Chapter One
Delusionally Raunchy Daydreams

(Ryan)

" - and once Ryan cleans up that ridiculously attractive line of drool that's slowly dribbling down the right side of his face, we can begin our discussion on our findings for the 'Williamsburg Haunting' case."

"Hmmneh - oh, shit - sorry guys, I was just - "

"Daydreaming," the PRS team sighed in unison.

"Funny how often you daydream," said Katrina, tapping her chin in mock confusion. "And it's usually when we're outside, how strange ..."

"Not outside, actually," said Elfie brightly, the corners of her mouth twitching slightly. "It's funny, it seems like it only happens when she's in his direct line of vision. Hmmm."

"And it's not that he's daydreaming, really. He's more 'foaming-at-the-mouth-eyes-glazed-over-can't-seem-to-shut-his-trap-or-pay-attention'," Sergey added helpfully.

"Shut up, you guys," I mumbled, looking intently down into my lap. I could feel my cheeks burning, and the sensation as of late was getting all too familiar. "I uh, I don't even know what you're talking about."

In actuality, I did - I knew very well, perfectly well in fact, what they were talking about. They - oh, wait - let me rewind a bit. You're probably wondering who the hell I'm talking about, aren't you?

Well let me explain.

The guy who's mouth is leaking saliva all over his lap and whose mind is lost in a delusionally raunchy daydream is me - Ryan Buell. I'm a twenty five year old Paranormal Investigator with a knack for journalism, a keen interest in the supernatural, and a ridiculously intense four year obsessi - er, crushon a Psych major that is so far out of my league, I'd have better luck hookin' up with Jennifer Toews, the 36 year old lesbian with a hare lip.

The people making fun of me? My wonderful, irreplaceable, more-than-occasionally irritating friends and fellow investigators: Sergey Poberezhny, Heather Taddy, Eilfie Music, Katrina Weidman and Josh Light. Five of the strangest, funniest and most excellent chums a guy could ever have. They, like most other people on campus seemed to catch on to my not-so-secret-and-definitely-not-so-subtle crush on the psychology major in question, Harlow Vincent.

Harlow, a brilliantly observant, beautifully graceful, benignly jovial 24 year old student here at Penn State University, had arrived on campus two years after I first began my studies. And it was the moment I lay eyes on her that the infatuation begin - two days, thirteen hours and forty six minutes after her bus stopped at the front gates, to be exact.

And now, four years later, that ridiculously mad, undeniable urge to jump those dainty bones of hers was still upon me as ferociously as it had been the first day I saw her.

"'Oh, I just want some fresh air, it's just soooo nice out, why don't we look over the case outside?' Fresh air my ass, Buell," said Josh, with a wicked glance over his shoulder.

A couple of yards away, cross legged and inattentive on a white and red checkered blanket, sat my - er, the - beautiful Harlow. She was tapping away merrily on her laptop, chewing her bottom lip in avid concentration. I smiled involuntarily - I loved it when she did that. So innocently sexy, so subtly racy ... that girl could get any guys heart a-poundin', in fact -

"God look, look at his eyes! They've gone googley!" Heather exclaimed, roaring with laughter.

"Have not," I muttered, attempting to ignore the group's raucous laughter. "Shut up, guys."

"Come on now, come on," said Katrina, snickering. "Leave Bossman alone, he's embarrassed. He's turning all pink and blotchy, and - "

"Oh, bugger off."

The group erupted into fits of laughter again and like usual, at my expense. I didn't mind, really. It was all in good fun - just a bit embarrassing on my part.

Wiping a tear from his eye, Sergey grinned at me jokingly. "Sorry, Ry, we're good now. Honestly."

"There will be no more jokes about your drooling, your blushing, your googley-eyed-ness, none of that," said Heather, eyes twinkling. "None of that."

"But if you don't mind," said Katrina kindly, but with a trace of irritability in her voice. "We do have work to do. People in need, souls we gotta fight for – all that jazz."

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry," I sighed, with an apologetic grin. "You know me .. I'm just really easily distracted, that's all."

"Mmhm, we know," agreed Eilfie. "Distracted at least once an hour."

"Once an hour," repeated Josh. "Of every hour."

"Of every minute - "

"Of every second - "

"Of EVERY. God. Damn. DAY."

"Wow. You almost had me believing, guys. Believing that you had the kindness in your heart, and the decency in your souls to leave me alone," I said loudly, over their peals of laughter. "Clearly, I was wrong. So very, very wrong."

So what do you think? The greatest friends a guy could ever ask for? Or the most irritating people you could ever have the displeasure of meeting? You take your pick.

Cause at the moment, I'm leaning towards the latter.

(Harlow)

"You know, the more you ignore us, the worse you're gonna feel."

"I don't know about that," I muttered under my breath. "I've been ignoring you guys for 8 years now, and I'm doing pretty well."

I peered around the campus anxiously, but no one seemed to be looking at me; in fact, besides me, there was only two other groups of people scattered around the enormous lawn that encircled that main building. And none of them - definitely none - were looking my way. I raked a hand nervously through my hair and peeked up at the elderly man sitting cross-legged in front of me. He had a lined face, twinkling dark eyes that looked like little shiny black beatles and a puff of white hair on his head that reminded me of a dandelion.

"Perfectly well, actually," I said softly. "I'm just fabulous, just ducky."

"Are you?" the man asked me, with a wry grin. "You seem a little .... on the edge."

I crinkled my nose in annoyance.

"I'm on the edge because I have a term paper due in one week, and I'm not even a paragraph into it and I'm completely stumped," I whispered.

"Maybe I can help? I was a Psych major back in my day, you know," he said, all sarcasm void from his tone.

I smiled sadly. "No offence, sir, but back in your day, Sigmund Freud was a toddler."

"Ahh, how old do you think I am?" he said, chuckling. "Freud was at LEAST a teenager. At least."

I giggled against my own will, and waved a hand dismissively. "Well, my point exactly."

"Nice to hear a bit of laughter out of ya," he said warmly.

"It's nice to laugh," I said honestly.

"Well it's hard, this University life," he said, with a nod. "Don't let it make you too crazy. You'll go bonkers, or worse. You could even wind up like me."

"Old, wrinkly and deceased?" I quipped.

"I meant more along the lines of charming, funny and handsome, but you make a valid point there hun," he laughed.

I smiled, and shook my head. "And so modest."

"Who you talkin' to now, Lo?"

I peered over my shoulder and sighed. "Just myself. You know how lonely I get when you're not constantly by my side."

Sophie, my best friend in the entire world, gave a contemptuous snort. "And I'm supposed to believe that?"

"Well I'm not quite known for my acting skills," I said with a grin.

Sophie laughed and smacked the back of my head lightly. "You know, if you weren't my best friend, I'd probably hate your guts."

"You can't hate my guts," I said cheerfully. "I'm just too damn cute!"

She smirked, and reached her hand down towards me. "C'mon Harlow. There's a huuuuge sale at Banana Republic on, right this very freakin' second. And I need me some new pants."

I shook my head. "I can't, Soph ... this paper is due in a week and I've barely even made a dent in it."

She flipped her long blonde hair haughtily behind her back, and raised an eyebrow. "Harlow, be serious - you're top of your Psych class. You could bullshit your entire final thesis on Freud's discovery of who-even-friggin'-knows, and you'd still ace it. Come on, it won't even be two hours of your time."

"I don't know," I said uneasily. "I really need to start this ...."

"I'll buy you a new dress from Aeropostale," she said, a wicked grin lighting up her face.

I blinked, sighed loudly and snapped my laptop shut in front of me. "If I fail, it's on yourass, Soph."

"I accept ALL responsibility," she said cheerfully, grabbing my hand and pulling me to my feet. "Now let's go, or that clearance rack is gonna be empty by the time we get there!"

I bent down and shoved my laptop, notebooks and library books inside my already crammed book bag and flung it over my shoulder. I cast a dark look at the man who had been sitting next to me, and shrugged.

"Clothing calls," I murmured.

"You need to get your priorities in order, honey buns," he said sternly, but with a cheeky grin plastered on his lined face.

"Easy for you to say," I whispered. "What the hell kind of priorities does a dead man have?"

"I hope it's years before you gotta find that one out," he said softly.

"Did you say something?" Sophie asked impatiently.

"Just doing some quick math in my head," I said, turning my back to the man. "Making sure I've got enough for a new pair of heels."

"Thatta girl," said Soph, and we began to trudge across the now empty lawn. "That's the super shopper I know and love."

I slung the bookbag over my shoulder, walking quickly to keep up with Soph's long strides. "We should probably stop and grab some new shorts too, bud. Our first game is in two days."

"Ah, shit," said Soph, making a face. "I forgot about that."

"Well don't forget," I said sternly. "PCC is a small school but they've got some decent players."

Now that I think about it, you're probably all wondering what the hell I'm talking about. Frankly, you're probably wondering who the hell I even am.

Well! Let me explain everything! Er .. well, almost everything.

My name is Harlow Vincent. I'm 23 years old, in my fourth year here at Penn State University and I see dead people. No, actually. I wish I was freakin' kidding. But more about that later, perhaps.

I'm currently a Psychology major, with (not to brag, or anything, but ... yeah, okay, to brag!) the highest average in my entire Psych class. I'm a whizz at behaviorism, what can I say? My talents include - but (hopefully) are not limited to - volleyball (I'm currently the captain of the PSU Women's Volleyball Team, huzzah!), baking, collecting beanie babies, making a sick teriyaki stir fry and burping the alphabet up to 'M'. Somebody call NBC, I'm a freakin' SUPASTAR.

Oh. I'm also pretty good at that whole 'sarcasm' thing.

The girl that has dragged me (albeit it didn't take much force) away from my studies is my best girly buddy in the entire world, Sophie Kapor. She's my AssCap. And I mean that in a completely non-sexual way - the two of us met when we first joined the volleyball team, and after I was made captain, she was assigned my assistant captain. My AssCap. After taking a ball to the face (thankfully, Sophie's spikes are a bit better and more accurate then they were four years ago) and staunching the blood that was gushing out of my nose at an alarming pace for a good twenty minutes , we got to talkin' in the nurses office. Ever since that fateful, bloody day, Harlow Vincent and Sophie Kapor have been inseparable.

We trudged along across the field talking about our upcoming game.

"I think you're gonna regret putting Jessica up front, Lo," Soph said wearily. "She's just not ready yet."

"I've got faith in her," I said testily. "You and the rest of the team might not, but if I had doubts I would've cut her at tryouts."

"I'm not saying she's no good," said Sophie evenly. "I'm just saying maybe you should try her in the back first, I don't know if her volleys are really ... great."

"I'm not looking for great, I'm looking for - " OOMPH.

"If I have told you once, I've told you a million freakin' times," sighed Sophie in exasperation. "It's left foot, right foot, left foot, right - "

"Oh shut up, bitch," I said from the ground, spitting dirt out of my mouth. "For once, it wasn't my fault."

I pushed myself up into a kneeling position, and grabbed a torn, blue notebook off the ground. "It was this son of a bitch."

Sophie rolled her eyes. "Well you don't step on it, Lo, you walk around it."

"Ah ha ha ha," I said sarcastically, standing up. "Who the hell leaves a notebook lying around in the middle of a field?"

"Dunno," said Sophie, eyeing the ground. "But they left their pager too."

I followed Sophie's gaze down to the ground, and saw a shiny, silver-colored square lying on the ground. I stooped to pick it up.

"Nice," said Sophie impressively. "That's one of those new ones from Motorolla."

I turned it around, but saw no name. "This must've been like two hundred bucks, at least. Who would leave it here?"

"Probably forgot it," said Sophie. "Check the notebook for a name - but hurry! Banana Republic calls."

I grinned and flipped open the notebook. "Betty and Stephen Glasgow have lived in the house for twenty-fours years as of 2009. House belonged to Betty's mother and grandmother before her, did not report noises or objects moving before. First occurrence happened in June of 2005."

"Sounds like some weird ghost jumbo," said Sophie dismissively. "Just leave it here."

"Ryan Buell," I said, looking at the name etched into the top corner of the index page. "The notebook belongs to that guy, Ryan Buell."

"The paranormal queer-do?" Soph snorted. "Figures."

I shot her a dirty look. "Shut up, Soph, I'm sure he's a nice guy."

"Anyone involved in that ghosty, spirit crap has gotta have at least one screw loose," Soph said acidly. "Just leave his crap here, he'll be back for it later."

I shook my head. "I'm gonna take it to him."

Her jaw dropped, and her brow furrowed. "Harlow! Mall! Sale! Banana Republic! Need I repeat myself?!"

"We can go as soon as I bring him his stuff back," I said evenly. "It won't take long."

"Why doesn't he just get that creepy witchy elf girl to fetch it for him," Sophie said indignantly. "Or one of his ghostie friends."

"You're being a bitch," I said bluntly. "So either go to the mall by yourself or wait a fuckin' second while I take this back to Ryan. And stop saying ghosty."

"What you scared," she said with a sneer. "Ghostie, ghostie, ghostie."

"Not scared," I said, feeling my temper flare. "But it's rude to call them that. You should just say spirit."

"Oh Jesus, Lo, you believe in that shit?" said Sophie, mercilessly. She tossed her long hair over her shoulder and cocked a perfectly shaped eyebrow at me.

What I really wanted to do - besides punch her - was shake her. Take her by the shoulders and shake her like a ragdoll. Believe in it? I didn't believe in it. I lived it. I saw it. Every second of every day, since the beginning of time, I had lived in it. I saw her little ghosties, I saw them walk next to me everyday in the hallways. I saw people sitting on picnic benches, right next to apparitions of soldiers. I saw little girls skipping through the fields on campus, singing their songs, the echos of music that no one would ever hear again. I saw it. I felt it. I lived it.

But what could I say? Tell her yes, Sophie, I do in fact believe in ghosts. In fact, there is one right next to you, this very second. A girl no older than you, no prettier than you, no more special than you. In fact, you just walked through a middle-aged man about two minutes ago. In fact, you are surrounded by thousands of spirits right this very second, trapped on this Earth, stuck between what they knew, and what none of us will ever know.

Instead, I just shook my head and shot her one last dirty look.

"That's irrelevant," I said loftily. "I'm going to go to the PRS classroom. You can either come with, or go and buy your jeans all by your lonesome."

I turned on my heel and stomped off towards the PRS headquarters, Ryan Buell's notebook and pager firmly under my arm.

"Slow your fuckin' rolls, I'm coming you insane bitch."

I smiled against my own will, and winked at the young boy in fifties clothing sitting on the picnic bench in front of me.

He whistled and grinned a quirky little lopsided smile. "You tell her, hot stuff."

HELLO.

You may not remember me. I have been gone for months and freakin' months! Long story short, school had killed all that was left of me, and after hibernating in my bed for two months, I am back and (maybe?) better than ever. I apologize profusely for the wait. You still love me ... right? Thank you to 80sStar, kCollins and Skaron for your wonderful reviews! Sorry to keep you lovelies waiting :) Hope you liked this chapter! God only knows when I will write the next one. Yikes.

Love; Ellah!