A/N: Hi guys! Thank you so much for all the positive reviews! This update just sort of jumped on me because I hadn't really expected to update so fast. Either way, this is sort of like a small filler kind of update. Submitting this on my first draft, so I haven't done any proof-reading. I apologize in advance for any grammatical/spelling errors!

Enjoy!

xXx
CeruleanBlues


Whisper in my Ear

Chapter 2

Monday, 6.10pm

/Sam Evans

Mike is reiterating his findings on the South Oak Mansion case, but I'm not listening. My attention's fixed on the girl who's sitting front of me, her legs daintily crossed as she listens vigilantly and takes occasional notes in her pink journal. She's nibbling on her bottom lip, her dazzling golden eyes sparkling and sharp. I'm observing her, somehow fascinated by this person as I wonder what's going through her mind. There's just something about her that I can't exactly explain.

"So what happened to Harley?" she asks, her brows furrowed.

"He left after her funeral," Mike says with a shrug. "Just packed up his stuff and moved to the other side of the country. Nobody really knew where, though, but he kept his furniture and just sold the house."

"This doesn't make any sense," Quinn ponders, looking around at the group until her intense gaze lands on me. I sit up straight in my chair and shift my posture to look like I have been listening. "Why would he just leave?"

"Maybe he can't bear the pain of living in a house where his wife committed suicide," Rachel guesses out loud. She has this smile, as though she's just reached an epiphany. "There could've been too many memories."

"But he killed a patient," Quinn points out. "What's to say he didn't kill his wife, too? What if she didn't commit suicide?"

"He loved his wife," Artie tells Quinn with slow deliverance.

"Harley was an angry and jaded man," Quinn says, pointing her pen towards the photo of Harley Jones on the screen of my monitor. "He obviously wasn't thinking straight. He loved his wife, but it's only a matter of time before news starts spreading that he'd been locking her up, and that couldn't have been good for his practice."

"Quinn's got a point," I speak up. "He could've made it look like she hung herself so that people would sympathize with him. We still do not know for sure, and forensics back then weren't as evolved as what it is now."

"Does it matter?" Finn asks, his forehead pinching together like he's trying to solve a math equation. "I mean, as long as we know that it's Jane, right?"

"Except that your EVP sounds like a man," Quinn deadpans, and I'm starting to believe that she's going to be a crucial addition to the team. She's skeptical and thoroughly observant. In the span of an hour, I can also conclude that she's analytical, smart and also a blonde goddess.

"She's right," I murmur and slump back in my chair with a sigh, because we've been going in circles.

"Could it be the soldier that Jane was having an affair with?" Rachel suggests.

Everyone pauses for a moment to think.

The question that we had posed right before we received the answer was 'if anybody's here with us, could you make a noise or say something?', in which since Finn and I were doing a live-time recording, we heard the name loud and clear in our ear pieces. Also, right at the same time, we had a sudden influx in our KII EMF meter, which meant that something was present at that time. Unfortunately, we didn't capture anything abnormal on our digital video cameras, but Finn thought he had an experience. However, with nothing to back it up, his so-called 'experience' might as well be bust.

"Is it possible that it could perhaps be a residual haunting?" Quinn breaks the silence, and once again she surprises me with her use of technical phrases.

For someone who's apparently a rookie—her words, not mine—she has quite a grasp on the concept of an investigation. As a leader of the group—and I dare say a veteran in the paranormal—I'm rather impressed.

"Go on," I tell her, nodding my head.

"If there was an entity and it was trying to communicate with you, it would've done more to grab your attention. From your recordings, it's safe to say that you've asked every possible question there is, and aside from some footsteps and one unnatural reading on your KII, there's nothing much to prove it."

"So you're saying that there might not be an intelligent haunting, but the trauma and hardships that have gone on in that house could've left some residual energy," I continue for her.

"Exactly."

"Should we have another investigation in there?" Rachel proposes, the light bulb going off in her head.

"I don't think that's necessary," I say, swaying my swivel chair from side to side. "Nothing's relatively…harmful or aggressive in that house, and that's our client's main priority. I think Quinn's right. It could just be a residual-type haunting and if things start to get out of hand, they can contact us again. This mystery with Harley and Jane, we'll just have to go with what was reported and present these findings on Wednesday."

The team agrees and then it's my turn.

"Can I ask you guys something?"

We turn to face our newest member.

"How did you guys feel? You know…" She takes a deep breath, nervously toying with her fingers. "Being in that mansion knowing it's haunted?"

I feel the corner of my lips twitch upwards as I recall my countless investigations all across the country. Every single case is different on its own, and so unique in their own ways. It's hard to pick a bad one, in fact. No matter how creepy a place or situation is, there's never a word to describe it. Some locations could make the hair at the back of my neck stand even before the sun goes down, while there are some others that are mild and inconclusive. It doesn't mean that we don't take those investigations seriously, though. I've always reminded my team time and again to take full advantage of a case. You just never know when something unsuspecting would happen.

"I'm mostly down at central command," Artie tells her. "I monitor our cameras and make sure that they're functional at all times. I let the investigators know if something's amiss and they'll go check it out. Sometimes they'll radio back to me to double check on certain evidences or occurrences."

"So you don't get to investigate with them?"

Artie shrugs nonchalantly. "Sometimes I do."

"I didn't go down for this investigation," Mike says. "But the White Banks Cattle Inn was the one case I can't forget."

"I was terrified on my first investigation," Rachel reveals, and the three guys and I exchange knowing looks before bursting into snickers. "It's not funny!" the brunette squeals and slaps Finn's shoulder. "It was the Only Hope Nursing Home—even the name sounds tragic—and I don't really like old people, so you can just imagine the situation I'm in. I was determined to go in, you know, I needed to do this if I wanted to be an investigator, and Finn was my partner, and God, I was freaking out."

"You were screaming 'what if they touch me? What if they touch me?'" Finn shrieks in his best impression of Rachel, waving his arms madly in the air in a girlish sort of way. He looks stupid, but that's exactly what Rachel had done.

"So I told her that it would be amazing if she had an experience," I add on.

"And she started freaking out even more," Artie finishes for me.

"I don't blame her, though," Tina jumps in to defend her best friend. "I was scared shitless during my first investigation. It's tough because you have to block out all of your preconceptions, and just experience the location. You can't let your imagination get to you or it will drive you crazy. You've got to think like the police, like you're going in there to gather facts, and nothing is proven till something is captured."

Quinn turns to me and tilts her head in that completely adorable way. "What about you, Sam?"

"I can't explain it to you, Quinn," I tell her honestly. "It's something you'll have to find out."

She looks a little disappointed in my answer. I guess she was expecting some dramatic confessions or another, but I truly mean what I said.

"Don't worry, you'll get your chance," I gently assure her, anything to erase that wrinkle of worry between her brows. Quinn glances up to meet my gaze again and I give her a playful wink. It's probably worthy of the Cheesiest Award but I guess it works, because I get to see that beautiful smile again.


Monday, 6.45pm

/Mike Chang

Sam's staring at Quinn again, and I'm sure he doesn't realize it, but when I glance over at Artie, I know that my poor friend is in trouble. Okay, not trouble kind of trouble per se, but Sam's never been a hit with the girls. It's something even his 'sexy' lips—and I quote from the man himself—can't save.

"Should we move on now, Sam?" I cough out so as not to embarrass the guy.

"Oh, yeah, yeah," he blurt out, clearing his throat as he scramble to reach for his keyboard and mouse. I spy Artie snickering at the corner and Tina giving him a questioning look right after. She then turns to me next and I raise my hands up in surrender.

I did no shit, I mouth out to her and she rolls her eyes at me.

"Right, so," Sam begins and we all snap back to give him our full attention. "I've gone through our e-mails and as usual we have a fair share of cases to work on. We've received one all the way up in Montana, which is pretty interesting, but it's too far for us right now. We can probably investigate it during our term break."

"What's it about?" Finn asks.

"It's a historical gallery slash diner privately owned by a couple, and ever since they bought over the property, they've been having paranormal experiences," he explains, and clicks onto an image on his desktop to reveal a photo of the location. "As you can see, it's been nicely renovated and what not, but the activities hasn't stopped yet."

"What's the history of the place?"

"Glad you asked, Quinn," he grins. "In the early nineteen-hundreds, that building used to be a brothel."

My ears perk up. I've never investigated a brothel—or used-to-be brothel—before and I reckon it would be quite sweet. "When are we leaving?" I gush, the excitement of being there already running through my body.

"Hold your horses, cowboy," Rachel is quick to interrupt. She's such a party pooper. "Sam said we won't be able to investigate that location until term break."

"What are the claims there?" Artie questions.

"The owners said that they've heard voices, like people shouting at each other," Sam proceeds on, ticking the points with his fingers. "Sometimes glasses in the bar area would fall on their own. There's also a picture on the wall that refuses to stay up there. They'll always fix a new nail and it'll always end up on the floor a week or so later."

"Have they tried hanging the picture somewhere else?" Rachel wonders out loud.

Sam shakes his head. "Doesn't seem like it. Other claims they've had were footsteps that sounded like there were spurs attached—"

"Like a cowboy?" I quirk an eyebrow, amused.

He nods. "Just like a cowboy," he replies. "Also, they've heard knockings on the kitchen door when the place closes at night. One of the employees claimed that she always feel uncomfortable whenever she's working at the bar, like someone's watching her."

"Wow, that's a lot of activity," Finn notes.

"What's next?" Tina asks.

"There's a girl, Brittany S. Pierce, who goes here in San-State U, but she's from Pennsylvania, and she thinks that her house is sort of haunted."

"Sort-of haunted?" Artie snorts. "Dude, it's either haunted or it's not."

Tina whacks him near his neck. She doesn't appreciate sarcasm or douchebag-like remarks.

"Well, she visits her family every now and then, and every time she goes back, she's got an experience," Sam explains. "Her bedside lamp switches on and off without her touching it, she feels like she's constantly being watched. Once, she saw a black shadowy figure in a corner of her room."

"Did it just happen recently?"

"I don't know, Quinn," he politely replies, and I'm starting to realize that he's saying her name an awful lot. "She didn't exactly specify."

"Wait, did you say Brittany S. Pierce?" Rachel cuts in.

"Yeah."

"I have her in my Creative Writing class," the brunette informs the group. "She's always been kind of strange, to me, I mean."

"Strange, how?" Finn scrunches his nose quizzically.

"She's always had a…" Rachel makes circling gestures with her hands, thinking of a suitable adjective. "colourful—for a lack of a better word—imagination. Her essays are usually about this fantasy world she builds in her head, filled with rainbows and unicorns. Just last week, she was convinced that her cat is a leprechaun in disguise."

The awkward pause in the room is promptly followed by the sound of crickets in my ear.

"So you're saying it's probably just something she's making up?" Sam asks.

"Probably."

"Hang on," Quinn steps in, her investigative mode kicking in. If there's one thing I've noticed about her—apart from her obvious beauty and grace—it's that she's always cautious of her words. "But you said she thinks of rainbows and unicorns. How is that any relation to something paranormal in her room? If she's anything like you say she is, then she would probably ask us to investigate the pot of gold that hasn't appeared at the foot of her bed."

Wow, she's good.

Perhaps she'll be a psychologist some day.

"That doesn't make any sense."

"Oh, Finn, you poor bastard," Artie comments snidely, receiving another smack from Tina.

"Well, that does seem possible…" Rachel muses.

"Maybe she just needs to see someone," I say.

Tina points her glare at me. "Like a shrink?"

"She could just be having hallucinations," I shoot back to defend my point.

"We should go talk to her and find out more," Sam tells everyone, taking charge of the meeting again. "Get to know her better and then re-asses the situation to see if we need to do an investigation. Rachel, since you're a familiar face, I appoint you to that task. I don't need immediate answers or anything. This is a delicate situation. Give her some time to loosen up to you."

The brunette nods her head determinedly.

"Any questions?"

"No, Sam."

"Great, then let's carry on," Sam says authoritatively. "We have one more case, and I think you'll love this one."

He conjures up a photo from the taskbar and my eyes widen at the sight. I hear Tina gasp and Artie mutter a profanity under his breath. I take a quick peek at Quinn and she's squinting her hazel eyes and scrutinizing on the picture. Sam's staring at her again. Poor chap doesn't even know he's doing it so blatantly, and Rachel and Finn seem indifferent. They had probably already seen the image then.

"That's really clear, dude," I comment, still amazed. "What's the story behind it?"

Sam proceeds to explain the situation of a baby-sitter and how she managed to snap a photo with her camera phone. All I can think of is that it must've scared the crap out of her, especially since she seemed more concerned for the child instead of her own safety. I'm all for cases like this one, truly helping out the people who are thoroughly affected by such paranormal phenomenon, and I wouldn't mind taking this up.

"Shall we do it?" Sam asks the group.

"Heck, yeah!" I yell out, and I'm accompanied by positive responses from everyone else.

"Alright then, Tina, I'd like for you to arrange a convenient time and date with the client for a short interview and a walk-through, and then another day for the investigation," he instructs. "Rachel, please don't forget about Brittany. Mike, run through the records and try to find out how many items in the mansion still belong to Harley Jones. Artie, good job on the Ovilus. Hopefully we can use it on our next investigation. Finn…never mind."

I snicker as I see Finn's face fall flat.

"And Quinn…"

She looks up at him expectantly, her hazel eyes sparkling and blonde hair shining, and I'm quite certain for that split second, Sam forgets his words.

"Welcome to the team."

With that, meeting is adjourned.

I start to pack my stuff up, remembering to gather the rest of the printouts from my desk. Artie's packing the new gadget back into the box, treating it with so much care you'd think it's a bomb in his hands. Finn is engaged in a conversation with Rachel—well, Rachel is doing all the talking and all Finn is doing is nod his head—and Tina's showing Quinn our huge-ass wall calendar. It's just this giant corkboard that fills up one corner of the room. We stick important dates up there as well as all of our class and work schedules. Yes, some of us—including yours truly—has to work part-time in order to afford the smaller luxuries in life, like this passion for the paranormal. We all tend to travel a lot whenever we're working on cases, and gas prices are getting so pricey nowadays, most of our allowances aren't able to cover it.

I take a quick glance down at my wristwatch.

Shit, I'm going to be late!

My shift starts in twenty minutes.

"Hey, Quinn."

I peek over my shoulder and notice that everyone else has left, conveniently leaving Sam with his present object of affections. Smirking to myself, I continue shuffling things around and try to look busy. This is going to be worth a little bit of nagging from my manager.

"Sam."

"So…I was thinking, you know, to go grab some dinner. Are you…available? I mean to join me for a burger or something?"

I can just picture her amusement.

"Oh, well, actually I need to head home. I've got a paper due tomorrow and…"

Awkward.

"No, it's okay!" Sam blurts out.

"I'm sorry, it's not—"

"No, I understand. It's fine, really," he tells her, and as I steal another glimpse, I can see the telltale blush colouring his cheeks. "Do you need a ride?"

"I drive."

"Right, okay…"

"Thanks for the offer though. Rain check on the burger?"

"Yeah, sure!" Sam says breathlessly. I'm almost embarrassed for him. "That sounds great!"

"I'll see you around, Sam."

"Yeah, drive safe, Quinn."

I hear her footsteps as she strides out of the room and turn around. "Dude, that's just lame," I mention to him.

He rolls his eyes, his attempt half-hearted. "Shut up."

"Stop being so obvious. It's making the rest of us look bad," I chuckle.

"How am I being obvious?" he asks, shuffling his way over to his desk.

I fold my arms across my chest. "You were drooling over her the moment she stepped in."

"I did not!" he denies indignantly, chucking a stack of post-it notes towards me, narrowly missing my head by a bit.

"You did too, but I don't blame you. Quinn's smoking hot."

"She's beautiful," he corrects me pointedly and focuses on shutting down his computer. Sam's such a gentleman. He hates it when the rest of us objectifies or degrades a girl.

"Fine," I give in. "She's gorgeous, but that's not cool, man."

"I was just asking her if she wanted to go grab dinner. It's not a big deal."

"It is if you've just known her for an hour."

Sam sighs and runs his fingers through his hair. "It's those eyes, Mike."

"I know what you mean."


A/N: Like my previous chapter, let me know what you think! Constructive criticism is always appreciated as well :D

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