Disclaimer: Well, I still don't own Dennis. Or any of these quirky characters or places. I suppose I'll just have to keep trying.
PLUG: All you Dark Castle fans, get ready for a new and upcoming fic written by yours truly as a tribute to the long-standing television series 'Survivor,' the one, the only, Dark Castle Survivor. 16 of your favourite characters. 45 Days. One Survivor. Coming soon to the Movie Crossovers section!
A/N: Thanks so much for all your support guys, shout-outs to Magdalena, catiepie, etc. thanks so much for not flaming me! Your reviews mean so much to me, I keep them in their own folder in my Hotmail box! Thanks, and enjoy installment 3 of A Bit of A Freak.
Chapter 3: In Too Deep
Dennis closed the door behind him and resisted the urge to slide down the wall like people do in cartoons. He wanted to just melt into a puddle of goo, and then maybe he could forget about what he had done today.
After deciding to give Kriticos' offer a shot, Dennis had listened to the job description. Kriticos had explained exactly what he needed: twelve ghosts. No more or less than twelve. And not just any twelve ghosts, either. Twelve particular ghosts, handpicked by Kriticos.
When Dennis had asked why the old man wanted just these twelve ghosts, Kriticos had gotten evasive, telling Dennis that the ghosts he sought were dangerous and could pose a harm to people. Given what Dennis had already seen of Kriticos, the guy didn't seem to care a lot for the welfare of fellow human beings. So that part was obviously bullshit, but Dennis had kept his mouth shut. He had wanted to know the salary involved in this job before blowing his chances.
Kriticos had explained about the cubes he was going to use, inscribed with the same type of spells written on the walls of the office. He had explained to Dennis how he would track his special ghosts' whereabouts using a kind of compass thingy that he had pulled out of a pocket. It was pretty cool, with little whirly designs engraved in it.
Kriticos had told Dennis that the job would require some traveling, because the ghosts he was looking for were scattered all around the country. This hadn't been the best news Dennis had had all day, and as he thought mournfully of the apartment that he had just begun to feel comfortable in, he had really wanted to know what this job paid.
Finally, Kriticos had presented him with a figure: $50,000 per ghost, and all his traveling expenses paid.
That was 600,000 dollars! Dennis' heart had ceased to beat for a moment, then had begun pumping blood to his head so fast his headache had started to return. 600,000 dollars! Screw the apartment! With that kind of money he could buy a house!
After a moment or two of giddy elation, his mind had begun working again.
"Wait a minute," he had said, "You never told me exactly what I have to do."
Kriticos had surveyed him quietly for a moment, making Dennis squirm under his scrutiny. He didn't like being looked at directly for long periods of time.
Finally, Kriticos had smiled, the kind of smile a telemarketer must wear whilst their overly-cheery voice told people about the latest life insurance policy. Denis hated telemarketers.
"You see, Mr. Rafkin, I can do all the tracking I want and have all the equipment in the world, but I can only do so much. Spirits can be slippery things, and they won't want to be caught. That's why I need someone to scope out their exact location, someone who can sense them. That would be you, Mr. Rafkin. Your job would be to simply get a feel for the spirit, connect with it so that we can capture it with no delay. You understand?"
Oh, Dennis understood. He was supposed to go out there and touch the ghosts, let them latch onto him like so many others did and pour their dirty little secrets into him, distract them so that Kriticos could snap them up in his little spelled cubes. Dennis' sense of self-preservation and well-being warred with the vision of that $600,000 floating before his eyes. It was a lot of money, but was it worth risking his life and his sanity?
The answer hadn't taken as long to reach as Dennis had thought it would, which left him feeling a little in question of his moral stability.
"I'll do it," Dennis said, "But if it turns out to be dangerous, you're outta luck. You saw what happened just now. I'm not risking my ass for your little ghost hunt, okay?"
He hadn't meant to say it like that, but his emotions were getting in the way of his professional demeanor. Kriticos ignored his rudeness as usual though, nodding.
"You're quite right, Mr. Rafkin, quite right. I wouldn't ask you to put your life on the line for me. But," he had said, leaning across the table, "I want you to be very clear, Mr. Rafkin, that I have to be very careful in this endeavor of mine. I have to insure my every move, which means that you need to make a contract with me. You'll get your money as promised, but not until you've helped me capture all twelve ghosts. And only when you do. I understand that you'll put your own safety first, but if you forfeit the job, I will not feel the need to pay you anything at all. Is that clear?"
Dennis had opened his mouth to argue before realizing it was useless. The old man had obviously planned this all out very well, a perfect little web to catch him in. Well, fine. Dennis could play that way, too. He now had no doubt that he could carry out the job, if only to spite Kriticos.
"Deal," he had said, a grin beginning to creep across his face, "No need to worry. I can do this."
Kriticos had grinned back, and for a moment Dennis had seen something lurking in the old man's eyes: something dangerous, something ruthless, something that wasn't even human. It was gone in a flash though, leaving Dennis wondering if he had even seen it at all. Kriticos had stuck his hand across the table to seal the deal, and Dennis had jerked away from it.
"Sorry, man, no can do," Dennis had said, "One of those drawbacks to being crazy, you know. Can't touch people."
Kriticos had looked puzzled, but retracted his hand. "And why not, Mr. Rafkin?"
Dennis had suddenly grown uncomfortable. Even though Kriticos had proven to be a believer in Dennis' world of the strange and psychic, Dennis had never told anyone the truth about not being able to touch others, and he was a bit leery of it.
With a shrug, he had figured that Kriticos might as well know; they were going to be working together in close proximity with ghosts and each other.
"Well," he had said, "Every time someone so much as brushes against me, I kinda…I dunno, connect with them. I see all the pain in their past, all the bad stuff that's ever happened to them. I feel their emotions, their thoughts, their memories. It's like getting their life history in a split second. And it hurts like a bitch."
For a moment, Kriticos had frowned, then his had expression cleared.
"I've heard of that before, actually. I believe some psychics call it 'linking.' It's a very rare form of psychic gift. Needless to say, most of the psychics that are born with that particular gift don't live very long, either ending up dying in a hospital or taking their own life."
Dennis had been dumbstruck. Not only had Kriticos known about the ghosts and the visions, but he knew about the other stuff, the parts of Dennis that made him useless in society. He had even given it a name!
"Linking…" Dennis tried it out. Yeah...
At that moment, Dennis knew that he would trust Kriticos with his life. This man was the only other living thing that Dennis had ever come across to even come close to understanding his pain, his fear, his 'condition.'
Overwhelmed with joy and a relief so great he wondered if he could fly through the window, Dennis grinned at Kriticos.
"Thank you very much, Mr. Kriticos," he had said, standing to leave, "I promise I won't let you down."
Kriticos had smiled at Dennis' puppy-like happiness.
"Promise noted. And please, call me Cyrus. 'Mr. Kriticos' makes me feel old."
Dennis had nodded once.
"Okay, then you gotta call me Dennis."
"Fair enough, Dennis. I'll call you tomorrow and tell you when we're leaving to get the first ghost."
Dennis had exited the building, noting that the 'secretary' had already departed. He made his way to the bus stop and had ridden the bus home, so happy that he had hardly minded when an old lady sat down beside him.
Halfway home, it had hit him. What had he gotten himself into?
Now, as Dennis leaned against the door of his apartment, he groaned and shut his eyes. He slammed his head back against the solid door.
"Stupid, stupid, stupid," he repeated, punctuating each repetition with another head slam. How had he managed to get himself into this mess? He was in way over his head, and he knew it.
'Well,' he thought, 'not much I can do now.'
Stringing together a bunch of colourful words, Dennis slumped down on his couch. Goddamned old man.
A/N: Sorry, this is a short chapter. I'm getting pretty busy, so it might be a while until my next update. Sorry in advance! Review and let me know where you want the story to go from here. Do you want me to write about all the captures, or just some of them? How far do you want it to go? Now's your time to feedback!