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"...these are the numbers of the nearest police officers I can trust, and these," Alfred jingled his keys in his hand "...are the hotel room keys. It's yours for a week."
"I won't be there anyway."
The American irritated her almost as usual. At first, he took seriously the arrangements that Natasha had asked for as soon as she set foot on the land of Freedom. They were simple: don't stop me from doing what I want to do, and I won't stop your ego from feeling like a winner of the Cold War with all the consequences that follow.
However, it wasn't long before they were getting used to each other a little, when something like a sense of responsibility for her suddenly welled up in him. It always got on her nerves like a bucket of cold water on the head. Moreover, for the taste of Arlovskaya, Jones always chose the most unnecessary time for these manifestations. Like now, for example: after a night trip through half the country where he volunteered to drive… Annoying.
"I know, but ... what if?" he smiled at her without malice. "It is always useful to have a safe place available. Especially if you're going somewhere unknown". He chuckled, and an envelope appeared in his hand. "And this is - for primary expenses. It should be enough".
Natasha picked up the envelope without hesitation and began counting the contents. At first, she tried to refuse his rides of unexpected generosity, but then the embassy cut her allowance, citing the difficult situation in the country. His small ghost-catching business also reflected only its size in terms of money, financing only its own maintenance.
Alfred, however, found her complaisance in return for his “concern” only gratifying. He probably missed something like that himself. Or she's just too romanticizing the usual money hook she's been successfully planted on.
"Am I supposed to count on you to manage here on your own without me?" he sighed again. "If last time I managed to get out of my way in front of my superiors, this time it's too serious to be distracted".
Natasha frowned in annoyance. At that time, she decided to use a car to travel around the country, with which she was detained by the police. The formal reason was speeding, but it was clear that they were more interested in finding a Belarusian woman in the middle of the country without certain goals of an adequate nature. Alfred had had to break off from an important meeting, and to make sure that the conflict was almost certainly resolved, he introduced her as his half-sister. Damn him.
"Mind your own business," she said, turning away, admitting defeat. "I'm nothing to worry about for you anyway."
“What do you mean, 'nobody'? I'm your stepbrother after all!" he gave her a friendly pat on the shoulder. "Believe me, the bosses turn their heads for foster sisters as much as they do for their own children. I hope you don't take my bright head out of the world this time."
The parking lot started to slowly come to life with new cars coming in. It was time to stop talking. Natasha held out her open hand to him expectantly.
"Keys," she said, a little less displeased. Alfred beamed.
"That's fine! If anything happens, call me, I'm always in touch" he said, putting the keys in her hand with a flourish and heading back to the car. "But it will be much easier to find a local acquaintance for a while. They are capable guys, you just have to ask…"
"What difference does it make if they're all you?"
"Yes, they're all Americans, but they're also descendants of immigrants," Alfred said, getting behind the wheel and opening the window to finish. "Many people honor their roots, which I do not prevent in any way. So much for the asterisk problem: try to tell the difference between them-and me, " the engine growled.
"I can tell you right now..." Natalya began, but he waved her off.
"Have a success in expelling those in whom I do not believe!" Alfred exclaimed in parting.
Natasha muttered under her breath as she watched the pickup truck drive briskly out of the parking lot. It was only when he disappeared behind the nearest houses that she breathed a sigh of relief. Minus one irritant.
***
It turned out that not for nothing is Fairwater considered one of the leaders of paranormal activity in America. Business cards were taken like hot cakes, but Arlovskaya received just few calls to help. And the cases themselves were sickeningly stupid.
In one case, the reason for the active movement of fabric in the room was a draft from a cleverly invisible at first glance crack in the wooden floor. In another case, a neighbor's boy confessed to spoiling food in the cellar. Blushing and smearing snot on his face, he admitted that it was his form of revenge for the selected skateboard, on which he almost got run over by the car of the owners of the house the day before. That's the whole catch in three days.
It's a good time to recognize that instead of exploring the unknown, she is only confronted with the obvious human factor.
But this call was of a completely different kind. A frightened female voice reported that objects in the room began to fly around the room right before her eyes. As soon as she gave her address to Natasha, the connection was cut off.
The intrigue is incredible. Natasha immediately went to the address. It is quite possible that everything will be much simpler, and it will be a couple of simple poltergeists that are not as interesting and do not present such a headache as real ghosts. Although, she would like it to be them, confirming by their very appearance the strangely clear information that made Natalia come here on Halloween Eve - the hottest time for the paranormal business.
The hint that something big could happen in Fairwater for the otherworld, she first overheard from the ghosts themselves, when she was sorting through audio recordings that she regularly made in abandoned rooms with the help of a special "ghost-hammer". She herself had converted it from an inexpensive Soviet Amphiton player into a recording device, which she was incredibly proud of.
It was always difficult to hear meaningful sounds over the recording noise, but this time Natasha heard the cheers of "Fairwater. The gate. Our big day”. Only a fool can't understand what's going on. Natasha wouldn't have given it much thought if this message hadn't been repeated in other places and at other times. So, this information is not without reason.
As soon as she arrived at the address and entered a typical American house, she felt an otherworldly energy begin to stir her mind. This was very sobering and set her up to work with what was here and now - with a poltergeist, ... most likely. Judging by what the client had already told her, he had already started moving objects. On the one hand, this was a good sign - he began to leave more traces in reality, and for these traces it will be possible to try to pick him up and send him back to the other world. On the other hand, if you leave everything as it is, then very soon he will be able to accumulate enough strength in himself to start causing more meaningful harm.
Natasha listened to the energy swirling in the corridor and suddenly noticed something amiss. The ceiling was full of traces of ectoplasm. The average person couldn't see them yet, but they would soon lose their “ghost” weight and cause a lot of trouble for both the owners and the cleaners of the upcoming mess. In fact, it was even strange. Usually, poltergeists do not have a goal to inherit, they are generally essentially bundles of emotions that, once formed, are looking for self-expression. They basically have nothing to " monitor”, except for the physical effect of bursts of accumulated energy. Was it really a ghost after all? Why would he drool on the ceiling for no reason?
The footprints on the ceiling stung her eyes with their meaninglessness. This was one of the things that annoyed her about the American subspecies of the ghost world - its excessive ostentation. Pursing her lips in disgust, Natasha continued her search for the owners of the house. Well, they didn't eat them, after all.
"Thank God you're here!" She heard an exclamation from the next room, and a disheveled and frightened woman hung in Natasha's arms. Even at the edge of her middle age, she couldn't hide her stature and beauty behind the blatantly homely dress and open robe. "Help me, they're all over the house!"
"Don't worry, now we'll sort everything out..." seeing the living room set in the room from which she ran out, Natasha led her to the nearest chair. "Please tell me, Mrs.…"
"Rowland. Gina Rowland, " she said hastily, reaching out to shake her hand, as if momentarily oblivious. But the impression faded when she looked around hungrily and sobbed, foreshadowing a near hysteria.
"Mrs. Rowland," Natasha said. "What really happened? Did it try to harm you?"
"Can he do that?" Gina stared at her, startled.
"Not yet," Natasha said thoughtfully. "From what you said on the phone, he's still too weak for this," she glanced around, frowning.
'Why is everything in ectoplasm here?'
"It all started here? What is it?" she asked softly, prompting her to begin the story.
"Umm, y-yes… I was sitting in a chair by the TV," she held out her hand, "reading a magazine." And then the coffee table suddenly rose into the air by itself!"
The woman stared at the empty space in the middle of the room, and Natasha realized that the table was originally there.
"It lifted it almost to the ceiling, and then ... then it moved smoothly to the window and came down!" Following the movement of her gaze, Arlovskaya noticed a half-finished glass of whiskey on the table.
Amazing neatness.
"What happened next?"
"I was scared, so I ran to the phone in the kitchen... there's one here, too, but I was afraid to stay in this room. I dialed your number, just recently a business card fell into my hands at a hair salon... " she started to pull at the edges of the sleeves of her dressing gown, but suddenly she clung to them with her fingers. "Just when I thought it was over, plates started flying out of the cupboards! They didn't fight, they flew around the room as if they were teasing me," she sobbed more emphatically. "I couldn't stay in this house any longer and ran to the exit... and y- there you are ... please help, it's terrible…"
She picked up the glass and leaned down to hand it to Mrs. Rowland.
"Have a little drink, it never hurts."
After watching her take a few sips, Natasha straightened up and stepped over to where the table had been. "Make no mistake, if I'm here, I won't rest until I've driven this otherworldly scum out of your home and our world!" She grimaced at the look Gina was giving her as she held the glass to her mouth. "Too harsh?"
She didn't think long.
Something like solidarity flashed in her eyes.
Natasha's eyes were drawn to the footprints again. It is quite possible that this ghost saw as its goal to frighten the hostess and thereby amuse her. Looking closely at the carpet on the floor, she noticed that she had managed to get herself into this unpleasant liquid, more like a mixture of water and something jelly-like transparent. Disgusting.
The footprints on the floor led to another room that Natasha hadn't been in before.
"What's in there?"
"The kitchen," the woman said readily. "Go look at all the bedlam they've done to me!"
Footprints on the kitchen ceiling led to another room. Given the fact that the otherworldly first visited the living room, then moved to the kitchen, it should have been expected that it would move to at least one more room.
"Just look at the bedlam!" Natasha looked up from the ceiling and around.
Dishes were placed on each horizontal surface. A carpet of various plates and tureens had also bloomed on the floor, leaving neat paths for passing from room to room. Natasha looked doubtfully at her hostess. Yes, insanity was often the cause of ghost sightings, and she would have liked to support that theory, but ectoplasm… Leaning over one of the particularly delicate vases, she could clearly see its traces.
"Even my favorite vase was not spared!" Gina noticed her interest.
"And there?" Natasha nodded curtly in the direction of one of the 'paths'.
"The bedroom"
The drink had clearly calmed her initial fear a little, adding to her courage. "Do you think it will go there?"
"Well" Natalya let out a small laugh, " we won't know until we check it out."
Winking at her, wanting to change the atmosphere to a little more adventurous and thereby calm down the willing client a little more, she cautiously made her way to the door of the bedroom. At the very threshold, Natasha suddenly stops and turns around.
"May I?"... Gina, who was staring at her with all her eyes, seemed to freeze up for a moment.
"Of course!" She nodded her head.
Natasha reaches for the handle again, but a loud thud makes her jump and turn around. It comes from a completely different part of the room, where the back exit door was located. There was a clink behind it, a scratching sound along its entire length, and then the handle moved sharply, twitching in its attempts to open the lock.
"My God, it breaks the lock!" Mrs. Rowland scurried off down the hall with surprising speed.
Groping for the pocket book of prayers in her shoulder bag, Natasha resolutely moves forward and stops.
Spirits don't need to break locks.
A hasty inspection of the area around her revealed only one obviously convenient weapon against the robber. Natasha picked up the rolling pin and slowly made her way to the door. Behind her, her hostess's nervous breathing was unsettling.
Meanwhile, someone gave up trying to pick the lock and just started breaking it out. One particularly loud crack made Gina cry out:
"I'm calling the police!" but the door finally gave up under the onslaught of the enemy. It swung open and hit several vessels that were standing in its way. "My salad bowls!"
Natasha saw a short young man in shabby clothes. A large black bag was slung over his shoulder, and a matching box of some sort was peeking out of it. He didn't pay them the slightest attention as he hovered in the doorway, looking for something.
"Get out of here!" Natasha was the first to attack. Swinging the rolling pin, she barely holds herself in place from the force of the swing, but it's all in vain - he leaned low to the floor and remained unharmed.
"I dropped it!... Damn it!..."
"Look for it elsewhere!"
One more swing and back into the milk.
He looks up just in time to see Natasha swing for the third time, this time to throw the rolling pin at him. After dodging just in time, he finally turns his attention to the women.
Before he does, his gaze catches on the scattering of plates on the floor and goes up to the ceiling. Natasha imagines that he is actually seeing what she is seeing.
"The presence of the remains of the deceased" he whistled, pulling out a small device that looks like a mini-camera from his pocket "a common problem at this time of year" and he begins to examine the ceiling with it. An alarmed Miss Rowland appears in the video detector, and it's as if he's only now remembering the proprieties of life. "Frank Bannister, did you call?"
Natasha turned around in dismay. The landlady gave her a guilty look.
"I... just wasn't myself... When the connection with you was cut off, I grabbed another business card and called it."
"And this call wasn't disconnected?" Natasha asked skeptically, accepting Bannister's business card. She shook her head. A quick glance at the scrap of paper only added to the questions.
'A psychic detective?'
While she was telling him the same story she had told her, Natasha watched the man carefully. The business card looked solid, which did not fit at all with the image of its owner. She should be more careful with him. It is quite possible that this is an ordinary charlatan.
"I see," she heard him chuckle. "Spontaneous recurrent psychokinesis. In the fall, you know, it's not just people who get nervous..."
"And the door?" she interjects into the conversation. "Why through the back door?"
"Surprise effect," he smiles briefly and glances fussily at the bedroom door. "Ghosts don't expect that either, Miss..."
"Arlovskaya." Natasha returned the gesture, handing him her business card. He put it back in his pocket without even looking at it.
"Well, Miss Arlovskaya, I hope we're not expecting anyone else to have a poltergeist-catching competition. This place is getting dirtier by the minute..." Frank had the audacity to look expectantly at his client, who shook her head in denial. "I could easily have done it alone, though. Where were we?"
Natasha snorted without saying a word. With every word he spoke, he felt less and less willing to help him. Already more confident (her back was covered by such a valuable specialist!) she went to the bedroom door.
"But wait, how are you... Stop!..." not listening to him, she opened the door with one movement, took a step, but froze in utter surprise.
In a pleasantly furnished room, a ghost bounced merrily on the soft bedspread, climbing on it with its feet up. He was wearing a leather jacket and jeans, but the look was marred by the parting of his black hair and the thick lenses of his glasses on his nose. Another ghost was rummaging in a nearby closet, a large black man in a suit that was oddly provocative for everyday wear. Perhaps he was a musician. Or a bandit. Or he may have died long enough for this outfit to go out of fashion.
It was hard to say who was more taken aback by this encounter. With a cry, the ghost rolled off the bed. The second man turned around and stared at Natasha in disbelief.
"What the hell..." when he saw Frank standing in the doorway, he waved his hand, which was holding some kind of feathered rag. "What the hell kind of setup is this, Frank? You said you'd be alone!"
Natasha readily pulls out a prayer book from the pocket of her bag, which causes a panicked squeak from the second ghost:
"She's armed!" he started to hide behind his companion, who was looking less determined himself. "Tell her, Frank!"
Shaking her head, she opened the book to the page with the bookmark, but before she could read a single word, Bannister firmly covered the text with his hand, pulling the book away from the girl's face.
"Don't go to such drastic measures," he murmured softly, glancing back at his hostess.
Understanding came instantly.
"Are you in league with them?"
"Everyone earns what they want. And if you don't mind, I think it's about time they left the house and we started cleaning up."
Natasha thought for a moment. Technically, they will complete the mission and the ghosts will leave this house, but in fact they will remain at large. Is that how problems are solved here? Not surprisingly, Fairwater has been one of the leaders in paranormal activity for many years. Somehow this is all wrong...
"They're not coming back here?" Taking the question as an agreement, Frank gave the ghosts a curt nod.
The larger one sighed in frustration and muttered something along the lines of "we haven't even started yet," then threw his clothes onto the ectoplasmic bedspread with obvious displeasure. Frank frowned at them, and they scowled as they left the room through the wall by the window. Seeing Natasha's grim expression, he winked at her and whispered:
"Half-year warranty. Minimum."
The girl shook her head in disgust. She didn't really like this development. Frank, on the other hand, used this moment as an excuse to expand his active activities. Quickly setting his bag on the kitchen counter, he took out a massive radio set from around the middle of the century, busily found an empty socket, and pressed a few buttons on.
There was no result.
"Damn you.." he punched the lid a couple of times, causing the small fan inside to start spinning. And to see this process, a light bulb came on somewhere to the side of it. Like in the oven. Natasha moved closer, trying to figure out how this thing worked.
"There's nothing to worry about, this device will use a fan to pull the poltergeist into a bag made of special material, from which he will not be able to escape," Frank explained loudly(primarily because of the noise that his machine made). "You should only worry if..." the device made a loud ringing sound, pushing a bag in a shiny blue wrapper through the lid "it will not do so."
"Excellent command of the material," Natasha responded, sarcastically "applauding" the results of his work. He grimaced slightly, maintaining his composure.
"Thank you," he said, grabbing the bag with two fingers and turning to his client, "If you want, you can keep it for yourself — some people like to collect them..."
The woman actively waved off, refusing such a generous offer.
"In that case, all that remains is to clear this place of all traces of their activities and you can sleep in peace!" Frank couldn't resist the triumphant smile he gave Natasha. She raised her hands in response:
"I think I'll pass. You really can handle this perfectly well without me."
"But how... Stay!" Gina asked quickly. "I feel safer with you..."
"Then let's leave the professional at work and we'll go out on the terrace." Natasha touched her forearm reassuringly and gently steered her out of the room, her gaze skimming over Frank. "Fairwater is really lucky to have such a medium, especially in the run up to the Big Day." Without hesitation, she led the woman away, leaving the man alone with his fantasies of actually working with ghosts."
Half an hour later, Natasha returned to her hotel room feeling as if she had been cheated. The first case of real paranormal activity - and such a disappointment! And the situation with the attitude to ghosts among local hunters is very unpleasant in itself. Therefore, it turns out that there are a lot of ghosts here, not because a bridge between worlds has opened somewhere in the city, but because no one banishes the old ones. It's a shame.
Dropping her keys in the hall, she peeked into the common room. She should probably think about dinner. Or go straight to sleep. Alfred won't even have anything to brag about in a week's time. It's a double shame.
On the dark surface of the table, she suddenly notices a white rectangle, next to which lies a blue shiny bag. As she gets closer, she realizes that this is an unexpected greeting from Bannister. Natasha sighs and speaks softly to the empty air:
"Come out now, you tame creatures..." She paused, then added "The prayer book is still in my bag, and I can't reach it."
Two semitransparent figures emerged from the wall adjacent to the next room with some difficulty. The one with the glasses gave her a shy smile as he looked around.
"Now, in general, it was very insulting!" with a complaint responded the second. "We're not pet monkeys!"
"Then who you are? Ghosts don't serve humans."
"You don't know anything," the bespectacled man said with a faint resentment in his voice. "And you're playing smart. Frank's been through a lot" he finally began to examine her face curiously. "So are you."
"How do you know who's standing in front of you?"
"We know - we know," the 'fashionista' in the suit squinted contemptuously. "Even down-to-earth people like us have heard rumors about your adventures at the Winchester house. Where are the others?"
"I'm traveling alone," Natasha said grimly. Paying attention to how the business card slid into the ghost's pocket, but didn't stop there and crawled to the floor, getting stuck only in the leg of the boot, she adds. "What did your master want?"
The bespectacled ghost began to shake the card out of his pants, kicking his leg. "Discuss the Big Event. That's what you came here for."
"And if I don't?" she picked up the blue bag, looking for a convenient place to open it. A momentary doubt crossed her mind and she froze.
"There's no need to wait any longer." With a grunt, she tore open the foil in one rustling motion and peered inside.
There was a handful of caramel-coated peanuts.