October 20th

"We can't find anyone else. You're going to have to help out with the investigation."

Greg glares at Roz. "No way. No way in flaming hell."

"Take it or leave it. If you don't make up the third member of the team, we can't do a proper job." Roz calls his bluff, something of a surprise. Greg really hadn't expected this turn of events.

"It's a damn broom closet, for god's sake!" he growls. "You can't fit more than one person in there at a time, why the hell do you want to cram three—"

"One person to run the monitors at base, one person in the hallway, one person in the office after everything's been set up." Roz folds her arms, careful to keep the injured one on top. "Hey, you came to me asking for us to scope things out. It's no skin off my nose if we don't do it."

Greg recognizes the opening bid of a shrewd and canny bargainer. He pushes away his amusement. "Oh, bullshit. You'll take on any case just to pump your stats."

"Says you," Roz counters. Her green eyes gleam. "Do you have any idea how much an investigation costs in fresh batteries and tapes alone? In case you hadn't noticed, my last name isn't Rockefeller."

"And mine isn't Credulous-Idiot," Greg snaps. "Go ask Sarah."

"I'm asking you." She narrows her gaze. "What's the matter? Afraid you might see or hear something you can't explain?"

"Highly unlikely. I won't discover-" Too late he sees the trap she's laid. He wags a finger at her. "Clever minx. I haven't agreed to anything."

"See you at your office at eight for an equipment tutorial," Roz says, triumphant in her victory. "Don't even think of backing out." She saunters past him, nose in the air. As she walks by he resists the urge to lean in and steal a kiss.

"Well well," a voice says from the dining room. It's the Brit. He sounds amused. "The skeptic forced to put up or shut up. That should be an interesting turn of events."

Greg is of two minds about Gordon. He is far too observant; on the other hand, he's funny as hell and thoroughly grounded in reality, a pleasant change of attitude from most shrinks (Sarah excepted). "Go back to your pots and pans, Gordon Ramsay."

"Ah, savaged yet again by that rapier wit," the Brit says, still much too cheerful. "Since we're stranded together here like commuters on a broken-down train, why we shouldn't get to know each other a little better? Seems a fine idea to me, don't you agree?"

"No," Greg says, and is stymied in his attempt at escape by the entrance of Sarah.

"I hear you're joining the investigation tonight," she says. He inspects her expression for mockery or ridicule. Finding none, he says

"She tricked me into it."

"Of course," Sarah says in a dry tone. "You're such an easy mark."

"No, really," he protests. "Just because you wouldn't help out, now I'm stuck traipsing around with a camera in hand looking for spooks."

"Get over it," Sarah says, unconcerned. "You'll have a great time, take my word for it."

"Says you," he mutters. If word of this ever gets back to Princeton-Plainsboro—and stranger things have happened, he's here to testify to that truth—his reputation as supreme skeptic will be shattered beyond any repair.

"Just go and have a good time. Do what Roz tells you to and keep an open mind. Just not so open your brains fall out," Sarah says, and flashes him that grin that tells him they are kindred spirits in this matter.

[H]

"This is insane. I'm not going to ask these questions," Greg said again. Roz pushed a strand of hair behind her ear and struggled to contain her impatience.

"It's standard procedure. If—and I do mean if-someone wants to communicate, isn't it a good idea to give them a chance to speak to us?"

"You're already presuming there's a possibility for the existence of a disembodied intelligence to give you answers." Greg shook his head. "That's setting up expectations that your mind will try to fulfill."

"I said if, not when. Anyway, if no one's there, no one will answer," Roz said. "Why not take a chance?"

"Because it's stupid," Greg said, clearly annoyed.

"Fine." Roz gave up. "Then you man the base and I'll do the office." She took the digital audio recorder out of his grasp and tucked it into her right hand, snagged the camcorder and nodded at the chair placed in front of a makeshift desk with a monitor. "Easy peasy. Just keep an eye on the screen, switch out tapes on the stationary hi-8 camera when I ask you to, and have the batteries and extra tapes handy. We tend to go through a lot of them, especially if the site is active."

"Especially if the site is active," Greg said under his breath in falsetto. Roz glared at him.

"You're the one who wanted this. If you've changed your mind, I'll be happy to pack up and go home. Your choice."

"I was just kidding. Jeez, you're touchy," Greg grumbled. "You'd better be sure you aren't on the rag."

"Oh, shut up. We need to do EMF and temperature sweeps of the hall and the office to get baseline readings. You checked to see if there are any patients in the main ward or anyone working late, right?" She addressed the question to Tony, who stood on the sidelines with an impassive expression.

"Yeah. No patients, no one in any of the other offices." He held up both instruments. "I'll take care of that now. Meanwhile, why don't you two keep on arguing? You're pretty good at it. If I didn't know better I'd swear you were married." He took off before Roz could say anything, but not before she caught a glimpse of a grin.

"Smartass," she muttered.

"You just can't stand a taste of your own medicine," Greg said. Roz set down the voice recorder with care, then flipped him the bird. It hurt a little, but it was worth it to make him laugh.

[H]

"Can you tell me your name please?"

Roz sits in the middle of his office. Greg watches her on the monitor. She is quiet, her tone respectful. She has examined every inch of the small space with camcorder in hand, methodical, thorough, steady, and asked questions the entire time. An hour ago there was a brief but impressive spike in the EM field and the voice recorder's batteries failed, but nothing since then. Greg sips his Coke and switches his attention to Tony and the stationary camera in the hallway. Nothing has happened there at all; the young guy prowls the corridor with a digital camera and takes pictures now and then.

"Are you the one who pulled out the files and took things?" Roz does a slow sweep of the space around her with the camcorder. "You can talk into the little box in my right hand—" She stops, glances at her watch. "Ten twenty-nine, Greg's office. Something just tugged on my hair," she whispers into the voice recorder. Greg rolls his eyes. He keys the walkie-talkie.

"Mwuaaaaaahahahahahaaaaaa," he intones, giving her his best evil chortle. Roz sets down the recorder and snatches up the walkie-talkie.

"Knock it off," she snaps. "This is serious, whether you want to believe it is or not."

"Are you troubled by strange noises in the middle of the night? Do you experience feelings of dread in your basement or attic?" Greg says.

"Dammit Greg—"

"Have you or any of your family ever seen a spook, spectre or ghost?" He can hear Tony snort with laughter in the corridor. "If the answer is yes, then don't wait another minute—"

"Greg, shut UP!" Roz tries hard not to break, but she's already lost the battle.

"—pick up your phone and call the professionals . . . Upstate New York Paranormal Researchers. Our courteous and efficient staff is on call twenty-four hours a day to serve all your supernatural elimination needs."

"We're ready to believe you!" Tony says from the corridor.

"You guys," Roz groans, and picks up the digital audio. "Personal conversation with two keyed mikes," she says into the recorder with weary resignation. "If anyone's out there trying to communicate, my apologies."

"Doesn't look to me like we'll get much activity tonight," Tony says. "I got nothin' out here. No fluctuations at all, steady as a rock. Digital's not showing anything either."

"It's early yet," Roz says. "Remember we've got change of shift about to start. Be sure to note it in the log and on the recorders. We'll probably get some interference from people coming and going, maybe a phone or two for the next hour or so. We should check for wi-fi overlap too."

"The Stay-Puft marshmallow man shows up, I'm breakin' out the toasting sticks," Greg says. "Mwuaaaaaahahahahahaaaaaa!"

Roz bows her head and sighs.

October 21st

"I brought something for you to move, to show me you're here." Roz held up a stuffed animal—a little sheep with a woolly coat. "I'm going to put it on the floor in front of me. If you'd like to take it, go ahead." She put the toy a couple of feet away, drew a circle around it in chalk for reference and eased back. She moved the camcorder in an even sweep across the area. She was tired now, and her arm hurt; soon she'd have to trade with Tony or take a half-hour cat nap, as she was distracted by the need for rest combined with the pain. "Would you rather have something—"

Something tugged on her hair, exactly as it had occurred earlier in the evening. It felt playful, almost teasing. She froze, then slowly turned her head from side to side, to see if anything at her collar or shoulders could snag a strand. She'd made sure not to wear jewelry of any kind, and her crew-neck tee shirt had a simple ribbed opening with no tags.

"Twelve fifty-four, Greg's office," she said into the recorder. "Another tug on my hair."

"You're almost asleep," Greg said over the walkie-talkie. "You're imagining things."

Roz ignored him. "Do it again, please," she said, and jumped when there was another yank, a bit more forceful this time but not enough to cause any discomfort. "That was a good one," she said into the recorder. "Thanks. Can you tug on something else? My clothes?" She set down the digital audio and picked up the walkie-talkie. "Greg, can you still see me on the stationary camera?" She'd moved a time or two since they'd initially set up the IR camera.

"Yes," Greg said. "You're in full view. Too bad you're not naked."

Roz resisted the urge to roll her eyes. "Thanks," she said dryly, and gasped as a ripple of sensation ran down her injured arm. It was as if a small finger had trailed over her bandages.

"What is it?" Greg asked, his tone sharp.

"Some kind of—of touch on my arm," Roz said. "Like someone's fingertip . . ." She stopped as a chill swept over her. She set the camcorder on the desk so that it faced her and picked up the temperature gauge, pointed it at herself. The number fell, slow and steady. Seventy-two . . . seventy-one . . . seventy . . . She watched in disbelief as it took a rapid plunge straight to sixty and fell even lower. Cold swept through her and she tried to blow out a breath, convinced it would be seen as fog in that bitter chill. A loud noise behind her made her jump.

"What the fuck was that?" Greg said. He sounded shocked and a little excited. Roz had just enough time to smile at his reaction when she sensed movement above and behind her. A moment later a file careened past her to hit the floor. Papers scattered everywhere.

"Did you catch that?" Roz snatched up the camcorder and cursed when her damaged arm spasmed. She'd used her right hand without thinking. "Shit! Make sure you're getting this, dammit!"

"What the hell's going on?" Tony said from the corridor.

"Keep taking pictures and get in here!" Roz snapped. She struggled to stay calm, switched the camcorder to her left hand, felt another tug on her hair and heard something, some sort of liquid gurgle or noise, in her right ear. Please don't let me wake up and find out this was a dream, she thought as Tony entered the office and fired off a barrage of shots. The chill disappeared as if it had never been. She watched the numbers on the temperature gauge begin to climb, and shivered. The office was silent except for the sound of her breath and the steady click and flash of the camera.

"Well," Tony said after a few minutes, "whatever was going on in here, it isn't now."

Roz let go a held breath and switched off the camcorder. "Wow," she said, and found she shook a little.

"Yeah." Tony sat on the edge of the desk. He looked exhilarated.

"That's enough," Greg said. He sounded almost angry. "You need to get out of there. Let Tony take your place for a while."

"Yeah," Roz said, and wiped a strand of hair out of her face. "Yeah, okay."

[H]

Roz stirs a little and then sits up slowly. She took a power nap on the cot that seems to be part of the standard equipment for the group; in the dim light she still looks tired but a little better than before. Greg sits back and extends his Coke.

"Take your meds," he says. Roz shakes her head but accepts the can anyway. She has a sip, then another, and gives it back to him.

"Thanks. Not till after the investigation is done."

"Pain is just as mind-altering an influence as drugs," he says, annoyed at her stubbornness.

"I'm not hurting that much," she says quietly. "Anyway, I'd rather be a little achy and alert than medicated with my reaction time slowed down."

"I don't know," he says. "You duck pretty fast."

Roz chuckles as she gets to her feet. She cradles her bandaged arm. "Any activity?" she asks, as she comes over to stand by him.

"Not the kind I'd like," he says in a lascivious tone. He slips a hand around the sweet little curve of her ass.

"Cut it out," Roz says, her exasperation plain. She steps away. "Be serious, Greg."

"Oh, come on," he scoffs. "We'll look at the video and find out there's a natural explanation for everything that's happened tonight."

"That's probably true," she says. "But we won't find any more evidence if we're in here fooling around. We're not done investigating yet." Her expression softens. "Save it for later, okay?"

It's the first time in several weeks that she's expressed an overt desire to be with him. He feels unaccountably cheered by this realization. "Yeah, I guess."

She comes closer and drops a kiss on the top of his head, right on his bald spot. "Good."

"Do you have to remind me I'm losing hair by the minute?" he bitches, just to make her laugh. He's successful and even gets another kiss out of it, this time on his temple.

"Doesn't matter," she says. He knows she means it, and allows himself to enjoy the warmth it generates deep inside.

[H]

"Okay, let's pack up." Roz looked at the potential evidence to be reviewed and felt a sense of weary satisfaction.

It didn't take long to get the office cleared of equipment. They were winding up the last of the DVR cables when Doctor Wirth appeared. "Stop by the lounge before you go," she said. "I'd like to hear about how your night went, if you're not too tired. Breakfast is on me."

There was fresh coffee, a box of doughnuts and sausage and biscuit sandwiches. "This is way above and beyond the call," Roz said as she stirred cream into her cup. "Thanks, Doc."

"We're gonna have to investigate here more often," Tony said, and snagged a coconut maple doughnut.

Soon enough they were congregated around the main table as they talked about the events of the night. Greg said little or nothing, but Roz sensed his skepticism had not so much been replaced but perhaps changed a bit, altered by what he'd seen and heard.

"So a file came flying at you?" Wirth sipped her coffee.

"A file fell past me to the floor," Roz said. "I have no idea if it was deliberately aimed at me because I don't know if anything or anyone actually threw it." She caught Greg's glance and saw grudging approval in his eyes before he looked away. "It was right after I offered the toy . . ." She faltered to a stop. Oh my god, she thought. A surge of excitement shot through her.

"What is it?" Tony asked around a mouthful of sausage biscuit.

"Where's the sheep?" Roz set aside her cup and got to her feet. "I didn't put it back in the equipment box. Did anyone else pick it up?"

Tony shook his head. "Nope."

"No big deal," Greg said, his tone dismissive. "You just left it behind."

"Okay. I'll go check just in case," Roz said. "Back shortly."

Actually she returned in under two minutes. "We need the full-spectrum video camera and voice recorders," she said, and steadied her voice when she heard it shake. "The EMF detectors and the thermometer too. Hurry!"

"Did you find the toy?" Tony asked.

"Get the stuff on the double!" Roz snapped, and took off at a run for the truck.

At the door of the office everyone simply stopped in their tracks. Roz lifted the full-spectrum camera and began to pan across the room, right to left, then up and down. "Six thirty-one a.m.," she said out loud. Her hands shook. "We left the office area for approximately twenty minutes, with no stationary camera or anyone watching. On our return, this is what we found."

Files were scattered everywhere, with a couple of textbooks pulled out and apparently dumped on the floor as an afterthought. In the middle of Greg's desk sat two balls, placed a few inches apart on the blotter. His desk chair had been turned upside-down but was otherwise undamaged. Tony began to take pictures, then stopped.

"Battery's dead," he said, his voice terse. "I just replaced it."

"Greg, get a fresh battery," Roz said, and was surprised to see him limp off at high speed to do just that. Within two minutes the new battery was drained as well. Roz handed the camera to Greg. "Point it at the middle of the room where the files are," she said, and scurried to the equipment chest to get a second voice recorder.

"This battery's draining fast too," Greg said. He sounded incredulous.

"Dammit!" Roz turned on the recorder. "If you would like to say something, please speak into this device," she said, trying hard to stay steady and polite. "Can you tell us if you had anything to do with the files and books being thrown to the floor?"

She managed another half-dozen questions before the first voice recorder died. Thirty seconds later the full-spectrum camera joined it, and a minute later, the backup digital audio. To her astonishment, even the EMF detector succumbed—something she had never seen happen before. It was more disturbing than she wanted to admit.

"I'm feeling really cold," Tony said. "Like there's a draft across my back or something."

"Yeah . . ." Roz faltered to a stop. That light-as-air touch had returned. It skimmed the length of her forearm to the bulky dressing on her damaged finger. For one moment she had an impression of sorrow, an emotion she somehow knew was completely outside her own mind—sadness for me, she thought in astonishment—and then it was gone.

Within five minutes all batteries were at full charge and the room was back to baseline temperature.

[H]

"We didn't find the sheep," Roz says to Sarah. They sit around the dining room table with the remains of Doctor Wirth's breakfast, supplemented by fresh coffee. "I almost took that office apart looking for it. It isn't in the truck or any of the equipment boxes either."

"It has to be in there somewhere," Greg says. "It's wedged in the closet or underneath something."

"That's possible," Roz says. She surprises him once more with her willingness to consider all options. "It would be a good idea to search again to make sure I didn't miss it."

"I'll get right on that," he says, and yawns.

"Take a nap first," Sarah says. "You'll manage another one at work I'm sure, but an hour or two in your own bed couldn't hurt."

"All alone?" He gives Roz his best innocent look. She rolls her eyes, but her heart isn't in it.

"No way. I've got evidence to review."

"Not right now you don't," Sarah says. "Bed for you too."

"See?" Greg spreads his hands. "I sleep better with company."

"In that case I'll send Hellboy down, he's a total snuggle bunny," Roz says, her tone dry.

"Nobody ever lets me have any fun," he mutters.

"And on that note I'm outta here." Tony puts down his cup, stands up and takes his jacket from the back of the chair. "Let me know when you're ready to review."

"I will. See you later." Roz sits back in her chair. She is clearly exhausted but excited too. Greg is surprised to find he shares her feelings almost exactly.

"Get some rest," Sarah says. "I'll take care of cleaning up."

Half an hour later he's in bed and is almost asleep when he feels something, a lump of some kind, down by his feet. "Get off," he grumbles, and pushes at it with his foot, thinking it's the damn cat. To his surprise he finds that whatever it is, it's not under the blankets but on top. Upon inspection he finds a small stuffed woolly sheep tucked under the comforter. He stares at it, picks it up, turns it over in his hands. Someone must have put it in my jacket pocket . . . but it's big enough for me to have noticed it. But I'd like to know how it got under the quilt.

"Well, at least it isn't a damn horse's head," he says aloud after a few minutes of futile differential. He sets the little toy on his nightstand and turns his back, eyes closed as he wills sleep to come.

[H]

Everyone had congregated at the dining room table, where Roz had requested the equipment be set up. They advanced the video to the moment when all hell had broken loose.

"It could be the forced-air heater coming on," Sarah said.

Roz ran the video back to the moment of the noise, about five seconds before the file folder came hurtling down just past her head. "It was seventy-two degrees baseline in the office."

"The thermostat in the office could be messed up," Tony said. He studied the video frame, his head tilted to one side. "You might ask Diane to have someone check the zones."

"Yeah, because she's got a money jar with an endless supply of thousand-dollar bills," Greg said with considerable sarcasm. Roz winced, but Tony just gave him a wry look.

"Has it been too hot or cold that you've noticed?" Sarah asked. Greg shook his head.

"I haven't been in there enough lately to notice any problems. But the duct is right above the folders. If it came on forcefully enough, it could send them flying. That could also explain the noise you heard right before things started happening."

"That's a possibility," Roz said. She paused. "I don't know if the air conditioning's been turned off for the winter yet, but I'll find out for sure."

"So what about the books?" Sarah wanted to know. "Those are fairly heavy reference texts. How did they get on the floor?"

"It's possible the abrupt change in temperature—" Greg began, then shook his head. "I'm still not convinced someone didn't come along and stage all of this for our benefit."

Roz felt her cheeks grow warm. "I'm a suspect then," she said quietly.

"You wouldn't do that," Tony said. This time he sent Greg a direct look.

"I was thinking more along the lines of the nurses," Greg said. He watched Roz closely. "They've got it in for me because I haven't memorized their names yet, which is pointless because all nurses are interchangeable. Sort of like cogs in some big machine."

"I can see why you're so popular," Sarah said, her tone dry. "Why don't you suspect Roz?"

Greg shifted his gaze away from Roz. "Haven't said I don't."

"You don't," Sarah said. "Otherwise you would have accused her first thing."

"Maybe I'm biding my time, waiting to expose her as a fraud," Greg said. Roz felt a little sting of hurt but no surprise. She'd expected this attitude.

"Hey," Tony says, and now it's obvious he's upset. "She's not a fake, okay?"

"I wouldn't worry, Anthony. He doesn't believe an iota of what he's just stated," Gordon said. He sat quietly in the half-shadows, a silent observer to this point. "Sarah is correct. You would have made no scruple about accusing Roz of duplicity if you felt it was an accurate and truthful charge."

"I find it very hard to believe she could have pulled more files out of the bookcase, thrown two books to the floor, turned a chair upside down and taken two balls out to display on your desk, all with one hand more or less, in the time between leaving the lounge and returning," Sarah said. "You and Tony both said it was as if she turned around immediately and came back."

"No, I could have done it if I'd really wanted to," Roz said. Greg turned to stare at her, surprised. "But I was pretty tired by then and hurting. I think I'd have been a lot more winded when I got back to the office than I was, even accounting for adrenaline rush."

Sarah looked at Tony and tapped the screen with her finger. "Can we advance frame by frame?"

They watched in silence as the file flew by Roz's head in slow motion. As her eyes tracked it, Roz caught a movement, just a flicker but still there. "There," she said, and took the video back a few frames. "Look at the back of my head."

Two frames in, a lock of her hair moved as if it was being tugged or pulled. "Wow," Sarah whispered. She rubbed her arms. "Chills."

"It could be her hair catching on something," Greg said. "We can't see the ends, they're out of frame."

"That's possible," Roz said. "But I checked, and there was nothing snagging my hair that I could see—I wasn't wearing jewelry, and no tags on my shirt."

"A breeze, then," Greg said. "Something from the air duct."

"Easy enough to check that," Tony said.

The rest of the video showed nothing of significance. Roz stopped the video and sat back.

"We'll need to go back and do some debunking," she said. "More investigations too, over a series of weeks and under different conditions. But we've still got the rest of the video to go through from this camera and the others, as well as the digital pictures. We'll know better what we need to do when we get all the evidence reviewed."

After Tony's gone home and they've been left alone by the other residents of the house Roz says quietly, "Are you coming back on the next investigation?"

"Are you kidding? Of course," Greg says. He sits down next to her in the spot Sarah vacated and lets his leg press against hers. "I'd never pass up an opportunity to explore the truth."

"Or your girlfriend," Roz says dryly.

"Her too," he admits.

"I see." She leans over to kiss his cheek. "Close enough for government work."

Greg turns his head and brushes his lips over hers, then takes the last word—or more accurately, chortle.

"Mwuaaaaaahahahahahaaaaaa . . ."