Chinese takeout boxes littered Kylie's bed, along with scattered paperwork and unused batteries and upgraded devices.

"I can't believe it," said Kylie, bringing her chopsticks to her mouth and slurping up the noodles weaved around them. "I'm honestly in shock that they're allowing this."

Benny, who'd long since finished his meal to focus on the new camera he bought—one that had an SD card instead of a tape—chuckled. "Well, I won't question it, because it's perfect timing. We need to make up for that lost evidence, and visiting the house at night is the best way to do that."

On and off all day, Kylie had been on the phone with her supervisors, explaining the situation, begging for authorization to continue tearing the house apart in search of paranormal clues. Benny had borrowed the car to drive into Savannah, which wasn't far from their motel, and he scrounged through various stores to find better, upgraded equipment—with Kylie's company credit card. She'd tossed it at him in anger, and he hadn't thought twice. And if she let him keep everything afterwards, he didn't even care if this wasn't the case of his lifetime.

With all these upgrades, I'll get better footage for other investigations.

And while he sat on her bed, waiting for their takeout, she'd notified him that somehow, for some miraculous reason, her bosses were going to not only give them more time to obtain proof, but they would allow them to hunt the house at night. Kylie had panicked, at first; she'd been so spooked in the early evening, she still wasn't sure she wanted to return to such an active spot in the absolute darkness. She wasn't sure she wanted to return at all. But Benny promised he'd protect her. He swore she'd come to no harm as long as she was with him.

He looked up, watching as she struggled to pick up a piece of cashew chicken with her chopsticks. She scrunched her nose, frustrated, and ended up digging one chopstick into the meat and smirking in satisfaction when she finally succeeded. She brought the bite to her mouth and chewed, tucking a few blonde hairs behind her ears as she savored the taste.

Goodness, she was beautiful. Her glowing cheeks, her gracious posture as she sat crossed-legged on the chair, her plastic plate balanced in her lap. She was the perfect mix of feminism and strength. She enhanced her features with an appropriate amount of make-up—not that Benny believed she needed it, but it worked for her—and wore form-fitting clothes, but could kick your ass better than any highly trained martial arts expert. And her mannerisms—even while eating as if she hadn't eaten in years—were so flawless, so thought out, yet everything she did appeared effortless.

She'd raised her voice more than once on those phone calls with her bosses, and Benny had worried she might lose her job for being so stubborn. But it had worked. No one resisted the Kylie-charm.

"You're staring at me," she said, shaking Benny from his Kylie-induced coma.

"I can't help it." He shrugged and lowered his chin, sensing his cheeks flaring with heat.

Other women didn't have this effect on him. They didn't capture his attention and send him spiraling into a fantasy world of kisses and caresses and satin sheets and candles burning on nightstands. He was usually so serious about his work, but with Kylie around, he couldn't concentrate.

"Give it up, Brooks." She closed her takeout box and set it on the table next to her as she wiped her mouth with a napkin. "I'm not interested."

Benny didn't show his disappointment, gazing at his notes instead. "But... you once were, right? We... we had something back in the day, didn't we?" He dared a quick peek at her, curious how she'd react to him bringing up the past.

She flinched, deflated in her seat, then glanced at the curtain-covered window to her right. "We did. But... that was the past, Benny. It's over, it's been over for too long. I'd rather not revisit that."

Again he dipped his chin, unwilling to let her see his frown. He hadn't accepted this mission to get her back, to squeeze into her heart again, but was it wrong for him to have a little hope?

However, whatever slither of hope he'd had was squashed in seconds, because Kylie's comments stung. He'd wished for her presence in his life, for the chance to hold her again, to drown in her scent, to slip his fingers through her silky hair. Maybe if they resolved the case, she'd lower her walls for him. Maybe if they prevailed, the joy would outweigh her grudges against him, and she'd let him in again.

One can only have faith.

"I'm sure you're making up all kinds of scenarios in your mind, but don't." She stood up and stretched. Her T-shirt lifted to above her navel, revealing her low-cut pants and the tiny scar on the right side of her stomach—her appendicitis surgery from their first year of college. "I'm never going to sleep with you again, no matter how much of a sex-god you are, Benny Brooks."

He couldn't prevent a grin from sliding over his lips. "I'm a sex-god, eh?"

She swished past him and playfully slapped his cheek. "Shut up. Are you almost ready? I want to get this over with." She fetched her FBI jacket from the back of the chair and put it on.

He stacked his papers and slipped them into the beige folder titled Arielle Daniels. "Yeah, I'm ready. I've been ready. I've got plenty of personal questions to ask her." He glimpsed his old camera off to the side of the bed, and cringed. "And a wealth of insults for that damn spirit that must have followed me here and disposed of our hard-earned evidence."

***

As Benny peeped at the time—ten PM—they rolled into the clearance and parked. Kylie hesitated to exit the vehicle, adjusting her jacket and checking her boot laces and fiddling with her hair, clearly wasting time. But Benny didn't wait for her. He was going in.

They'd left the house unlocked the day before, in a hurry to rush to the hotel and regroup after what had happened. Chills raced up Benny's arm as he placed a hand on the doorknob and entered. The usual gloominess lingered. That frigid atmosphere and that deadly quiet that signified death reigned—it was still prominent, powerful. He was used to it, but the sensation was so potent in this location, so inevitable, that he had to stop and breathe in and out a few times before moving forward.

Kylie tiptoed in behind him and closed the door. "I hate this place."

Benny dropped his bag on the floor, and a cloud of dust flew around him. "Ew, really? We were here yesterday! How is there so much dust already?"

With a groan, Kylie arrived at his side. "Because it's disgusting and weird shit happens here all the time. Come on, hurry up, get your proof so we can go."

He got out a flashlight to scan the area for anything out of the ordinary. Any messages on walls or items out of place, any sign that there had been activity since they left. As Kylie mumbled something about heading upstairs—she didn't feel as troubled there, she'd mentioned the day before—Benny approached the chalk outline of Arielle's body.

He leaned close and squinted, lashes batting as he took in the curves, the shape—and found a few scuffles in the paint. "Hey, has anyone else come here since we took off yesterday?"

Kylie, halfway up the stairs, whipped around. She held her own flashlight up to her face to show her confused expression. "No? As far as I know, only we have access right now."

"Okay... because something... touched the outline." He pulled out his phone and, stuffing the flashlight into his mouth, shining over the outline, he snapped a few pictures.

"Document it," said Kylie, her voice farther and farther as she continued her progress to the upper floor.

Satisfied with his pictures—he'd compare them with yesterday's photos of the same thing when he got back to the hotel—he shoved his cell into his pocket and straightened up, removing the flashlight from his mouth. He returned to his bag and extracted his new camera—equipped with an awesome night-vision option, that he turned on immediately—and his trusty voice recorder, which had somehow survived the wall throw from the day before.

Flicking it on, he cleared his throat. "Testing, testing." He rewound the tape, listened, detected nothing uncommon, and fast-forwarded it to where he'd left off. "Hello? Is anyone here? This is Benny. Benny Brooks. I'm a paranormal investigator."

He stepped towards the outline and kneeled before it, the camera in one hand, the other brandishing the recorder in front of him. The only noise he heard were Kylie's creaking steps from the balcony, and her breathless complaints that she likely thought he couldn't hear.

He smiled, imagining her irritated face; the one that always made him swoon, because she was so cute when annoyed.

"Arielle? Arielle Daniels? Are you here?" The red light on his recorder continued to flash, but nothing seemed to happen. And he saw no movement on the camera screen.

He wanted to rewind the tape and replay it, yet an inexplicable hunch urged him to grab a different device from his bag. One that would answer him in real-time, and would be more precise.

"This is an Ovilus," he said, showing the chunky rectangular machine to the camera. "You may have seen it used by other supernatural experts. I can't afford the upgraded models, but this one is still efficient."

It was one of his favorite devices to use, as it allowed spirits to manipulate its integrated dictionary of words and make them pop onto the green-tinted screen. And when the signal was strong enough, the device would speak out those words, too. Many a time he'd been startled when several words would appear and indicate feelings or lead him to a room where he'd capture more proof. And when it got vocal—oh, that robotic voice that repeated the messages on the screen gave him chills, whenever he thought about it.

"Arielle, if you can hear me, this thing should help you communicate with me." He motioned at the Ovilus. "So... are you around? Are you aware my equipment was destroyed yesterday, at my hotel? Perhaps you can tell me who did that?" He gulped. "Or was it you? Maybe you don't want to be found, don't want to be seen?"

No words showed on the screen, but the Ovilus' lights and the three signal dots shimmied, warning that something was trying to manipulate it.

"Oh," Benny lifted the thing higher, "are you having a hard time? You... you can take my energy. Draw it from me, use it to use this device." He didn't like offering himself up—like some of the more famous paranormal investigators did—but sometimes it was the only choice.

Anything for evidence. Anything to prove to the FBI that ghosts exist and they may need our help.

Tremors trickled up his legs and down his spine, joining in his gut and shaking up his insides. A wave of glacial air surrounded him—like stepping out of a heated home and walking right into a large pile of fresh snow. It hit his cheeks and coated his neck and made his hairs stand up. He exhaled, and his breath came out as a fog.

"Fuck. Something is here."