Disclaimer: Well goshdarnit, wouldn't you know? I STILL don't own anything from Thir13en Ghosts. Well, what did you expect?

A/N: Sorry this chapter has taken so long, I've been a busy girl lately. I'm also in the throes of a bout of writer's block, so bear with me. Anywho, I've been devising a way to characterize the ghosts as much as they deserve. They are, after all, a huge part of the story, and each has their own story personality, no matter how dangerous they are. So I've decided I will give each ghost their own chapter, which will serve the double purpose of allowing me to develop Dennis' relationships with his colleagues.

PLUG: And remember, everyone, to check out Dark Castle Survivor! Chapter 2 is up, and whenever I get a chance to write without interruption I'll finish writing Chapter 3.

Et voila, Chapter 6 of 'A Bit of a Freak'!

Chapter 6: No Fuckin' Way!

After getting back to the hotel, Dennis had slogged silently up to his room and peeled off his muddy clothing. Not knowing what else to do with them, he had given them a cursory rinse under the faucet in the bathtub to get the worst of the muck off and hung them over a chair to air dry. He had then taken a scalding shower, popped two pills, crawled into the bed he was sharing with Jarrod and fallen into a deep, exhausted sleep.

Dennis awoke to the sound of male voices around him. Cringing, he pried his eyes open and blearily surveyed his surroundings. He was confused for a moment as to why there were people in his apartment, and for a heart-stopping moment he thought it was a ghost. Then, as if the word triggered the memory, the events of the previous twenty-four hours flooded his mind and he remembered he was in North Carolina.

Groaning, Dennis closed his eyes again tight and tried to make himself believe it had been only a dream.

"We saw you open your eyes Dennis. C'mon, you'd better get up, it's seven already."

Kenny's words resonated from somewhere near Dennis' ear. So much for dreaming.

Not bothering to lever himself into a sitting position, Dennis simply opted to roll out of the bed and onto the floor, effectively jarring himself awake enough to stand up and drag his ass into the bathroom. Same routine as every morning.

When he got out of the shower, Dennis found his three roommates hastily packing their bags to leave. Remembering that they were supposed to leave the hotel at eight, Dennis rushed into action, grabbing his still-damp clothes from the night before and throwing them into his own bag as well as the rest of his few belongings.

"So Dennis," Brock said as he settled his trench coat over his shoulders, "We hear you had a hard time with the wee ghostie last night."

This brought about a few snickers, and Dennis decided after a moment or two that the comment wasn't meant as an insult, only a joke.

He smiled crookedly. "Yeah, the little sucker almost impaled my head."

Kenny chuckled as he struggled to zip up his bag, which was bulging with stolen hotel towels. "Heard you got your ass saved by a girl."

Dennis grinned. "I wouldn't say that, exactly. It probably wouldn't have hurt as much to get an arrow through my head."

That sobered them all up for a minute, and the room fell silent for a minute while they all considered how close Dennis had come to dying.

When they got downstairs, the rest of the group had already assembled in the lobby. Dennis spotted Ailis surrounded by her usual trio of women, one with blonde hair, one with dark brown hair and one with black hair. With Ailis' flaming red hair, they looked kinda funny all standing together. Ailis caught Dennis staring her way and gave him a look that said she still hadn't forgiven him for being a jerk last night. He remembered that he had resolved to apologize to her, but in his relief to be back in the safety of the hotel he had forgotten.

Once again the group was transported to the airport by cab, and once there Kriticos delegated one guy to go get the tickets that had been reserved for them.

Dennis walked casually over to where Kriticos was standing once more dressed respectably in a suit, without the wacky cape.

"Hey," he said, "Where to next?"

Without turning to look at Dennis, Kriticos replied, "Atlantic City, New Jersey. Our next…find…was killed at the shore a few miles from there. We should find what we're looking for without any trouble."

Dennis nodded, and then asked a question he probably didn't want to know the answer to.

"So what's this one's story?"

This time, Kriticos turned to look at him.

"This one is slightly more…interesting. His name was Jimmy 'The Gambler' Gambino. He was a young man that grew up in New Jersey, playing the numbers and the races. He was also affiliated with some large-scale crime organizations, and after losing one too many bets, his associates drove him to the shore and, er, collected their debt."

"Uh huh," Dennis replied, pretty sure he knew what kind of debt the mobsters had extracted, "Well, then. Sounds like fun. Hey, at least this one doesn't have a thing for primeval, deadly weapons. Right?"

Kriticos simply smiled and walked away to take the tickets from the guy who had gone to wait in line, leaving Dennis to wonder what was in store for them this time.

Once again, Kriticos had chosen Dennis to sit beside him on the short plane ride to New Jersey. Nothing was said about the previous night, and Dennis was sort of glad. He didn't want to think about it.

Over the course of his life, Dennis had contemplated suicide many times. He had only attempted it once, and had come damn close to succeeding. He had been saved from himself that time, and after recovering had never really considered it again. Once you get that close to losing all you've got, you get a different perspective on the value of life, however trying it may be at times. No matter what he said or did, Dennis didn't want to die. Nobody really does. And being that close to getting wiped off the face of the earth was not something Dennis had ever cared to repeat.

When the plane touched down at Newark Liberty International Airport, Dennis and Kriticos performed the same ritual of disembarking from the plane and waiting for the others to meet them outside the gate. Once they were all assembled they moved to curbside, where cabs were waiting to transport them to Atlantic City, about a two-hour commute.

The trip was fairly uneventful, if one didn't count the rousing game of count-the-roadkill Dennis engaged in with Jarrrod and Brock, whom he was sharing a cab with, and the constant barrage of blaring car horns from various other motorists. Just in case you're wondering, Jersey is a frightful place to drive. The people are crazy. The final roadkill count was fifty-seven, and there was one that Dennis could have sworn used to be a pedestrian.

They entered the Atlantic City limits at around 2:00, and half an hour later they pulled up at their hotel. It wasn't one of the ritzy hotels in Atlantic, but it wasn't a rat hole either. It was seven floors high with a flashing neon sign in the parking lot proclaiming "Ed's Inn: Honeymoon Suite Available".

The group piled out of the cabs and hauled their luggage into the lobby. Once again, Dennis shared a room with Jarrod, Kenny and Brock. They had just had time to settle in when there was a knock on the door. Kenny answered it and Ailis popped her head into the room.

"Hey guys, the Old Coot says we have to be down in the lobby in ten."

"Okay," Dennis shouted. Ailis turned her head in his direction and shot him a dark look before backing out of the room.

Kenny turned to face Dennis, his eyebrows raised inquiringly.

"Don't ask," Dennis said wearily.

Once again, there was a rental van waiting outside in the hotel lot to take them all to the shore. The location was a strip of beach with a boardwalk that was closed up for the winter and a small dock leading out into the greasy, polluted Jersey water. There was a semi truck waiting with all their equipment, including another glass cube.

Kriticos was waiting on the dock when the crew got there, and once the old man caught sight of Dennis he beckoned him over.

Suddenly Dennis was overcome with nerves. No matter what Kriticos said, Dennis would never get over his feeling that this job was not the greatest idea for his continued good health. He had almost died the previous night. And hadn't the old man said something about the ghosts they were hunting being dangerous? Dennis had been too dazed at the offer of $600,000 to pay much attention to what Kriticos had been saying. Dennis had been duped and he knew it, but that didn't exactly account for the feeling of dread he got in his stomach whenever he thought of what they were doing.

He jumped when Kenny came up behind him.

"Good luck, Rafkin," the blonde man said grimly, "Try not to get yourself in trouble this time, will ya?"

Dennis gave the younger man a halfhearted smile, slipped on his ghost glasses, and without a word let his long legs lead him to the end of the dock, where Kriticos was waiting for him, once again looking excited as a kid in a candy store.

"Alright," Dennis wanted to know, "What do I do this time?"

"Now," Kriticos said, "You find us a spirit."

"Okay," Dennis said, feeling a bit awkward, "Do you have a picture for me again?"

"Ah, yes, of course."

Dennis was handed a sheet of the same photocopy paper as last time, and this time it was emblazoned with a picture of a man with no legs and a grizzled-looking head. Held under his arm. The ghost was headless.

Dennis felt his stomach plummet.

"Uh," he said, trying not to listen to the voice in his head screaming BAD IDEA, "This guy has no head or legs."

"That's right. That's why he's nicknamed the Torso. Unfortunately, we need more than his torso. We need all of him, including his legs and his head. On the up side, I don't believe you need to worry about primeval weapons."

Kriticos seemed like he was having a good time. Just swell, because Dennis felt like he was going to be sick.

"You want me to find pieces of this guy. You want me to use my powers to find some dead guy who was hacked into pieces?!"

"Yes."

Dennis stood stunned for a minute. The old guy was laughing! He thought this was funny!

"You've got to be kidding me," he said, "You have GOT to be shittin' me. There's no way I'm doing this. No fuckin' way!"

Kriticos raised a white eyebrow in Dennis' direction.

"Does that mean you're backing out, Mr. Rafkin?"

Dennis gritted his teeth to keep himself from saying yes. He didn't want to be too hasty about this. He hated to admit it, but he really, REALLY wanted that money. Why else would he have taken this stupid job?

Still grinding his teeth, Dennis choked out the word, "No."

Kriticos nodded. He hadn't believed for a second that Dennis would back out.

"Fine then," he said, "Now find our ghost, Mr. Rafkin. All of him."

And with that, Kriticos walked away, leaving Dennis standing alone on the dock.

"It's Dennis," he muttered at the old man's back before turning back to the task at hand.

He peered into the dark water and cringed. Somewhere down there were the remains of some poor gambler who got hacked into pieces by some angry mobsters. Lovely.

Trying not to think about it, Dennis took a deep breath and turned his attention to the piece of paper he still held in his hands.

*Dark, smoke-filled room. Dice. Cards. Cigarettes and cheap beer. Nervous. Lost again today. I'm in big trouble now. Can't let 'em find me. Doors opening, panic. Oh, shit. Shouting. Rough hands pulling him out of the bar, pain, blackness, shaft of light, pain, excruciating pain. Water. The shore. Sand, moonlight, water, darkness.*

Dennis came back to himself in a cold sweat. He had fallen to his knees on the hard planks of the dock, and his hands were shaking so badly the paper fluttered out of them, only to get caught in a gust of wind and land in the water a few feet away.

"Shit," Dennis whispered, taking off his glasses to scrub his eyes with his hands. Jimmy Gambino hadn't had a pleasant death. Not pleasant at all. The worst part had been the fear, the dread. The knowledge that his deeds would come back to haunt him.

Dennis took a few deep breaths and reached over the dock to grab the paper, which was floating on the still water a few feet away.

As Dennis leaned over, his arm extended in front of him, he noticed something kinda shiny in the water. Frowning, he tried to get a better look at what it was. It looked like…cling wrap or something. It was floating just under the surface, where the paper floated serenely.

Grabbing up the paper, Dennis reached in again to get the plastic. It really was disgusting when people littered like that…

His hand came in contact with the plastic wrap, and the stab of adrenaline in his gut told him immediately that something was wrong. Moving automatically in his horror, Dennis lifted his hand out of the water – and with it came the piece of plastic wrap – which happened to be wrapped around a head. Nothing else. Just a head.

Frozen in terror, Dennis could only stare, wide eyed and gaping, as the head turned to face him, sneering. The eyes of the ghost were filled with hatred and something else…violence.

Before Dennis could react, he heard a splash. Unwilling to take his gaze off the eyes of Jimmy Gambino, Dennis quickly glanced down – and started as a scabbed, rotten hand clamped down on his arm. The arm was attached to a torso and another arm, which was paddling in the water. With the contact, Dennis' head exploded with pain. He screamed and felt the dock slide out from under him as he listed to the side, into the water.

Galvanized now by the icy cold water and unable to breathe, Dennis scrambled to release the ghost's hold on him, still screaming breathlessly and swooning from the continued pain. But Jimmy wasn't letting go. He continued to tug at Dennis' arm until he could barely keep his head above water.

Blinded by the pain and snatches of visions clawing at his sanity as well as lack of air in his freezing lungs, Dennis blacked out as his head slid under the surface of the icy November Atlantic.

Dazed and panicked, Dennis kicked out one last time with all his might, and his foot came in contact with something. He heard a scream from somewhere near him, and realized his arm was free. How he knew this with his entire body numb from the cold he didn't know, but he took the chance and tried to kick toward the surface. Trouble was, his muscles were frozen and tight from the pain and didn't seem to want to work properly.

He could no longer see, and he was finding it very hard to think, let alone move. Still he struggled toward the direction he identified as 'up', his lungs burning from the amount of salt water he had gulped into them. He could hear, as if from far away, a mechanical whirring noise.

Suddenly, he felt his head break the surface. Voices shouted around him, no longer muted by the water. His vision returned slowly to normal, and he saw a sea of faces staring down at him. He recognized none of them, and closed his eyes again. They stung from the salt water, and his head pounded mercilessly.

Suddenly, he seized up and coughed, choking on the water in his lungs. He heaved, and water shot from his mouth. Lots of water. More water than he would have thought he could hold.

When he had stopped coughing, he wiped his mouth on his sleeve and took several deep breaths of cold night air. The voices were still chattering around him.

"Is he okay?"

"What happened?"

"Dennis, can you hear me?"

"He was down there for a while…"

"Oh, for chrissake you idiots, give him some space!"

Dennis finally recognized that bossy, authoritative female voice. It was, of course, Ailis.

Groaning, Dennis opened his eyes. The light stung, but it was better than it had been.

"Where is he?" he croaked out.

The sea of faces turned in the direction of the beach. Dennis sat up to look and saw the ghost dragging itself up the sand by one arm, carrying its head and legs under the other, toward the glass cube on the shore.

"As soon as you started screaming, we figured you had found him," Jarrod explained, "So we started up the spells. He fought them for a while; it looked like he really wanted to get you first."

Whoopee.

"He finally gave up, I guess," Brock cut in, "but you were still under. We figured you had drowned, and none of us knew how to get you out without touching you. Then Tom here," Kenny jerked his thumb at a short man in his early thirties that Dennis recognized as Tom, "thought that maybe we could use one of those small cranes we brought the cube in with. So we hoisted you out with that."

Dennis couldn't think of what to say. He finally settled on "Jesus fucking Christ."

Then he realized someone was missing.

"Where's Kriticos?" he asked.

"Right here," Kriticos said, coming up the dock with a big smile on his face, "You've done it again, Mr. Rafkin. We've got him, thanks to you. Now I believe it's time we headed out."

The group parted to let Kriticos leave, and Dennis heard Ailis mutter, "He didn't do anything. We caught the damn thing; Rafkin just went for a swim."

Too exhausted to be infuriated, Dennis cut his eyes to Ailis, who was staring with narrowed eyes at Kriticos as he approached. She caught his eyes and blushed, realizing that he had heard her.

Getting to his feet, Dennis swayed, but managed to stay upright. He was starting to shiver now that the shock was wearing off.

"Here."

Dennis turned to see Ailis holding out her own large fleece coat, her face apologetic. A peace offering.

Dennis took the coat without taking his eyes off hers.

As the group started to head toward the beach to pack up the equipment, Dennis moved closer to Ailis and leaned toward her.

"Are we even now?" he muttered.

She took a step back and surveyed him for a minute before grinning and nodding once.

"Truce?" she asked.

He grinned back, his teeth still chattering. "Truce."