The clouds shifted across the moon, intensifying the glow of the translucent form as he wavered among the grave markers. He had no clear destination. No plan except escape. But escape to where? He wasn’t tethered to this cemetery, but it was still his home. He had made that choice long ago, for reasons that were no longer clear to him.
Nothing was clear anymore. Even the fear and sadness that had engulfed him only minutes before had begun to fade. A faint memory lingered. A vague feeling that something terrible had happened, but he struggled to remember what had happened and to whom.
The figure slowed his pace as he moved through the grave markers, eventually stopping next to a mausoleum, uncertain what to do next. He hovered listlessly, frowning at the cool stones glowing in the dim moonlight. Why had he been in such a hurry before?
A thrilling hum began to spread through his entire being, drawing his attention toward the far side of the cemetery. Compelled by the delicious tingle that was slowly overtaking his senses, he moved toward the source. He had never felt anything like it. The pull was irresistible, and it only intensified as he drew nearer.
He crossed the cemetery at lightning speed, his destination a clearing in the northwest corner. In the center of the clearing sat a dark, metallic object about the size and shape of a shoebox. Normally he would have found this odd, but the exquisite sensation coursing through his entire being clouded his senses. With an almost reverent awe, he approached the strange object, completely oblivious to the group of hooded figures standing only a few feet away.
He desperately wanted to touch the energy source but for some reason couldn’t. Something held him in place, unable to move at all.
One of the hooded figures stepped into the center of the clearing and flipped a switch on the strange device. The warm pulse of delectable energy quickly disappeared, leaving the translucent being feeling listless and drugged. As the fog in his head slowly evaporated, he looked around the clearing, noticing the hooded figures for the first time. He instantly recognized the danger, but there was no means of escape. He was frozen in place, still completely unable to move.
A familiar humming noise started from somewhere nearby. The translucent figure closed his eyes, waiting for what would inevitably happen next. In a few moments, he would be gone, along with all memories of who he was in his previous life.
***********
“I believe in ghosts. I have to. It’s in my job description.”
Claire Abelard smiled at the woman who had just asked the most ridiculous question anyone could ever ask the leader of a ghost tour.
The final stragglers from the evening’s tour group milled around the Gold Room, snapping photos. They all hoped to capture an image of Galveston Island’s supernatural celebrity, Miss Bettie Brown, the famous ghost of Ashton Villa. Claire could sense Bettie was close by. She prayed the ghost would hold herself together a few more minutes until the house was clear.
“Claire!”
The energy in the hallway rippled as Bettie poked her translucent head around the corner. Claire cut a quick glance at the remaining tourists on the opposite side of the ornate formal living room which had been nicknamed “The Gold Room.” They were admiring the large portrait hanging behind the piano, completely oblivious to Bettie’s presence in the room.
“What?” Claire whispered, turning her head slightly in Bettie’s direction.
“I need to talk to you,” Bettie said with a furtive look.
“I know. You interrupted my tour three times to tell me that.” Claire threw another look at the tourists across the room. “You’re lucky we didn’t have any sensitives with us tonight.”
Bettie huffed, sending out another ripple of energy. “I could tell none of them had the gift, and this is important.”
“I’m sure whatever it is, it can wait another ten minutes until these people have finished admiring your paintings.”
Bettie straightened her posture and turned her attention to the far side of the room. “Yes, well, I suppose you are right. I will wait until they have finished.”
Claire shook her head and smiled. Seeing the tourists admire her work was about the only thing that would have distracted Bettie from her current mission.
Everyone thought they know the truth about ghosts, but Claire’s employer, The Bureau for Historical Preservation, had made sure very few people actually did. Ghosts aren’t wayward spirits caught between this world and the next, though the Bureau wanted people to believe that. For centuries, Bureau-influenced story tellers have promoted this idea, steering the general population away from the more complicated and less romantic truth. With technology advancing at its current rate, Claire figured one day someone would stumble on to the true nature of ghosts, but until that day, the realities of the paranormal world were proprietary information of the Bureau.
The remaining tourists began making their way toward the exit. As they approached, a pre-teen boy held his cellphone out in Claire’s direction.
“My ghost hunting app didn’t pick up anything. Are you sure this place is haunted?”
Claire smiled at him, not at all surprised that a free cell phone app had missed Bettie’s presence in the mansion. “Maybe next time.”
The woman walking behind ghost app boy urged him forward with a scowl.
“Don’t worry about him, sweetie,” another woman from the group told Claire, patting her on the arm. “I’m certain I felt Bettie’s presence with us during our tour.”
Claire raised her eyebrows. “Really?”
The woman closed her eyes and smiled serenely. “Oh, yes. I believe she was very pleased to have us in her home.”
Claire nodded, resisting the urge to laugh. Not even the lowest level sensitive would have described Bettie’s mood that evening as being “pleased”.
Claire urged the final few stragglers toward the exit. “I hope you all had a wonderful experience tonight,” she said as she closed the door behind them. She turned the lock with a loud sigh, then spoke to the seemingly empty mansion. “Okay, Bettie. You’ve got my undivided attention.”
Another ripple of energy coursed through the entryway and Bettie materialized on the staircase. “They seemed like lovely people. Wonderful taste in art.”
Claire sighed again. “You said you had something important you need to talk to me about.”
“Yes, that.” Bettie floated to the bottom of the stairs and pointed a finger in Claire’s direction. “You need to have a talk with those new historical society volunteers.”
“What’ve they done now?”
“They keep moving the furniture.” She gave Claire an accusing look. “Did you not tell them I abhor when people disturb the furniture arrangement?”
Claire leaned her head back against the door. “Of course, I did, Bettie, and I’m sure that’s why they’re doing it. They’re new. They just want an encounter with the Ashton Villa ghost.”
“Of all the impertinence…” The air shimmered around Bettie as she turned away. She paused with her hands on her hips then shot a look over her shoulder at Claire. “Well, you need to make them stop.”
“No, Bettie, you need to make them stop.”
Bettie huffed. “And how am I to do that? They are low-level sensitives at best. I am certain they lack the acumen.”
Claire pushed away from the door and headed across the room. “I didn’t mean you should have a conversation with them.” She turned the lights off in the Gold Room and began her check of the other rooms in the house. She could sense Bettie following her. “Give them what they want. If they want to encounter the ghost of Ashton Villa, then give them an encounter.” She started up the stairs to the second floor and tossed over her shoulder, “That is your job, after all.”
Bettie was waiting at the top of the staircase when Claire arrived. “I already have,” she insisted. “Every night, I move the furniture back, which is no small feat, as you well know. And then the next day they mess it all up again.”
Claire gave her a look. “What are you, an amateur? I’ve seen you do more than that on an off night.”
Now it was Bettie’s turn to sigh. “Would it not be easier for you to talk to them about it?”
Claire resumed her check of the house. “Maybe, but it certainly wouldn’t leave as much of an impression.”
“Okay,” Bettie finally conceded, floating along behind Claire. “I will give them an encounter, but do not blame me if they quit.”
“Of course not. If they can’t handle the haunting, they shouldn’t poke the ghost.”
Bettie’s image shimmered and the temperature in the room dropped several degrees. “Claire Abelard,” she scolded, “you keep using that word. You know I do not like it.”
“I’m sorry,” Claire said, genuinely apologetic. “It’s hard to shift gears after a tour.” She cleared her throat dramatically. “They shouldn’t poke the projection.”
Bettie smiled. “Thank you, dear. ‘Ghost’ is such a demeaning word.” She hovered a few feet from the doorway, a thoughtful expression on her face. “I suppose you are right,” she finally said. “Maybe I should give them a memorable encounter.” She gave Claire a wink. “This could be fun.”
“I’m glad you see things my way.”
Claire finished her check of the house and retrieved her purse from the locked cabinet in the kitchen. When she returned to the Gold Room, Bettie was seated at the piano, her fingers hovering over the keys. Bettie’s projection energy was strong, so she had the ability to interact with material objects, but since it required a great expenditure of energy Bettie usually saved those interactions for truly special occasions.
“Before you go,” she said, her hands moving through the motions of playing the piano without actually affecting the keys. “Jean Lafitte needs to talk to you.”
Claire sighed. “Bettie, you know that’s out of my jurisdiction. Jean is a rogue. I could get into a lot of trouble for getting involved with whatever he’s got going on.”
Bettie’s hands stopped moving. “I know that, dear, and we both know how much he enjoys being a rogue.” She glanced over her shoulder. “After all, he is a pirate.” With a chuckle, she turned her attention back to the piano. “I am sure he would not have asked for your help if it was not important.”
Claire hesitated. If the Bureau found out she was interacting with, much less assisting, rogues again, she’d receive a serious reprimand or reassignment…or worse.
Bettie looked at her, a sad expression on her face. “He was very upset when I spoke to him. Will you at least go talk to him and see what is wrong?”
Claire nodded. Had there ever been a doubt that she would? “Fine. I’ll seek him out as soon as I get a chance.” She removed her keys from her purse. “But tell him to stay in Galveston this week. I’m not going to hang around the docks all night waiting for him to show up.”
Bettie smiled broadly. “I will get word to him.”
To most agents, energy projections were simply assets or resources to monitor and assist. Though many sensitives could feel a projection’s emotions, for Claire it was different. As a Level-5 sensitive, she experienced their emotions as if they were her own. Sometimes that made her job a lot easier, but more often than not it simply complicated things.
Clare nodded again and opened the front door to leave. “Good night, Bettie.”
“Good night, my dear.” She blew a kiss in Claire’s direction before fading from view.
Claire stepped out onto the porch and pulled her jacket tighter around her chest. A typical Texas cold front had blown through that evening, dropping the temperature by close to twenty degrees in a matter of hours. She knew the crisp autumn weather wouldn’t last long on the Gulf Coast, but tonight the cooler temperatures reminded her of Boston, flooding her mind with bittersweet memories.
The wind whipped around the Victorian mansion, blowing Claire’s shoulder length brown hair into her face. As she pulled her hair back into a ponytail, she looked up. A full autumn moon shown in the sky, illuminating the sidewalk in front of her. She wasn’t a particularly superstitious person, but she couldn’t shake the feeling it was some kind of omen. She already regretted agreeing to meet with Jean Lafitte, but it was too late to back out now. She had told Bettie she would help, and if she didn’t follow through the projection would never let her hear the end of it. Even more than the living, projections could have long memories, and they loved to gossip. Claire would lose credibility with every projection on the island if she went back on her promise.
“Hey, Claire!” a voice that had become all too familiar called out.
Claire jumped in surprise. “Hey, Ann,” she said, willing her heart rate to return to normal as the woman approached. “What are you doing still hanging around? The tour ended a half hour ago.”
Ann Menefee was a retired school teacher who had come to the island a few months before to work on her retirement career as a writer. She had published one book about haunted locations in San Francisco and another on New Orleans, and now she was researching Galveston’s ghosts for her third book. She had taken most of Claire’s tours over the past few months. Some of them, like the Ashton Villa tour, she had taken several times. By this point, she should know the house and its haunted history almost as well as Claire did.
“I wanted to bring you this,” Ann said, handing Claire a medium-sized mailing envelope. “I meant what I said the other day. I’d like to hear your thoughts on some of my theories. They aren’t exactly mainstream.”
Claire nodded and accepted the package. She didn’t have to open it to know what was inside. “Thanks, Ann, but I really don’t know when I’ll be able to read this. Things are kind of busy for me right now.”
“I understand,” Ann assured her. With a conspiratorial smile, she added, “You could always send it up your chain of command. I think your superiors might be interested in my theories as well.”
Claire slipped the package into her bag. “Honestly, Ann, I don’t think Craig reads books. He’s more of a movie guy.”
“That wasn’t who I was referring to.”
Claire let out an exaggerated sigh. This wasn’t the first time Ann had hinted at knowing something about the Bureau. Claire didn’t know where her information might have come from, but she certainly wasn’t going to be the agent to confirm anything.
“You’ve got to let go of these conspiracy theories,” she told her. “I only wish my life was that interesting.” She started walking toward the parking lot, hoping the tenacious writer would get the message. “I lead ghost tours. That’s all.”
She felt no guilt about lying. Maintaining Bureau secrecy was one of the primary directives drilled into every agent from the first day of training.
“If you say so,” Ann conceded, though Claire could tell she wasn’t convinced. “But I’d still like to hear your thoughts after you read the book. I should be getting my copies of the New Orleans book any day now. I’ll bring one by as soon as they’re delivered.”
“Sure,” Claire said, pressing the button to unlock her door. “That would be great.” She held up the package. “I’ll let you know when I’ve finished reading this.”
Ann stood a few feet away from the car as Claire started the engine. Claire waved as she pulled out of the parking spot, resisting the urge to roll her eyes. Dodging Ann’s conspiracy theories was the last thing she needed right now. She thought again about Jean Lafitte and his request for a meeting. Whatever he wanted to talk to her about, Claire was sure it wasn’t going to make her life any easier.
