Chapter Text
“You’re something of a modern day Nancy Drew then,” Danielle O’Day laughs her million dollar chuckle. Finn grunts at the television from his seat at one of the break-room tables. “Exposing all the secrets of so-called hauntings.”
Rae laughs and the camera slowly zooms in close on her. She looks good on camera, he’s discovered over these last few months. Her shimmering sheet of hair reflects back the stage lights, and she grins a razor smile from behind ruby-painted lips. She crosses and recrosses her legs a lot. “Well, it’s been my great delight to debunk so many pervasive fallacies. You’d be surprised how many people still believe in ghosts even in this day and age!”
Danielle looks coyly down at the floor and tosses her hair over her shoulder. With a wry grin, she says, “Well, even I will admit to… succumbing to fear once in a while!”
The audience titters and the camera pans into a pair of women laughing towards each other. Carol from accounting is sitting at a table in the corner watching the screen rapturously, so she doesn’t notice the sneer Finn directs her way. She’s the only thing preventing him from turning this off.
“It’s a common enough phenomenon, Danielle.” Rae says warmly, tilting her head sympathetically. “There are a lot of psychological reasons why people are inclined to believe in the supernatural. But it can become very limiting and damaging, just like any other mentally inhibiting thought process.”
“Really? Damaging how?” Danielle makes a face into the camera, one Finn’s seen a hundred times in ads and magazine covers. It’s her thoughtful, concerned television host face.
“Well, for many people, believing in ghosts is kind of a gateway into a life of fear.” Rae has become serious and academic; she’s using her so-much-smarter than everyone else tone. It’s one he’s never been able to forget, even in the many years since they were students together. She can make anything sound believable with that kind of voice. “It can become a cycle- because they think the paranormal is real, they’re more inclined to interpret evidence in the world around them as supernatural. And then because they’re interpreting things as supernatural, their belief deepens further until more things seem magical. And on and on it goes.”
The camera focuses on Danielle’s concerned face once more. She’s nodding thoughtfully, focused on Rae’s pedantry. The audience is full of squinty eyed women nodding at their neighbors. Carol makes a humming noise of approval. He takes a huge bite of his sandwich; once he finishes his food, he can spend the rest of his lunch break at his desk and away from the media machine that is his former classmate and girlfriend. If he’d known that she’d use her psychology degree to become his own inescapable ghost, always haunting him from bookstores and radio interviews, he never would have dated her.
“There’s good news, though, Danielle!” Her voice is cheery, and he looks up to find her making her dangerous smile, the one she’s always used to get what she wants. “There are some simple exercises you can do to stop the cycle and get yourself out of that way of thinking. You can train your brain to form new pathways of thought.”
“And how exactly would the viewers do that?” Danielle asks, looking out benevolently over the audience, a mother hen to the world.
The camera switches over to Rae once more, and it’s so lingering and soft that it’s almost a caress. Rae grins right into the lens, eyes bright and shining, her dynamic face lit up and engaging. “Well, they’ll have to buy my book to find out!”
Danielle O’Day laughs hollowly, reaching to the table beside her and picking up a small hardbound book with a spooky black and white photo of a castle on the front. She holds it out for the camera like the professional she is.
“Well, you can pick up Rachel’s book, Ghastly Truth: Unraveling the Supernatural Myth, at bookstores near you. It’s the DayBreak book of the month, so I encourage you to pick up a copy and interact with us at daybreak.com. Thank you so much, Rachel! It was lovely having you.”
The audience starts clapping as Rae replies, “Thank you so much for having me. It’s been amazing!” Finn thinks she might be blushing a little at the raucous cheering from the audience, thinks he can detect the familiar hue of her blood thrumming under her skin. He dismisses it as he finishes his sandwich, he’s not sure the girl is even capable of showing real emotion. She seems to have only gotten faker and more plastic since their days at Uni. He’s fortunate to have gotten out when he did.
Carol sighs as a soft drink commercial starts to play. “I just love her, don’t you?”
Finn looks around before answering, just to make sure she’s talking to him. “Danielle O’Day? She’s alright, I suppose.”
Carol laughs, or maybe twitters. “No, silly. Rachel Earl. She’s amazing. I’ve read her book twice already. Helped me so much during my divorce.”
“Her ghost book helped you through your divorce?” Finn blurts, equal parts skeptical and horrified.
“Oh, it’s about so much more than just ghosts.” Carol tilts her head after a second, does something with her mouth. “I could take you to the bookstore after work if you’d like, help you get your own copy. We could even have dinner after. If you want.”
It takes him a minute to understand that she’s hitting on him. Asking him on a date to buy his ex-girlfriend’s book. He chugs the rest of his cola, wishing it was a beer, and gets up from the table with a loud screech of the chair against the linoleum.
“Nah, you’re good.” He says, quickly striding from the room. He glances through the window into the breakroom as he hurries through the hallway back to his office. Carol’s poking dejectedly at her microwave meal, but he doesn’t feel bad.
Anybody who thinks Rae Earl is amazing is out of the question, divorced or not. He has the unwelcome vision of glancing over to Carol’s nightstand while he’s fucking her and seeing Rae’s facing grinning at him from the dust jacket of the book. Yeah, definitely not.
—
Nine Months Later…
She’s late. She was supposed to meet the stylist from the agency fifteen minutes ago, and Angie already hates her. She’s stubborn, she knows, but it’s one of the things she’s come to really like about herself. Along with her sense of style, even if it isn’t up to Angie’s (and okay Wersham Media’s) standards. But she is who she is, and obstinately sticking to that has gotten her this far already.
What does Angie know anyway?
Still, she’s hustling over the grounds of Wersham Media, already cursing the slowness of the elevator inside the building she hasn’t gotten to yet. It’s a gorgeous September afternoon, the world painted in amber hues as it dresses itself in autumnal finery, but she doesn’t notice. She’s on her fifth cup of coffee and her fourth meeting of the day.
“Rae!” A male voice calls from somewhere behind her.
She huffs a sigh but doesn’t stop. It’s rude, she knows that too. Anybody who really needs to reach her can go through her publicist, so there’s no reason for her to allow herself to be accosted on the street. It might be a fan though; she’d started to get noticed around town pretty regularly after DayBreak. Angie can stuff herself, she’s going to have to be another five minutes late. She slows down, puts on her publicity smile.
“Rae!” He calls again, and a creeping sense of dread slinks through her. Fans never call her Rae. She considers briefly making a break for it, escaping into the safety of the secure Wersham building. Except, she knows he’s faster and that she’d never outpace him. She stops, thinking longingly of the silence of that long elevator ride.
“Thank fuck.” He says as he approaches her. She doesn’t turn, but makes him walk around her so that he can face her. It’s a power move she’d learned from famed television host Andrew Marr himself. She straightens her spine and carefully smoothes out her face. “I’ve chased you across the whole parking lot. You sure can hustle, girl.”
She wants to sneer, spit at him that she’s nobody’s girl, least of all his, but she hasn’t seen him in almost three years. She’s going to get the upper ground here and the best way to do that it is with cool collectedness verging on disdain. Nobody had to teach her that, disdain just comes naturally.
“Finn.” She deliberately looks him up and down, then raises her eyebrows at him. He looks good, but so what? So does she. “It’s been a long time.”
“Yeah.” He scoffs, looking away. He mutters under his breath, head to the side, and it takes everything she has not to roll her eyes. She’d always hated that.
And then they just stand there silent and stupid. Finn scuffs his feet along the concrete path. Rae stares at him for a while, then watches the path of a crimson leaf as it drifts to the ground. When she looks back, he’s squinting at her and she shakes her head.
“Was there something you needed, Finn? I can’t imagine you came all this way just to stand here. Don’t you live in Leeds now?” Some of her irritation bleeds through, despite her attempts at chilly distance. “I’m really busy, you know.”
“Yeah, wouldn’t want to waste the time of famous ghost hunter Rae Earl now, would I?” He snarks. Rae bites back a smile; she’s definitely won this time.
She shakes her head, slow and deliberate, and walks forward, side-stepping around him. “Nice seeing you, Finn. You haven’t changed a bit.” She calls carelessly over her shoulder.
She’s made it up the steps and is nearly at the doors of the building when he calls out. “Wait!” She hesitates, slowing her movements but reaching for the door handle anyway. “Please! Please, Rae, wait.”
This time she does turn around, so she gets to see his slumped shoulders and defeated expression as he climbs the stairs to stand in front of her once more. She’s surprised by his easy capitulation, by how quickly he gave up the fight. He’s almost meek before her, all dark eyes and dejection.
“What is it, Finn?” She crosses her arms beneath her breasts, not to draw attention to them, though she doesn’t miss his quick glance downward. She glances at the building behind her. “I really am busy. I’m late for a meeting.”
“I know you’re famous and all that now, but…” He trails off on a sigh, rubs the back of his neck uncomfortably. “Look, I need your help, okay?”
She can’t stop the quick bark of laughter that escapes her, though she’s not sure that she would if she had the choice. “YOU need MY help?” Even the bob of his Adam’s apple in his throat looks miserable. “Please, tell me. What on Earth do YOU need MY help with?”
“I…” Finn licks his lips and stares at his shoes. He rubs his hands over his thighs briskly, twice. She wonders if he’s still smoking like he used to, like he was untouchable, like nothing bad could ever happen to him. “Fuck this is hard.”
Rae peels one arm out and deliberately checks her watch, raising her eyebrows for him to get on with it. He shakes his head and huffs.
“Look, I… I’ve got a bit of a ghost problem, okay?”
There’s a moment of pregnant silence, where everything seems to wait to see what her response will be. She doesn’t know herself until it happens. She breaks out into breathless laughter, hunches over with the force of it.
“Jesus, you haven’t changed at all, have you?” Finn says, disgust painted all over his face. She giggles harder. “I should have known better than to think you’d… Fuck it. Thanks for nothing, Rae.”
“Wait, wait!” Rae calls around her mouthful of mirth, waving an arm at his retreating back. He doesn’t stop, so moves down three steps and tries again. “I’ll help you! Come back.”
When he turns around, his eyes are wild enough that Rae feels something shift inside her chest. All her good humor drains away. She walks to him.
“What’s going on, Finn? Are you seriously asking about paranormal phenomenon? I thought all that was ‘utter bollocks’? When did you start believing in ghosts?” She’s trying to soften her tone, but the old bitterness and resentment is hard to keep at bay. There’s a reason they haven’t seen each other in years.
Finn swallows heavily before replying, eyes still glinting with weary ferocity. “I didn’t. I don’t, not really. It’s just… my daughter.” He clenches his hands into tight balls at his sides. “It’s my daughter, Rae. You know I wouldn’t be back here, asking you if I weren’t desperate. But, she’s terrified and I’ve tried everything, and… this is what you do. Please help us.”
She’s stunned. Standing there with the nipping breeze whisking up strands of her hair, she might as well be made of stone. His eyes plead with her, but there’s nothing in her to be reached just then. She’s in lock down, scrambling to fortify all the walls that block her off from injury. They’ve stood firm and strong and unnoticed for years, but a single sentence from Finn Nelson and she’s suddenly seeing all the places where the stonework is crumbling and the mortar has rotted away.
“Daughter?” She asks finally, and Finn hurriedly pulls out his cell and brings up a picture. The daughter is round faced and solemn, cornsilk hair and eyes that are unmistakably Finn’s.
“Emmy.” He answers her unspoken questions. “She’s four.”
“Four?” She feels like she’s choking on the word, like her body is shutting down function to her vocal cords.
He raises wide, apologetic eyes to hers, looks up at her through his lashes like he always used to when he was in trouble. She used to think it was cute. Now it makes her want to scream.
“And her mum?”
“She gets Emmy for the summer holidays. She’s a teacher.” He’s scuffing his feet again.
“It’s…” She tries. “It’s…”
Finn just nods, eyes averted. There’s another long silence while Rae tries to stuff all these new feelings back down into the farthest corner of her to be dealt with later. She’s so steady now, so solid. She can’t afford to be unseated and set off course by Finn Nelson’s problems. She’s got the show to think about.
“You expect me to help Katie’s daughter? You expect me to come to Leeds and what, psychoanalyze Katie Springer’s kid into not believing in ghosts anymore?” She’s coughing out the words, not hissing them in anger, but struggling just to expel them from her body.
Finn takes a single step towards her, hunches down a little so he can meet her gaze. He looks right into her eyes and shakes his head, pleading openly. “No Rae, not Katie’s daughter. My daughter, my baby. Look at her, Rae. She’s so scared, and I’m her Dad and I don’t know what to do.” He holds up the phone again.
Rae retreats. She takes a handful of steps backwards and turns her back on him. She looks away, looks out over the yellowing lawn of the courtyard. She swallows thickly, listens to the heavy thrum of her blood pulsing through her veins.
“I know what I’m asking of you.” He says behind her. “I know that this isn’t fair. I know it’s shit of me to be here, to even try and see you again. I’m desperate, Rae. I don’t know what else to do. Please help me.”
She wants to leave, to just march straight forward and up the steps, into the building where he can’t follow. She wants to lock herself in that box of steel and iron and never see Finn Nelson’s face again, let alone the face of the child he and Katie fucking Springer made. But as she closes her eyes and lowers her head, trying to build the strength to walk away, another teary terrified face flashes before her eyes.
Jazz, all those years ago, when she’d come home freshly wounded and degreed. Rae’d taken the couch when she’d come back, as incentive to not let herself become idle and stick around too long. But Jazz had been having night terrors then, half-waking in the middle of the night and screaming like a banshee. Rae’d watched her leave for school hollow-eyed and exhausted, hurting for her sister but unsure of what to do. It only took a week before they were sharing a bed. But it wasn’t until Jazz explained how a demon came to her in the middle of the night and froze her, then sat on her chest and ate at her insides that Rae finally understood what was going on. Jazz had sleep paralysis. But lucky for her, she also had a sister with a head full of psychology and no idea what to do with it. And from there, Rae’s career was born.
Beautiful Jazz, eyes ringed in black, weeping in the middle of the night.
Rae can’t let another kid go through that fear if she can help it; it’s been her life’s mission to help people escape fear paralysis. It’s not this little girl’s fault who her parents are. She can’t help that any more than she can help her fear.
Rae squeezes her eyes shut tight for a moment, takes a deep, fortifying breath and spins around. Finn is wringing his hands, but his whole face lifts when he sees her turn towards him.
“I’ll help her.” She says solemnly. “But I have some conditions. How do you feel about being filmed?”