6. STEVIE #2
“Okay, this is interesting,” Valerie says. I’m too deep into my own skepticism to experience any hope at her saying that. “The Bevere family is linked to a different family tree—the Damoffs. It looks like Bevere was Irene’s mother’s maiden name.”
I can’t help but perk up—but only slightly—at that. People don’t tend to change their names without reason. I take a step closer to Valerie. “Anything on the Damoffs?”
“Patience,” she says, waving her hand over her shoulder with a dramatic flair. “Let the master work.”
I keep my mouth shut as she types away on her computer, but I can’t stand still on my feet.
Valerie doesn’t realize that her online search is the deciding factor on whether this whole thing—filming with Lo, exploring the possibility of actually investigating the paranormal, hoping that maybe all of this could bring us some exposure—has been worth it.
But I very much know what’s on the line.
Like with everything that ever happens with Paranormal America, my mind is racing at a million miles a minute. I’ve always struggled with never being able to do things calmly. I have Plan F ready before Plan A even starts, just in case everything falls apart.
But that’s the field I’ve found myself in.
In Hollywood, there’s no time to be patient.
No time to wait and see. When Andrew and I were waiting on next steps about the distribution of our show, I considered every bad possible outcome before I ever let myself believe something good might actually happen.
Things move quickly. Until a contract has been signed, until things come together for an episode, there’s nothing left to do but be ready to adapt.
Scrap it all and start over from nothing.
I try not to be annoyed with Andrew for putting us in this position, but it’s hard.
It does feel a little bit like it was his fault for offering to investigate Lo’s house in the first place.
But I could’ve also nixed the idea more firmly.
The appeal of investigating a celebrity’s house had won out over my common sense of realizing what a stupid idea it was to go in with no story, no real plan.
“Okay, I’m not seeing anything,” Valerie says with a sigh.
Even she’s having a hard time hiding her disappointment, and she’s not even technically one of us.
“Nothing on the Bevere family and nothing on the Damoffs. I don’t think there’s much of a story to your ghost. She’s probably some spiteful old lady who died in her home and is upset she’s still trapped between earth and the other side. ”
My lips turn up in a smile. One thing Andrew and I have been exposed to a lot over the course of filming our show is spirituality and people who are much stronger believers than us.
I’ve had to get used to pushing down the scoffs and eye rolls that want to come out every time someone talks about ghosts like they’re real.
I can barely even handle astrology talk, and I’ve heard about it from pretty much every woman I’ve ever been on a date with.
“Maybe we can spin that somehow? Evil grandma?” Andrew asks, turning to me.
Despite Andrew being by far the most levelheaded of the two of us, I’m the problem solver.
And usually, the final say in terms of creative direction.
Fortunately, Andrew makes up for his inability to construct a story on film with his many other skills.
“Not unless we get something about Irene specifically. It’ll be hard to paint her as this, like, evil woman if we don’t have an interesting story from her life to corroborate,” I tell him. “And we don’t even know if she died in the house, which is an added layer of difficulty.”
The room is silent for long enough that I start to feel bad. I’m a blunt communicator, but I never mean for things to feel hopeless. I can tell when a silence is bad and also my fault.
I turn to Lo. “But you didn’t buy the house from Irene, right?”
She shook her head. “No, Irene was the owner before the owners I bought it from.”
“Maybe look into them,” I say to Valerie, the buzz of momentum rising in my chest. There’s nothing that I love more than the high of coming up with a solution to a problem. “Lo, what are their names?”
Lo chews on her lip in thought, and then her eyes suddenly light up. “The Davenports. Sunniva and Nico. But they only lived there for, like, four years, and they’re both still alive.”
“Maybe there’s a reason they only lived there for four years,” Andrew offers.
“Exactly,” Valerie says, raising her eyebrows playfully.
She turns back to her computer and begins typing.
I glance over at her multiple screens and see that she’s using a web browser I’ve never heard of.
I don’t bother questioning her methodology; Valerie has the kind of air to her that makes me trust her technological skills way before I’d trust mine.
“Okay, interesting. Lo is right that they’re both alive, but it looks like they might be internet personality types.”
I let myself roll my eyes at that. “Yeah, them and everyone else in the city,” I say.
“Well, they’re not just any personalities.” Valerie waves us over, and we crowd around her monitors. She’s ended up on some webpage that can’t possibly be for a real business based on the quality.
“What is a ‘Spiritual Healer’?” I ask, trying to keep my face neutral. I’m already over it—there’s no way to save this episode if this is the best we’re going to get.
“It looks like a scam,” Lo says honestly. “Believer or not in a higher power, I don’t think this is legit.”
“Wait, there’s a video,” Andrew says and reaches over Valerie’s shoulder to press play.
Soft music plays out through Valerie’s—admittedly very impressive—speaker system. The stars on the screen fade out, and a woman with straight black hair and no makeup smiles at us.
“Welcome,” the woman says in an impossibly smooth and gentle voice.
“My name is Sunniva. Now that you’re here, I believe you were meant to find me.
I understand the uncertainty and fear that you are feeling.
In a world so large, so overwhelming, so isolating, we need to learn to rely on each other more than ever.
Together, we can face what lies ahead. We can reclaim the parts of ourselves that have been lost. Join us in our journey to self-discovery and fulfillment. Become whole again.”
The video fades out, her website URL replacing her face, and I blink at the screen, taking it all in.
“She’s definitely a cult leader, right? Or part of a cult?” Lo asks, looking between all of us. “Asking in full seriousness. I’ve seen HBO documentaries with this same tone before, and the endings are never good.”
“I don’t know about a cult,” I say, and I catch Lo’s expression out of the corner of my eye. I shouldn’t be turned on by a woman who looks borderline annoyed with me, but it’s sexy when she does it. “That feels like a stretch. She’s probably just a grifter.”
“Maybe she’s really a witch or something,” Andrew offers. “If that’s even the right term to use.”
“Whatever the situation is, you guys have an easy in,” Valerie says. “It looks like they have weekly ‘self-connection’ meetings somewhere in a neighborhood just outside of Riverside. And Stevie, you’re going to love this—their next meeting is tomorrow night.”
I think through the logistics. We’d have to drive out of town—almost definitely two hours one way at least from Lo’s place—and meet up with a random group of people at a random address.
It’s a compelling story for sure—Sunniva alone is inherently a compelling story—but she doesn’t seem like part of our story.
“I don’t think I want to platform these people,” I say. “And we’ve already hit a dead end once on this. I don’t see a reason to put in all of that work just to show up and not get anything from them. Like, what connection would this random woman have to some ghost that’s living in her former home?”
“I don’t think you need to platform them, necessarily,” Lo says.
“But maybe they have some insight into why they moved. If they were experiencing similar things to what I’ve experienced, it could add an interesting angle.
Or at least someone else who can vouch for the place being haunted.
We just get their story and then retell it off-screen. ”
Andrew glances over at me, slight fear in his eyes. He knows I’m the show runner and the brains behind the operation. I don’t mind input, but I also usually don’t welcome it.
Lo, however, is right.
“It could be interesting,” I admit. It’s a big swing that might not offer any benefits at all, but a couple buying and selling a house that quickly for seemingly no reason at all—in this economy, and only to move less than one hundred miles away—is odd.
“It’s not like we have much else to go off of right now.
We’ll bring the camera just in case, but I’m not planning on filming them in any capacity. ”
Andrew presses his lips together. “Alright,” he finally says.
I’ve known him long enough to know he’s only doing this because he’s expected to go.
He looks about as skeptical as I feel. Going so far out of our way to a place where we can’t even shoot anything feels more like a waste of time than anything.
But Lo has a point that they might have something interesting for us, and we need that right now.
“And after we crash their meeting—” I’m stopped by the sound of my phone ringing. I fish it out of my pocket. “The idiots are calling. Sorry. One second—let me make sure they didn’t accidentally set the house on fire or something.”
I step away from the group, which is only about six feet away because the apartment isn’t very large, and accept the call. “What do you need?” I ask.
“You gotta get back here, dude. Some shit is going down,” Tweedle-Dum says, breathing heavily into the phone like he just ran a marathon.