“I’ll see you tomorrow. Good night, Lyss.”
As I hang up the phone, a sense of determination washes over me. We may have stumbled into a nightmare, but I can do this. I know I can. Having Nick here will only add a bit of comfort and a warm embrace to snuggle into after.
“Is there anyone else staying here?” I ask Adeana, who is watching me carefully.
She shakes her head.
“Good. Put on theNo Vacancysign. We’re having ourselves an exorcism tomorrow.”
23
The Fool…Reversed
Nick
I’ve been replayingthe events of the past few days in my mind, particularly the visit to Lanie’s loft. Despite thoroughly searching the place, I found no evidence of a break-in, no signs of forced entry, nor any indication that someone had trespassed. It’s perplexing.
Did a break-in actually occur, or was it merely a figment of Lanie’s imagination?
She sent me a photo of a note she supposedly found taped to her refrigerator.
It’s never okay to turn your back on family.
It’s a cryptic note typed out onto a piece of printer paper. It sounds more like an affirmation than a threat, and it makes me wonder who’d take the time to enter Lanie’s apartment without making it obvious just to deliver that message.
The neighborhood theft rate has increased, and people are even reporting on KnoxNeighborWatch that someone has been tapping on their windows at night and smearing a dark residue all over their doorknobs. It sounds more and more like teen activity, which narrows the list of suspects down considerably.
Regardless, it’s getting out of control, and I don’t have the time or energy to investigate it any further. I had to hand it off to another department; they’ve upped the patrol on our street. That hasn’t stopped the calls and texts from concerned neighbors overtaking my phone and sanity right along with it.
As I wait for my flight, I check my emails, finding one from my friend Greg, the private investigator I connected Alyssa to.
I asked him to check into the Hampson brothers and see if he could dig up any information on the Order of Providence, among other things. My hands are full, and the sooner Alyssa makes it back to Knox Harbor and gets her own PI business up and running, the better. I could really use her set of skills.
She’s been so busy trying to help Nina find this Ian guy that I haven’t wanted to press for her to contact the dead for more information.
For fuck’s sake.
Who am I and what is happening to me?
Since when do I openly admit to believing in such things? Let alone internally bitching because I can’t request a séance to get an audience with a dead girl, skipping over the tedious investigation. Oh, how times have changed.
My father would have a coronary if he knew I was tapping into the spirit world for answers.
I open the email from Greg to try to take my mind off ghosts and Alyssa for a little bit.
Nick,
I’ve got some info on the Hampsons. Turns out they were known as the Knox Harbor mafia. They had their hands in drugs, counterfeit money, you name it. Every time the DA gotclose to pinning them to something, they got off. Never spent a minute in jail.
Carl Hampson was found dead in his home with a gunshot wound to the head. It was ruled suicide but was later changed to suspicious. I’ve attached my findings to this email. Joe Hampson died of natural causes about ten years ago. The other three in the photo were their friends, Gerald (Jerry) Hoven, Buck Sauder, and Frank Montgomery.
Sierra Montgomery is connected to the Montgomery Estate. Her grandfather was the previous owner. His background is very similar to the Hampson brothers, and in fact, he was one of their friends in the photo you sent. Fucking odd if you ask me.
As for the Order, I’m still looking. The dark web doesn’t seem keen to discuss that society, which makes me question how far you really wanna go down this path. These societies are known for staying a secret by all means necessary, if you catch my drift. I’ll let you know if I dig up anything. Assuming I’m still alive…
Lastly, I paid a personal visit to Providence U. Spoke to Professor Dipshit, who spilled the details when I mentioned I had proof he’s sleeping with his student, Felicity Baden. Ian Whalen has changed his name to Connor Fulton. He’s living at 123 Magnolia Avenue, New Orleans, LA 70113, with his teenage son, Chase. –GE
Chuckling, I close my email. Greg’s a jokester, but he’s also the best PI I know. He doesn’t mess around, and that’s another reasonI asked for his help with things. He uses tactics I can’t to get the answers I need quickly.
