Page 107 of I'll Be Waiting

The locks on these doors have been changed since the house’sbed-and-breakfast days, when each guest required a secure room. These are simple privacy locks, the sort intended to keep your kids from barging in.

I knock again, louder. Worry slides in to replace the annoyance. I keep telling myself that everyone else is safe because the ghost only targets me. Again, that’s a logical fallacy. The ghost has only targeted meso far.There’s no reason why it couldn’t go after the others.

I fetch a pen from my room and take out the refill. Then I knock again before putting the slender cylinder into the hole and popping the lock.

The door opens. I push it one inch.

“Davos? It’s Nicola. I’m coming in.”

No answer.

I open the door another couple of inches. His room doesn’t have an attached bathroom, so he can’t be in that. I can see the bed and small desk, and he isn’t at either.

I step inside. The only place I can’t see is the floor on the other side of the bed and desk.

I check the bedside first. No signs of him there. I turn around where I can see the spot behind the desk. He’s not there either.

My gaze goes to the window, as if a forty-year-old professor is going to exit that way.

This makes no sense. If the door can only be locked from the inside…

Wait. If I was easily able to open it, there’s no reason Cirillo couldn’t lock it behind him and then use something to pop it open. That’s the only way to have a semi-secure room.

Mystery solved.

I hurry toward the door. I want to relock it and get out before he returns. I don’t relish explaining why I broke into his room. Yes, I was concerned, but I’m not sure my brain is a good judge of reasonable behavior right now.

I’m passing the desk when a notebook snags my attention. I might be a techie, but I do appreciate a fancy notebook. I’ve even been known to buy them, on the off chance that I’ll suddenly decide to start taking longhand notes. The book is gorgeous. Leather-bound by the looks of it. I find myself reaching to open the cover.

Um, weren’t you leaving? Quickly?

I just want to see this. Such an expensive cover on a disposable item seems a waste. Also, the book has a lock. It reminds me of the diary I had as a child, only this is a real lock, one that can’t be picked with a fingernail. It’s been left half latched, as if it didn’t quite catch when he shut it.

I wriggle the locking mechanism open, flip the cover, and give a nod of satisfaction. This isn’t a disposable notebook. The leather-bound exterior holds a removable pad of paper.

So now I’m at Cirillo’s desk, having broken into his room and opened the notebook he accidentally left unlocked. As long as I’m piling on faux pas and misdemeanors…

I flip to one of the latest pages.

NL is not an easy woman to work with. She’s argumentative and fixated on disbelieving her own experiences. I’m not sure why she hired me. I know she has a history of uncovering fraudulent mediums, and I’ve begun to suspect I’ve been set up.

I snort.You’re worried about being set up?Now he knows how I feel when I’m questioninghismotives, feeling misled.

That page is about five from the end, shortly after he arrived and before stuff really started happening. He soon lost his skepticism.

This might be the most complex haunting I have encountered, as well as one of the most definitive. There is nodoubt that there are entities here. We have successfully summoned AN, but he seems to be trapped on the other side of the veil. There’s a second entity as well, a darker force that I can’t pin down.

I need to push NL further. Both entities are clearly focused on her. I realize it may be unethical to push her when I have doubts about her safety, but I will keep a close watch on the proceedings. NL herself might be difficult, but she is at the center of a compelling story.

I believe I finally have the cornerstone of my book. Sid has argued that he can’t sell it without a strong central narrative to hang my research on. I have fought that, but I finally understand what he means. My experiences and research are interesting and important, but a mainstream audience requires more, and with NL’s story—the background and the séance results—I think I have it. Sid agrees.

I reread that last paragraph. Then I skim for a sign that I have misinterpreted, and that Cirillo isnotusing my séance—aprivateengagement—for abook.

The following pages only make it clearer, as the asshole tap-dances around the fact that he is milking my tragedy—and endangering my safety—to get a damned book deal.

He’s planning to profit off what happened to me, off what’s happening here.

He’s willing to push me past the point of safety for a better story.

---