1 Chapter 1
It was raining, and the Rockland house had holes in its roof. Of course.
It figured, really. His entire career on the line, his entire future teetering on the precipice, and Mother Nature decided to piss all over it.
Killian sighed as a crack of thunder rolled across the sky. The noise would ruin his recordings. They’d never get anything good with the goddamn heavenly bowling team up there rolling strikes every thirty seconds.
Helen’s voice came over the walkie-talkie on his belt. “Think it’ll blow over before dark?”
“Probably fucking not,” he replied.
“Hey,” she said. “Don’t stress. It’s ambiance.”
“It’s bullshit is what it is.”
She didn’t reply, but he knew she was probably downstairs laughing at him. He returned his attention to his exploration of the second floor.
The Rockland house was a massive Victorian style building on the edge of Killian’s rural Pennsylvania hometown. Something about Victorian houses just begged for ghost stories. Killian had grown up hearing them all. The house was haunted by the ghost of a 1920’s gangster who’d died in a police shootout. The old guy who lived there in the 1930’s had killed his wife. Someone had taken a dive over the second floor balcony wearing a rope necklace. He knew all the rumors very well. He’d almost become one himself as a kid.
“I’m about done with the EMF meters down here,” Helen said. “How are you up there?”
“Getting there,” Killian replied. The place was too big to carpet every inch with equipment, so they were focusing on hotspots. Master bedroom, kitchen, stairway, main hallway, creepy-ass pantry. Killian hated to waste equipment on the goddamn pantry, but as Helen pointed out, the creepy factor would appeal to the audience.
They avoided the rooms with holes in their ceilings—during the pre-show recording, Killian assured everyone it was because ghosts weren’t likely to be in places so exposed to the elements, but really it was because he couldn’t afford to risk good tech in places so exposed to the elements. Their savings were dwindling rapidly.
“Three hours ‘til we go live,” Helen said. “You ready for this?”
He was glad she couldn’t see his face. He was not ready for this.
“Show me something no one has ever seen before, and I’ll give you what you want.”
The thought of Jason helped bolster him. Smooth as silk, traditionally handsome, and capable of handing out budgets to promising pitches, Jason Eversole had gotten under Killian’s skin from the first moment they met.
“Everyone’s seen the shadows and heard the whispers. It’s all very passé, don’t you think?”
Jason had come around his desk and leaned his hips on the front of it, his feet nearly touching Killian’s where he sat in the low-backed leather chair.
“People watch for the possibilities,” Killian said. “And the personality. They watch for the host.”
“Maybe,” Jason said, and his pale lips pursed. “But a host alone isn’t enough to carry a show. You need a gimmick. Do something different, something surprising.”
Killian had tried to argue that he had the ideas and simply lacked the budget to do what Jason was suggesting, but the stubborn man had just smiled.
“I like you, Mr. McKay. I’ve watched your web series. You have a good presence, you’re engaging, you’re passionate. Unfortunately, you’re doing the same thing dozens of others have done before you. Paranormal investigation isn’t holding anyone’s interest anymore.” Jason smiled. “You, on the other hand, are holding my interest.” He stepped forward and ran his fingers through Killian’s hair. It took Killian so off-guard, he didn’t even react until Jason said, “Are you a natural redhead?”
He jerked back a little, looking at the man skeptically. “Yeah. So?”
Jason had seated himself in the other chair then, the one next to Killian, and leaned across the arm to look very intently at Killian’s face. Just when it was getting awkward, he leaned away and said, “You shouldn’t hide the freckles. They’re cute.”
“I’m not trying to be cute, Mr. Eversole, I’m trying to find ghosts.”
Jason laughed. “But people watch for the host. You said it yourself a moment ago. Take the advice I’m giving you. The freckles are cute. Don’t cover them with makeup.”
“I don’t think my freckles will make or break my career.”
“Do you think I could make or break your career?”
His tone wasn’t ominous, but the words made Killian uneasy. “You could make it,” Killian had answered. “I don’t think I need your help to break it.”
“Are things that bad?” Jason had licked his thumb and reached up to wipe it across Killian’s face, clearing the makeup off his cheek. Killian’s brain faltered, and he leaned into the touch for a second before he remembered he was in a TV executive’s office, not a club bathroom or cheap hotel.
