CHAPTER EIGHT
Tuesday morning was oddly calm and beautiful. The rains that had plagued the city had stopped sometime after we all fell asleep again and the golden, winter morning sun was making the wet branches outside the apartment sparkle and shine.
Jenn didn’t mention anything about the incident in the night, but did cook us all up a giant feast of French toast and bacon, which gave off the vibe that she was making up for something. Not that she had anything to make up, but I wouldn’t have been surprised if Dex had given her a warning. She did seem to insinuate last night that my mental health wasn’t all what it seemed to be.
Which was nothing new. I was used to people thinking that I was crazy and if anyone was going to think anything less of me, I knew it would be someone like Jenn. But it got me thinking, especially as I spent the morning pattering about in the den and flipping through all the books that Dex had.
You see, none of the books that lined his shelves had anything to do with the mental institute we would be investigating later that night, even though there were quite a few library books there. There were some on the paranormal, stuff I would eagerly devour some other time when I wasn’t afraid of a dead girl in his living room, but nothing that was remotely related to our case.
Perhaps it didn’t mean anything. Dex had been busy moving and dealing with a dog and all that, and it was possible that he forgot about the research part of the show. But normally I had a script, or something to go on, and even if I wrote that script myself, I did it with his help. This time it felt like we were winging it entirely and at a point when we couldn’t really afford to. It wasn’t just about our wee Experiment in Terror show. It was about how our show did up against the bigwigs like Spook Factory. Now was not the time to be going into any situation blind, and yet Dex and I hadn’t discussed anything about it at all.
I thought about asking him. I knew he was in the living room, reading the paper, sipping on his coffee, occasionally saying something to Jenn. But something told me not to. And it stemmed from the same reason why I thought Dex was keeping me in the dark about things. Frankly, he didn’t want to talk about it.
It must have something to do with the fact that Dex had been in a mental institute. What else could it be? We had never discussed what had happened to him or why he was there. I just knew it was true. But I didn’t know how to bring the topic up with him, or even if it was any of my business.
Yet, the fact that we were going traipsing into an actual mental hospital later, well…that sort of made it my business. It was like if you were heading off into battle with a shell-shocked veteran. You’d kinda want to make sure that they were OK with it, otherwise they’d flip out at the first gunshot and you could be dead in a second.
I decided I’d try to approach the subject when the time was right. Hopefully that time would come sooner rather than later.
After we spent the morning doing not much of anything, the couple decided to take me out for lunch in the Capitol Hill district. Dex also wanted to take me past the Harvard Exit Cinema, the allegedly haunted theatre that our dear rivals were investigating.
We got into the car, Dex’s black Highlander this time, and drove off along the sunny streets. It was funny how even in the sunlight, the city had this hidden, shadowy quality to it, like it was just being covered up by sunshine-hued fabric.
In the front, Dex flicked the MP3 player until The Beatles Abbey Road came on and gave Jenn a playful nudge with his elbow. She looked at him, coyly peering over the edge of her designer shades, and smiled in return. It seemed to be some little inside joke or perhaps telepathic couplespeak for something.
I looked away from them and kept my eyes on the road. It wasn’t as uncomfortable as it had been the day before but it still made me feel funny inside.
“Something” came on, one of my favorite Beatles songs.
At least it was, until Dex started to sing along with it. I had to look. He was eyeing me in the rearview mirror while carefully crooning to the most poignant parts. I shook my head and looked away.
Dex continued the sing along with the next song, “Maxwell Silver Hammer.” He was louder this time and to my horrible surprise, Jenn started to sing along too. They traded off verses like some Paul and John session, and when the chorus kicked in, they both began to act out the hammer hits with their hands, in tune with the rhythm. They were smiling at each other, singing at the top of their lungs, and having the world’s most stomach-turning karaoke competition in the front of the car. And to a song that was essentially about a serial killer with a hammer.
I felt sick. My face scrunched up at their cutesy, song-sharing coupleness. Abbey Road was now forever ruined for me.
Luckily the song wasn’t long and Jenn stopped singing as soon as “Oh Darling” came on. Dex kept going, of course. I mean, he was really letting ‘er rip. I tried not to be won over by his vocal prowess but it was hard, especially when he rolled down the window and started howling with Paul at the most passionate, throat-burning parts.
Jenn made an annoyed sigh and smacked him on the shoulder. “What are you doing? Roll up the window. No one wants to hear you.”
He ignored her and kept belting it out the window to the bemusement of the cars and pedestrians going past. A few of them gave him the thumbs up for the free performance on wheels.
“I’m serious, you’re so f*cking embarrassing,” she sneered, and for the first time, I didn’t find her so pretty anymore.
I quickly eyed Dex to see his reaction. He stopped singing and gave her one hell of a look. Had I mentioned that Dex was the king of looks that could kill? It was one of those looks. I waited with bated breath for Jenn to explode into flames and I was glad I was sitting far away in the back seat.
She didn’t burst into flames, unfortunately, but she did push her shades further up against her face and brought out her phone. She started texting someone, ignoring the bolts of brimstone that were shooting out from Dex’s fiery glare.
Finally, he brought his attention back to the road before we almost rear-ended a van, turned down the volume on the stereo and we rode the rest of the way to Capitol Hill in relative silence. It was f*cking weird. They had gone from a sickening, “in love” couple doing a duet to the complete opposite in the span of two songs. Who knew the Beatles were still so controversial.
The lunch, then, was brutal for all of us. Dex and Jenn weren’t talking to each other and Jenn wasn’t talking to me, which left Dex and me making careful small talk with each other, dancing around subjects like two characters in a play. When Jenn got up to go make a phone call outside, Dex exhaled loudly and comically collapsed across his chicken club sandwich.
I watched him anxiously, rubbing the edges of my fingernails. He eventually lifted his head and a small, tired smile tugged at his lips and the corners of his eyes.
“I’m sorry,” he said.
“Don’t be,” I told him, trying to sound cool, like I was an impartial friend and not at all invested in the decline of his relationship. “Couples fight all the time.”
“Yeah,” he said slowly. Then sighed, sat back in his chair and rubbed his chin, his eyes unfocused.
“Am I making things worse?” I asked.
“Worse? No, kiddo. Things aren’t worse. This is just the way it is sometimes.”
What I think he meant to say was that “this is just the way it is all the time” but he was trying to save face. I didn’t know why. Why did he bother with her? Why did he bother moving with her? Why did he bother getting a dog with her? I didn’t understand any of it. Did he love her? Was that it? Did he actually truly love her and was too afraid to let go?
I could have gone on with these questions, as I often did, but I stopped myself and forced myself to think about something else. This was the only way I was going to get over him. Get over him as he sat across from me. I turned my attention to the other people in the restaurant, trying to focus on something, anything else. I picked up on a group of girls my age who were giggling with each other over a Smartphone they were passing around the table. I envied them. It was working.
Jenn came back to table after her phone call was over. She stopped in front of us, leaned over to Dex, moved his face over to hers and kissed him passionately on the lips. There were tongue and slobbering sounds involved. My eyes widened, watching them, unable to look away. >
When she pulled back, he looked dumbstruck, while she gave me a quick, sly wink. It either said, men are simple or it said, oh no you don’t. I’d put bets on the latter.
“Excuse me,” I blurted out, quickly getting out of my chair, which rattled loudly against the tiled floor, and hurried my way over to the restaurant’s bathroom before I burst into tears.
I entered the washroom, which was thankfully empty, and ran the tap, splashing an endless amount of cold water on my face. I wouldn’t cry, I wouldn’t cry. I was going to get out of the damn city without a single tear leaving my face.
When I calmed down a bit, I gently patted my face with a paper towel and leaned against the mirror. I needed to get a hold of myself. I was tired of being fine and tough one minute and then losing it the next. What the hell was wrong with me? Jenn, Dex, they both had way too much power over me and my emotions. This had to stop. Now.
I breathed in a few times through my nose until I felt under control and then went into the stall to pee. I thought about this Bradley fellow. Maybe I’d ask Rebecca tomorrow about setting me up with him. Maybe he was just the distraction I needed from this whole Dex and Jenn business. Plus, the fact that both of them seemed totally against it, was finally sounding intriguing.
As I pondered this exciting diversion, I heard the door to the washroom open and a woman enter, her heels slowly making their way down toward the mirrors. She absolutely reeked of gin, the tangy scent of juniper flooding the bathroom. That, coupled with the slight unevenness of her gait, made me think that this girl was pissed off her gourd.
I slowly reached over for the toilet paper, not wanting to make too much noise in case she thought she was alone.
But the person giggled.
I paused, listening. There it was again. A high, strange, sloppy giggle. She had to be wasted.
The giggles continued until it was full-out laughter, her loud, braying laugh echoing in the room.
I quickly finished my business and was about to get up off the toilet seat when the laughter died down and the girl spoke.
“He said he loved me,” the mystery drunk said in a mild Minnesotan accent. It reminded me of Frances McDormand’s character in Fargo. Who was she talking to? Was she on the phone?
I got up, pulling on my jeans and tried to peer through the crack in the stall door. I couldn’t see anyone. The sink in front of my closed door looked empty.
“He said he loved me. I love you. And the next time he saw me, he told me, ‘I’ll kill you.’” She laughed in surprise. “He said he’d kill me. Can you believe that?”
I waited for someone to respond, straining my ears to hear the crackle of a voice on the other end of a line.
“Can you believe that?” she repeated, this time her voice lower, edgier. Perhaps she was talking on a Bluetooth. I had no idea. It didn’t matter.
I turned, about to flush the toilet.
“Perry, can you believe that?”
My eyes flew to the door. Did she just say my name? I swallowed my breath and kept still, arm frozen in mid-reach. Was she…talking to me?
I didn’t know what to say. Who was this person? What did she want?
I heard the shoes move, closer to me now, and I had a terrible flashback to the time I was in the Seattle airport washroom and Creepy Clown Lady appeared. But this wasn’t her. Not this time.
“Perry…” The voice now buzzed, like it vibrated on the wings of a bee. It filled my head and tickled the insides of my cheeks.
A slow tide of blood appeared at the bottom of the stall door and crept forward toward my feet, a sticky crimson blanket spreading out on top of the black marble.
I gasped, shocked, aghast, unable to process this. Was this actually happening?
It kept coming, a never-ending flow of shiny blood and it wasn’t until I saw several wasps, living, breathing wasps, riding the swells toward me like yellow, wriggling surfers, that I finally moved.
I grabbed the door and tried to unlock it. It was stuck. The latch wouldn’t turn. The blood kept flowing and the door wouldn’t open. I was stuck in the f*cking bathroom stall.
Hopelessly, I rattled it back and forth for a few seconds; then, just before the blood kissed the tips of my Docs, I stepped up onto the toilet seat.
I balanced precariously on the porcelain edge, crouched down briefly and leaped up for the side of the stall. My arms caught the metal edge and I hoisted myself up, kicking at the steel sides for support and momentum, the clanging noise banging out across the room. I pulled myself over to the other side, the edge digging into my ribs, dangling like Agent Starling scaling a wall, and then quickly dropped down onto the toilet in the next stall.
One foot caught the seat while the other went straight in the toilet with a cold splash.
I pulled my foot out in one swift motion, and leaped onto the ground. The stall door here was unlocked. I shoved it open and barreled out into the washroom. I didn’t look to see if the Minnesota girl was standing there, didn’t bother to see if the endless river of blood still covered the bathroom floor. I just ran straight to the doors of the bathroom, my wet foot sopping as I moved, and ran out into the hallway.
I continued straight out of the restaurant, not caring about leaving Dex or Jenn at the table, and ran onto the busy sidewalk, where I almost collided with an old man carrying Christmas decorations.
“Sorry!” I squeaked out and twirled around in the opposite direction. I ran up to the end of the block, my mind racing, my heart convulsing, and stopped beside Dex’s Highlander. I leaned across the hood, hugging it, feeling the solidity of the car, the sunshine on my back, the people passing by who were undoubtedly giving me a strange look or two.
I didn’t care how long I stood there, hugging the car. It just felt safe, somehow. Safe and real. Not a bathroom full of blood and gin-soaked words.
“Kiddo?”
I sensed Dex’s presence behind me before he even spoke.
I closed my eyes and tried to figure out what I would say. I had nothing.
He gingerly placed his hand on my shoulder. I straightened up and turned to look at him.
“What…?” he trailed off and bit his lip. He was looking at my left leg, which was soaked up to mid-calf with toilet water.
I shook my head. “I can’t even...”
“What happened?” he crossed his arms and took a commanding stance even though his voice was gentle.
“I’ll tell you later,” I said, eyeing Jenn, who came out of the restaurant and was walking toward us, looking put out, with my purse and coat that I had left at the table in hand.
She stopped at the passenger door and looked at both of us distrustfully. “What’s going on?”
“Perry was just feeling sick,” Dex explained.
She smirked. “I could see that. Trying to skip out on the bill there, honey?”
Honey? Oh no she didn’t. It was their treat. But I bit my tongue from saying anything that would damn me. I was too confused and exhausted to argue anyway.
She handed me my stuff.
“Thanks. I was feeling ill. I’ll get you guys back next time,” I said and jumped in the back seat before my legs gave out from under me. I shut the door on Dex, who still looked puzzled, and stood there for a few good seconds before shaking his head and going around to the driver’s side.
Five minutes later we pulled up across the street from the Harvard Exit Theatre. I had hoped Dex would have driven us straight back to the apartment, but no. He still wanted to show me some stupid haunted theatre.
“We can see this some other time,” Jenn said from the front seat, looking at the small, brick building with disinterest. For once I agreed with her. I was in no mood for paranormal hijinx after what happened in the bathroom.
“Chill out, babe,” he said, leaning forward in his seat and scanning the street. “You don’t have to get out of the car if you don’t want to.”
“Good,” Jenn and I both said at the same time. He jumped at that and turned around in his seat to look at me, confused.
“Well, I’ll obviously need you to come with me. That’s why we’re here.”
I stared back at him, trying to telepathically tell him how scared I was, that I wasn’t in the mood for some field trip. His eyes narrowed slightly, becoming balls of coal in the car’s interior, but he didn’t relent.
“Come on, kiddo. I just want to show you the lobby; it’s actually really-”
“Dex!” Jenn called out suddenly, smacking him on the arm.
“What?”
She pointed out the front of the car, at four people who were crossing the street and heading over to the theatre. One of them had a camera on his shoulder, the other had a boom mic. Leading the way was a tall guy and girl.
“Is that them…the Spook Factory?” she asked, waving her finger.
I leaned forward between the seats to get a better look. The guy was actually wearing a Tap-Out shirt or something and looked just like G.J. Jermaine. The female had a rat’s nest of blonde hair. It was them. And they actually had a crew, too.
Dex and I exchanged a look, both of our brows raised, mouths agape.
Finally he said, “Now will you come with me?”
Jenn and I both nodded in shared determination and got out.
Dex promptly jaywalked across the street and we hurried behind him, getting dirty looks from the passing cars as we slowed their progress.
Once on the other side, he walked down the leaf-strewn sidewalk toward the Spook Factory group, his step deceivingly light, his hands in the pockets of his black cargo jacket.
“What’s he going to do?” I said, more to myself than to Jenn. I took a step after him but she put her hand out to stop me.
“I don’t know,” she said slowly. “Let’s just wait here and see.”
I examined her face. Her thin brows were creating miniscule lines on her forehead. She was worried and on edge. I wondered if she was used to this confrontation from her boyfriend. Dex isn’t a big guy by any means. He’s on the short side and toned but still thin. But he has unpredictable pit-bull tactics and one hell of a lippy attitude with strangers. For heaven’s sake, never give that man a shovel.
My attention back at Dex, I could see the group pausing in mid-stride and conversation as he approached them. I couldn’t tell from behind but I had a feeling Dex was smiling broadly in that unnerving way, a wide, joker grin that wouldn’t match his eyes.
He stopped in front of them and they started talking. From where we were, I couldn’t really hear what they were saying but the Factory crew’s faces quickly went from apprehensive to amiable. Dex was winning them over, or at least leading them astray.
I looked back at Jenn. She hadn’t relaxed and hadn’t removed her arm.
“Girls,” Dex shouted. He was waving for us to come over. Jenn relented and we walked down the street, both of us approaching them all nervy and wired, like spooked horses.
Seeing G.J. and Annie up close didn’t change my opinion about them. He still looked stereotypically “hot” but charmless, and she still reminded me of an orange witch with too much plastic surgery. The guy with the camera was older, with a heavy beer gut, Megadeth shirt (which normally would have won him points in my book but not now since he was involved with this douche show), buzz cut and braided goatee. The guy holding the boom mic had a white-and-red striped sailor top, a white cap and glasses. He looked exactly like a French, hipster version of Waldo.
“Perry, Jenn,” Dex said, gesturing to them with incredibly false sincerity. “I’d like you to meet G.J., Annie, Joe and Douglas.”
Joe was the guy in the Megadeth shirt. I wondered if people called him Little Joe as a joke.
I smiled at them all as earnestly as possible and quickly shook their hands. Jenn gave a short nod and flash of her white teeth.
“We’re big fans of your show,” G.J. said to me, holding onto my hand for a second longer than he should have. His hand was greasy and big and he had too many rings on.
“Oh yeah,” I said, swiping my hand away and looking him in the eye. “Is that why you decided to copy us?”
“Perry,” Jenn hissed from beside me.
I gave her a look. “What? It’s true.” I looked back at the crew. “Isn’t it?”
G.J. let out a laugh that I wished sounded more nervous. He raised his hands in the air, looking back and forth between Dex and me with a dumbass grin on his face. “Guilty as charged. If I hadn’t been a fan, I wouldn’t have bothered with the job. It’s all Annie here, really.”
Annie shrugged, her strange dead eyes looking at my forehead. “We aren’t copying you. You’re just copying shows like Paranormal State and Ghost Lab. We have our own spin.”
I shot Dex a look out of the corner of my eye. Did I dare ask what the spin was?
He did it for me. “And what’s that?”
G.J. crossed his overly muscley arms and straightened up. He was a good five inches taller than Dex but my partner didn’t seem intimidated in the slightest.
“We’re real ghost hunters.”
Jenn burst out laughing. I would have joined her had I not remembered those fairy tale comments from the day before.
“Excuse me?” I asked. “Real?”
G.J. and Annie exchanged a smug look between them.
“I’ve gone to school for parapsychology,” Annie said with a haughty twitch of her head. “I know how to talk to ghosts. I know how to find them. And they know how to find me.”
Jenn put her face in her hands and mumbled, “Oh my God, I can’t believe I am standing here listening to this conversation.” She looked up at Joe and Douglas with disbelief. “Come on, fellas, you can’t possibly believe this shit either?” >
Joe was silent but Douglas spoke up, adjusting his hat. “We’ve seen some pretty freaky stuff. These two know what they are doing.”
“And so do we,” Dex injected. Another total lie. Dex and I had no idea what we were doing.
“No, dear,” Jenn said, walking over to Dex and tugging at his arm. “You’re clueless. But I still love you anyway.”
“Jenn, what are you doing?” I couldn’t help but blurt out, staring at her aghast.
She glared at me momentarily. Then she smiled again, big and fake, and looked at everyone. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to blow your cover. I think you’re all full of shit. There are no such things as ghosts. You’re all filming dust particles floating in the air and talking to the walls.”
“Well, they might be,” Dex said pointing at Annie.
Jenn snickered and reached into his pant pocket, bringing out the keys. “I’m going back to the car before I lose my mind. Hope you guys don’t scare each other to death.”
As she walked away, G.J. asked, “Is that the girl from Wine Babes?”
Dex nodded, frowning.
“No such thing as ghosts?” Annie said to him. “How the hell do you put up with that?”
An involuntary smile spread across my face. Dex shot me a look and I wiped it away just in time.
“So you have a degree or something in parapsychology,” he continued, ignoring her. “So what?”
“So plenty,” she said. She had a lot more confidence than I had hoped. “It gave me the backing to go into the Fantasy Network and pitch the show. I showed them I knew what I was doing so they gave us a budget, a crew, and the ability to make two episodes a week. I’m assuming Shownet’s not giving you any of that.”
“It’s a small network,” I explained meekly.
“It’s internet only. Spook Factory is attached to a TV network, so we have more range and more reach and I wouldn’t be surprised if our show ends up on TV anyway.”
“As it should,” G.J. shot in, eyeing Annie carefully. “I didn’t give up a career in Mixed Martial Arts just so I could fester on the internet.”
I tried hard not to laugh but failed.
“So you really are going around and kicking ghosts in the balls. That is your job, right?” I asked.
Dex snorted.
G.J. rolled his eyes. “I’m in charge of all the equipment. And I’m the eye candy.”
“What am I, chopped liver?” Annie said to him, scrunching up her beak of a nose. “You only got this job because you f*cked over Eddie.”
“Who is Eddie?” I had to ask.
Annie crossed her arms and sighed, a frazzle puff of blonde hair flying off her face. “Not that it’s any of your business, but Eddie was supposed to be working with me. Not G.J. here.”
“But I called Eddie with a fake job offer so he’d forget about this one,” G.J. finished. He looked way too proud of himself for something so low. “Annie found out later but hey, by then people expected me to be part of the show.” He gave Annie an insincere smile. “Besides, Eddie was a wimp. Sure he knew more about supernatural stuff but come on, he’d be running away like a p-ssy at the first sign of trouble.”
So they were our competition, and they were deceptive douchebags. Great.
Dex popped a piece of Nicorette in his mouth and chewed silently for a few beats.
“So, why are you here?”
Annie made a weird, amused noise and pointed at the brick building. “Why the hell do you think? You ever heard of the Harvard Exit Cinema?”
“Well, being as I live here, yes,” Dex answered smartly, not looking at the building. “But there hasn’t been any paranormal activity in there since 1987. Figured you would have known that.”
I felt like kicking Dex. What was he doing, giving them pointers? Let them film at the building that was a dud. Better for us in the long run.
“I did know that,” Annie shot back. “But that doesn’t mean anything.”
“It means that when Bertha Landes, the former – and only – woman mayor, had an exhibit of her items placed at a museum, the haunting here stopped. You’re barking up the wrong tree.”
“I’m sorry you’re so close-minded, Dex Foray. You see, what I’ve learned in school is that people are haunted and not buildings. If a building is haunted that usually means there is some kind of doorway inside, a place where the walls to the afterlife are thin. And if someone who is more disposed to supernatural contact, such as myself, is in such a place, the ghosts come to them.”
I hated to admit it, but what she said made a little bit of sense. It would explain why, no matter where I was, certain things would haunt me.
Like the woman in the bathroom. The woman with the voice of wasps, the sticky red blood tide of endless blood flowing toward me, the fact that she knew my name…
“Are you OK, kiddo?” I heard Dex say.
I looked at him and noticed I had everyone’s attention. Had I just said something out loud?
“What?” I asked.
He furrowed his brows, slowing down his chewing, watching me carefully. I gave him an incredulous look and repeated myself. “What, Dex?”
“Nothing,” he said slowly and then looked back at the crew. “Well, just trying to help you guys out. Don’t want to see you wasting your time.”
“Oh yeah,” G.J. said sarcastically. “I’m sure that’s it. You and Boobs here just don’t want us to find anything.”
“Boobs?” I cried out and looked down at my chest. I was wearing a Nine Inch Nails tee shirt underneath my jacket. Nothing “boobs” about that.
Dex cocked his head at him, annoyed. “Actually you can find whatever the hell you f*cktards want. We’ve got our own fish to fry tonight and we’re going to be the first show that the institute is going to let film inside.”
“What institute?” Annie asked suspiciously.
“You’re just going to have to watch and see, sweetheart,” Dex responded with a handsome grin. He grabbed my hand and started pulling me toward the car. I shot the group one final look and followed Dex, walking rapidly to keep up with him.
When we were out of earshot, I said, “What a bunch of douchebags.”
“Douchebuckets,” he corrected me.
“Should we be worried?”
He shook his head and spit his gum out into the gutter as we crossed the street to his car. “F*ck me, I could go for a cigarette right now.”
“That’s not a good sign, Dex,” I pointed out.
He gave me a quick smile for reassurance but I didn’t feel reassured at all.
“No need to worry, we’ll figure this out soon. They’ve got nothing on us,” he said as he opened the rear door for me.
I got in and we drove back home. Though I couldn’t quite place my finger on it, I had a bad feeling about all of this. Then again, when didn’t I?