One Grave at a Time

Nine

A huge building loomed in front of us, dark exterior looking ominous even with the many gold-edged leaves on the trees surrounding the grounds. Hundreds of windows reflected the moonlight as if in stark rejection of any illumination penetrating the structure’s interior. Every so often, shadows would pass by those windows, and voices would drift out on the crisp autumn air, but the former hospital was empty.

Well, empty of anyone who was solid. All the members of N.I.P.D., the Northeastern Investigative Paranormal Division that Tyler had recommended, were still outside with us. They’d just finished setting up their equipment in various rooms of the former Waverly Hills Sanatorium. Now they were huddled up in a final group pep talk before they started their documentation of everything that went bump in the night here.

The sanatorium might have closed decades ago, but it was quite the popular attraction, as it turned out. The curious paid for guided tours of the facility, hearing all about its history and the many anecdotes of ghostly encounters. Amateur or professional paranormal buffs could opt to have the hospital all to themselves for a night of investigation, provided they paid the proper amount and booked in advance. Waverly Hills Sanatorium had a waiting list, and the owners didn’t give refunds if a group missed its scheduled appointment.

That was why Bones and I were meeting the investigators—they didn’t like the term “ghost hunters,” as it turned out—here instead of at a local coffee shop or somewhere else normal. They’d planned their evening at Waverly weeks ago and weren’t about to lose their time slot—or their money—just to talk to Tyler’s new clients, as they considered Bones and me. For our part, we weren’t willing to waste another day and night before finding out if they could help with Kramer. After Tyler set up our chat, we hopped in the car for a road trip to Louisville, Kentucky. Taking a plane would have been faster, but we weren’t about to go anywhere unarmed, and airport security frowned on suitcases filled with a stockpile of weapons.

Tyler refused to leave Dexter behind, saying the dog would give us precious seconds of warning if Kramer was about to spoof up. Dexter did seem to have an uncanny radar for ghosts; he’d begun to whine in that eerie way of his as soon as we pulled up to the sanitarium. By comparison, it took Tyler a few minutes after we arrived to even see the shadows passing by the windows. Of the two of them, I had to admit that Dexter seemed to be the more qualified medium. Maybe Spade’s demonologist friends really recommended Dexter, and the message somehow got garbled, I thought ruefully.

“Let’s get this party started!” Chris, N.I.P.D.’s team leader, finished his pep talk with.

“Finally,” Bones muttered, too low for anyone but me to overhear.

We’d promised not to start with our questions until all of their prep work was done, having been told that setting up was too crucial for distractions. Little did we know how much prep work they were talking about. We’d been standing outside for a good two hours. If left to himself, Bones might have green-eyed Chris and the others into forgetting about their set-up-first conditions, but he knew I would have objected to that. We were here because we wanted their help, not the other way around. Besides, two hours of polite waiting wasn’t going to make or break our circumstances with Kramer.

Unless he showed up soon in another murderous mood.

“So,” Chris said, sizing us up as he approached. I didn’t mind that he’d barely glanced our way before this. All his attention had been on making sure his team was prepared, and that was a plus in my book. “What’s this big, urgent issue that Tyler tells me can’t wait until tomorrow?”

Bones glanced at the van with N.I.P.D. painted on the side, the endless cords for their equipment, and the dozen team members bustling about before he replied.

“You doing this because you truly believe in activity on the other side, or because you want to make a bit of profit off the gullible?”

Chris bristled, his cheeks becoming ruddier above his beard while his scent flared with anger. That wasn’t what I paid attention to. It was his spate of thoughts.

So sick of dealing with ignorant pricks who can’t see beyond what society tells them to believe. Never should’ve agreed to let Tyler bring them here tonight; we’ve got too much work to do.

“I have a Master of Science in Engineering from Stanford, so I can make more money with a hell of a lot less effort in about a hundred different fields,” he replied evenly. “If that doesn’t answer your question, then you’re wasting my time.”

Satisfaction flitted across the edge of my emotions. Someone smart who was passionate about his work and dedicated to his team was more than I’d hoped for. Maybe Tyler had hit a home run directing us here.

“Make sure you do EVPs and take lots of pictures on five,” Chris called out to a young woman who hurried past us.

I glanced up toward the sixth floor, where I’d seen the most shadows pass by the windows. This facility primarily contained residual ghosts; brief, repeating snapshots of people who had long since passed on, no more sentient than a splice of frames from a film reel. Judging by the levels of energy emanating from the building, a couple sentient spirits also called Waverly Hills home, but they didn’t stick to one place in this huge facility. The sixth floor would yield the best chance for pictures of unexplainable shadows or orbs. Not anything that would make headline news, but at least it’d be something tangible that Chris’s group could take home with them. They’d rented this place for the night; might as well help steer them into getting their money’s worth.

“Try six instead,” I suggested. “You’ll have better luck.”

Chris’s gaze narrowed. “Five has had more reported cases of incidents,” he countered.

I smiled blandly. “Six will net you more solid data, but hey. It’s your show.”

Chris looked at Tyler, who nodded in confirmation. Bones just folded his arms, his coolly detached expression revealing nothing. The young woman balanced her tripod camera on her hip, and I didn’t need to tap into her thoughts to know it was heavy. Chris gave a last, musing glance at me before he spoke again.

“Start on six first, Lexie.”

Fucking tourists should just keep their mouths shut, Lexie thought, but her “sure thing!” was as cheerful as it was false. I wasn’t offended. She could take orders and knew when to keep her opinions to herself. Again my hopes lifted about this group.

“Follow me,” Chris said after a measured silence. “We’ll talk while I work.”

We had covered most of the first floor by the time I finished telling Chris what we were looking for, and why. He kept his verbal comments to a minimum; but from his thoughts, Chris had trouble believing who Kramer was, not to mention the extent of the Inquisitor’s abilities. Just like Tyler predicted. That was okay. Two sentient—and chatty—ghosts had been not-so-stealthily following me from the moment I crossed through Waverly Hills’ doors. From their matching, dated clothes, I deduced that they were former patients of the facility. Their comments to each other revealed that since they’d died, they liked to pass the time by playing pranks on visitors, especially ghost investigators. Perfect.

I waited until Chris paused in front of what looked like a large, lengthy tunnel before I put my plan into action.

“You, hiding behind the support beam, what’s your name?” I said to the ghost currently skulking a few yards off. He came out with a “busted” expression on his filmy countenance, twisting the edges of his long-sleeved, pale pajamas.

“Herbert.”

“Who are you talking to?” Chris wondered, looking in that direction but, of course, seeing no one.

“One of Waverly’s former residents,” I replied, thinking the ghost was too young and cute to be named Herbert. “Can you do me a favor, Herbert? Fly through the bearded man’s body. Only the bearded man.”

Herbert obeyed without hesitation. Dexter barked once at the ghost’s zooming approach, but before Chris finished muttering, “What kind of joke is this?” the ghost dove right through his upper torso and appeared out on the other side.

Chris stood absolutely still. Thoughts skidded across his mind almost too fast for me to read. Guts feel cold. Tingly, but she couldn’t actually be able to direct a ghost to do what she wants, could she? No fuckin’ way.

“Stomach feels a bit unusual? A little icy and shivery, maybe?” I asked softly.

“How do you know that?” he asked.

“Ooh, that looks fun!” the other ghost cried, abandoning his attempt at hiding in the ceiling ducts to dive through Chris’s upper right side. More chaos sounded in Chris’s mind. Dexter barked again.

“You just had that same icy, prickling feeling in your right shoulder this time,” I said in a matter-of-fact way. “There’s another ghost in the room, and he’s a little playful. But if you need more proof that this isn’t a coincidence, I can tell them to do more demonstrations.”

The word “no” resounded in his mind, but Chris swallowed hard and nodded.

“Yeah. One more.”

Had to admire his courage. Chris might have studied paranormal phenomena and believed in ghosts for years, but I knew firsthand that having a ghost repeatedly bullet through your flesh was an unsettling experience.

“Herbert, one more time, please.”

The ghost complied, choosing Chris’s left calf to zip through this time. He was quickly followed by his buddy, who took the same path. Two shudders rocked Chris before his widened hazel gaze met mine. I shrugged.

“You felt that in your lower left leg. Twice, because his friend thought it looked fun, too.”

“Who are you people?” Chris asked with a touch of incredulity.

Bones draped an arm around my shoulder, smiling languidly at the investigator.

“We’re wealthy and on a timetable. Any more questions?”

Chris swallowed again as his mind spun to compartmentalize all that had just happened. What if she isn’t wrong about who this other ghost is, and what he can do? Still, even if it’s risky, there’s too much to learn to say no.

“One more question,” he said at last. “When do you want my team to get started on your problem?”

“Tomorrow,” Bones stated, his arched brow hinting that objections wouldn’t be acceptable.

Chris cleared his throat, a businesslike composure replacing his former uncertainty. “So we’re clear, I don’t know how to kill a ghost. I don’t even think that’s possible. What I do know, in theory, is how to imprison one, but for that you’d need to supply me with a lot of limestone, naturally running water, quartz, and moissanite.”

“Not a problem, you’ll have everything you need when you start tomorrow,” Bones replied without hesitation.

“He will?” Okay, I knew Bones approached every challenge with confidence, but it’s not like we could buy all those things at our local Walmart tonight.

He gave me a bland look. “Yeah, he will, Kitten.”

I stared at him in confusion until understanding dawned. “Oh,” I drew out. Then I grinned at Chris. “Not a problem at all.”