CHAPTER TWELVEThe Figure in the WindowOn the walkhome, Brad decided to drop in on Neisha at work, maybe invite her over for the big ghost hunt. He knew she was intrigued by the whole process. He walked up the steps of the Maverick Center and was reaching for the door when he paused. He still hadn’t brought Marty the signed book for his husband.Dashing across the street, Brad unlocked the door and hurried into the house. The book was still sitting on the entry table where he’d left it on Sunday. He dug around in his wallet, past old receipts and a few loose bills and business cards he’d picked up here and there, until he found the Post-It on which Neisha had written the name.Brad took a pen from the drawer in the table and scribbled out a generic inscription—“To Emilio, Enjoy!”—and signed his name. Tucking the book under one arm, he left the house, locking the door behind him, and made his way back across the street.Marty was working the gift shop register to the left of
CHAPTER THIRTEENA Night with S.C.A.D.P.I.T.The trio showedup at half-past ten Saturday night. After brief introductions, they got busy setting up their equipment. Brad had to admit that for a handful of college kids, they seemed a rather professional operation. Cane, the group’s leader, seemed serious and older than his years. Topher, Bias’s friend, was a blaze of gregarious charm and inappropriate humor. Kinsey, the lone female of the group, didn’t say much, seeming a bit like a ghost herself.They started by setting up a DVR system with six infrared cameras throughout the house. One in the foyer faced the stairs and down the hall; one in the den; one in the kitchen; one in the basement library; one in the bedroom facing the bay window; one in his office out in the carriage house. They did a walk-through of the house, taking base readings of electromagnetic energy as well as temperature. Once that was done, they set up more equipment. Brad closed Phantom up in one of the sp
CHAPTER FOURTEENUnauthorized PhotographyBrad woke suddenly, his heart pounding as if startled. He wasn’t sure what had woken him until the sound repeated. The loud bangof a door being slammed. A door downstairs.Bias was also up, propped on his elbows, looking around with the foggy eyes of someone violently pulled out of his slumber. “Whaizit?” he mumbled.Another bangand what sounded like someone clomping halfway up the stairs and then back down to the foyer. The bedroom door was shut, though Brad honestly couldn’t remember closing it before they went to bed.“Someone’s in the house,” he said in a harsh whisper.Bias bolted upright against the headboard, rubbing at his eyes with the heels of his hands. “What time is it?”It seemed a rather absurd question in this particular situation. As if an intruder in the house at ten would be acceptable, but not at eight. Nevertheless, Brad reached for his cell on the nightstand to check the time. The quality of the light pou
CHAPTER FIFTEENDelrays and DeliriumBrad felt like crap.His stomach was queasy, his head ached dully, and a thin film of sweat covered his body. He’d felt lousy for the last several days, but he’d promised Neisha he’d attend this event at Book Lady being held by friends of hers.Two local authors, a married couple named Michael and Tracy Delray, were holding a joint discussion and signing. They sat behind a small table with several of their books on display. Brad and Neisha had talked to them briefly before the event started. They seemed nice and passionate about their work. Michael, with his devilish goatee, was a bit more laid back; Tracy, with her fashionably short hair, possessed a sharp cynical wit. Their two teenaged sons were present, and they seemed uncommonly bright and sophisticated. Brad had bought a book from each of them and gotten them signed before the event started. The perks of being a semi-celebrity.A dozen people gathered for the event, some sitting on a
CHAPTER SIXTEENDark Night of the PantherBrad awoke toa ferocious pounding, like jackhammers on asphalt and waves crashing on a rocky shore and prisoners beating against the bars of their cells. He opened his eyes with some effort, the lids feeling weighted. He found himself in darkness, his back sore and his neck cramped. He realized he was balled up on one of the chairs in the basement. He wasn’t sure what time it was, but obviously night had fallen, leaving the space utterly black.He unfolded himself slowly, muscles crying out in protest, trying to discern from where the pounding originated. Dully he realized it was in his own skull, a headache so intense, it was almost crippling. He fished his cell phone from his pocket and checked the time. Just past midnight. What time had he fallen asleep, and why was he sleeping in the basement?He strained to move beyond his pain and remember the events that had led him to where he now found himself. He recalled being at the event
CHAPTER SEVENTEENPicnic Among the DeadBias spread theblanket next to the Upchurch grave, the one with the tombstone shaped like a baby grand piano, the Wilmington River spread out to his left. He opened the oversized wicker basket and started setting out the Tupperware containers. Harold stood a foot away, watching the whole enterprise with a skeptical expression.“Baby, you know Titty loves a good picnic,” he said, “but I’m not sure that a graveyard is the appropriate locale for such an event.”Neisha lowered herself to one corner of the blanket, sitting on her knees. She removed a carrot stick from a Ziploc baggie and nibbled on it. “Actually, if you look back in history, cemeteries were often used as public parks and gathering places. Families would make a day of it, visiting the final resting place of their ancestors and enjoying the fresh air. They’d have picnics, and the kids would play among the tombstones. That’s why, when the city made this land a public cemetery i
CHAPTER EIGHTEENPacking Up and Heading OutBrad knocked onthe door and stepped back, waiting. He could hear music from inside the apartment, something with a fast techno beat and a nasally female voice whining out lyrics he couldn’t quite comprehend. After a moment when there was no answer, he knocked again, louder this time.The volume of the music lowered slightly and then the door opened to frame the comical sight of Harold in a fuzzy pink bathrobe and a matching towel wrapped atop his head like a turban. “Sorry love, Titty’s getting ready for her evening out on the town.”Glancing at his watch, Brad said, “It’s only half past noon.”“Honey, it is a time-consuming process to create true beauty. Now what can I do for you, Mr. Landlord?”“I’m about to head out to pick up Bias. We’ll be gone until Monday afternoon.”“Y’all have a good trip and be sure to bring me back a souvenir. Something expensive and sparkly that dangles from my earlobes.”“I’ll keep that in mind. Now
CHAPTER NINETEENArt by the BeachBrad woke upbefore Bias. The young man lay on his side, dark hair spread on the pillow like an ink stain, snoring softly. Brad watched him for a moment in the scant, early-morning sunlight that filtered through the window, then slowly untangled himself from the sheets and slid out of bed. In just a pair of sweats, he left Bias sleeping and walked down the hall into the kitchen.The house was nice. Two bedrooms, each with their own full bath; large front room with built-in bookshelves and a brick fireplace; kitchen/dining room with stainless steel appliances and a butcher block table in the “shabby chic” style where people paid a lot of money for things made to look old and worn. The house was literally on the beach, the back deck stretching out like a pier, with stairs that led down to the sand only a few feet from where the ocean washed up on shore in gently rolling waves.The clock in the kitchen told him it was not quite seven, and he busi