Modern Pantheon: Ghost Page 2

Chapter 1

  From the case files of Special Agent L. Garrison

  Supernatural Investigations Department:

  Name: Thomas Amberose

  Occupation: Unemployed

  Age: 26

  Threat Level: Extreme

  I initially listed Thomas’ as a likely mage after the warehouse incident last year that resulted in the deaths of five individuals. After a thorough review of his background, I discovered his past contains a second incident that makes him stand out as an individual who likely possesses abilities of unknown “supernatural” nature.

  Ten years ago, two individuals were found dead, their wounds were not consistent with any known type of weapon. This occurred at the residence of his father, Theodore, (then 41) who fled the country shortly thereafter taking Thomas with him. One year later Thomas returned to live with his uncle.

  Other oddities surround Thomas Amberose. A review of his genetics reveals curiosities. Also, his job history is blank, but until the warehouse incident he had a steady stream of income from an off-shore account. I've seen Mr. Amberose use a cell phone in the past, but when I requested his phone be tracked, the phone companies all claim he doesn't have a phone plan.

  Approach the suspect only under extreme caution.

  “You think the world revolves around you, don’t you?” the brunette said from behind her lofty desk.

  “If the world revolved around me, wouldn’t you be in my office?” I replied.

  “I think you still wouldn’t know what to do with your life,” Lara said.

  I brushed my hands through my hair, sighing heavily as she clenched her jaw in her signature sign of repressed anger.

  Lara Mercer, average height, thin, and pale, was my stepsister. Black, straight hair hung down to her shoulders, accentuating that paleness like the white tiles on a chessboard. In short, she looked and acted nothing like me. I already knew what she wanted. The same thing she always wanted. To discuss possibilities. Possible jobs. Possible contacts she could set me up with. Possible futures; that was the topic I found mostly likely for today.

  “Sit,” she pointed her pen to the office chair, and continued tapping.

  I looked at the chair, but that was as close as I planned to go. “I already know what this is about, Lara, and I’m not interested.”

  The muscles of her jaw clenched hard as a street fighter’s fist. “Tommy, I didn’t call you here to argue.”

  Tommy? Tommy? If there was one thing that got me on edge, it was that nickname, Tommy. Even when she first called me that back in high school, I’d already felt too old for it. I poured my annoyance into my tone as I said, “How about a truce. You don’t give me any, ‘you’ve got to do something with your life speech,’ and I won’t walk out the door.”

  “Agreed,” she said.

  I’d half spun around before I registered what she’d said and had to stop. “Really? Just like that?”

  “I promise you I won’t give you any speeches. Please, Tommy, sit.”

  “Fine.”

  Secretly enraged at myself for thoughtlessly agreeing, I slipped past her desk and took the seat beside hers as she opened the top drawer and slipped a paper onto the desk beside me.

  “What the hell?” I said, looking at it.

  “Interested?”

  Across the top, the words, ‘Application for Employment,’ were more menacing than any speech she could muster.

  “I don’t need you to swoop in and save me,” I said.

  “You really are bigheaded, aren’t you?” I said.

  “Oh, that’ll work – insult me while I’m angry.” I stood and headed to the door, determined not to be halted. Not by anything.

  “This isn’t about you, Tommy.” She said, her composure finally dropping. “I need help. Do you know how hard it is to find good help? Someone who isn’t oblivious?” she tilted her head forward, looking at me like I was clearly missing the obvious.

  My fingers wrapped around the doorknob, but I hesitated. I looked sideways at her, trying to think, was always hard to do around my infuriating sibling.

  “My credibility is growing.” Lara added. “I’ve been busy, Tommy. You know that. I’m not here to pester you. This deal will help both of us. The contract I want you to sign is just for one case. It’s a fifty-fifty split, and if you don’t like the job, fine. I’ll stop pestering you. But you know what the Imperium is like. It’s not as though they’d let me just hire some schmuck off the street, and there aren’t any other mages willing to work as a Private Investigator. Hell, half of the Imperium is petitioning to shut me down. And the other half... Well, they’re too uptight and pretentious to notice me.”

  My mind hovered back in time for a few seconds. The Imperium. Ominous name. They scared the hell out of me, until I grew up and joined their ranks. Then one day the fired me, and I’ve mostly avoid them since. Not because I fear them, but because the pompous airheads in charge like to pretend they’re as the Magical Government. The Ministry of Magic. The Lawmakers of the Mystical. If I could replace the Imperium with something better, I wouldn’t hesitate. I’m not saying I want to be some revolutionary or anything so dramatic, but I had no doubt that a competent government would improve a lot of lives.

  A knock on the door disrupted my thoughts.

  “You realize that hiring me will piss off a whole bunch of people, right?” I told her, before answering the door.

  “Please,” Lara waved a hand to brush away my objection. “I doubt anyone even remembers what happened to you last year.”

  I turned my attention back to the door, and the visitor behind it. Since my hand was still conveniently on the doorknob, I pulled the door open to see a man standing outside.

  It was hard to tell under the flowing blond hair and fake tan, but I’d guess the man outside was few years younger than me. Early twenties, probably, though possibly late teens.

  “Conroy Investigations?” The boy asked, staring at me professionally. I expected a surfer-dude accent, so when his tone was intense and businesslike, it stunned me into silence.

  “Yes. Please, come in,” Lara rescued, standing and offering an overconfident hand. Even though Lara and I rarely spoke nowadays, I knew she got pranksters regularly, despite her website having ‘supernatural expert’ written in the smallest size readable. A college kid in a suit probably set off some alarms.

  Surfer-dude walked past with an empowered confidence. I wouldn’t have been surprised if he once modeled for one of those men’s-hairstyle books they give you at the salon. Pressed, perfectly tailored. Shiny, leather shoes. The sports jacket that fit him as though tailored for a modern-day Caesar. The top three buttons were unfastened and showed off a few inches of hairless chest.

  “This is Mercer Investigations, and I am Lara Mercer. Welcome,” my step-sister said.

  “I apologize if I came at a bad time,” he said, his voice even and smooth. Like silk made into sound. “If you wish, I can schedule an appointment and come at a later date.”

  She looked up at the clock on the wall, then quickly to me.

  I figured that if surfer-dude left, Lara would continue to hound me. “Not at all, Mister...” I trailed off, inviting him to offer his name.

  “Cane,” he said.

  “Mr. Cane. Have a seat.” I said, gesturing to a chair. Then, I crossed the desk and sat down in the chair beside Lara’s. If Lara wanted to hire me, I might as well start acting the part. “My name is Thomas Amberose. If you’ve come to hire a PI, you’re in the right place.”

  “Good,” Mr. Cane said. His professionalism, despite the dreamy get-up, surprised me. Acute eyes scanned the desk. Then, he nodded, as though pleased. I wasn’t surprised. After all, Lara kept the place all right angles. A plane, functional lamp took up in one corner; her laptop nested in the opposite corner. Aside from those and my contract, the desk was otherwise clear.

  “I have a case for you, if you’re interested,” Mr. Cane said.

  “Tell us what you’ve go
t,” Lara said.

  “First, tell me what you know about the supernatural,” Mr. Cane challenged.

  “The two of us have knowledge of the most recent advancements in the field of the supernatural,” Lara said impressively. Not only was it the truth, it was vague enough to avoid making her sound like... well, like a quack.

  “And that entails?” Mr. Cane egged on.

  “As I’m sure you’re aware, many people report seeing ghosts, UFOs, and other mysterious things every year. A majority of those are either made up for attention or explained through perfectly natural medical conditions. Seizures, for example can cause hallucinations. However, it is the belief of my associate and I that there are some things that can’t be explained by the modern understanding of physics.” Again, I was impressed. Said with a straight face and everything. She must rehearse. “May I ask your interest in the supernatural, Mr. Cane?”

  The boy sat casually, leaning one arm on the wooden armrest. He didn’t look nervous; rather, his eyes had an amused glint. “I’ve done some research on ghosts. I want to know everything I can about them. I’ve already referenced several books, but I question their credibility. I was hoping you’d be able to point me to something that can help.”

  “I’m sorry, Mister Cane. We–”

  “Call me Cameron,” he interrupted, waving politely for her to continue.

  Cameron Cane? I revoke my former speculation – with a name like that, he’s nothing less than a Playgirl model.

  “Cameron,” Lara began again. “The supernatural is rarely a definite science. Literature on it is vague and varied because it’s often difficult to pinpoint an exact cause,” she lied. “We offer investigative service. If you offer us a case, we could potentially assist you. However, we’re not an information service. Besides, real ghosts are... ahh... rare. There are cases of them in the past, but most are born of paranoia.”

  “Rare?” Cameron prodded. “But they do happen?”

  “Well, sure you can go to an abandoned house with some high tech measuring equipment. Bring enough equipment, and eventually something’s bound to get an abnormal reading. That doesn’t mean it’s a real ghost,” she said. “The wind could blow a tree branch against the wall, making weird noises, or–” Lara stopped mid-sentence, realizing she may be scaring off a potential client. “What I’m trying to say, Mr. Cane, is that most of the time people mistake paranoia for ghosts. But ghosts do exist.”

  At that last statement, I had to keep my own face stoic. Ghosts exist? That’s news to me.

  Cameron Cane gave her another assessing stare. This man didn’t know it, but the Imperium had laws answering his kinds of questions. Yet I don’t obey these laws because the Government says so; the secrecy laws exist due to common sense. If everyone believed in Magic, the world could crumble into chaos.

  Cameron paused to think for a moment before he reached into his jacket pocket. He pulled out a photo, put it onto the desk, and slid it across to us.

  “The police shrugged it off as suicide,” Cameron said. “They couldn’t pin the murder on a specific person. It took place three stories up, and there are no signs of entry through the windows or door. No way in, and no way out, except the door that was chained from the inside.”

  I leaned in, my head uncomfortably close to Lara’s as we both scanned the photo. The image was wide angled, like looking directly up at one of those half-sphere mirrors on a ceiling, and the effect intensified that of the ghost in the center of the photo.

  The ghost, or whatever it was, stood with tense shoulders. His ragged and ripped clothes hung limply off him. The raging madman had more hair than face, and in typical ghost fashion, he glowed a whitish-blue, like wintery fog hovering above a lake.

  Beside him, a man wearing flannel pajamas leaned against a window. A trim, army haircut sat atop a face that looked exhausted. A flask hovered a few feet away, in the same boxy style of bottle that my amaretto comes in. He cowered on one knee as he leaned against the window.

  The octagonal room had massive windows instead of walls, but it was too dark to make out anything else. A staircase dropped into the floor along the right side of the room. On each of the eight windows, a dim reflection of the ghost hung lightly in the air.

  “Emmitt Cane...” Lara said airily.

  “Huh?” I said, completely taken by surprise.

  She rolled her eyes at me, but before she could explain, Cameron jumped in. “It’s your case, if you’re interested.” He smugly leaned back, casually on the armrest again. “I can show you the scene, if you want. I’ll pay any fee, of course. Extra, if it’ll put me higher on your priorities list.”

  “This is exactly the sort of thing we specialize in,” I said with a smile as I offered my hand, which he shook gratefully. Lara just stared, as though waiting for a punch line.

  “Great. I’d explain further, but I feel we would accomplish more if you just meet me at the manor tonight,” said Cameron, showing a half-smile.

  Lara stared at the two of us as we ironed out details, only jumping at issues of exact costs. I asked a few more questions about the ghost, but Cameron held off, insisting we wait until we were at the scene. He gave an address and directions. We shook hands once again, and he left.

  I turned back to Lara and we stared at each other a long moment before I looked down at the contract of employment on the table.

  “One condition,” I said gravely.

  “What’s that?” She said, eying me suspiciously.

  “Call me Thomas.”