Friday, June 1, 2018

The Ninth Floor, Part Two

“What if I have rabies?”  Peppers scrubbed his ankle with alcohol wipes. “Was that another raccoon?”
            “You signed the papers.” Spears tapped on his laptop.  “The agreement you signed specifically included a waiver accepting personal risk. All of you signed it.”
            Alan Miller blinked. “Really? I thought it was just one of those 32-page terms of service agreements that you click on but nobody ever reads.”
“So what happened last year?” I gulped some lukewarm coffee.
            We all sat in the dining room, the thunderstorm still roaring outside at 3 a.m.
            “Did you watch the first season?” Kristen DeWolfe was drinking vodka with ice. “None of us made it two nights. I was the last to go—”
            “What?” Peppers snorted. “You ran screaming out the door while I waited with Duane—” He nodded to Catman—“waiting to see what came down the stairs. We waited for hours. Then everyone was gone.”
            “It made for a decent finale.” Spears swigged a Sprite. “Enough to get us a second season.”
            “What happened that made you run?” I was tired, scared, and exhausted. “Raccoons?”
            Rachel sipped a beer. “One of the stars hanged himself.”
            “What?” I almost dropped my cup. “And you didn’t tell me? Why are we here?”
            “I offered to let you binge it with me.” She kicked my ankle. “You wanted to watch The Handmaid’s Tale.”
            “You watched it too.” I stared at Catman. “So why did he kill himself?”
            “We don’t know.” That was Spears. “No note, nothing. We had to pay out a lot of money to the family. That’s why we almost didn’t get a second season. Then—”
            “Jeremy, shut up!” Catman pounded a fist on the table. “Look, we’re financing the third season ourselves. Everything here, the food, the permits, the 5 million dollars—we’ve got to find out what’s going on here.”
            “Is that what you really care about?” My voice was jittery. “Or just your ratings?”
            “Jurgen.” Peppers shook his head, looking as tired as me. “Stay calm. I found Jordan Gibbons, and I want—”
            “You found him?” DeWolfe jabbed a finger. “I found him! You were right behind me, but I found him first!”
            “The point is . . .” Catman waved a hand. “That’s why we’re all here. To find out what’s going on.”
            And to split 5 million dollars. I looked at Rachel. She shrugged. “Whatever you want.”
            I wanted to go. Then the thunder boomed again, and I thought about trying to drive all the way back to the airport through the storm.
            And Catman was right. I wanted to figure out what was going on here. As long as nobody got killed.
            Catman stood up. “Let’s all try to get some sleep. We’ll start over in the morning.” Thunder rattled the walls. “We’ve got lots to eat.”
            “Just check your rooms for cameras.” My legs were wobbly as I got up. “We found one in our room. Be careful, unless you want to end up on the internet.”
            Catman glared at me. Spears closed his laptop.
            Rachel stood and patted my shoulder. “Come on, lover. Let’s get some rest.”
           
 I might have slept. I know I dreamed.
            Rachel and I were standing in the rain, holding hands, as a monster the size of delivery truck stalked toward us on huge black paws. But our feet were stuck in the mud. We couldn’t move.
            So I reached into my back pocket and found—a pineapple. I threw it at the creature’s face—
            And missed.
            Rachel punched my shoulder. “A pineapple? Really?”
            “Sorry.” I tensed up, ready to die.
            “Wake up!” Rachel punched me again, and I opened my eyes. “Wha . . .?”
 She was sitting up, shivering. “I want to try to take a shower, if there’s any hot water in this place. There’s definitely no heat.”
            “Oh.” Daylight. I rolled over. “Okay.”
            I checked my phone. 11:30. Out the window, clouds loomed in the sky, threatening more rain.
Rachel came out of the bathroom, shivering and pulling a towel over her shoulders. “I might have used up the last of the hot water. Sorry.”
I washed up in the sink as best as I could. Then I got dressed and we headed downstairs. Rachel wore her denim jacket, jeans, and boots. She looked hot. I had my Chicago Bears sweatshirt. I was pretty sure I looked dumpy and cold.
            Spears sat at the table, editing video on a laptop. Otherwise the dining room was empty.
            I toasted a poppyseed bagel while Rachel spooned fruit and yogurt into a bowl.  “Where is everybody?”
            Spears glanced up. “Still asleep, I guess.”
            I poured coffee for Rachel and me and sat down. “So what really happened with season two?”
            He grimaced. “I can’t tell you that.”
            “You have an NDA too?” I bit into my bagel.
            “Sort of.” Spears leaned back. His eyes looked as if he hadn’t slept at all. “After season one the network got skittish. They’d only fund us if we agreed to all kinds of conditions. When season two went off the rails . . . well, like Duane said, we’re doing this on our own.”
            I drank some coffee. “What about Gibbons?”
            “Nothing!” That came from Catman, walking in behind me. “We just found him, hanging in a room. Everyone freaked. I got the footage. But they ran, and so none of them got the money. That’s why Kristen and Martin are so mad at each other.” He bit into an apple.
            “What did the police say?”
            “Suicide.” Spears glanced at Catman. “No note, but no signs of being attacked or a fight. He somehow hung a sheet over  the bathroom door, then climbed up on a wastebasket and kicked it over . . .” He shuddered.
            I hid my own shudder. “Was he upset? Frightened?”
            “We all were. There was a ghost, and strange noises, moaning—”
            “And windows that wouldn’t stay shut.” Catman tossed his apple into a wastebasket. “I know it sounds like a Scooby-Doo episode—except for Gibbons—but it was pretty creepy.”
            “Just so long as it’s not old man Smithers trying to fool everyone into thinking his amusement park is haunted.” I finished my bagel and got up to toast another. “So what now?”
            Catman shrugged. “We wait until everyone’s up, and then we start over.”

It was 1 p.m. before everyone was up and fed. Peppers and DeWolfe glared at each other without speaking. Miller and Jaime Kinsman sat close enough together to make me suspect they’d hooked up. A nod and a grin from Rachel confirmed it. “You don’t even have to be psychic to see it,” she whispered.
            “Okay.” Catman stood up. “Let’s get started again. It won’t be as atmospheric in the daytime, but we’ll probably all feel safer.”
            “Let’s mix up the groups.” Spears was shooting with his smartphone. “How about—”
            “What are we going to find?” Peppers growled. “We’ve already searched every room here.”
            “Not the attic and the basement.” Miller opened a fresh can of Coke.
            “Okay, let’s do Jurgen, Kristen and Alan in the attic,” Catman said. “And Martin, Jaime and—”
            “Wait a minute.” Kristen DeWolfe jabbed a finger at Rachel. “You. The psychic. Is there anything going on in this house?”
            “Of course there is,” Peppers snapped. “We saw it in the first season—”
            “I want to hear from her. Rachel.” DeWolfe folded her arms.
Spears zeroed in on Rachel’s face. She sat forward. “There’s definitely . . . an entity. Maybe lots of small entities making up one larger one.” She shrugged. “Or it might be raccoons.”
“What?” Peppers pounded a fist on the table. “Be serious!”
I slid my chair back. “Hey, Martin? Please don’t shout at Rachel.”
“It’s okay.” Rachel stiffened her shoulders. “Look, animals can have hive minds. Hornets get frightened and angry when you attack their nest. I can’t read minds. I only sense feelings. And sometimes demons.”
DeWolfe snorted. “Fine. We’re looking for raccoons or demons, or maybe demonic raccoons?”
“Something killed Gibbons.” Peppers smiled at Rachel. “I’d like to talk to you later.”
“Sure.” Rachel pushed her red hair back. “Anytime.”
That made me nervous. But I’d learned from experience that Rachel could take care of herself.
“All right.” Catman pointed to the door. “Let’s get going—”
Thunder rumbled.
The chandeliers swung over our heads. Rachel covered her ears. Jaime Kinsman shot up from the table, pulling away from Miller. DeWolfe shoved her chair back. Peppers looked at the ceiling.
Catman and Spears swung their smartphones around, as if trying to catch all of us looking scared. The table shook,
I grabbed Rachel’s wrist. “You okay?”
“Yeah—”
The thunder boomed again. And this time the walls and floor shook. Lightning strike?
Then the chandelier overhead dropped, crashing down onto our table with a loud bang. My chair toppled back, and I reached for Rachel. Peppers cursed. Catman shouted. “Get this! Get this!”
Chunks of the ceiling started falling. I scrambled under the table, pulling Rachel with me. “What’s going on?”
“I don’t know!” She grabbed me. “The house is falling apart! I don’t know!”
I closed my eyes. Rachel’s head sagged on my shoulder. I tried to hold onto her as I slumped to the floor.


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