Chapter Five

 

Dylan Rasche sat behind his desk at the computer, reading and deleting two days worth of e-mail. It was his job as chief investigator of the university’s Paranormal Research & Investigative Society, to oversee all outside communication addressed to the group. Much of the e-mail that day had been the usual advertisements, but one e-mail’s subject line jumped out at him.

I need your help!

He clicked it open.

The e-mail was from a nurse at University Hospital who explained that she and her fiancée had been in a car accident six months ago, in which he was killed. The young woman was experiencing strange and unexplainable occurrences as of late, which she detailed in specifics. Dylan’s interest peaked as he read on about a voice speaking through the static of a television screen, strange phone calls documented by a caller id, and her patient’s deathbed ramblings of specific and private information.

The final paragraph of the e-mail detailed an incident concerning a car radio, and at the end, a post-script was added. It was this that spurred his secret excitement; it read in conclusion...

 

PS—I just tried to send this e-mail, when I was interrupted by one of the same phone calls I have described. When I returned to the computer screen, someone, or something, had typed my name across the e-mail. I am alone in the house. I have saved the initial e-mail for you to see, and I am sending this new one. I really hope you can help me. I feel as though I’m losing my mind. It was signed...Tracy Kimball, R.N; University Hospital.

 

An address and telephone number were left.

He could tell that this wasn’t a crank, or a fake e-mail sometimes received by the society from everyone including partying frat boys, to eccentric old ladies overreacting. This was a young, accredited professional whose one request was a cry for help. Dylan had read about such experiences from various sources: the dead communicating through certain technologies but never had the society been approached on such a case.

His heart pounded with excitement, releasing a swarm of anxious butterflies from his stomach. The word “pipeline” popped into his head.

Dylan’s expertise was in EMF’s, or Electromagnetic Frequencies, used to identify the presence of a haunting through means of various technologies. If the team were allowed to study and produce results of this particular type of paranormal activity, it would be a huge success to the society. He began picturing himself in all of the published journals for the discovery that would propel him to the top in his field. Tracy Kimball was someone he had to meet.

He printed four copies of the e-mail.

“Guys, you’ve got to take a look at this,” he said.

Seated across the room were his colleagues, surfing and diving deep into Internet research, scaling different heights for the latest information both technological and mundane, and staying informed of everything current. The sound of Dylan’s voice broke the dead silence of concentration.

“We’ve just received an interesting e-mail, and I’ve printed copies for all. Everyone, roundtable.”

“Hear that? Roundtable discussion! It’s kindergarten time,” Sidney Pratt said, repeating Dylan’s request in a louder tone, teasing his terminology.

Sidney was one of four that comprised the small motley crew of paranormal investigators led by Dylan. A sarcastic wit boasted from his robust semblance, and his smart-assed quips sometimes caused them to stray from their focus. Yet, the fat, funny guy had one distinct asset well documented by the paranormal research society’s archive: Sidney Pratt could hear the dead. The society listed him as a “Listener,” a term describing those who could hear the voices of the dead as they called out from beyond.

“C’mon, Sid. You’re going to want to see this.”

Dylan took his place at the head of the table, and to his left sat Sidney and another investigator. Brett Taylor had the look of a modern day hippie, with shoulder length brown hair and a heavy, khaki green, army jacket that pre-dated him. His proficiency as a master of monitoring sound waves and detecting paranormal patterns within them was well documented. He was also noted as a technological wizard.

To Dylan’s right, sat a small, soft, angelic beauty with a pad, pen, and laptop in front of her. Leah Leeds’s blond hair, blue eyes, and tiny structure caused one to wonder how this portrait of purity and innocence hung so well fitting amid a gallery of oddities. She served as secretary and archivist to the society, her vocation of a voluntary basis, overseeing the full documentation of all cases. But her main role was of investigator because like Sidney Pratt, Leah Leeds also possessed a special talent: she could see the dead.

Various titles had been attributed to people like Leah and Sidney: medium, clairvoyant, psychic, none of which encompassed the true definition of either of their capabilities. Leah defined herself as a “Seer:” not a seer of the future, but one who saw and acknowledged the dead as they dwelled in the plain light of reality.

Her young life had changed forever the day that her parents moved into the house on Cedar Drive: a three-story, colonial fortress that captured her mother’s heart, destroyed her father’s mind, and held Leah prisoner in a world haunted by ghosts and tormented by the wrath of poltergeists.

From the second day after they’d arrived, Leah could see the dead that remained within that house, unlike her parents. They’d shrugged off the sightings as the fascinations of a child, and Leah’s “playmates” were not to be taken seriously.

They had soon discovered otherwise.

The society had record of Leah’s Cedar Drive experiences, all of which she’d transcribed in autobiographical format. Her capabilities stemmed from her first-hand experience because the ability to see ghosts and apparitions didn’t die in the child but became stronger in the adult. Both she and Sidney were powerful assets to the society, phenomenal psychic beings that were not only utilized, but studied.

Dylan passed copies of Tracy’s e-mail around the long, rectangular conference table that was surrounded by lush, purple velvet chairs. A fifty-two inch, widescreen TV and video apparatus were placed strategically at the far end of the table, providing a clear view for all seated.

The four sat in silence, reading, and the meeting of minds in synchronicity restored the deep concentration so abruptly broken earlier. Their eyes met when finished.

“So, what can we assess here?” Dylan said, quizzically.

“A voice through the television static... intense.” The far out, distant vocal tone belonged to Brett, whose persona lived up to appearance.

“That was the first incident,” Dylan said. “Brett, what’s your take on it?”

“We’ve all studied it before—sounds that are said to be voices coming through the static of televisions, radios that have gone haywire. There is a theory that the dead can manipulate these outlets as a form of communication.”

“Precisely,” Dylan said. “And she thinks she’s had other forms of contact as well, specifically, the phone.

“Try to find out when those calls came, as close as possible,” Leah said, taking notes. “We can verify through the phone company.”

Sidney joined the conversation.

“And she knows, or thinks, that this contact is from her fiancée that was killed in the accident?”

Dylan nodded.

“I wonder if she’s seen him yet,” Sidney said.

“What’s on your mind, Sid?” Dylan’s question turned all attention toward Sidney.

“I have the feeling that if she hasn’t seen him yet, she’s about to,” he said. “Other forms of contact, whether they’re noticed or not, usually occur prior to a ghostly manifestation.”

“What interests me is her patient’s last word before he died,” Leah said. “If this is the kind of activity I’m thinking of, we’re talking about something very powerful.”

Memories of the Cedar Drive house flashed in her mind, and in an instant, she blocked them and focused again.

“Yes,” Dylan said. “But if there is contact through these means of technology, then we may have proof of a theory rarely experienced.”

“The Pipeline Effect,” Sidney said.

“Exactly. It is a rare occurrence, but the theory is a strong one. It speculates that when the dead attempt to communicate through technology, they form what is called a ‘pipeline.’ The theory is thus named. There are many cases documented around the world, but conclusive proof is sometimes elusive.”

“This, of course, is not to be confused with the geological pipeline effect.” Sidney’s humor materialized at the oddest moments, causing the others to stare at each other. “Sorry, just wanted to make that clear,” he said, shrugging.

“So, we may have a case,” Brett said. “Which means—?”

Dylan interrupted him. “We have to meet Tracy Kimball... right now.”