Demons LLC (Damned and Cursed Book 7) (4 page)

Alex smiled and gave a polite nod as he approached.

"Hi.
 
I'm Alex."

Amy returned the smile, her cheeks turning red.

"Amy.
 
Amy Devereux."

They shook hands.
 
Amy didn't twitch or go into any kind of psychic trance.
 
So much for psychometry.

"So," Alex said.
 
His eyes traveled along the hardware sitting on the sidewalk.
 
He didn't know what any of it was.
 
He was certain that even though some of the gear looked like cameras, they were far more than that.
 
"It looks like we're both here to do the same thing."

Amy's eyes lit up.
 
"You're a paranormal investigator, too?"

"Something like it.
 
Don't worry.
 
I won't get in your way."
 
It was tempting to add
So stay out of mine
.

Laughing, Amy waved dismissively.
 
"Oh, I'm not worried about that."
 
She looked him up and down, nearly making him squirm.
 
"Where's all your gear?"

"Oh," Alex said, reaching for his phone.
 
"My wife made me get this.
 
I'm not too crazy about it, but I'm figuring it out.
 
Camera, pen, voice recorder.
 
I have to admit, it does have its uses.
 
But I have to wonder about the GPS thing."

Amy was taken aback.
 
"No EMF?
 
Infrared?
 
EVP?"

She was speaking Greek to him, but Alex did understand EVP.
 
Electronic Voice Phenomenon.
 
The art of recording a one-sided conversation, and hoping a spirit would respond.

Alex shook his head.
 
"Nah.
 
I'm more simple.
 
I just like to talk to them."

Amy said nothing.
 
She stared at him, her mouth open and eyes wide.
 
Alex couldn't tell if it was lust written across her face, or she thought he was a crackpot.
 
When the silence turned awkward, he smiled and nodded toward the house.

"Well, I'd better go introduce myself."

Alex didn't need to be officially psychic to sense Amy staring at him.
 
Putting her out of his mind, he waved as he approached the porch.
 
Mr. Donovan was still talking to the head of the household.
 
Their conversation turned to a whisper, then completely stopped as he drew near.

The cold chill down his spine grew worse with every step.

"Hello," Alex said, taking the two steps and joining them.

The man on the left eyed Alex carefully.

"Are you…Alex?"

A small weight lifted.
 
At least they didn't forget he was coming.

"I am, sir.
 
Alex Teague.
 
I'm sorry about the time.
 
I would have been here sooner, but I have to admit, I got a little lost getting here."

"Don't worry about it.
 
We're just glad your here.
 
I'm Jason.
 
Jason Felder.
 
My wife and kids are inside.
 
Listen, I have to prepare you—"

Alex held up a hand.
 
"No, please.
 
Actually, don't prepare me.
 
I'd rather work cold."

Mr. Donovan laughed quietly.
 
"You sound just like Amy.
 
I'm Professor Donovan.
 
I teach at the local university.
 
And, when I can, I like to try to help people with…unusual problems, like Jason has here.
 
It's good to meet you.
 
Jason told me you were coming."

Alex raised an eyebrow.
 
It would have been nice to have had that same courtesy.

"Here's my card," Donovan offered.

He accepted the card and shoved it in his pocket, feeling like an amateur that he didn't have one to offer in return.
 
The next time he talked to Cindy, that would be the first thing he brought up.
 
Business cards.

He regarded both men.
 
Donovan was in his sixties, and had a grandfatherly air about him.
 
All he needed was a red coat, and he could have passed for Santa Claus.
 
He wore a button-down shirt and dress pants, looking like he'd just stepped out of the classroom.

Jason had definitely seen better days.
 
Huge, black circles hung under his eyes.
 
Somewhere in his forties, he had the look of a man who worked hard for a living.
 
Well-built, stocky.
 
There was no smile, no joy in his face.
 
Alex imagined some time had gone by since he last laughed.

Jason put his hands in his pockets, looking lost.

"So…what now?
 
Do you want to go inside?"

"Sure," Donovan answered.
 
"We can introduce my team to your family, set up some equipment.
 
They won't mind being interviewed, will they?"

Jason huffed.
 
"You probably won't get anything from my daughter, but my wife and son won't mind."

"Good enough."
 
Donovan gestured to the door.
 
"Shall we?"

Alex held up a finger, looking at Jason.

"Uh, sir—"

"Please.
 
Call me Jason.
 
I'm not ninety years old."

"Okay, Jason.
 
Before we go inside—"

"Ah!" Jason said, remembering.

Guilt and relief clawed at Alex as Jason fished an envelope out of his pocket, and handed it over.
 
Alex wouldn't open it, even if Donovan wasn't watching with a look of disdain.
 
Alex assumed it was the first half of his agreed upon fee.
 
Five hundred dollars.
 
Five hundred on arrival, five hundred on removal of the presence.
 
The terms were clear and precise, and Alex thought the price was fair.
 
Jason certainly didn't hesitate when they discussed it on the phone.

His hand shook as he slipped the envelope in his back pocket, and not from the cold chill coursing through him.
 
The guilt continued to attack.
 
He tried to remember what Cindy always told him.
 
Firemen and policemen certainly didn't feel guilty when they cashed their paychecks.
 
He was performing a service.
 
For that service, he should be paid.

Could the Felder family afford a thousand dollars?
 
Was that payment strapping them in any way?
 
Was he taking food out of their mouths?

Alex shook away the thoughts and took a deep breath.
 
Donovan still watched him carefully with his hand on the door.
 
The three men traded looks, and Jason took the lead to open the door to his home.

The blast of air felt like it came from the arctic as Alex stepped inside.
 
The living room was neat, tidy.
 
Pictures of Jason and his family lined the walls.
 
A large TV that Alex envied was mounted on the wall.
 
There was no wall between the living room and dining room.
 
Alex liked the look.
 
He could see clear into the kitchen, as Jason's wife loaded a dishwasher.

"Donna," Jason called.
 
"Our company is here."

Donna Felder closed the dishwasher and approached.
 
Like Jason, she had the appearance of a woman that was living with a stress that would not go away.
 
Her long brown hair had a streak of gray on the right side.
 
Her cheeks were sunken, her frame frail.
 
Alex imagined that wasn't her normal appearance.

"Hi.
 
Thank you for coming."
 

She shook Donovan's hand, and then Alex's.
 
As she touched Alex, her face crumpled and tears began to flow.
 
She broke down, and reached out to him.
 
He hugged her, and the fact that he was charging this terrorized family whispered to him once again.

"I'm so sorry," she said.
 
"It's just that…this whole thing has been hard on my family."

"Don't worry," Donovan said.
 
"We'll do all we can."

Alex's brow furrowed.
 
That wasn't very comforting.

There were loud, stomping steps above them from the second floor.
 
Everyone looked to the stairs to their right, and a teenage girl popped her head around the corner.
 
She resembled her mother, with the exception of the tiny stud stuck on the side of her nose.

"Hey Mom," she called.
 
"Is dinner ready yet?"

"I just put it in the oven," Donna said.
 
"It'll be a while."
 
Her eyes went big.
 
"Where is your brother?"

"He's in his room."

"Kimberly!
 
How many times have I said it now?
 
I don't want you and Keith wandering around the house by yourselves!"

"We're not wandering, Mom.
 
We're in our rooms.
 
We're fifteen feet apart."

"Stay in his room with him."

Kimberly rolled her eyes.
 
"I'm a little too old to be hanging out in my brother's room."

"Kimberly—"

"Fine, fine.
 
I'll babysit the little crybaby.
 
Relax."

She disappeared from view.
 
Alex kept his eyes on the empty stairs leading up.
 
Part of his procedure was to tour any house, and the upstairs was as good a start as any.

There was a quick knock at the front door, followed by Troy slowing poking his head in.
 
Amy's perfume drifted in behind him.

"Hey, everybody," Troy said.
 
"Is it okay if we come in?"

"Of course," Donna said.
 
Jason opened the door for them.

Troy and Amy stepped inside, miscellaneous equipment under each arm.
 
Everyone exchanged names, shook hands, smiled when they could.
 
At the end of the meet and greet, Troy looked at Alex with confusion.

"Hey," he said.
 
"Weren't you the guy in the truck out there?"

"That's me."

"Okay," Donovan said, addressing everyone.
 
"Troy, if you don't mind, would you start setting up?
 
Amy can help, until we're ready to walk the house.
 
Jason, Donna, I'd like to ask you both some questions."

Donovan was obviously a take-charge kind of guy.
 
Troy and Amy set their equipment down, with Amy giving Alex another look.
 
Donovan led Jason and Donna to the dining room as he pulled out a notepad and pen.
 
Alex was left alone.
 
He wondered with Donovan's personality, and the fancy equipment around them, if anyone would even notice he was there.

"I'll be upstairs," Alex said, suddenly feeling small.
 
No one heard him.
 
"Just…you know.
 
Doing my thing."

He shook his head as he ascended to the second floor.
 
It was tempting to return the money in his back pocket, and head home.
 
Doing the work he did was complicated enough without additional people watching him, and cameras recording him.

The second floor hallway was just as cold as the first floor.
 
The hallway was long and narrow, with a painting or two scattered about.
 
A small table sat outside an open door, holding three decorative vases.

Alex pulled out his phone.
 
Sighing, he turned on the recorder.
 
He hoped whatever was in the house would reveal itself soon.
 
There was nothing that made him feel more foolish than talking to himself all night.

"The house is freezing.
 
There's something here for sure.
 
The upstairs is cold, like the downstairs.
 
Note to self.
 
Bring a jacket on these little jobs."

He poked his head into the first room he saw.
 
A young boy, presumably Keith, sat on the edge of his bed, his back to the door.
 
For a brief moment, Alex thought he was looking at a ghost.
 
Then he noticed the video game playing on the TV in the corner, along with Keith casting a full shadow across the bed.
 
Ghosts sometimes popped up at the strangest times, Nate being a good example.

"Hey, there," Alex said.
 
"You mind if I stop in for a second?"

Keith shrugged his shoulders in an exaggerated manner, which Alex took as an invitation.
 
Alex studied the room, and didn't notice anything of interest.
 
Clothes on the floor, a backpack in the corner.
 
There were picture frames along the dresser, all of them face down.

"Pictures of my Mom and Dad, and Kim," Keith said.

Alex glanced at Keith.
 
The young boy was watching him carefully.

"You don't like them?" Alex said, trying to make a joke.
 
"Don't want to see them?"

He shook his head.
 
"No.
 
The ghost keeps knocking them over."