Deadly Night Part 22

Yeah that's right. The corpse had no ovaries...just a pair of testes that never dropped down. Her v.a.g.i.n.a was superficial, a shallow path to nowhere. So, technically Angie was a dude after all. A dude in a beautiful girl's body, that is. Such information could account for the guy and girl I sensed pursuing us, and Fiona's p.r.o.nouncement that the killer 'struggled in determining his s.e.xual ident.i.ty'.

But this gets even better...at least in terms of interesting. Once the findings were reported to Ed's office, who in turn contacted the authorities in New Jersey, other medical doc.u.ments soon came into play. These are hospital records from shortly after Delores's birth. It turns out she was born a hermaphrodite, and rather than run the usual battery of tests to determine the dominant gender, Thomas Cabrini insisted they make the infant into a little girl. So they removed the phallus, and voila! the kid who should've been a David or Don became Delores instead.

No wonder she killed her dad later on. He was probably some sick incestuous letch who wanted a plaything. That alone would be horrible enough. To go through life as a male disguised as a female? Let's just say it gave us all a more compa.s.sionate outlook on her. Of course, it doesn't justify her actions, the brutal murders, but it does explain a lot. That's probably where the 'cutting' behavior originated from, I imagine.

Anyway, I think that clears up any doubts concerning Fiona's accuracy. h.e.l.l, if Angie had been aware of what Fiona told me in private about the 'red haired dude', she'd have seen for herself that my wife's psychic gifts are the real deal.

What's next for us?

Well, for one thing my band has a major showcase coming up in early November. A major metal label is interested in us. Really interested. But they want to see how a tough rock n' roll audience reacts to us. We're booked to play at some big auditorium in New York City the weekend after Halloween. Some place called the Palladium, I believe. Chris and Ricky are handling the arrangements, along with our manager, Michael.

So that's cool-I'm totally jazzed.

However, I'm just as excited about what's brewing for Nash-Vegas Paranormal. All the pilot investigations for the television series were shot in September, along with the first two studio audience installments. That gets aired toward the end of this month. Fiona and Jackie are handling everything regarding the series, but it looks promising. The corporate execs are already talking possible expansion to a national program.

That'd sure be nice.

In the meantime, it's too early to quit my day gig. Call center B.S. remains the same, especially since our busiest season is upon us. The holidays.... You know, gotta sell the newest cell phones, rate plans, and be ready to try and fix whatever's wrong with our service. There'll be no shortage of unhappy vermin clogging the phone lines once the holidays get here. Of course, if any of my corporate bosses ever read any of this, I might get a really big promotion myself, and quickly. To 'customer'.

That's everything for now. Lots of irons in the fire usually translate to more to write about later. Stay tuned.

Oh, yeah, I almost forgot.

There is one other thing, and at this point I can't tell if it's a big deal or not. Fiona doesn't sense much to worry about, so I try to remind myself of that fact. But it's real hard to do sometimes...especially late at night when I'm alone. I could be driving home from band practice, watching late night TV by myself, or lying awake in bed-even with Fiona lying peacefully at my side.

That's when I catch a glimpse of something. Something dark and menacingly cold. Usually out of the corner of my eye, and then it flits away, like the phantoms created by a car driving by, where the headlights impose shadows inside a darkened house through a window. Everyone should know what that's like.

If only this was that definable, with a logical explanation, I'd have never mentioned it.

But always I sense this particular 'presence' before I see anything to confirm it, and often the gooseflesh along my arms and neck is what alerts me...there's danger nearby.

I hope it's some harmless ghost, traveling through on the way to some other place. May it get there soon, and may it not be someone I know. Someone whose death is pretty much my fault.

Okay, all my fault.

It better not be Delores Cabrini's vengeful spirit. Angie.

That'd really suck!

The End.

Now available:.

The Ungrateful Dead:.

Ghosthunters 101 Series Book Two.

(Please read on for an excerpt).

"Are you sure you want to do this?"

Sunday afternoon. November 30, which as I mentioned earlier is the anniversary of one of the bloodiest battles of the Civil War. Although not as famous as Gettysburg, Chickamauga, or even the more infamous battles of Stones River and Shiloh in Tennessee, The Battle of Franklin bears the distinction of being the 'bloodiest per hour' conflict of the Civil War. Both sides racked up nearly nine thousand casualties in less than five hours.

Many of the dead remain interred in the Carnton Plantation cemetery, courtesy of Sarah McGavock, whose tireless efforts to give the fallen Confederate soldiers a decent burial landed her in the annals of the war's history. However, many of the slain men-both Union and Confederate-who died back in 1864 now reside inside the earth beneath the neighborhoods surrounding the former plantation. Many were blown to bits by cannon and grape shot, so collecting and identifying these men's remains was nearly impossible back then. As a result, NVP has investigated more than a dozen reported hauntings among the stately homes within earshot of the Carnton's grounds.

"No, I'm not sure," Fiona told me. "But, what choice do we have?"

She looked as if she might collapse. Of course, I intended to catch her before she hit the floor. But there would be no way to prevent the deluge of tears that I sensed were dammed up behind her beautiful green eyes. They were tinged with amber that afternoon-another telltale sign of the grief she bore for our latest murdered friends, still fresh since they had only left us the night before. Yes, I'm sure some of the pain was amplified after Fiona, Jackie, and Mich.e.l.le had expressed their irritation with Margie Anderson beforehand, only to behold Margie's frozen terrified expression less than two hours later. I d.a.m.n well guarantee that sight will stay with us all forever, along with the fact her body had almost been cut in half by multiple gun shots from close range....

"Jimmy? Are you even listening to me??"

"Yeah, babe, I am.... Here, let me hold you."

I stepped toward her, hoping to gather her in my arms. But she stepped away.

"No, I'm serious!"

"I know. I just can't help thinking about what happened last night, and how they all looked.... How everything looked."

Well, h.e.l.l, it was true. Seeing Margie, Chet...and their kid and his wife. Nothing but horror...the blood so thick and the war-weapon bullets that had torn their bodies to where I could only readily identify three of the four Anderson family members, and one because it had to be Chet since it was the tallest of the four.

Fiona must've seen something in my thoughts' imagery that shattered her protective wall. She did collapse, and luckily I caught her in time. She sobbed uncontrollably in my arms while I sought to comfort her.

When she finally had regained herself, she realized we would be late for our first appointment that day, at the Carter House. Before a new rush of tears set in, I a.s.sured her that I would get with everyone and make sure we rescheduled our exploration of the house and grounds to begin at three o'clock instead of two-thirty. I was even confident I could obtain the Carter House staff's full cooperation, since much of their tourism these days comes from interest in the ghosts that haunt it and the Carnton Plantation.

Turned out I was right about all of it. Fiona wasn't the only one distraught from our group, and most everyone wanted to cancel. But Jackie's clearer head and Fiona's fears about this golden opportunity being gone forever were enough incentive for me to ensure everyone else would be waiting for us when we arrived. The only b.u.g.g.e.r in the stew was Ed Silver, who would also be attending. My lovely wife forced me to invite him over the phone. She even watched me as I spoke to the slick b.a.s.t.a.r.d, wearing the amused smirk I've come to dearly cherish.

At least the weather was much better that Sunday afternoon. With bright sunshine and temperatures in the mid to high 50s, it boded well for our grounds tour at the Carter House. The weather was supposed to remain pleasant until long after our planned arrival at the Carnton, around 5:30 p.m.

That meant we had two good hours to work with at our first location. Our camera crew was getting used to the routine, so setting up was a snap for them. In fact, they were the first to arrive at the Carter House that afternoon, and had their cameras ready to roll when we arrived.

"Oh great...they're going to see me with puffy eyes," my wife lamented, right after I pulled the Camaro next to Sam's van.

"Here...you can wear my shades," I told her, handing her my cherished Ray Bans, snickering because she didn't want to run back inside our home to pick up her sungla.s.ses from where she left them on the fireplace mantle. "You scratch 'em, and you'll owe me some intense s.e.x later on."

"Maybe I should scratch them now...sort of like a down payment, and at the same time I'll get to see that pompous smirk of yours vanish before it shows up on today's footage." She chuckled and opened the pa.s.senger door before I could respond or even offer to open the door for her.

"Hey, Jimmy boy! Fiona!"

Justin called to us from the back porch of the famed estate. I guess he beat us there.... Actually, it looked as if everyone had, as I soon saw Tom, Tony, Ricky, Jackie, and Mich.e.l.le emerge from behind him. And, once the camera folks pointed their cameras at my wife and me, I immediately felt self-conscious.

For those who think I am incessantly narcissistic, they should know my antics are mostly for fun. Plus, you've gotta have some att.i.tude if you want to make a lasting impression as a performer-as I strive for with my music. It's a little like that in the ghost hunting biz, too, although I prefer to blend in much more in this environment. Long story short? I wasn't thrilled about having center stage, and this was either our group's or the producer's idea of having the cameras follow Fiona and me from our car to our destination.

It was even worse for Fiona, who honestly couldn't care less about being in the limelight. But she looks better than I do on film, so I can't blame the producer's for wanting to get her in there.... It dawned on me, suddenly, that maybe this was all about her and not me after all.

She chuckled.

"What?" It came out harsher than I intended, but I shot her a sheepish grin.

"You!" she replied, smirking again, while shaking her head.

Like I've said, sometimes it ain't exactly a picnic having her peer inside my head like that.

"It might surprise you that as good as you look, it isn't always about you," she said, confirming my hunch.

"Shhhh! They'll hear you, and then everyone will think I'm an a.s.s."

"Hmmmm, maybe that would be good for your spiritual growth, Mr. Ghostbuster!"

She chuckled again and picked up her pace before I could respond with something witty...but the smirks that Brandon and Sam were wearing told me my worst nightmare had already happened. Yep, that entire exchange was recorded in pristine clarity by Sally and the boys.

Great. Well, it couldn't get more embarra.s.sing for me...or could it?

Jackie gathered everyone and then repeated an earlier lecture to efficiently use our time in exploring the grounds. It meant separating into three teams-two with three members, and the last team having just two people. Each team would have its own cameraperson.

For those who remember how things were usually handled in Deadly Night, Fiona was the one in charge and Tom was generally accepted by the rest of us as our 'second in command'. However, things had changed once we survived our near-death experience with crazy Angie. Tom now shies away from anything other than being in charge of the data collected from our investigations-which he now willingly shares with Tony. Fiona also had a change of heart about running things, feeling a bit superst.i.tious that she might've invited some of the negative energy that brought Angie into the group in the first place, by insisting on running things her way. Thus, she now splits her leadership duties fifty-fifty with Jackie.

I honestly like this new group structure and NVP's revised overall personality. It seems to be working well. Mich.e.l.le and Ricky have brought new perspectives and energy, and veterans like Justin and Tony now feel more included in major decisions. Good times...if not for another crazed killer spreading mayhem in our world.

As for me...I am quite content to go with the flow. Since I've recently taken on a bigger role with my rock band these days-which we will get to before long-I don't have time to worry about the hierarchy of NVP. I'm happy with wherever my role fits in our organizational flowchart, even if I eventually become the low man on the totem pole. Seriously. At least I'm still the one who gets to chronicle our ongoing saga.

But, back to the ranch we go...or rather, the back porch of the Carter House.

"It will take less time to explore the grounds than we originally antic.i.p.ated, so if we could all meet back here in half an hour, then Fiona will prepare us for our tour of the inside of the house," Jackie announced. "Stick together and for G.o.d's sake keep your eyes peeled for anyone who looks suspicious! The Carter House staff will do the same. Afterward, Fi has a story to share with us from a good friend of hers whose grandmother used to be the curator here."

Actually, there are lots of stories from this friend of hers, who will remain unnamed due to her request for privacy. Just know that it should be an interesting tale. This lady made me totally forget about band practice one night while listening to her stories. I didn't even bother to respond to my band's angry texts to get my a.s.s immediately to Madison for rehearsal.

"Where in the h.e.l.l is our supposed police protection?!" asked Justin. "Don't tell me that they ain't here because it's still light outside!"

"Well, it's true, Justin," said Jackie, which drew looks of surprise from all of us-including Fiona. "No one knows we're here, and they'll meet us at the Carnton-"

"No one knew the Anderson family were planning to meet us last night. Right?" said Tony, angrily interrupting her. "Whoever killed them could be around here hiding with a high-powered rifle, ready to pick us off one by one."

"You don't remember the announcement on our website last week, after Chet Anderson won the contest to co-host last night's investigation?" Jackie sounded perturbed. "That information was also mentioned during our commercial spots for more than a week. I'll bet my life that's how the killers knew where we'd be.... All they had to do was follow Chet as he drove to the cemetery. That's probably how George and Melissa got killed as well-somebody must've followed them from Tom's place. We're in more danger staying home than we are out here today."

Faulty logic, completely. But when Fiona nodded her support of Jackie's view, most of us agreed to move on to the next thing on our agenda. Only Tony sulked, while shaking his head.

"Is that where Ed will meet us, too, at the Carnton?"

My question this time, and one where I felt the answer would benefit us all.

"Yeah, I thought Fiona told you," said Jackie, glancing at my wife, who sheepishly said she forgot to mention that fact to me earlier.

Since we had a lot to accomplish that afternoon, as long as these two ladies were comfortable with being there, then I was ready to get things rolling. I gave Tony a brotherly slap on the back and motioned for my group to follow me to the first appointed location to begin our investigation.

I should mention here that many of the buildings on the grounds have their own special place in history. One building is reportedly the most bullet-riddled structure still standing from the Civil War, and it looks like it. It once served as an office for the family when the Carter House unwittingly ended up in the middle of the Battle of Franklin. One can only imagine what it was like for anyone near the structure when it fell under fire. I've often wondered if that was the reason it was painted blood red.... It seems so apropos.

Jackie's estimate that the investigation wouldn't take long turned out to be true. Our team managed to go through everything outside in a matter of twenty minutes. It might've taken even less time, had we not had to converse with each other as part of our reality show. Unfortunately, there weren't any notable gems from Justin or me, other than his grumbled threats about getting shot and becoming a mean ghost on this property.

At least Tony managed to get us to laugh about a scary experience with a shadow phantom he encountered on the property when he came out here one night alone. When we regrouped on the back porch, Fiona announced that Detective Ed would meet us at the Carter House after all, and planned to travel with us to the Carnton.

Well, s.h.i.t!

But, when I considered that everyone is barely holding it together for the sake of the television series' survival, a bonafide gun-carrying cop might be the very thing to cure our ills. In the meantime, Fiona told a story about the lady who used to be the curator of the Carter House, Mrs. S-our friend's grandmother. Mrs. S. was a wonderful lady that the older members of the staff still spoke of warmly-especially those that were considered experts in the local history pertaining to the civil war.

Anyway, one day when Mrs. S. was giving a tour of the house, a young man joined the group, preferring to linger near the back, behind everyone else. Dressed in clothes from another era, this young man repeatedly contradicted everything that she described-in particularly what the family did with certain rooms on the main floor. When it came time to visit the bas.e.m.e.nt, everyone headed downstairs...except for him. Mrs. S. later described the young man as suddenly turning pale, as if he had seen a ghost. He turned to leave, moving through the house to the front door. She followed him, in fear that this oddball kid might try to steal something from the house, although he didn't stop to touch anything.

When he reached the front door, he opened it and immediately picked up his pace as he moved down the steps. Bernice watched the young man proceed into the front yard, where he promptly vanished into thin air.

Greatly disturbed by what she had witnessed, she was later cleaning the main parlor to this famous home. As she dusted old photographs, Mrs. S. gasped when she came upon one of them.... The image of the young man looking back at her was identical to her mysterious visitor from that afternoon. The young man in the photograph was Todd Carter, who grew up in the house. He had traveled with the Confederate army that attacked the Union forces in Franklin. But alas, Todd was mortally wounded in his own backyard.

The family brought him inside, and he spent his last few days on earth dying in the very bas.e.m.e.nt the mysterious visitor refused to visit.

As Fiona had previously shared that story with Tom and Jackie, they stood by watching everyone else's reactions knowingly. Lots of ooohs and ahhhs-especially from the camera crew, who weren't supposed to comment in any way during the filming of our ghost hunting activities.

From there, we toured the inside of the house, and spent an hour snapping pictures while we left several stationary recorders in hopes of capturing EVPs (electronic voice phenomena). Just as we packed up our gear to leave, around 4:45 p.m., Mr. Ed showed up.

"Fiona...Jimmy," said Detective Silver, soon after exiting his preferred sedan. "We should probably talk before we set out on the road to your next stop. Jackie, too."

Dressed casually in jeans-a first in my presence since we first met six years earlier-he seemed more uptight than usual. Many of you will remember Ed as a fairly handsome dude with slicked back dark hair that is surely dyed. But his light brown eyes needed that sort of thing or he'd look older than the fifty years he's resided on planet earth.

I'm trying to be nice here, since the majority of d.i.c.k Tracy's likeable traits are physical. Although, he was a lot more fun to make fun of when he sported a p.u.s.s.y-tickler moustache. Someone told me that he read our last book and decided to shave the sucker as a result. But now I see why he wore the d.a.m.ned thing, since the dude's lips are thin and seem stark naked without the wee caterpillar beneath his nostrils.

"What's up?"

Gotta love Jackie and her directness. But rather than tell her, Ed directed the three of us to step away with him to the bullet-riddled building, maybe fifty feet away from where everyone else waited on the porch.

"We've got a lead on the bullets, although nothing's set in stone," he advised. "We're fairly certain they were purchased in Cookeville in October."

"Well, that's good...right?" said Fiona, wearing a hopeful expression, as if she desperately wanted him to tell her that our nightmare was almost over. "It shouldn't take long to track down the person or persons who made the purchase."

Ed shifted his weight from one foot to the other, uncomfortably, either from the news he came to share.... Or, perhaps it was the fact I intently tried to bore a hole in the middle of his forehead with my silent contempt.

"I can't give you a name yet, since it was likely an alias," he said. "But we know beyond any doubt that the individual who made the purchase has been linked to an extremist group based in Tupelo, Mississippi. The Feds are on their way to Nashville to review our findings and decide what course of action to take."

How's that for a whole lot of semi-clear, semi-vague information? Jackie nodded thoughtfully, and Fiona looked as if she was trying hard to picture how this development would affect us. As for me? I felt that time was a-wastin' and we had our bigger investigation to get to soon.

"Does this have any impact on our plans to visit the Carnton this evening?"

No worries. I made sure I didn't sound disdainful; although he eyed me critically once I popped this question. Well, maybe I sounded a little curt, since unless he had solid evidence that this extremist dude from Mississippi who likes to shop for deadly bullets in Cookeville was now waiting for us at the Carnton, then this conversation could wait until later. No doubt, Fiona heard my silent musings. At least she smiled at me...maybe on account of the same thing.

"The killer, or killers, could very well be there. They could even be here," he advised, eyeing me evenly. Invisible light sabers were now drawn between us. "Truth is, until we have a better handle on the group's preferences and movements, which we should get a briefing on by tomorrow, it could be better for your group to lay low."