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“Do you want to find the light? Rest?” Harley asked.
“Keep… peace… here,”Mary said.
Jemma frowned.
“Do you mean you stop bad ghosts here?”
“Yes… peace… more than… me.”
“Mary, see those men? They are cameramen. They are filming all of this. Your story will be on TV; everyone will know about you and the truth,” Jemma explained, pointing at them.
“Is… good… tired,”Mary replied.
“You’re losing energy?” Jemma asked.
“Yes.”
“Thank you for showing yourself and telling your story, Mary. I wish you peace,” Jemma said gently.
“You found… peace… too.”
“Yes, I did,” Jemma whispered. “Thank you.”
“Goodbye.”
“Bye, Mary,” Harley muttered.
“Holy crap, did we just have a conversation with a ghost?” Big Al exclaimed.
“I want to search for microphones,” Slick said, not looking certain.
“Sure, go ahead,” Harley replied smugly.
He and Jemma watched as everyone searched everywhere. Finally, they had to admit the conversation had been real.
“We spoke to a ghost,” Slick admitted, disbelief etched firmly on his face.
“Yes, we did!” Jemma squealed excitedly.
“No way, it has to be a trick,” Jett said, shaking his head.
“Tell me how?” Jemma demanded. “We looked for microphones and anything else that could explain Mary’s responses.”
Jett opened his mouth to say something and instead jumped. He spun around and searched behind him, and his face took on a panicked expression.
“Something poked me in the back,” he said, confused.
“Nobody’s there. Maybe it’s your imagination,” Harley replied sarcastically.
“Shut up, prospect,” Jett retorted.
Moments later, his head shot forward, and his hand flew to the back of his head.
“Now someone slapped me,” he complained.
“I think Mary is teaching you a lesson!” Jemma chortled.
“What do I do?” Jett asked, slightly panicked. His hips lurched forward, and his hands grabbed his butt.
