Chapter 15
The distinction between Type One and Type Three perception is analogous to the difference between having a telephone conversation and hearing speech through a wall.
Type One individuals can establish a direct cognitive link with an entity.
Although such occurrences are exceedingly rare, they’re also exceptionally dangerous.
An entity able to communicate clearly within the mind possesses capabilities that extend far beyond speech.
—Near Death Perception: How a Near-Death Experience Changes the Brain, by Benjamin Ashford
Donny runs his scanner on the trees for half an hour before emerging, brushing leaves off his jacket.
“Whatever was there is gone now, but there was certainly something in there,” he says. “Not long ago.”
I rub my forehead, making circles where the pulling sensation has finally released. The bone feels sore, like something grabbed the front of my skull and yanked hard enough to leave a mark, even though I know there’s nothing there.
“I really did feel something,” I say, hating how small my voice sounds.
“I believe you.” Donny’s eyes are bright as he studies me. “This is fascinating. I wonder if it was energy you sensed.”
“But I heard it,” I say. “Could I have heard energy?”
“Frankly, I have no idea what you did, but you detected something we otherwise would have missed.” He pulls his goggles onto his forehead, flattening his white hair. “That’s valuable, Eden. Very valuable.”
Griffin high-fives me. “Looks like you might make a good hire after all.”
I can’t stop the huge smile that breaks across my face.
Dawn is breaking as Griffin pulls into the garage. The sun is orange on the horizon, and that light should energize me, but I’m not even sure an entire pot of coffee could energize me now. My whole body feels like it’s made of lead.
DJ shuffles toward the house, already half-asleep on her feet. I exit the van, stepping out of the way for Donny to follow, but he stays in his seat.
“You coming?” I ask.
He nods, and I notice he has a gray tinge to his skin. “I’ll be along in just a moment.”
I go to ask if he’s okay, but Griffin’s hand lands on my shoulder before I can, gently steering me toward the house.
“He’s seventy-nine and just pulled an all-nighter,” Griffin whispers. “He doesn’t like being fussed over.”
I guess I wouldn’t want someone hovering over me either if I were exhausted and just needed a minute alone. Still, I can’t help but glance back at the van once more before following Griffin.
Nico’s waiting in the doorway when we step inside, his arms crossed. My pulse does this annoying little skip.
“How’d it go?” he asks Griffin.
“Confirmed paranormal activity. But get this.” Griffin gestures at me with his thumb. “Eden could sense the energy before our scanners picked it up. Led us straight to the hot spot. It was incredible.”
I smile up at Nico, hoping for something that acknowledges I did something right for once.
His eyes sweep over me, cold and assessing, before he does a curt nod. “Benji took your dog out an hour ago.” He turns to Griffin. “Get some rest.”
With that, he goes upstairs, and all the warmth rushes out of my body.
Griffin lifts his eyebrows. “Well. That was frosty.”
“Really?” I ask. “Is that not normal for him?”
“Don’t take it personally.”
“It kind of feels personal when my team leader can barely stand to look at me.” The words rush out, and I want to clamp my hand over my mouth because they sound so pathetic.
I’d thought Nico’s attitude was because he saw me as a liability. Another Bonnie. But this does feel personal. Nico doesn’t look at anyone else the way he looks at me.
You know what? I don’t care.
I don’t need Nico’s approval to do this job. Donny believes in me. DJ, Griffin, and Benji seem to like me, so if Nico wants to glare at me like I personally offended him by daring to exist, he can knock himself out. I can’t let it get to me anymore.
I crash hard, sleeping through most of the day in a dreamless void that my body desperately needed. When I finally drag myself out of bed, Griffin is waiting to torture me with another treadmill session that I can barely stumble through on legs that are still sore from yesterday.
Donny doesn’t leave his apartment all day, so Nico schedules a team meeting for tomorrow morning to determine our next step in finding the Game Master.
I crawl into bed just after ten with Bob curled against my ribs, and for the first time since I got here, I don’t lock the door or wedge a chair under the knob.
I might actually be useful to this team. The thought pushes back against the empty feeling that’s been living inside me for seven years. I was able to do something that they couldn’t.
Bob sighs, his little body relaxing completely against mine. I run my hand over his back, counting his breaths until they even out into sleep.
But I can’t follow him there. I slept all day, and when I’m this far from sleep, closing my eyes only brings me to my old house, to Stanley Daniels. I try counting backward from one hundred. I try picturing jumping sheep.
There’s this weird pressure building at the edge of my consciousness, like someone’s pushing their thumbs against my temples from the inside. I wash down two tabs of Ibuprofen with some water. All the stress from the past few days could have me coming down with something.
I need to fall asleep.
I’m almost there when I hear a whisper so small I nearly mistake it for the house settling:
“… Eden…”
I sit up so fast all the blood rushes from my head, and I immediately turn on the lamp. The room is empty.
“Hello?”
“… how interesting…”
Bob’s still curled against my side, undisturbed. If there were someone in my room, he’d be losing his mind right now. Which means…
The voice is inside my head.
“Eden… Pretty Eden… Will you come say hello?”
Every hair on my body stands up. The voice is soft and smooth like honey, but there’s something sharp underneath it.
I should wake someone up. Get Griffin or DJ to tell me why I’m hearing a voice inside my head.
My legs swing over the side of the bed before I fully decide to move.
The floor is freezing against my bare feet, but I’m already taking a step toward the door.
I reach for Bob, thinking I should at least bring him with me, but my hand doesn’t change direction.
It stays at my side while my feet carry me forward.
“That’s it,” the voice encourages. “Come downstairs and say hello.”
I don’t want to go downstairs. I want to turn around and grab Bob and bang on Griffin’s door until he wakes up and tells me what to do.
What would the cure to a voice inside my head be? Salt water up the nose?
My hand turns the doorknob, and I step into the hallway, the old floorboards creaking under my weight. It’s like when I’m half-asleep and going to the kitchen for a snack, my body on autopilot. I’m not half-asleep right now. I’m wide awake, and my body is walking toward the stairs.
I throw myself toward Griffin’s door, but my arm stops before I can knock.
My hand hovers inches from the wood, trembling with the effort of trying to close that final gap, but I can’t make myself touch it. There might as well be an invisible wall between my hand and that handle, and every time I push against it, something pushes back harder.
“Why disturb him?” the voice croons, wrapping around my thoughts like cold silk. “Come talk to me instead.”
The compulsion slides through me, and my hand drops back to my side. My feet carry me past Griffin’s door, past any chance of help, toward the stairs.
The living room is bathed in moonlight when I reach the bottom of the stairs, silver light streaming through the windows and painting everything in shades of gray.
My heart is pounding so loudly I’m sure it will wake the whole house, but nobody comes.
The house stays silent except for the sound of my bare feet on the old hardwood and the whisper of my own breathing.
“This way.”
My legs carry me into the hallway. The wood floor is so cold it burns against my bare feet.
I try to dig my heels in, try to turn back, but my body just keeps moving, following that tug all the way down the hall, past the kitchen, around the bend until I come face-to-face with that dented metal door…
Open.
Barely, but enough for a thin strip of light to slice across the shadows.
My heart has lodged itself deep in my throat, and my hands are shaking, but they won’t reach for the wall to steady myself. Won’t do anything except hang limp at my sides.
“Don’t be rude.” The voice swells, impatient. “Be a good girl. Say hello.”
It’s like I’m watching myself from somewhere far away, screaming at my body to stop, turn around, and run back upstairs, but the cold presence in my mind smooths over my panic like a hand stroking my hair until it feels easier to just go along with it.
My palm presses against the cold metal. The door swings open wider, revealing a steep metal staircase descending into a lit room below.
My feet find the first step. Then the second. Each one sends a jolt of pain through my sore legs, but I can’t stop. The tugging pulls tighter.
I reach the bottom step, and the air catches in the back of my throat.
The room is huge. The walls are made of corrugated iron, each sheet a dark gunmetal gray with thick bolts holding them together.
The air is dense and electrically charged.
On the far wall is a collection of morgue drawers, each with an engraved metal plate on the front.
But all I can stare at is the man in the room.