A/N: I really tried to make this chapter shorter but these characters just love to talk. It's shorter than the last one but hopefully as interesting. Have fun reading :-)

The kitchen smelled of pancakes and maple syrup when Riley walked in the room the next morning. Just like every morning, the child found her family already seated at the kitchen table, waiting for her. Her father sat at the far end of the table where his newspaper hid most of his face (Riley loved to deduce from her father's brow's reaction the type of news her father was reading). Her brother sat on his right, an empty plate in front of him and a glass half-filled with orange juice. Her mother sat beside him, at the other end of the table, across from her father, leaving an empty chair on her right just for her.

"Hey Rye!" Temperance said as her daughter sat at her usual spot. "Would you like some pancakes?"

Riley nodded. Booth looked up from his newspaper.

"Hey Pumpkin. Had a good sleep?"

Riley debated whether or not to tell her parents about her late night visitor. She looked up at her father and noticed that his eyes had already settled back to the newspaper. Her question had been answered.

She was about to look away from her father when her eyes caught sight of the front page. Her eyes widened.

"It's unbelievable." Booth said as he lowered his newspaper and folded it.

"What's unbelievable?" Temperance asked as she poured the syrup onto her daughter's pancakes.

"We visit David Pharatt and the next day he makes the headlines."

"What does the article say?" Temperance asked as she grabbed her children's plates.

"It says that he might be innocent, just like he always claimed. Then there's a little biography of him, a summary of the crime and the trial and a small editorial at the end."

Temperance nodded as she set a plate in front of Lukas then another one in front of her daughter.

"What does the biography say?"

"It said that Pharatt moved to Winchester in 1985, two years after his daughter's birth and one year after Laura Joyce's disappearance. Melanie's mother apparently died of cancer, causing her husband to move out of New Jersey and to Virginia. Running away from the memory of his late wife, I guess."

"That's it?"

Temperance sat down and began eating her own breakfast.

"The article also said that Pharatt raised his daughter on his own. He never remarried or dated after his wife's death. They looked like a perfect, happy little family according to friends and neighbors. Melanie played the piano, David loved to listen to her play. He took her to the park, museums, plays, concerts, etc. The entire neighborhood was utterly shocked when they found out that David had killed his daughter."

Lukas gasped and Riley remained silent.

"I don't think we should be talking about this in front of the children." Booth immediately added.

"It's okay Dad. We heard worst at school."

Riley looked up at her brother. Booth and Temperance eyed their son curiously.

"What exactly did you hear, Luke?"

"Oh, just that the house where Mackenzie lives is haunted."

Temperance snorted. Booth glared at her.

"It's just an urban legend, Lukas. There are no such things as ghosts." Temperance replied, ignoring her husband's glare.

"Yes there is."

Temperance's head snapped towards her daughter.

"What did you say?" Temperance asked, surprised.

"I said that there are such things as ghosts."

"No there isn't."

Riley defiantly locked eyes with her mother.

"Yes, there is. Melanie Pharatt visited me last night. She told me to help her. She gave me a piece of paper with the number 8 on it."

Booth frowned. Lukas was speechless. Temperance remained skeptic.

"Rye, you probably just imagined this. Ghosts don't exist and Melanie Pharatt has been dead for over twenty years. She can't have visited you last night. You probably just had a bad dream because of our conversation last night."

"No, it's not that. Wait right here." Riley said as she jumped out of her chair and ran out of the kitchen.

"Riley, would you just come back and eat your breakfast?" Temperance cried after her daughter.

"In a minute!" Riley replied as she ran up the stairs.

Booth chuckled.

"What's so funny?" Temperance snapped.

"You know the saying: like mother, like daughter."

Temperance glared at her husband.

"And what is that supposed to mean?"

"She's just as stubborn as you are. The second there is something stuck in her head, she clings to it like a lifeline."

"Mom! Brina is awake!" Riley cried from the top of the stairs.

Temperance sighed loudly as she got up. A smile tugged at Booth's lips. Temperance simply ignored it.

As she passed her daughter's bedroom, Temperance tried her best not to peek in to see what her daughter was doing. She could hear her rummaging through her stuff and Temperance found herself wondering if maybe her daughter wasn't telling the truth.

Stop it, Brennan. You're being ridiculous. There are no such things as ghosts.

Brina stood in her crib and smiled broadly as her mother walked in the room.

"Mommy!" The child cried, lifting up her hands to be taken out of her bed.

"Hey Bryn." Temperance said, softly. "Are you hungry?"

The toddler nodded. Temperance smiled and, as she walked out of the room, the mother thought about how it was time for her youngest child to start sleeping in a real bed.

Temperance was putting the little girl in her highchair when Riley came running back down. She waved the paper as she walked in the kitchen, only stopping briefly to kiss her sister on the head.

"There." She said, handing the paper to her mother.

Skeptically, but more unsure of herself, Temperance grabbed the paper. As Riley had said, the number "8" was written on it. She looked up at her daughter.

"Did you write this?"

Riley sighed loudly as she sat down at her spot.

"No."

Booth motioned to his wife to give him the paper. She handed it to him.

"No, she's right Tempe. This isn't her handwriting."

If truth be told, Temperance had already noticed the handwriting differed from her daughter's, a handwriting she now knew too well from helping her with her homework.

"Where did you find this?" Booth asked, seriously.

"I told you already. Melanie came to visit me last night and she gave me this. She also had the words "Help us" written on her arm."

Temperance sat down at the kitchen table and handed Brina her breakfast.

"I think they've been watching too much TV." Temperance told her husband.

Riley growled.

"I do not watch too much TV. It's true!"

Temperance stared helplessly at her husband. Booth, uncomfortable, looked anyway.

He had to be honest with himself. The paper he was currently holding didn't have his daughter's handwriting on it. The 8 had been traced perfectly, almost like it had been written by an adult. Riley's writing was sloppier. The rounded tips of her 8s were narrower. These ones were large and round.

Booth turned to his daughter.

"Are you really telling the truth?"

"Yes." Riley growled, forcing herself not to roll her eyes.

She knew how much her father hated it when she did that.

"Okay." Booth replied, nodding.

Then, turning to his wife, he added:

"Consider this a clue, Bones."

Temperance opened her mouth to reply but changed her mind. Her husband's look, along with the use of her old nickname, told her that she shouldn't argue his decision.

"I can't believe you're actually believing her." Temperance told her husband as they drove out of their driveway.

Brina's nanny had arrived, the twins had been sent to school and the couple was now running late, just like they had been every day of the week for the past nine years. The streets were now almost empty and Booth knew he'd be able, once again, to make the trip from Winchester to Washington in record time.

"I can't believe you're not believing her. She's your daughter, Temperance."

"There are no such things..."

"As ghosts, I know. You said it like... I don't know, just a hundred times this morning. I know you don't believe in ghosts but let me ask you this: when has Riley ever lied to us?"

Temperance swallowed and turned to the window, refusing to meet her partner's eyes.

"Never." She replied in a small voice.

Booth glanced over at his wife and sighed. Reaching over to her, he grabbed her hand and gave it a small squeeze.

"So can we agree on considering the piece of paper a clue?"

Temperance slowly turned to her husband and sighed.

"Fine."

Booth smiled at her.

"You're doing the right thing, Bones."

Temperance frowned.

"I don't know what that means."

Booth chuckled.

"What?"

"It just feels like the old days. You know, me calling you Bones and you telling me you don't know what I mean. It just feels weird."

"Why did you start calling me Bones again, anyway? It's been ages since you've done it."

"I'll only call you Bones at work. I guess it just comes with the territory. Me back at the Jeffersonian and working with you again equals me calling you Bones. It's more professional."

Temperance quirked an eyebrow.

"Calling me Bones is more professional?"

"It's better than Baby or Honey."

"Good point. Could you drop me off at the hospital?"

From the corner of her eye, she saw her husband stiffen.

"Why?"

He was controlling his anger, she knew it.

"I want to visit Ryan."

"Sure." Booth replied through gritted teeth. "But how will you go back to the lab?"

"The hospital is fifteen minutes away from the lab. I'll walk."

"Are you sure? Because I could wait for you."

"Booth." Temperance warned.

"Sorry."

On that, Booth passed the exit for the Jeffersonian and continued down the highway.

She never thought she'd set foot in this hospital again. She had spent so much time in this building that she had begun to know every corner of it. The walls seemed too familiar, the elevator still smelled like the mysterious fever that had plagued the city and she avoided at all costs the sixth floor. Not that she would need to go up there. Ryan was on second. She could take the stairs if she wanted. She wouldn't. The elevator attracted her like a moth to a flame.

The doors chimed open and Temperance stepped into the shaft. She immediately joined by two nurses and a doctor. She smiled politely at them. One of the nurse vaguely resembled Lily, her daughter's nurse.

Second floor, Temperance got out, leaving the hospital staff behind her. Room 215, Angela had told her best friend. She'd find Ryan there in casts and bandages.

201, 203, 205, 207... she passed them all until she reached the end of the hallway. 215 was written in metal block letters. She knocked softly on the door before slowly opening it. In his bed laid her partner.

"Tempe?"

Ryan sounded surprised.

"Hey." Temperance replied as she slid inside the room and closed the door behind her.

An empty stood on the other side of the room.

"Alone?"

"My neighbor got out yesterday." Ryan replied as he tried sitting up in his bed.

He winced in pain.

"Don't move. You'll only hurt yourself more."

"Okay, Doctor." Ryan replied, mockingly.

Temperance shook her head and chuckled. Pulling a chair up to her partner's bed, she sat down. Silence fell upon the room.

"This isn't a social visit." Ryan said after a few seconds of silence. "There's something bothering you."

Temperance sighed.

"How did you know?"

"I can read you like a book, Temperance. What's up?"

"It's the case we're working on."

Ryan nodded.

"Everything is so weird about it. First my daughter finds three sets of remains in a basement, along belonging to three nine-year-old girls who once lived in the very house where the remains were found. One sister of the victims claims that they were visited at night by this strange, shadowy man and that sometimes a little girl came as well. Another one told us about a strange man lurking about their house every night around five o'clock. My own daughter told us this morning that the ghost of a little girl, one who also lived in that house, died but wasn't found among the remains, came to visit her in the middle of the night, gave her a piece of paper with the number 8 written on it and told her to help them, whoever them is."

"And of course, Booth wants you to believe your daughter."

"How did you know?"

"I have daughters of my own, Tempe, in case you didn't remember."

Temperance nodded.

"What do you think?"

Ryan sighed.

"Well I think that this bed is really uncomfortable and I can't wait to go home."

Ryan smiled teasingly at her, making his partner chuckle.

"About the case, I meant."

It was Ryan's turn to chuckle.

"About the case, I think you shouldn't let your own opinions and beliefs stand in the way in this investigation. Sometimes, there are things that happen to you that you can't understand."

"Am I supposed to read between the lines here and see that something bizarre has happened to you in the past?"

"I was thirteen years old, a real loser and a bookworm. It past midnight and I was walking home from a friend's house. Everything was dark and calm until I heard this engine behind me. I immediately knew it was a car so I stepped onto the curb. The car was coming fast and I suspect, to this day, that the driver was drunk. Anyway, long story short, the car began heading directly for me. I didn't know at the time since I had my back to it. The lights illuminated me, that's when I turned around to find the car only inches away from me. Next thing I knew, I was being lifted up in the air and I saw the car pass right under me. The car crashed into a nearby tree and I was set back onto the grass, away from the car. Before anyone even had the chance to call the cops or the paramedics, I ran away from the accident and didn't stop running until I reached my house. It was the last time I ever walked alone late at night."

Temperance frowned.

"You don't believe me, do you?"

"It's just so hard to imagine something like that happening. It's so illogical. Nobody can be lifted up from the ground."

"It was like a giant pair of hands grabbed me and lifted me up out of danger. It's a bit hard to describe, Tempe. I think you have to live it to fully understand it. What I mean to say is that to some people, strange phenomena like the one I lived or your daughter lived is hard to understand from an outsider's perspective. Someone once told me, and I think this person is currently sitting in front of me, that we can't rule out an explanation before the evidence proves it wrong. Don't make the same mistake all cops do at least once in their career. Don't rule out anything. Remember, there are three girls right now waiting for you to solve their murders, to give their parents the answers they have been longing for for so long. It's not about you and what you think, it's about them and what happened. Like you said, they were nine years old. Find the sick son of a bitch who took their lives."

Temperance nodded. Her partner was right. If she wanted to solve this case, she'd need to think beyond her beliefs and opinions. She'd need to open her mind to the possibilities that maybe part of solving this case would demand clues from ghosts. A tiny voice at the back of her mind told her she was being ridiculous. But at the moment, being ridiculous was the only thing she could be.

"Where were you? You're three hours late!" Angela asked her best friend as the forensic anthropologist unlocked the door to her office.

"We were running late this morning then I stopped by the hospital to see Ryan."

"How is he?"

"Better but he still looks like crap."

Angela nodded.

"I heard about Riley."

Temperance, who had her back to her friend, spun around.

"What about Riley?"

Just as Angela was about to reply, a ring interrupted her. Motioning to her friend that they'd talk right after the phone call, Temperance grabbed her cellphone and flipped it open.

"Booth."

"How I love hearing that name." A voice told her on the other side of the line.

"What do you want, Booth?"

"Eight years."

"What?"

"Eight years. The number 8 on the paper meant eight years. Each murder occurred at eight years of interval. The first one occurred in 1984. The second one, Melanie's, in 1992. Raine Bennett in 2000. Hope Lawson in 2008."

"2008?"

"Yes. 2008. It says so in the file."

"No, I believe you, Booth. But let's just say that you are right and the 8 really stood for eight years. That means..."

"Shit."

"We're in 2016."

"Four girls, all nine years old, died in that house, Agent Booth. It's cursed. The house is cursed. Who lives there now?"

"A new family."

"Do they have a nine-year-old daughter?"

"Yes."

"Get her out of there."

"Mr. Pharatt, I can assure you that the little girl is fine."

"Get the little girl out of the house, Agent Booth, before it's too late."

"Call Mackenzie's mother. Tell her we'll be taking her tonight." Booth said, a hint of urgency in his voice.

"It doesn't mean it's going to happen tonight."

"It doesn't matter. Do as you're told, please. I'll double-check the time line, to see if they all died on the same day."

"We won't be able to protect Mickey for the rest of her life, Booth."

"We'll at least be able to protect her for one night."

Everything was dark. There was something creepy about the basement: the way the stairs cracked under your feet, the way the darkness completely engulfed you the second you set foot on the cold cement floor. There were also these weird noises that could be heard, like the sound of whispering or the loud knocking that sometimes echoed throughout the house. They all came from the basement.

Feet slowly made their way down the stairs. They stopped at each step, as if scared to take another step. The fifth step always cracked the most and even under the tiny foot it cracked loudly. Something crept out from the darkness. Slowly. It twisted itself around the person's ankle, preventing it from taking another step. A cry pierced the silence of the basement. In a matter of seconds, a tiny body laid at the bottom of the stairs, a puddle of blood slowly spreading around the person's head. The shadow withdrew in the darkness and waited.

Colours from the television flashed across the white wall of the apartment. Clara, eyes round opened, stared blankly at the screen as news of David Pharatt's possible innocence in the murder of his daughter Melanie Pharatt was broadcast throughout the state of Virginia.

I would love to hear your thoughts about this story: do you find it interesting, confusing, weird, creepy? I have to admit, I'm having a lot of fun writing this and I just hope that you are having as much fun reading it.