Chapter 2 – Interrupted

Edward

I watched as the last remaining seats filled. I felt a draft behind me, and I looked around to see if a vent was nearby again. I shivered slightly but found nothing. I looked at the screen of my computer, looking for the program I needed for my presentation.

I grabbed my glasses and felt my pants tug slightly around my thigh. I hoped that I hadn't gotten them snagged on something. I shook my leg a bit to loosen them, relaxing when the tension eased.

I looked at the group of people gathering, waiting to hear from me. It was going to be my first time speaking to such a large audience. Mike came over, letting me know that the projection screen and lighting were all set up to my specifications. I nodded and asked him to place the recording equipment away from the stage.

I felt a strange pull again on my pants so I dusted myself off, hoping to shake off the feeling. I looked over the crowd, and then my eyes settled on Alice Brandon. She was a twenty-six-year-old former student from my Psychology 101 class about two years ago. She was also the first case I had not been able to explain away.

I'd done the only thing I could do, I asked her to join my team. My team was my newest project, The Denver Paranormal Society. Her gift would be an asset to the group of paranormal investigators, as it allowed her gift to look into another's past by touching their skin or personal item.

Extraordinarily gifted, she scared the fuck out of me. Alice smiled when she met my eyes. I waved at her, but she grimaced as the person sitting beside her touched her bare upper arm.

I looked over at the person beside Alice, and what I found was breathtaking. The mystery woman had an ethereal beauty about her. There was no better way to describe her. She was almost otherworldly. Her dark hair shone with mahogany highlights even under the unnatural overhead lights. Her porcelain, heart-shaped face contrasted perfectly against, her dark eyes and full red lips.

What had me a bit concerned was the fact that she had a look of pure horror on her face. She was looking right me, and I tried to smile at her, wondering if this was Alice's friend. Alice knew I had been looking for new artwork for my home. She had told me about her friend, who was a local artist. She had shown me a few pieces, and I knew I needed to have one of her creations.

The woman didn't smile back. In fact, she glared. Alice nudged the woman's arm, confirming that they must know each other. Her friend turned to her, and they started to whisper. I looked away – I didn't have time to deal with whatever her drama was.

I had work to do.

My presentation and lecture was going well as I transitioned to debunking some of the most common paranormal occurrences. My eyes adjusted to the dimmed lighting in the room as I continued. Occasionally throughout my lecture, my eyes swept over to Alice and her companion.

Her glare never wavered throughout my presentation. I had no idea what her problem was, but I intended to find out. I could see her facial features soften out of the corner of my eyes as I started talking about voice recordings. Her eyes left mine as the cold draft whipped around me.

I felt a sudden increase in temperature as the strange woman's eyes descended until they were eye level to the person seated in front of her. I continued as if nothing was happening, but I knew otherwise. The way Alice cringed away from her companion was evidence of that.

The mystery woman seemed to be whispering, her lips barely moving. Her hand left her thigh and came to a stop mid-air.

What the hell?

She started to wince, and she covered her mouth with her hand, shaking her head. "Stop!" she cried out. I paused in my lecture and fixed my eyes on her fully. She cried out again, but this time it was more of a sob.

I cleared my throat, catching everyone's attention. "Miss, if you have a problem with my findings, I'm sure we can discuss it at the end of the lecture portion."

Her hard glare returned as she composed herself quickly. "Considering how long you've been discussing how voice recordings done by an amateur is not considered proof," she said angrily, "we'll be here all night."

I glared at her and signaled Mike to light up the room more. "Well, I'm sorry if I don't find recording made by plumbers and high school children very convincing."

"So you'd only consider recordings plausible if they're made by a priest, a teacher, or someone that earns a six-figure salary like you," she stated in a firm tone.

A collective murmur and few snickers filled the room.

"I didn't say that," I said smoothly. She was making my blood boil, something that rarely happened. "I simply stated that those recordings made by amateurs are just that – amateur."

She huffed, crossing her arms and standing up. "Who do you define as a professional recorder of the dead, Mr. Cullen? You?" she asked, accompanying was a cocked eyebrow.

I loosened my tie and shook my head. "I admit that the only way I'd believe in something supernatural is if I heard, experienced, and saw it myself."

"Sometimes the unbelievable is meant remain unseen. It doesn't mean that it doesn't exist."

"It does in my book," I said firmly. "I've managed to disprove every case I've ever come across–"

"Every case?" she said, tilting her head slight toward Alice. I froze. Alice shook her head and tried to get her friend to sit. He was aware that Alice chose not to share what she could do with many. Would her own friend expose her?

"What are you looking for?" she asked warily. "Or should I say whom?"

I straightened up my stance and glared at her. "Nothing," I stated. "There's nothing to find."

She shook her head and looked over at Alice again. "She's been there the whole time, trying to get your attention," she said softly. She tugged on her jeans, just above her knees.

My breathing hitched and just like that, I was livid. How dare she?

"Her blue top is pretty, and I can tell she likes to have her hair up in a ponytail," she continued. "She keeps twirling it."

Oh God.

"Professor Cullen," she said, pausing for a moment. "The reason you haven't heard her on all your nightly recordings is because she can't talk."

I covered my mouth, trying to contain the sob threatening to escape. Then logic came to mind and once again, anger replaced the horror.

"Very good," I said almost smugly. "You know how to use the internet, Miss. My daughter's disappearance was front page news for some time."

"You asshole!" she blurted out. "You're the one keeping her here!" She grabbed her bag and headed to the end of the aisle. She stopped in front of a young man at the end of the row.

Everyone's eyes settled on her. "Ben," she said. "Your mother said there's a key in her old tan coat to a safe deposit box at First Union Bank, the one on Crawford." She looked to her side and nodded. I watched, completely entranced by her movements. "She said you'll find everything you need to take care of yourself and your sister. She said that's she's very proud of you." She smiled and then started to walk away. She only managed a few steps before she sighed and turned back to the young man. "And she said that her old engagement ring is in the box, and she loves Angie."

Ben looked at her in what seemed to be utter shock, and just nodded. Alice's friend turned her side and smiled at – air. "It's time."

Her eyes followed an unknown path before she smiled again. God, was she insane?

She turned to look at me one more time, seemingly at war with herself. "She keeps showing me pictures of an empty hamster cage," she said, and then she laughed. "I think she's a little upset that you let Oli die."

Then she was gone.

I chuckled darkly. "You'd think I would get used to seeing that. I get those all the time." There were several laughs, but quite a few whispers remained. Ben, the young man at the end of the row, had quickly disappeared after the woman had left.

I finished my presentation and even managed to get a few applications for those interested in becoming a member of my crew. I watched the last of the group leaving and noticed that Alice had not come to talk to me.

I was alone with my thoughts. I didn't know how much time had passed as I sat on a stool behind the podium. A cool draft swept around me, and I felt my pants leg pull lightly.

Great, now my head was playing tricks on me again. The pull on my pants increased.

"Hayley," I sobbed.

"Was that her name?"

I jumped slightly from her loud voice in the quiet room. I looked up at her and my anger returned.

"You should know. I'm sure you've done your research." I got up from my stool, walked over to a nearby table, and slammed my briefcase shut. I turned to erase a large chalkboard behind me, trying my best to ignore her.

"Wait," she said quietly. I stopped. I had no idea why I did. Maybe it was the pleading nature behind her request. "She wants to tell you my name." I turned, my anger flaring, but instead of meeting my eyes, she was looking at something on the chalkboard.

My hand shook as wet letters started to form in the chalk dust.

Bella.

I love you, Mr. Toad.

I sobbed, dropping the eraser in my hand. The sounds leaving my lips disturbed the quiet peace in the room, causing the writing to still.

"She couldn't find a way to talk," Bella said softly. "Not even for your recordings."

As the letters started to dry, more took their place.

I'm sorry, Daddy.

"No, baby," I whispered, unsure of where to look but the chalkboard. "I am."

"Professor Cullen, I'm sorry about my outburst. At first, I assumed the worst–"

I shook my head, because I wasn't sorry. I needed this, needed answers. "Why can't she talk?" I looked up at Bella just as she cringed.

"Every time she tries, water comes out," she said with a sigh. I sobbed something intelligible and fell to my knees. Bella came to my side but kept her distance, only hovering.

"Until now," I murmured, "she's only been considered missing."