Disclaimer: Blah blah blah...no ownage.blah blah blah.no money.blah blah blah.don't sue me. Merci!
A/N: Thanks to all those who reviewed, I've never got this many reviews in so short a time before! Thanks guys, especially you Magdalena. I, too, am irritated. Hence, why this story is being written. Thank you all so much, enjoy!
Chapter 2: The Interview
This, Dennis thought, is why the hell not. He had followed Kriticos' instructions from the day before to an office building downtown, not far from the library. Now he was sitting in a sparsely-furnished fifth-floor waiting room, awaiting his prospective employer to get the time to see him.
A cheery blonde secretary had taken his name and informed him that Mr. Kriticos would only be a few minutes, directing Dennis to take a seat. There were only three chairs in the room. One was the swivel chair the secretary was perched on and the other two were across the room. Dennis plopped down into one of them, gritting his teeth. It was new and expensive-looking, but rock-hard. As he shifted, trying to get comfortable, his eyes scanned the room. Even though there was no reason to believe otherwise, Dennis got a feeling that this office wasn't used much. Oh, it was clean and everything; immaculate in fact. The industrial carpet was spotless gray, the chairs and small table containing Newsweek magazines was polished, and there were tasteful watercolors on the squeaky clean white walls. The only other furniture in the room was the pine desk the secretary sat behind. The secretary herself was pretty but not slutty, and had a cheerful yet businesslike manner. The desk was complete with a fax machine that, in the five minutes Dennis had been here, hadn't received anything, and honestly, (though Dennis didn't claim to know about these new machines, the library's fax had been ancient) didn't appear even to be turned on. The desk had a phone, but it had yet to ring, and a computer which the secretary typed lazily away at, as if she had all the time in the world. It was like out of a movie or something. Perfect, like. Dennis fought back a shiver. Maybe.too perfect?
Dennis made a face at himself. 'Don't be stupid,' he thought, 'you're just nervous and your mind's making up stuff to get you even more worried.'
But he couldn't shake the feeling that, somehow, this wasn't what Cyrus Kriticos' office worked like when there was nobody around. And then there had been the receptionist when he had entered the main floor of the building. When Dennis had asked him where he could find the office of Kriticos Enterprises, the man had presented a blank look for half a second before giving Dennis a fake smile and directing him to the fifth floor. Dennis had felt the guy's eyes on him all the way to the elevator. It was almost as if the guy hadn't recognized the name right away.odd.
'Or,' Dennis rebuked himself silently, 'you could be just imagining things, and being out in public in an unfamiliar place has got you on edge.'
Before he could finish that thought, the secretary looked up and smiled a cheery smile at him.
"Mr. Kriticos will see you now, Mr. Rafkin," she stated formally, pointing to a door at the back of the room with a plaque proclaiming 'C. Kriticos'.
Dennis got to his feet, shaking slightly with nerves and his growing paranoia. He chanced a glance down at himself as he strode across the room. He was dressed as he would be for any other job interview, in a silky red dress shirt, dark blazer and dark blue cotton pants. His hair was gelled and mussed on his head in modern style, aided by the stiff wind outside.
He approached the door, took a steadying breath, and reached for the doorknob. But before he could touch it, it swung inwards on its own. Quickly retracting his hand, Dennis stepped into the room. It, too, was sparsely furnished. There was a large window facing the street, not unlike Gina's office, and before the window loomed a huge dark wood desk. The desk held no computer, no phone, nothing other than an intercom used to contact the secretary and a book which Kriticos had no doubt been reading before Dennis came in. There was a chair in front of the desk, and one behind it. The latter held the man who was, Dennis assumed, Mr. Cyrus Kriticos.
The guy looked like he sounded; Dennis registered the graying hair, expensive suit and face lined with age and something else - the word cruelty crossed Dennis' mind before something else hit him. There was no other furniture in the room, but there was this strange writing on the walls.it looked like some ancient rune lettering or something. Suddenly, the door slammed shut behind him. Dennis jumped about a foot in the air, his heart jumping into his throat and making it hard to breathe.
Then it hit him: the familiar cold that preludes.
The first wave of pain had Dennis on his knees, clutching his head and moaning. Not again, not now.
"Aggghhh!"
*A desk, long blonde hair, long legs, "Hello, Sampson and associates, how may I.", Money, success, "C'mon, no one will know"."I'll know.", Sex, love, success, wife, girlfriend, "No honey, it's not what it looks like." Please, no." Gun, knife, can't tell, can't know, this has to end, knife, blood, No! Please, no! Knife, blood, bleeding, screaming, No! I thought you loved me, no.blood everywhere, screaming, pain, pain, blood, more pain, red, gun, goodbye, BANG!*
Dennis was on the ground by now, the visions roiling over him. He convulsed on himself.
"Go away! I see you! Leave me alone! Ahh!"
The visions replayed over in his head. He saw the blood on the walls, the guy blowing his brains out, the two bodies, one on the floor, one draped over the desk. And over it all, closer and yet somehow farther away, the sound of deep voice saying words that made no sense.
And then it was over, the visions stopped and the pain ebbed. Dennis opened his eyes, blinking through the tears of pain and horror. When he could see clearly again, he raised his head. A wave of nausea swept over him and he got a blinding head rush before he steadied himself enough to dig in his pocket for his meds. Popping three dry, he forced his shaking muscles to heave him to his feet and turned toward Kriticos' desk, wondering if perhaps the man had gone to call for help or something.
But no. Kriticos just sat there, calm as anything, as if nothing out of the ordinary had just happened. The older man steepled his fingers and rested his chin on them, smiling smugly as if Dennis had just proven a point the man had made. There was no sign of the usual wariness that came when Dennis had one of his attacks, no sign of alarm or even surprise. It was as if Kriticos had been expecting it. But that was stupid. Unless.
Dennis thought about it. First there had been the bizarre job offer, then the confused guy at the front desk, the too-perfect secretary, the sterile-looking office, and now this man who didn't find it at all odd that Dennis had just had what must have looked like a full-blown epileptic fit. And suddenly it all fit together.
"This isn't your real office, is it?" he accused, pointing at Kriticos. He backed slowly away, edging back toward the door. He had to get out of here. Now. He kept pointing at the old man who now looked nothing other than amused.
"You probably don't even have an office, do you? There is no Kriticos Enterprises, I looked it up I the phone book. You tipped off the guy downstairs, right? So he'd lead me up here for you? And you hired the secretary to make it look real."
Dennis must have sounded crazy, but to his surprise Kriticos nodded.
"That's quite correct. Very good, Mr. Rafkin, I didn't expect you to get it that quickly. I'm impressed."
Dennis reached the door and grabbed the handle. He had heard stories, through discreet searches he had made, about people who thought it was fun to capture so-called psychics and use them for their own purposes. Was that what Kriticos wanted? Dennis wasn't about to be exploited that way. Nuh uh.
He twisted the handle. It didn't budge. Biting his lip, Dennis turned his back reluctantly on Kriticos and tugged at the door. Nothing. The sound of chuckling arose behind him. So the old guy was having a good time. That made one of them.
Dennis swung back around.
"Look, man, I'm not sure what kind of game you're playing here, but I'm not going to be a part of it. So how 'bout you just let me outta here before I have to force my way out."
At that, Kriticos actually threw his head back and roared with laughter. Dennis frowned. This guy was crazier than he was! Wiping tears of mirth from his eyes, Kriticos cleared his throat.
"Mr. Rafkin, I doubt very much that you could force your way out of this office by any means short of jumping through the window and falling five stories to the pavement. Now, I've done nothing to harm you. In fact, I believe I delivered you from your encounter by banishing the ghosts, so please, if you'll just sit down, I'll fill you in on my job offer."
Dennis just stood there, stunned. He couldn't have heard what he thought he had just heard.
Kriticos gestured to the chair across the desk from him and, dazed, Dennis crossed the room on shaking legs and sat.
"Now," Kriticos began, "what you just experienced, Mr. Rakfin, was a test. I had to know if you were really as psychic as my sources claimed you were, and so I arranged to have this office rented to me for the day. I chose it because its last owner had a torrid affair with his secterary and, upon his wife finding out about it, he stabbed the secretary to death and-"
"Blew his own brains out, yeah, I saw." Dennis finished irritably, not liking this at all, "So you set this whole thing up to bring me here and 'test' me, which in case you didn't figure it out felt more like a sophisticated means of torture, and I think I've passed the test. Now what?"
Kriticos eyed Dennis with amusement.
"Patience, my boy, I'll get around to that. Now you may have noticed when you came in the - out of the ordinary - decorations on the walls."
Dennis looked around, remembering the bizarre lettering on the walls.
"Yeah," he said, "what are they?"
"They're Latin spells, Mr. Rafkin," Kriticos explained, "They are containment spells designed to keep a ghost in a particular area according to certain guidelines. Whether written or spoken, these spells make up the rulebook of the spirits world. Spirits must obey the spells."
"That's how you kept the ghosts of that guy and his secretary in this room," Dennis said, understanding dawning on him. He didn't have any reason to believe Kriticos, but what the man said made sense. Up till now, Dennis had been running blind through a world he knew virtually nothing about, unsure about how to get around the disgruntled spirits that followed him everywhere, sure only of temporary safety. But if this containment spell thing was true.
"That's correct, Mr. Rafkin," Kriticos smiled, "I really am quite impressed. You're a fair bit brighter than even I had dared hope for; most psychics of your ability are either mad or dead by their own hands at your age. Fascinating how you've kept yourself alive and sane so long."
He trailed off, muttering to himself. Dennis wasn't sure when he had started trusting Kriticos, especially after the events of the last hour, but he had. Although, he couldn't say he was all that comfortable with Kriticos speculating about Dennis' sanity. It was fragile enough.
"You'd be surprised," he said in response, leaving the old man to chew on that. Just because he trusted the guy didn't mean Dennis liked him. Oh, no, there was something off about this guy. But then again, anyone who had just about had their head explode from a migraine the size of Russia and then looked up to see the only other person in the room smiling at them would tend to think badly of that other person. Just as a theory.
The room fell silent. After a moment or two, Dennis cleared his throat and said tentatively, "About this job."
'Right," Kriticos said smoothly, as if there had never been a break in the conversation, "As you have so quickly figured out, this is not my office. As I said over the phone, I am an adventurer by trade. By that I mean that I deal with the supernatural and the many things that can be gained," Kriticos grinned brightly, "through its manipulation and use."
Dennis' jaw dropped. This guy had just come right out and said that he dealt with ghosts?
"What do you mean, the supernatural?" he asked, his voice a bit higher in pitch than was normal.
"I mean exactly what you think I mean, Mr. Rafkin. I deal with spirits, wraiths, ghosts, whatever you want to call them. I am, in fact, a ghost hunter."
Dennis could only blink.
"A ghost hunter?"
Maybe Kriticos really was insane, he thought as the old man nodded. But then again, how sane was he, Dennis? He, too, saw ghosts and believed wholeheartedly in their existence (as if he had a choice,) and until now he hadn't met another living soul that had believed the way he did, that had taken his world so seriously. And here was this old man, Cyrus Kriticos, offering him the chance to not only get paid for using his powers and fully acknowledging the world he had been living with his whole life, but to have the chance to understand those powers better, maybe even learn how to control them. Could he really pass that up on such trivial grounds as sanity?
Dennis sat back in his chair.
"Alright, so what do you want me to do?"