Disclaimer: I don't anything you recognize from the movie Thir13en Ghosts.
A/N: Alrighty, sorry about the long wait, I really do try to update quickly but lately I've had no time what with…things. Thanks again for all your reviews, and yes, Bound Woman, Kalina is awfully cool. I love her, too. She'll have a big part later in the story.
Okay, here goes:
Chapter 4: On the Way
Dennis awoke the next day to the sound of the phone ringing. He shot straight up in bed and blinked a few times. Staring blearily at the digital clock for a few seconds, he managed to register that the time was 7:23. Dennis moaned, scrubbing his face with his hands, and rolled sluggishly out of bed to answer the phone.
"Whaddya want?" he growled groggily into the mouthpiece.
"Really, Mr. Rafkin, do you never answer your phone with "hello" like normal people?"
Dennis sprang to attention at the sound of Kriticos' voice.
"I told you to call me Dennis," he said wryly, his normal sarcastic demeanor kicking back in, "and I'm not a normal person."
"Ah, yes. Terribly sorry. Well, Dennis, I've located the first ghost we need to catch. We leave today. I'm sorry for the short notice, but you must understand that these spirits are extremely difficult to locate, and I'm afraid I'm on a very tight time schedule."
Dennis restrained himself from asking why the old man was on such a tight schedule for catching these things. Did ghost-hunting have to be done in a certain amount of time? There were millions of questions left over in Dennis' head from the interview, but he voiced none of them. Something told him this job would be best performed without the benefit of curiosity.
"No problem," Dennis replied, thinking of how empty his day would have been without a job, "Not like I have anything better to do."
"Very well. You will meet me at the airport at 10:30, then?"
"Sure, I'll be there."
"See you then."
There was a click on the other end and the line disconnected. Placing the phone back on its cradle, Dennis took another minute to blink his eyes into focus and strode into the bathroom to take a shower.
Two hours later, Dennis stood at the bus stop with a small duffel bag in his hands containing a few changes of clothing and toiletries, two bottles of painkillers, and his wallet. He felt oddly like he had on his first day of school: awkward, nauseatingly nervous and full of a dread of something he couldn't even identify yet. As the bus pulled up to the curb, the world suddenly started to spin.
There was no pain this time, only lightheadedness, as if he were floating far above himself. Then the visions came.
*A beaming little boy clutching a fake bow and arrow, a closed-faced man smoking a cigarette and laying down an ace of spades, a pretty teenaged girl bouncing around in a cheerleader's outfit, a blinding flash of light, a handsome boy hitting a home run, a gorgeous young woman tossing her shining blonde hair, a aging woman in an old-fashioned dress knitting a scarf, a midget woman feeding a baby ten times her size, a burly dark-skinned man happily pounding away at a forge, a grizzled-looking man in a straightjacket, a tall man bent over the hood of a car, another flash of light, a huge metal circle spinning, a giant writhing machine*
With another blinding flash, Dennis came back to himself to find the bus driver leaning in his seat, looking at him funny.
"You okay there?" The driver asked as Dennis shook his head, amazed at what had just happened. There was still no pain. How could that be?
Slightly dazed, Dennis nodded and attempted a smile, then hoisted his bag and got on the bus, brushing carefully past the driver, who still had an odd look on his face.
When he reached the airport, Dennis got off the bus without looking at the driver and, carefully weaving his way through the crowds of milling people, made his way to the Departures entrance.
When he got through the sliding glass doors, he looked around, trying to spot Kriticos or some sign of the man.
"Good morning, Mr. Rafkin," came a cheery voice from right behind him, causing Dennis to jump a foot in the air and come down with his pulse racing and his heart in his throat. Turning around slowly with his hand over his chest, Dennis managed a half-smile in Kriticos' direction.
"Hi," he said simply, still trying to return his heart rate to normal. Was this always what it was going to be like working for Kriticos? Did the guy find it entertaining to keep people on edge all the time? He certainly seemed to be having a good time.
Kriticos didn't seem to notice the insincerity of Dennis' greeting. On the contrary, he looked positively jovial. He handed Dennis a boarding pass, almost glowing with boyish excitement.
"A bit jumpy today, Mr. Rafkin?" Kriticos said.
"I'm a bit jumpy everyday, Mr. Kriticos. Another drawback to being a freak, you know. And the name is Dennis."
"Of course, of course," Kriticos said absently, already turning away, "Now come along, we don't want to be late."
Left with no choice but to follow, Dennis' long stride allowed him to catch up to Kriticos quickly.
"Uh…" he asked hesitantly, "Where exactly are we going?"
"A small town in North Carolina. We'll land in Raleigh and drive the rest of the way," Kriticos explained without even turning to look at Dennis. The older man was checking the overhead signs, looking for their gate number. Dennis glanced down at his pass. Gate B39, departing at 11:20. Okay.
When they reached the gate, the preliminary boarding was being announced. Kriticos led Dennis over to where a group of about twenty people sat in the cheap vinyl airport chairs, all chatting nonchalantly but looking just as nervous as Dennis felt. They turned as one when Kriticos and Dennis approached. Some were smiling, some serious. All of them seemed to recognize Kriticos, and some greeted him politely. Were all these people working for the old guy? And more importantly, did they know what they were really going to be doing?
"Now boarding rows 20 through 30" droned the PA system, and the group stood.
One of them, a small brown-haired man that looked to be about Dennis' age, spoke up.
"That's our call. We'll see you in Raleigh."
The man shot Dennis a quick glance and turned away to gather his luggage and catch up with his fellows.
Dennis turned to Kriticos, flustered.
"Who're they?"
"They're the rest of our crew. You didn't expect us to be able to catch a violent spirit with just the two of us, did you?"
Dennis didn't respond for a minute, waiting for his dazed mind to process this new bit of information.
"We're not flying with them?"
"They're flying coach. We're flying business class."
Dennis blinked as the PA crackled on again.
"You're kidding, right?"
"No, Mr. Rafkin, I'm not kidding. Now hurry up, that's our call."
With that, Kriticos turned and strode toward the gate, leaving Dennis stunned in his wake. Dennis had known he was in over his head, but he hadn't realized how deep he really was until this very moment.
They boarded the plane, stowed their baggage and seated themselves in the comfy first-class seats. Dennis hadn't flown since he was sixteen, when he had needed to cross the country for a specialist appointment, where they had given him yet another diagnosis and more brain-numbing drugs. So naturally, Dennis' memories of flying were dread, sickness, medication, cramped legs, small bathrooms and nasty food. He had never flown first-class before though, and already he could feel the improvements. The added leg room was a blessing, first of all. The seats were wider as well, which was nice because he could somewhat distance himself from other people to avoid unwanted touching. In this case, Dennis had a seat by the window and the only person next to him was Kriticos. The old man looked completely used to the comfort of business class. Dennis had to admit he was a bit flattered that Kriticos had booked him a seat with him in first-class rather than a seat with the rest of the crew. As if he were actually important or something.
The plane took off with the same whoosh Dennis remembered, the pressure causing his head to begin pounding. Once they were level, he quickly stood, retrieved his meds from his bag and popped a few. Sitting back down, he noticed Kriticos was eying him.
"Not used to flying, Mr. Rafkin?"
Dennis grinned slightly. "No. I never fly. Bad experience, you know."
And he had never had the money. His transportation in the last few years had been limited to busses, cabs and other forms of public transport.
As the ride wore on, Dennis and Kriticos talked – in hushed, careful voices – about what was to come. Kriticos explained that all the equipment they would need would be waiting for them in the small town that was their destination. He also explained the capturing procedure: Dennis would locate the ghost, the containment cube would be shoved into place, and recorded summoning spells would be played, drawing the ghost in. It seemed simple enough, and best of all not too painful for Dennis. Maybe this wouldn't be so bad after all, he thought.
It turned out the first-class food is not as nasty as Dennis had remembered plane food to be. Go figure.
Finally, after a long pause in the conversation, Dennis got up the nerve to ask about his earlier visions.
"So," he began, "You know a thing or two about psychics, huh?"
"I don't fancy myself an expert," Kriticos replied, "But I've heard things, yes. Is there something you'd like to know?"
Dennis took a deep breath. Oh boy.
"Well, you know how when I come within reach of a ghost I can see them?"
"Yes, Mr. Rafkin. That's why I hired you, after all."
"Oh yeah," Dennis said, feeling like an idiot, then continued, "And when I touch people, I see their past, more specifically the bad stuff in their past."
"Right."
"And whenever it happens, I get these migraines and dizziness and stuff."
Kriticos nodded his understanding, encouraging as if listening to a particularly shy eight-year-old.
"Well, earlier, before I got to the airport, it happened. I mean, I saw stuff, as if there was a ghost around. But it wasn't just one. I saw a bunch of people, but they didn't look dead. And my head didn't hurt."
Kriticos frowned. "That's odd."
"Yeah," Dennis sighed, relieved somehow that Kriticos even believed him.
"Describe the vision to me. Maybe I can tell you what you were seeing."
Dennis described the dozen or so images he had seen. Kriticos' expression went from shocked to intrigued to amused, but when Dennis mentioned the circle and the twisting machine, Kriticos' face turned severe.
"Well, Mr. Rafkin, I can tell you about the people you saw."
Dennis let his jaw drop as he stared at Kriticos' hooded expression.
"You're shittin' me."
"No, I'm not. The people you saw are the living renditions of the spirits we will be capturing. Amazing that you saw all of them so clearly. Except…well, that will come later…"
Kriticos seemed to be talking to himself rather than to Dennis, but after a minute of muttering he snapped back to attention.
"Amazing, Mr. Rafkin. It seems you have greater powers than even you knew. The visions you saw weren't caused by the presence of a spirit or the touch of a human being, so you experienced no pain. But you saw…incredible..."
Dennis couldn't help but grin. "Thanks, I guess. But what about the last bit, about the-"
"I have no idea, Mr. Rafkin," Kriticos said quickly, "That, I'm afraid, is beyond me."
As Kriticos turned away, Dennis slanted a narrow-eyed glance at him. He had the sneaky feeling the old guy knew a hell of a lot more than he said he did about those visions. But he let it slide, not wanting to perhaps touch a nerve or snoop where he had no business snooping.
"And it's Dennis," he muttered dryly under his breath.
The rest of the trip passed quickly, and soon they were landing in Raleigh. They stepped out of the gate and into the bustle of the airport and waited for the others. From his higher vantage point of 6'3", Dennis was able to spot the small brown-haired man from earlier moving through the crowd, his fellows trailing after him.
"There they are," he said, pointing them out to Kriticos. After a minute, the group had reached them and Kriticos introduced Dennis to them.
All of the people were young, Dennis' age or a bit older, and most of them were men, but there were three or four women interspersed among them.
One of them, a tall red-haired woman with brilliant green eyes, approached him first.
"Hi," she said, extending her hand, "I'm Ailis. Ailis O'Shea."
Reflexively, Dennis cringed back from her hand, his own arms in the air. He was aware the eyes of the group on him, and he felt his cheeks heat up. He lowered his arms and cleared his throat.
"Hi," he said simply. He cleared his throat again before his sarcastic, protective sense of humor kicked in. "Nothing personal. I just tend to avoid contact after a long plane ride. You know those gross, sweaty hands."
He heard a snort and looked up to see the brown-haired guy cover his mouth with his fist and make it look like he was coughing. Their eyes caught and Dennis found he, too, had to fight back a grin. Meanwhile, Ailis looked a bit miffed, if not downright insulted. She backed off and whispered something to one of her fellow females.
Kriticos then cleared his throat with a loud cough, and everyone turned to look at him.
"Ms. O'Shea, you will remember what I told you about Mr. Rafkin?"
Ailis, still looking a bit pissed but now more embarrassed, nodded.
So Kriticos had told them all about him. Dennis didn't know whether he liked that or not. One the one hand, they would be cautious about touching him, which would save him a lot of trouble. On the other hand, he wasn't sure he was comfortable with them already knowing he was a freak.
"Now that we're all here," Kriticos continued, "There will be cabs waiting outside to take you to the hotel. Once there, deposit your luggage in your rooms and get ready. We move out at 5:00 sharp."
There were nods and sounds of understanding all around, and then everyone was picking up their bags and moving toward the sliding doors leading out to the curb. Dennis fell behind the rest as they all swarmed toward the door, wary of accidentally bumping into one of them.
It was drizzling, and everything looked washed-out in the gloomy half-light. As Dennis pushed through the doors, the small guy with brown hair fell back to join him.
"Hey," he said, "Dennis, right? I'm Jarrod Markowski."
"Hi," Dennis replied as he realized his bag was caught in the doorway as it closed.
"Sunova…"
He managed to get the duffel out of the door's clasp by stepping back onto the sliding door release. By the time he turned around again, Jarrod was watching him with guarded amusement.
"Don't travel much, do you Dennis?" he asked.
Dennis decided Jarrod would appreciate more of his sarcastic humor.
"No, I'm a bit of a homebody, what with having no money, no friends and having sporadic seizures all over the place."
Jarrod smiled, a bit sympathetic.
"Yeah, I guess I know what you mean. I travel a whole lot, as a business rep for a bank. It's what I do, well, what I used to do. I got laid off a few days ago. Then I got a call from Mr. Kriticos and got this job, just outta the blue."
Dennis nodded. "Yeah, same with me."
By that time, they had reached a cab. They stowed their luggage and got in, Dennis making a discreet effort not to touch Jarrod. There was already a man squished onto the bench seat, a strongly-built guy with spiky blonde hair. He looked to Dennis to be the youngest of the gang.
"Hey," Jarrod greeted the guy as the cab pulled out into traffic.
"Hey Jarrod," the man said, then leaned over Jarrod to peer at Dennis.
"Oh, hey there man. How are ya? The name's Kenny Schwartz."
The rest of the cab ride found the three men trading facts about themselves. Kenny and Jarrod knew each other pretty well from the plane ride however, and were more interested in Dennis and his powers.
"So you see dead people?" Kenny asked.
"Yeah, kinda. If they're within about ten feet of me. And it hurts like a bitch."
Kenny nodded sagely. "That's what the old man said. He also said it hurt you to touch people. And you can see their past…?"
"Yep," Dennis responded, almost cheerfully. It was nice to be around people that not only believed in his powers but found them amusing, as if they were nothing serious. Not a 'condition', not a disease, but a simple idiosyncrasy. It was the most relaxed Dennis had been in a long time when around people.
When they reached the hotel, a ten-story, three-star establishment on the outskirts of downtown Raleigh, the three men exited the cab and made their way into the lobby.
A few of their group had already arrived, including Ailis and three of her female companions, and a group of seven men.
Dennis, Kenny and Jarrod joined the men, who were introduced as Al, Larry, Ian, Daryl, Brock, Carl and Tom.
When the rest of the group arrived, with Kriticos in the last carload, the old man announced that they would be boarding four to a room. The four women checked in first as the men arranged themselves into foursomes. Dennis took a room with Jarrod, Kenny and Brock, a short, pointy-nosed guy that wore a gray trench coat over jeans and a black sweater.
Checking his watch as they entered their room, Dennis was surprised to find that it was already 3:30.
After each taking a fast shower and dressing in warm clothes, the men locked up and met the others in the lobby.
Kriticos came down a few minutes later, wearing the same black suit he had been wearing all day topped with a ridiculous-looking batman-style cape. A few raised eyebrows met his entrance, but nobody dared make a comment toward the old man's attire.
Surveying his crew regally, Kriticos informed them that there was a van waiting outside for them.