—it’s like riding a bike. A haunted bike…but a bike nonetheless.

I was about to dismiss the whole thing when I saw the second needle—and figured I shouldn’t be so quick to judge. As Jibben swung the device in a slow arc, one needle moved, while the other stayed put. “The differential would be significant,” he said. “But without a chart, there’s no way of knowing—”

He cut off abruptly as the second needle jumped—right as it passed by Jacob.

“I should really be the one to handle this.” I plucked the thing out of Jibben’s hand. “In fact, I’ve got a compass in my—” I almost said exorcism kit, which the FPMP management frowns upon even in the best of times. “In my toolkit. I’ll go grab it.”

Jibben nodded. “As a point of comparison. Good plan.”

Jacob had I’ll go with you written all over his face—but if he came along, everyone else would glom onto him. “The rest of you hang tight,” I said firmly. “I’ll just be a minute.”

“Will you be going by the restroom?” Alisha asked.

I’d shed the thing back in the break room while I was moving around chairs, so the can was right on the way. And since all I cared about was keeping the compass needles off Jacob—especially in front of a psychic researcher and a potential spy from National—I said, “Yeah, we can make a pit stop. Let’s go.”

Out in the hall, my flashlight beam steadied as we headed for the can. Whether or not anyone else noticed, I wasn’t sure, but I kept that observation to myself. Logically, I’d need to stay on my toes and make sure I didn’t say anything that couldn’t be un-heard. Because if someone from National was pumping me for information—

“How long you been working with Darnell?” Alisha asked.

Morbid topic. But at least it wasn’t classified. “He and I didn’t generally work the same shift.”

“So you didn’t know him.”

“Not since we were kids.”

Alisha’s voice went wistful. “What was he like?”

What was anyone like when they were that age? “He didn’t eat paste or lodge crayons up his nose.”

“I only knew him through pictures and texts. He was all flirty at the beginning, Mr. Smooth. Until suddenly he was ‘busy’…and then he totally disappeared. Maybe he met someone else.”

“Maybe.”

“Or maybe I mentioned Kelvin, and Darnell didn’t want any part of being a father.”

I could relate. But back in those early days with Jacob, if I’d found out he had a kid? I was so baffled—and, yeah, flattered—by his attentions that I doubt it would’ve stopped me. “Logically, at our age, most people are probably gonna be parents,” I said.

“See? That’s what I’m talking about. And in a few years, my son will be out the house. Anyway, that’s what I tell myself whenever I get the urge to smack his lazy ass out of bed.”

Clayton was practically in high school. No way could I see him being ready for college in a few short years—but it was reassuring to picture him guzzling wine coolers in some dorm room that stunk of teenage boys, and not rotting in a secret cell in Camp Hell.

While Alisha did her business, I stood there in the dark hall and pictured Clayton huddled on the couch in the cannery—and I was fully unprepared for the surge of emotions welling up in my chest. Fear for his safety. Guilt over my absence. And a staggering empathy towards him for having to weather this whole storm alone.

Alisha emerged from the can and handed me my flashlight. “I don’t wanna go back to containment,” she said. “It’s ugly and stuffy…and creepy as hell.”

I was none too thrilled about it either, given its proximity to cold storage with all its disturbing dripping. “Maybe we can relocate to the break room.”

Alisha brightened. “Dr. Twitch won’t like it…but Cargo Shorts will listen to you.”

“Let’s go size it up.” I pictured the room in my mind’s eye as we approached. It would be just as dark as containment, and we’d already raided all the food. But at the very least, there’d be a couch. And a sink, too.

I was so eager to splash off my face that it took me half a second to register the sound of water and realize it wasn’t just part of my overactive imagination. Alisha and I both stopped in our tracks, and I shone my flashlight beam into the break room’s open door.

The sink I’d been so eager to use was now a waterfall, with its contents sheeting over the side and splashing onto the floor. “Who was dumb enough to leave the faucet on?” I snapped.

“Maybe it turned on itself.”

“That only happens in the movies,” I said…though I did suck down a volley of white light and check to make sure nothing ghostly had its hand on the tap.

The faucet was off, I realized…which meant the water was forcing its way past the trap and up the drain.

The fact that it had a perfectly physical explanation was only somewhat comforting. I could banish ghosts. But I couldn’t do anything about the water table.

Speaking of ghosts—my exorcism gear was right where I’d left it, perched on the countertop, just out of reach, with its shoulder strap dangling over the side.

“Is that your toolkit?” Alisha asked. “The purse?”

I sighed.

The water on the floor probably wasn’t electrified water, I reminded myself, just sewage. But after I’d read Jacob the riot act for wanting to hop the stairwell puddle, could I really take that chance?

I leaned in to reach over and see if maybe the kit was closer than it looked, but no. I was still a good foot away—and I was none too eager to brace myself on the metal doorframe.

“Take my hand,” Alisha told me. I hesitated, and she made a “gimme” gesture. “Don’t worry. I got you.”

Well, this was it. Either I trusted her, or I didn’t. And while my paranoia was eager to rattle off everyone in my life who’d pretended to be someone they weren’t—Roger Burke, Patrick Barley, Officer Andy, Jennifer Chance…hell, even Stefan—my rational side reminded me that I’d even been leery of Jacob at first.

And he’d turned out okay.

I took Alisha’s hand, and as I did, she looked me in the eye and repeated, “I got you.”

And I believed her.

I’d be lying if I said some small part of me wasn’t aware of just how easy it would be for her to let me topple into the puddle. But Alisha’s grip was strong and sure, and a moment later, that exorcism kit was back in my eager grasp, right where it belonged.

Though the break room had turned out to be a bust, we were encouraged by our small victory as we headed back to containment.

“That purse doesn’t look like it’ll hold much,” Alisha observed. “What d’you got in there that’s so important?”

“Well….” How to explain? “The tools are pretty…specialized.”

“You got something that’ll open the lobby door?”

“Not really.”

“Then what good is—?” Alisha stopped in her tracks with a gasp, grabbing me by the arm and jerking me to a halt right along with her. We were just up the hall from containment, though the door was shut tight, so it looked pretty much like every other closed door. But Alisha wasn’t looking at the door.

“There—” she jabbed her finger emphatically toward the floor. “Shine your light there.”

If water was creeping in all the way over here, we were truly shit outta luck.

But when I scanned the floor and something glistened in the flashlight’s beam, it wasn’t a puddle I saw…but a single, wet footprint.