The Unseen

CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

There was always an odd feeling to Laurel about having just one or two students in a classroom, and it was even more odd to have two professors to two students; there was something almost illicitly intimate about it. Tyler slouched at his desk, openly checking Katrina out. Katrina sat straight in her chair, as if on another plane, pointedly ignoring him. No one was fooling anyone: There was an energy about these two that made the atmosphere fairly crackle. The sun slanted through the leaded windowpanes and flame trees were in full color just outside, blazing the red of a molten sunset and adding to the charge of the atmosphere.

Brendan clapped his hands together in a jolly, archaic gesture. “Well. First of all, thank you for the time you’re already put into this project. Your contributions have been very helpful.” He glanced at Laurel. “In fact, you were our high scorers.”

Laurel watched as the two students absorbed this. Katrina blinked rapidly. Tyler looked at Katrina, then at Laurel, speculatively. She had the feeling that he was assessing something about her, and trying to position himself to use it.

“So we’re psychic, that’s what you’re saying?” Tyler finally drawled.

Laurel answered evenly. “What we can say quantifiably is that you both scored significantly above chance in your forced-choice testing. That was the laboratory definition Rhine used for ESP abilities, and that’s the definition we’re using for the purposes of this study.”

Again, Brendan looked to Laurel. “There’s another project we have in mind that we’re interested in using you for, if you agree. It would be full-time for three weeks, full work-study pay—or credit for a full five units.”

That last clearly got Tyler’s attention. “A whole class credit for three weeks? What’s the catch?”

“The project involves moving into a house that has a history of psi activity.”

“You mean, it’s haunted?” Katrina asked, with her honeyed drawl.

She’s not as detached as she looks, Laurel realized.

“There have been various reports to that effect,” Brendan answered. “In 1965, a team of researchers conducted an investigation into a local house where there had been reported poltergeist activity. We’ve obtained a lease on the house and are planning our own investigation into it. We would be replicating the investigation that the parapsychology team conducted in 1965.”

“Just us?” Tyler suddenly asked. He looked at Laurel as he said it. Katrina was looking at Brendan.

“Your test scores show that you are uniquely qualified—”

“Uniquely qualified, huh? The two of us.” Tyler gave Katrina a sizzling look. The girl turned away, flipping her hair back in annoyance, but there were high spots of color in her cheeks. Tyler turned those eyes back to Laurel. “So we’re going to go ghost hunting for a full class credit?” He laughed, a rich, lazy sound. “Oh, I am so in.”

Brendan looked to the blond girl. “Katrina?” She looked up at him and her cornflower eyes were rather unfocused, as if she were in some kind of trance. “If you need some time to think about it, you don’t have to decide tonight—”

“Yes, I’ll do it, Professor Cody,” she said abruptly, her eyes very blue in her pale face. The subtext was patently obvious: “I’ll do it for you.”

“Excellent!” Brendan enthused. “We’ll be starting right away. We’ll arrange academic extensions in your other classes, so you don’t have to worry about missing out on classes….”

As Brendan continued, Laurel looked at the two students, fairly brimming with hormones. This is seven kinds of trouble, she thought grimly.

But she had to admit, Brendan wasn’t stupid. If there was any truth to the theory that poltergeists were a by-product of unharnessed adolescent sexuality, they were in business.

Laurel walked across campus to the tolling of the carillon bells in the clock tower of the chapel. The setting sun blazed through a yellow tree above her, momentarily changing the fading light to gold. Her emotions were in turmoil, running from exhilaration to deep anxiety. They had two students in their care now, and it was all feeling uneasily real. Could they be taking their young charges into danger?

That’s silly, she told herself. Outside of the movies, who ever heard of a ghost killing anyone? As far as that goes, we don’t even know if anyone ever died in the house. Her extensive searches of the Internet and library records, and a call to the Historical Society, had revealed no more information about the deaths of Caroline and Paul Folger than they already had: per a terse obituary in the Five Oaks Courier, Caroline Folger had died at home in 1965, and there was no record whatsoever of Paul Folger’s death, or even any record at all of him after an announcement of his being deployed to Germany in the summer of 1944. As far as the record was concerned, he may have died overseas.

Laurel had reached the arched walkway beside the Chapel and was headed for the stairs down to the faculty parking lot when the sun suddenly dipped down behind the spires of the chapel, plunging the yard into shadows. Buildings loomed on all sides, Gothic and timeless; the silhouettes of gargoyles perched on the turrets, looking down. Laurel felt the chill of night, and suddenly her exhilaration dissolved to fear.

What had she been thinking? It was madness, all of it. We have to cancel this now, before it goes any further.

She turned on the brick path and walked briskly back toward the Psych building.

Laurel never liked being in campus buildings after hours; there were too many shadows, too many halls down which any sort of predator might lurk. The Psych Building seemed completely deserted; there was no sense of anyone left in the building, and in all corridors except for the central hall, the lights had already been dimmed to half-power. Her footsteps sounded hollow in the halls, and she could already see ahead of her that the lab they had been using was dark, the door shut and locked. So she’d missed him.

She knew she should have turned, then, and gone back out; she had a firm rule about not taking chances moving around empty campus buildings at night. But the thought that Brendan was in his office was strong. She reached into her purse for her cell phone to check… but then dropped the phone back into her bag. She opened the stairwell door quietly and eased it shut behind her, then walked as noiselessly as she could up the stairs. Each step increased her unease.

At the top of the stairwell she heard voices coming from down the hall, murmuring, even though the lights in the corridor were down to half-power. Someone was in Brendan’s office with him.

Katrina? she wondered instantly. Her face flushed hot, and she was just as instantly ashamed of the thought.

Nevertheless she was compelled. She walked down the corridor, slowing her footsteps, and placing her feet carefully so that she was making no noise.

She stopped just outside the doorway—and was startled to hear not Katrina’s, but Tyler’s voice.

She hovered, straining to hear.

The voices suddenly stopped, and Brendan’s voice called out sharply. “Is someone there?”

Laurel stepped into the doorway.

Brendan looked startled, then said, too heartily, she thought…

“Dr. MacDonald, I’m so glad you came back. First of all, we’re in luck. Apparently Mr. Mountford here is much more accomplished in audio and computer technology than I am, so we won’t have to bring in an outside tech expert.”

Laurel remembered Tyler mentioning that he’d run light and sound for the theater department. If that wasn’t just another lie, she added to herself grimly. She looked at Tyler and he had the grace to look flustered.

“It’s not rocket science,” he muttered.

She turned away from him, back to Brendan. “And second?” She asked coolly.

“Second?” Brendan repeated, confused.

“You said, ‘First of all.’ I wondered what ‘second of all’ was.”

“Oh, I see!” Brendan’s laugh sounded forced. “Well, second, I should have offered to walk you to your car to begin with.”

“It’s all right,” she said coolly.

“I insist,” he said, and stood gallantly. “We’ll meet to requisition the equipment tomorrow, Mr. Mountford.” Tyler shifted in his seat and mumbled assent.

Moonlight spilled across the deserted lawn of the quad as Brendan and Laurel walked on the paths under the shadows of oaks. Laurel was silent and stiff beside him, too aware of the heat of his body.

There was a touch of chill in the air, a hint of coming winter. She shivered, and the next thing she knew Brendan was taking off his jacket.

“I don’t—,” she started, but he already had it off and was draping it over her shoulders. His hands lingered for just a moment on her shoulders, then dropped to his sides again.

They continued to walk in silence. The scent of his aftershave and his skin rose from the leather of his jacket, enveloping her.

Don’t…, she warned herself, and walked more stiffly.

They were almost to her car when Brendan suddenly spoke beside her. “I can’t tell you what all this means to me, Mickey.” His voice was husky and low. “I feel like my life finally makes sense. All of it. I’m so glad—”

He paused, and she looked at him, in spite of herself. He shook his head slightly, but smiled at her.

They stopped beside her car and she fumbled for her keys.

She zapped open the lock and Brendan started to open the door for her. She tried to step by him but he looked down at her. She froze, her heart in her throat, her pulse pounding in her head…

Then he touched her hair, the lightest touch. “Sweet dreams,” he murmured.

He closed the car door on her and she sat trembling in the front seat.