The Supernaturals (55 page)

“Are you coming? I mean, you are the executive producer of the show.”

Peterson’s spell was broken. Jason Sanborn stood beside him with his pipe in his hand. His other hand held a water bottle, which reminded Peterson that he would have to sneak off sometime in the first hour to get a drink. Maybe when the first segment was pushed upstairs.

“Yes, I’m coming.”

“This should prove, at the very least, to be a most interesting evening,” Jason said, placing the cold pipe into his mouth.

Peterson walked past Sanborn. With one last look up at the yellow and white mansion, he shook his head.

“I hope it’s at least that.”

The production van
was silent, watching as the last commercial ran before the broadcast’s eight o’clock start. At five o’clock on the west coast, the show was going to be cutting a lot of the Pacific Time zone ratings, but New York had decided that the trade off could not be helped. The Alka-Seltzer commercial started fading to black on Harris Dalton’s orders.

“Cue up John Wesley,” Harris called, and then, “Roll tape.”

On monitor one, the view was what would be seen by all of North America on a three second tape delay. That was another decision made by New York, just in case something untoward happened, so that there would be a chance to censor untoward language from going out live over the airwaves. John Wesley, looking resplendent in a black coat, black turtleneck sweater and black slacks, with his distinguished gray hair combed straight back, stood before Summer Place. He smiled the disarming smile he had shown the American public for over twenty years while bringing them the world and national news. He placed his hands together and nodded as if lecturing to a schoolroom. He then released his left hand and gestured toward the house.

“This is Summer Place.”

The monologue went on for a full ten minutes as John Wesley explained the history of the giant house behind him. As he moved through the morbid details, still shots of the interior of Summer Place popped on and off the screen. Kelly Delaphoy had won the fight about keeping the house under wraps for as long as they could. The first people seen in the house after the opening credits of the show would be Julie Reilly and Gabriel Kennedy, and even then they would only be standing on the steps leading to the house. Only after the introductions would they move into the foyer of Summer Place.

Harris Dalton knew these few moments were his last chance to relax. Monitor two was filled with the faces of Kennedy and Reilly as they waited for the cameraman, who would cue them on Harris’ orders. Dalton glanced back at Kelly and Peterson. They sat quietly, both looking like ghosts, themselves. In the darkened far corner of the trailer, Harris saw the gleam of stainless steel flash in the glare of the monitors as Wallace Lindemann raised his flask of whiskey. Harris Dalton thought about reminding Lindemann that they were just as live in the van as out in front of the cameras. Instead he just eyed Kelly and Peterson until they saw Lindemann drinking. Kelly nodded to signal that she understood; if Lindemann acted like a jerk, Kelly would hustle him out of the van.

On monitor one, John Wesley gave a fatherly look toward the house, then slowly turned and faced the camera once more.

“So sit back, relax if you can, and join the greatest team of ghost hunters ever to work the field of parapsychology—welcome to the live Halloween broadcast of
Hunters of the Paranormal
.” He gestured once more at the bright, glowing house, and the camera panned away from the retired anchor to bring Summer Place to full focus on the screen. “Let the hunt begin!”

“Cue intro, cue music,” Harris called out calmly. The regular lead-in started and the opening strains of Blue Oyster Cult came through the speakers.
Don’t Fear the Reaper
played while famous still shots of the show’s former hosts and scenes of their adventures flicked by.

“Camera Two, close in. You’ve got a little too much space showing on the sides. Get Reilly and Kennedy framed up right!”

On monitor two, the shot of Julie and Gabriel tightened up.

“Okay, Camera Three, tight on Julie. You’re up first. I repeat, just Julie for the initial shot.”

Kelly smiled. After a full week of agony and planning, Dalton was now in his element.

“Cue three,” he said as the music wound down. Kelly’s opening started, and it sounded better than she had hoped. The song stopped like someone had placed a hand on the old recording and dragged it to a stop. At that exact moment, the live television broadcast kicked in with a still shot of the former hosts of
Hunters of the Paranormal
.

“Good evening and happy Halloween,” Julie said. She looked into Camera Three for the close headshot. “Greg Larsen and Paul Lowell,” she continued as the screen split in two—one side showing Julie, the other the still shots of the hosts, “will not be here with you tonight. While investigating the stories surrounding this house, this summer home of the world famous Lindemann family, one host vanished and the other stepped down after the traumatic night of October 17th. One host returned only to commit suicide, the other never to return to investigative work again.”

Inside the ballroom Detective Damian Jackson pushed his hat back on his head and frowned. He had asked that no information be given about Paul Lowell’s demise. He angrily slapped the table, making one of the computer team jump, then pointed at the only other people in the room—John Lonetree, Jennifer Tilden and George Cordero.

“That’s one,” he hissed. “Any more and I’ll shut this down for endangering an active murder investigation.”

George waited until the large black detective looked away and then shot him the finger, making Jenny smile.

“And here with me tonight is the man responsible for bringing the troubles of Summer Place to the world’s attention—or should we say infamy?”

Dalton rolled his eyes. Infamy? Julie was already going off script. He glanced back at Kelly, who had the script in her lap and was following along. When her eyes met the director’s, she just shrugged.

“Professor Gabriel Kennedy. Professor, just why have you returned to a house that nearly destroyed you personally and professionally?”

“Goddamn it, what is this?” Harris yelled. “The goddamn Spanish Inquisition? I thought she was giving Kennedy the benefit of the doubt—hell, she opens challenging him and we’re not one minute in!”

Kelly looked over at Peterson who was sitting quietly. He frowned and shrugged his shoulders. Kelly wondered if he had gotten to the network reporter.

“Go to camera two—now!”

Gabriel Kennedy came into full focus. Gabriel was composed, not shocked, and he smiled and looked from Julie Reilly directly into camera number two. The wide-angle shot captured both their faces.

“That’s enough, camera three, focus on just Kennedy,” Harris called out. He hit the mute button on his mic as he faced Kelly. “You put a bug in her ear that if she goes off on her own again, I’ll have her fired by the next commercial. I don’t care who the fuck she thinks she is or who the hell she knows. You got that, Kelly?”

Kelly went to the sound console and cued in Julie’s earphone. She rapidly explained the situation and Dalton’s threats. Off camera, Kelly saw Julie smile and nod her head as Kennedy explained why he had come back. He looked into the camera with all the confidence in the world. On the secondary feed, Julie Reilly looked quite annoyed by Gabriel’s seemingly nonplussed reaction.

“Well I guess he was expecting that, wasn’t he?” Dalton said with a smirk. “Okay, New York, getting ready for the break in five, four, three, two—”

On camera, Julie took over from Kennedy and gestured to the house. “After a word from our sponsors, we’ll take a look inside of Summer Place for the first time, and then you can decide whether you agree with Professor Kennedy’s statement: that this house is, by far, the
most
haunted house in America. We’ll be right back.”

“….One, New York you’re a go for three minutes of ad time,” Dalton said. On his monitor, Julie was looking at Gabriel, and the professor was smiling.

“So you expected me to corner you?”

“I never had a doubt you would revert to your old ways. How can a shark not be a shark?” Gabriel said. He gestured toward the steps that led up to the wide double doors of the house.

Julie shook her head, still disappointed that Kennedy hadn’t stumbled at all in her surprise opening. She placed a hand to her earphone and spoke into her mic.

“Harris, or Kelly, any feedback from New York or the test family in Boston?”

Kelly flipped the switch that gave her direct communication to Julie.

“You mean any reaction about your little ambush, you little—”

“All right, that’s enough,” Harris said. “Kelly, settle down and do your job.” Dalton looked over at the monitor that held the view of the family of four sitting on their couch in the suburb of Boston. The father was watching the commercial; the mother was admonishing the two kids, and a boy and a girl of about of thirteen or so, about holding still when they went live on camera. “No test family reaction.” Harris examined the construction worker and his dowdy wife. “And if I have my way, we’ll not be showing much of Mr. and Mrs. American viewer tonight.”

“Let me know if New York has any comment. Especially the news division,” Julie said. She walked faster to catch up with Gabriel.

“Okay everyone, places in the ballroom. Julie and the Professor will enter the house. They’ll be in the ballroom exactly two minutes after we start rolling. For God’s sake, look like you’re busy doing something when the camera pans. Mr. Sickles, I don’t want to hear a smartass comment coming from your mouth, you hear me?”

Camera Ten moved just far enough to show Leonard standing behind one of his computer researchers with his hands on his hips, looking angrily at the lens.

“Not a word, even when they introduce you,” Dalton finished. “We’re back from commercial in five…four…”

The view opened with Julie Reilly standing in front of the massive stone and wood fireplace. Gabriel had already gone inside the ballroom to head off any chance that Leonard might retaliate for the slight.

Julie started explaining how the television investigation would be conducted—how the three teams would explore certain sections of the house after the lights went out. As she spoke, she moved closer to the ballroom, which had been tagged “command central” earlier in the opening.

“Before we meet our teams...On a personal note, I want to state that while I reported on a massive breakdown by the Kennedy investigation seven years ago, I am only an interested observer here. I have no evidence or convincing argument to say that Summer Place is at all haunted. I believe that Professor Kennedy’s original theory concerning this beautiful, mysterious house is nothing more than a conductor that allows the mind to roam freely, injecting anything it wants into the moment, and that includes things that go bump in the night and strange sounds coming from a very old house. Now, we’ll meet tonight’s team: the Supernaturals.”

“Damn it, she’s doing it again. Where the hell did that come from—
the Supernaturals
? She’s making a joke out of the whole thing!” Kelly said loudly. Dalton turned and gestured for her to shut up, waving his hand angrily.

“Peterson, you’re the executive producer. At commercial break, you’re going to have to corner that woman and rein her in,” Harris said, watching Julie Reilly enter the ballroom. She went directly to Gabriel, who started introducing the team. The only person off camera who looked pleased at all was Leonard Sickles. The grinning young man clearly thought that the new nickname was cool.

Peterson almost couldn’t hide his smile. Instead of answering Dalton, he just nodded. He would indeed talk with Julie about naming the team and going off script. However, deep down inside, he wanted to thank the arrogant bitch for upstaging the maniac professor and his team of ghost hunters.

“And finally a man who is not a member of my team, but an independent observer, Father Dolan of Columbia University,” Gabriel concluded.

“Well, there you have it, the three teams of men and women who will try and make America believers in the supernatural. Right after the break, the hunt is on. We’ll be right back.”

Julie nodded to the cameraman, who gestured that they were off live TV. Jennifer Tilden came forward.

“The Supernaturals? Are you joking?”

“I thought the team needed a name. It’s far better than calling you the group, or something.”

“Well let me tell you what I think,” Jenny continued. Lonetree took her arm, but she wasn’t dissuaded. “It may not be a joke to you, but you’re trying your best to turn
us
into one, on live TV no less. Why now? Why make us think you were coming on board as a fair and impartial observer? You know, Gabriel said he expected this much from you.”

The last statement caught Julie off guard. She felt hurt that Kennedy never had trusted her; that all of her acting had been for nothing. Had her insincerity been that obvious? Kennedy was ignoring her and he didn’t even seem upset. He walked up to Damian Jackson and looked at his watch. He had one minute to say what he wanted to express to the state policeman.

“You see, Detective, I’m more observant that you thought. I picked up on Julie’s little game early on, and now I’ll tell you what you’re hoping for in this mess. You think that I’m here to publicly declare that I was responsible for what happened that night. That maybe this is some grand stage for my confession and I’ve been waiting all of these years for the big moment.”