Total pages in book: 86
Estimated words: 83986 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 420(@200wpm)___ 336(@250wpm)___ 280(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 83986 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 420(@200wpm)___ 336(@250wpm)___ 280(@300wpm)
“I mean, what the fuck?” Raglan concluded.
I sifted through what I had so far: Raglan was talking to me, Patrick was there somewhere, and they were upset with my colleagues because they had delivered news of a haunting.
This was going to kill my evening; I just knew it.
I took a moment to absorb the ridiculousness. Did I think Benji was a gifted psychiatrist? Yes. He’d proven he was on a number of occasions and was excellent at vetting new clients for the company. Did I think his skills translated to paranormal investigator? That would be absurd. Did I think there was a need for such a thing to begin with or that paranormal anything should be a job? Absolutely not. Did Raglan have a stupid name? Without question. Because really, his nickname had to be Rag, and that was terrible. But that wasn’t the matter at hand. “May I ask why it matters if the space Patrick’s mother wants to give him is haunted or not?”
“Because now Patrick can’t have the warehouse because his mother doesn’t want him to have something that’s cursed,” Raglan explained.
“Got it. Thank you for bringing me up to speed. Now, may I ask why this situation concerns anyone outside of Patrick and his mother?”
“Because we’re all supposed to be going in together on a club we’ve been planning on for years,” Raglan said dejectedly.
Ah. The prospect of money.
I turned to Owen. “Why didn’t you stand your ground and defend yourself? There are only four of them.”
“I didn’t want to hurt anyone, yeah?” Owen shrugged. “I thought running would be better.”
And now I understood where he was coming from.
“What about you?” I asked Benji.
“I felt bad delivering upsetting news and didn’t want to injure anyone on top of that. I mean, that’s like adding insult to injury, don’t you think?”
I squinted at him.
“Actually,” Benji amended, “that would be adding injury to bad news, if we’re being literal. That idiom doesn’t really work here, does it?”
“No,” I agreed, and now was fully rounded out with how and why the situation had escalated. I always liked to know the whole story before I offered any insights.
The four guys were looking to start their business, and between them and their envisioned success stood Benji and Owen. I would have been pissed off too, especially since the paranormal component was what was getting in the way, which was, absolutely, a pile of crap. On the flipside, Owen, who didn’t want to harm anyone, had gotten Benji to go on a however long mad dash through the city in hopes of tiring the guys out to the point where they could engage in dialogue about their present predicament. It was a good plan. Physically drained people normally weren’t homicidal and were far more likely to be reasonable.
Returning my attention to the guys chasing my friends, I cleared my throat. “Would you all like to sit down, join us, and we’ll eat something, have some drinks, and discuss?”
The four men stared at me, then glanced around, took the temperature of the upscale restaurant they were at, and then all returned their attention to me. I was waiting. Staring at them and appearing, I was certain, somewhere between resigned and annoyed.
They all nodded and started around the fence toward the entrance. Owen and Benji followed me to the table, where Matt…Mark…Mace?…was staring at me wide-eyed.
“That was amazing. You single-handedly avoided disaster.”
“Not yet,” I replied as the excited waiter brought over more tables so six more people could be seated with us. Normally that wasn’t the case at most restaurants, but it was a Monday night, and we were outside. I was guessing that had a lot to do with it.
“Hi, I’m Benji,” my friend said cheerfully, offering Maybe Micah his hand. “Sorry to be ruining your dinner.”
“Oh no, not at all, this is very exciting,” he replied, smiling at Benji because everyone, always, smiled at Benji. “I’m Miles.”
Miles… God, me with the names. Miles introduced himself to everyone, and there was water all around because they’d all run for blocks, and cocktails ordered before Owen began to explain that there was no scientific reason for the cold spots, flickering lights, strange sounds, and the odd smells in the industrial space.
“What does that mean?” Miles asked, riveted.
Owen shrugged. “I checked the wiring, the plumbing, the furnace, the AC unit, the water heater… I checked everything, and nothing physical is wrong with it.”
“On the other hand,” Benji chimed in, “I did the lemon test where you cut a lemon into quarters, cover it in salt, and put several bowls of them all around the space. They all molded.”
“Why does that matter?” Miles was into it now.
“It should simply dry up,” Benji explained, and everyone seemed fascinated. “But they all molded, which means there’s a presence there that needs to be cleansed.”