The Supernaturals (67 page)

The large man came back into view, carrying something John couldn’t make out. Before he could recognize the object, someone stepped down from the covered back of the wagon. This person was smaller and was bundled against the cold and rain. And John knew immediately that this person, like the one before him, was looking right up at him. The figure stayed still a moment and then turned away when a banging was heard. John quickly stepped back against the tree as the smaller person turned back in his direction. The figure stood and watched the trees, and then finally turned away.

John took a deep breath and then found the first man. He had brought the object to the pit that would become the root cellar and the basement. It was a ladder. He pushed it over until the weight was greater on the dangling end and then secured it as best he could to the dirt surrounding the hole. The second figure walked up to the hole and then nodded. Then both turned back, out of the skeletal house, and returned to the wagon. They pulled someone out of the back. The smaller person was struggling, but the two men were far stronger and quickly brought her under control. John swallowed as he watched the scene play out. He knew in real life he never would have been able to see anything from this distance, but that was the advantage to Dream Walking; he could sometimes do the impossible.

As the two men maneuvered the woman, John could see bright red hair spilling from a woolen cap on her head. The larger man struck the woman hard and her struggling calmed somewhat. John wanted to call out to stop them, but he knew from past experience that either they wouldn’t hear him, or his call would be ignored. He was meant to see this, not prevent it.

They placed the woman down on the ground in front of the hole. She was wobbly from the blow she had just received and held on tightly to the leg of the smaller of the two men. The man brushed at the woman’s hand, but it held firm. Then the man punched at the woman’s hand and she finally let go. He pulled something from his coat and John knew exactly what it was. Before he could shout out, the gunshot reverberated through the valley. The small woman fell forward into the large hole. John screamed, knowing that, as in other dreams, his voice wouldn’t be heard. As his voice joined the echo of the gunshot, the small man turned and looked in his direction. John could see the blazing dark eyes underneath the hat as they searched the woods looking for the author of the scream. John closed his mouth, and fear seized him.

He knew those dark eyes had found him. For the first time in a Dream Walk, he knew it was far more than a dream; he was actually there, and as vulnerable as the woman who had just been murdered.

On the second
floor landing, Gabriel paused and examined the ambient light camera that had been placed on a swivel base to roam the left and right of the hallway. The movement of the remote camera was stopped and it was facing to the right, which meant that it had detected movement in that direction sometime in the last few minutes. He checked the motion sensor and found the small blue light blinking, meaning it was still working properly. Gabriel pressed his hand over his earpiece and called Harris Dalton.

“Has the production team picked up any movement on the second floor in the past five minutes?”

“Negative. If there had been movement, we missed it. Hell, everything was so active a few minutes ago we would have missed a train coming through. Sorry, we’ll keep a sharper eye out.”

Gabriel straightened and looked at the darkened faces around him. He nodded at George Cordero. “Go ahead and activate the laser systems here and on the third floor.”

“Professor,” Julie said in a low voice. “Can you explain what this laser system is?”

Kennedy closed his eyes for a moment in frustration, but decided shaking off the question wasn’t an option. He really did want the country to take interest in what was happening. Gabriel reached down and plucked a small object off the floor. It was the size of a basketball and weighed more than six pounds.

“This is a laser grid generator. These small holes are laser emitters. Each device has two hundred small lasers, the power output of a small laser pointer. Once turned on, each laser light will create a grid in each of the two hallways. In order for us to see the light more clearly, each designator also has a built in fogger that will spread a veil of mist.”

“And what does this accomplish?” Julie asked.

“In theory, anything moving through the lasers will possibly become visible. With these lasers, coupled with our ambient light cameras and the new motion sensors that detect the movement of air, heat, cold, even dust particles, we should be able to avoid being surprised by anything near us.”

Kennedy didn’t wait for another question from Julie. He turned and placed the laser designator back on the floor as George Cordero switched on the devices with the remote control placed by the camera stand. Suddenly red, green and blue lasers shot free of the round battery driven orb. The grid it laid down covered the hallway from floor to ceiling, left and right of the landing. Another emitter at the far end illuminated, as did another two on the opposite side of the house on the far hallway. George then made sure the motion sensors lining the hallways were activated. This was confirmed by a beep as he switched the sensors on and off, and then on again. He nodded at Gabriel.

“This way to the sewing room,” he said. The team fell in line and continued up the stairs. Gabriel again pressed his hand to his ear and spoke into his small microphone. “Harris, what do you have on Kelly and Jason?”

“Nothing. They’ve hit the blind spot halfway down the stairs. We should be picking them up visually in a moment. We have them on audio walking down the stairs.”

“Any word from the electrical people outside?” Gabriel asked.

“The power company says it’s not in their lines. Our own people have confirmed that power is being directed into the house, but that’s where it ends. It’s like something is sucking up the juice.”

Damian Jackson frowned. It was more likely the storm had blown the breakers. He shook his head, but continued to follow the professor.

“How are John and the others in the ballroom?”

“Mr. Lonetree is out like a light, but we do have activity. It was like a windstorm had erupted inside the ballroom, but things are a bit calmer now. Leonard Sickles just let Wallace Lindemann inside and he’s at his usual spot at the bar.”

“Keep an eye on Kelly. She and Sanborn should be your priority. If anything starts to happen, pull them out until we can all get down there. Order her if you have to.”

“Yeah, all I have to do is threaten to kill her live feed. She’ll comply,” Harris said. There was a momentary pause as Harris asked something of Julie. Gabriel picked it up on his earpiece and thought about the answer to the question he knew the reporter was about to ask.

“Professor, for the sake of our viewers I want to reiterate...Before your experiences in Summer Place seven years ago, you were not a believer in the supernatural, is that correct?”

Kennedy paused. This was not the question Harris had just asked Julie to relay to him.

“No. At the time I believed most hauntings revolved around living people. The human mind is capable of many things, including creating things inside a person’s head that would make it seem they are dealing with the paranormal.”

“You’ve stated mass hysteria as one of those causes, is that correct?”

“Yes,” Kennedy said. He wondered where Julie was going with the questions.

“Before we continue our journey to the sewing room and the third floor, Professor, I am sure the viewers would like to know your opinion on what’s happening here tonight. Are we dealing with the theory of mass hysteria?”

Gabriel looked at the others. They waited silently, and in the darkness he could feel them anticipating his answer. He saw a brief reflection of the red, green and blue laser lights off the ambient camera lens and knew that many others, the people Julie and Harris Dalton were playing for, were waiting also.

“This is no mass hysteria, Ms. Reilly. In my opinion, we are dealing with something that has never happened before in the annals of supernatural activity. A haunting such as this, the activity we have experienced tonight, has never been documented before. We may be dealing with an entity that is powerful beyond reason. No, Ms. Reilly, not mass hysteria. Something doesn’t want us here because we are a danger to it. It knows that unlike other visitors to this house, we can cause it harm.”

Julie Reilly swallowed. She heard the prompt from the production van and hoped her voice didn’t crack when she spoke.

“On that note, we’ll take a brief commercial break.”

Inside the production van, the number one monitor faded quickly to black and was replaced by a small green lizard selling auto insurance.

“Jesus, give me a break. That’s some scary shit, Gabe,” George Cordero muttered, pulling his coat tighter around him.

“If I were you, I would have stuck with the mass hysteria theory, Kennedy. When my lawyers get done with you and the CEO of this company, you’ll need a good story to keep your ass out of litigation,” Lionel Peterson said, stepping up from the darkness below. He tilted his head back and took a drink from a silver flask. His earpiece was hanging free, so he didn’t know they weren’t going out live.

Gabriel had already turned down the second floor hallway, toward the stairs to the third floor. He stopped as he felt the breeze of cold air grow even colder. The presence was out of the sewing room and waiting for them—he knew it. He also knew the others could feel it as he stopped and turned. He nodded at each. Then his eyes lingered on the large state policeman.

“Don’t accidentally shoot me with that thing,” he said, nodding to the gun at Damian Jackson’s side.

Jackson looked at the cameraman. He saw that, for the moment, the camera was concentrating his view on the bend in the hallway a few steps away. He didn’t know they were in a two minute commercial break. He smiled at Kennedy.

“If you have someone in a bedsheet up there, Professor, I would warn him that I am just a tad jumpy at the moment. I never said you didn’t have a gift of the narrative.”

Kennedy returned the smile. For the first time, he felt relief that Jackson was along.

“If we come across someone in a bedsheet, Detective, give me the gun and I’ll shoot him.”

Kelly Delaphoy stopped
no more than ten steps from the bottom. It had taken almost five minutes to get down the steps in the darkness. The small flashlight only served to cast dangerous-looking turns and drop-offs on the steep stairs. Jason had twisted his ankle, misjudging the turn halfway down. He had to sit and rub his ankle a while before he was sure he was okay to continue, but thus far he hadn’t said a word in complaint.

She stood still, looking into the darkness, seeing the even blacker outline of the audio and visual equipment in the middle of the room pointing toward the trapdoor she knew was there. The hulking shapes of the old kitchen appliances ringed the basement, just as they had before, but they looked far more ominous now. She swallowed and reached behind her, taking Jason’s hand in her own. His, as hers, was ice cold to the touch, but it still felt good to know she wasn’t alone. She used her free hand to adjust the earpiece and then contacted Harris in the van.

“Okay Harris, we’re a few steps from the bottom of stairs. We can see into the basement. Are you picking up the audio?”

“We have you, just a second and we’ll adjust the camera to pick you up as you step into the basement. We’ll lead with you after the break in fifteen seconds.”

“Okay.” Kelly squeezed Jason’s cold hand even tighter, and he reciprocated. “Well, here we go.” As she took another step down the steps, she heard the whine of the small motor on the camera tripod turn the lens their way. “I hope this was a good idea,” she said. Jason didn’t answer, just squeezed her hand tighter.

“Okay,” Harris called out . “We’re back in five, four, three, two…Camera Five, basement…go!”

On the green tinted picture, everyone watching—from the production van to Mr. and Mrs. America—saw Kelly take the first step onto the basement floor. She stood motionless, allowing her eyes to adjust to the darkness. She moved her small penlight to the far wall, and then over to the trap door. The basement was silent as a morgue as she took another tentative step. As she moved, she felt Jason become hesitant about going forward, but just as she was about to say something, he squeezed her hand almost to the point of breaking it.

“Hey, Jason, take it easy.” She took another step toward the center of the room. The whine of the tripod motor sounded lightly as it followed her. “Come on, Jason, you’re breaking my hand!”

Inside the production
van, everyone watching the monitor froze. Harris tried to speak but couldn’t. He fumbled with the small switch on his mic but missed. Everyone watching the television special saw what they were seeing, but few really picked up on the horror of the moment as Kelly, with her arm behind her, came clear of the wall that had blocked the camera’s view.

“What did you
say?” came Jason’s voice from the stairs.