Echoes (Whisper Trilogy Book 2) (2 page)

“What happened to you, Dane?” Fred asked while draining his glass. “Back at the start you were enthusiastic. You lived for this, for the opportunity to prove the existence of the paranormal. What changed?”

“I learned it was all bullshit,” Dane replied with a cocky grin as he sipped his coffee. “See the thing is I’ve been everywhere there is to go. I’ve spent countless nights creeping around graveyards, murder houses, abandoned buildings and the like, not once have I seen anything to make me even remotely think there’s anything out there after death.”

“I don’t think you really believe that, you wouldn’t be doing this otherwise.”

Dane grinned, and sat back in his chair, running his hand through his hair. “Come on, this stopped being about discovery a long time ago. It’s a job that pays well, which is about my only motivation right now. Besides, maybe it’s about time we stopped doing this. God knows we’ve milked it for a lot longer than I ever expected.”

Fred leaned forward, the light overhead casting his gaunt face into deep shadow. “But what if? What if there really is something out there just waiting to be discovered?”

“If there was anything out there, would we be resorting to faking these shows to boost our viewing figures?”

“We don’t fake it, we enhance the experience for the viewer,” Fred said, glaring across the table.

“Relax, I’m not some network stooge you have to bullshit. Let’s be honest about it at least. We lie to the viewer. We tell them we don’t cut or edit or overdub anything, when we both know that’s exactly what we do. And I get it, because if we don’t, there’s no show. Face it, Fred, this thing’s run its course.”

“I need to ask you something,” Fred said. “A favor.”

Dane shook his head. “I know what’s coming and I won’t do it. We’re friends, Fred, so please, don’t make me say no to you.”

“Remember, I gave you your start, I gave you a shot when nobody else would. You owe me.”

“I can’t do it, believe me I would if I could.”

“Please, Dane,” Fred said, “I’m asking you as a friend. Call your brother. Ask him if we can investigate the Hope House haunting.”

Dane shook his head. “I really can’t. The entire situation was a public relations disaster for the town. They won’t even talk about it, never mind authorize an investigation. It was big news and I think it’s still raw for them.”

“Which is why we need to move on this. It could save our jobs.”

“I remember last time I asked about it, I also remember the response I got. Our family is dysfunctional enough without getting into another dispute with Henry.”

“That was a long time ago.”

“Seven years isn’t so long, let me tell you, they’re still having issues with people desperate to know what happened down there. A televised investigation is exactly what they don’t need. I’d forget about this one if I were you.”

“I wouldn’t ask if I wasn’t desperate. Truth is we’re facing the chop here. Not just you and me, the crew too. People you’ve worked with for years. I’m not asking for guarantees, I’m just asking you to make the call and see what he says.”

“Why are you so desperate to push this?”

“Because when I have to line everyone up and tell them they’re out of a job, I can at least tell them I tried to do everything I could to keep us on the air. I’d do it myself, but every enquiry I’ve made so far has been stonewalled. You have the insider connections. ”

The two were silent, Dane sipping his coffee while Fred poured himself another large brandy.

“If I ask him,” Dane said quietly, “There will be no guarantee. Hell, less than that. There’s barely a chance, but I owe you this Fred if nothing else.”

“So you’ll ask him?”

“Yeah, I’ll speak to him. Just don’t go expecting miracles.”

Fred relaxed, and even managed a smile. “This could be just what we need to keep us on the air. Even if they say no, we can at least say we tried.”

“You know the stories don’t you? About what happened there?”

“Of course we know the stories, it’s why we want to go there,” Fred said, the initial smile now a wide grin.

“No, I don’t mean the stories in the press. Everyone knows those. I mean the real stories, the stuff kept from the public.”

“No, I don’t believe I do.”

Dane looked the producer in the eye, his brow furrowed as he spoke.

“My brother only ever talked about it once. He was drunk, and probably doesn’t even remember he got so loose-tongued about it. The stuff in the press was bad enough, but the stuff they covered up was even worse.”

“What did he tell you?”

“Nothing I’m willing to repeat. All I’ll say is what happened there wasn’t just confined to the fire. It goes way back. It’s funny, even after all the places I’ve investigated over the years, the Hope House haunting is the only one to ever make me really believe there could be something in it. I don’t like it.”

“Why?”

Dane grinned, a strained expression without humor. “Because my brother is the most uptight, straitlaced person I’ve ever known, and if what he tells me about the place is true, then we won’t need overdubs and quick cuts. Then again, we probably won’t get the permission anyway.”

“Please, just…”

Dane raised a hand to cut the producer off mid-sentence.

“I’ll ask him as I said, just be aware that if he says no, that’s it. I’m sure you found out when you looked into this yourself how he and the rest of the town council have tied the site up in enough red tape to make sure nobody is allowed within a mile of it. It’s either with his blessing or not at all. Understood?”

“Understood. All I want you to do is ask the question.”

“Leave it with me, I’ll talk to him.”

“Thank you, thank you so much,” Fred said, the relief clear on his face as he finished his drink. “You can use my phone if you like,” he said, digging into his pocket.

“I don’t think calling him at three in the morning on a Sunday is going to get the answer you want, Fred. Let’s finish these shots, so I can get back to the hotel, get some shut-eye and call him later this morning. Good enough?”

“Sounds fantastic,” Fred said, getting to his feet. “You won’t regret this, I promise you.”

“Maybe not, but you might.”

“Why?”

“Because he might yet say yes,” Dane said simply, pushing past Fred into the icy November air.

CHAPTER 2

A fresh November breeze blew golden-brown autumn leaves down Oakwell’s main street. The sky was a pale, cloudless blue, the cool air edged with the bitter bite of winter. Oakwell town hall was a medium-sized building of sandstone, and boasted an iron sculpture of a horse outside on the neatly trimmed lawn. Forty-six year-old councilor Henry Marshall strode towards it, briefcase clutched tightly in his hand. With pursed lips he looked down Main Street through narrow, green eyes. Much of the quaint town he remembered as a boy was gone. Over the last few years many local businesses had been forced to close, making way for modern bars with neon lights, as well as the McDonalds restaurant down by the theater which had put the Randall’s diner out of business. Across the street from where he walked was the paranormal souvenir store where the Bakery used to be, which was now just opening its metallic shutters, ready to greet another new batch of tourists anxious to get their greedy hands on some information about the Hope House haunting. The town had fought tooth and nail to oppose the opening of it, but had ultimately lost. Marshall scowled at the two spotty teens who were waiting outside, one of whom was eating an egg McMuffin from the very store which had put Henry’s good friend out of business and forced him to move away, while the other smoked and leaned against the wall. He half considered going over to give them hell, however he was already late and there just wasn’t time. Turning away from the boys, he strode into the town hall.

The meeting-room smelled of old polish and was dominated by a square oak table around which his three fellow council members were already seated. Henry had slowly worked his way up the political ladder, and had since become one of the town’s most respected (and feared) officials. He took his seat at the head of the table, his sour scowl still etched on his face as he poured himself a glass of water, straightened his tie, and prepared to address his colleagues.

“Thank you all for coming. I appreciate this was called at very short notice.”

“I hope this is important, Henry,” said Celia Rimmel, a Botox-lipped sixty-seven year-old former schoolteacher who was badly losing her fight to retain her youth.

Marshall nodded and manipulated the scowl into his most sincere smile.

“I wouldn’t have asked you all here otherwise. I’ll be as quick as I can. I’m sure we all have a lot to do.”

There was silence as the rest of them waited. Marshall took a moment to compose himself, and looked at them in turn. To the left of Celia was Edgar Rollins, a retired navy captain, and as stubborn as they come. Next to him was Dennis Cleaver who, at thirty-nine, was the youngest member of the council and who possessed an ambitious streak which Marshall didn’t particularly care for.

“We’re all aware of the on-going issues surrounding the influx of tourists and investigators coming into the town. Things have reached critical levels, and something needs to be done.”

“We agree Henry, we have discussed it before. I don’t know what you expect us to do?” Celia said, wrinkling her nose.

“It’s not just the tourists,” Rollins snapped, “it’s the kids. Teenagers wanting to gawp at the site in the woods. They drink and fight and disturb the peace. Something needs to be done.”

“What exactly do you suggest?” Cleaver cut in. “We’ve already increased security patrols out there, and we don’t have the funding to increase the police force. No matter what we do the problem seems to be growing. The more we try to hide this, the more people want to know. It’s a vicious circle.”

“Well, we sure as hell can’t go on like this,” Rollins shot back. “How many businesses have we lost already? How many of the good people who were the backbone of this town have been forced to shut up shop to make way for some big money new business? Oakwell runs a real danger of losing what makes it so special. We’re overrun.”

“It’s the paranormal store that did it for me,” Celia interjected, looking at them in turn. “It’s like a zoo in there with kids in and out all day causing a scene. On the way over here I saw those two Weaver kids waiting outside for it to open. It’s giving our town a bad name. I just don’t know what we can do.”

“I do.”

The three of them turned towards Marshall, who had been listening to the discussion unfold. He wore the faintest ghost of a smile in the corner of his lips as he leaned forward and spoke.

“I think we’ve been going about this all wrong. I think we’re fighting in the wrong place.”

“What do you mean?” Rollins asked, folding his shovel-like hands on the table.

“What I mean is if we want to get our town back to the way it was, we need to give the tourists what they want.”

“I’m not sure I agree, I…”

Marshall raised a hand, cutting Dennis off mid-sentence.

I’m talking now, you arrogant little prick.

“Just hear me out,” Marshall said. Staying polite, playing the game. “Now we all know trying to keep this situation a secret isn’t working. The fact is people know something happened out here and because of all these ridiculous ghost stories it’s only going to get worse. It doesn’t help that the town hid a lot of the previous disturbances at the site. It makes us look guilty of something. I say our best course of defense is to go on the offense I say we use it to our advantage. As Edgar said, local businesses have suffered over the last few years. We need to bring some money back into the town coffers.”

“What did you have in mind?” Cleaver asked.

“Well I wasn’t sure how to go about this at first. It’s bothered me, just like it bothered all of you for a long time, until I received a call from my brother. He and I spent the weekend thrashing out an idea, which I want to present to you now.”

He paused to wait for any objections, continuing when there were none.

“As you know, the Hope House site is in unclaimed forest. Acres of land which is unused. I say we use it.”

“We can’t,” Celia said, glancing at the others before turning back to Marshall. “The house is a listed building. It can’t be built on.”

“It was a listed building. Since the fire, there isn’t much left. I checked the records, and due to its destruction, the land is available for redevelopment.”

“You want to rebuild the house? What good will that do?” Rollins said.

“Not exactly. What I want to do is build a hotel, right there on the site where Hope House once stood. You want the tourists off the streets? Give them a place to stay. They can poke around the woods to their hearts’ content and bring the town some much needed revenue.”

“I don’t see how it will help,” Cleaver said, looking at Marshall with more than a little disdain.

“It will help because once people pay for the privilege of staying in the hotel, when nothing happens, they will realize this haunting talk is nothing more than gossip and hearsay which got out of hand. Believe me, word spread about the fire seven years ago pretty quickly. It will spread just as fast when they learn there’s nothing to be seen here. People will soon find somewhere else to go and chase ghosts in the night, and we’ll be able to start putting this town back to the way it was.”