Page 11 of Looking for Love in All the Haunted Places
Maverick appeared next to her. “Ready?”
“Yep.” She switched documents to her prepared outline for the day.
The Caretakerwould be Lucky’s official, main stage debut into the supernatural industry—and she needed her ESP to be spotlighted in the show. Years of being ostracized had taught her to hide her ability at all costs, but it was time. She felt ready (or at least had convinced herself she was).
Her plan involved establishing that while she was familiar with Maverick, she could prove her first impression ability by knowing things only he would. He’d then hopefully vouch for her before she read the rest of the team.
When they inevitably asked why she hadn’t disclosed her ability during the interview, she already had her answer prepared.
The main objective ofThe Caretakerwas storytelling—an ordinary person relaying their supernatural encounters over time. Her contact at NQP disclosed production was rapidly becoming a shit show. No one had anticipated Hennessee House’s darkly enthusiastic participation. In short, the house had been taking things too far.
NQP wanted people from all walks of life that they could mold to fit their narrative. A college-educated, super believer, ESP girlie like her wouldn’t have made it past the first round. But now that she was there, she’d make it worth their while. As promised.
Lucky’s ability only worked on people. Humans, to be specific. A haunted house might be impossible…but what if it wasn’t? What if she found the equivalent of its eyes and willingly stared at it?
Three caretakers couldn’t hack it. She’d not only be the exception, she’d also be able to explain why. Lucky began, “I’ve always wondered how much of the real Maverick is in the show version. Is it really all an act?”
“Show Maverick’s backstory is made up.” He spoke slowly as if he were considering each word. “I’ve never been married. My parents are alive. I’m nowhere near an only child. I’m more interested in writing stories than being one.”
She nodded, unable to resist looking out the window again. A black cat was curled underneath one of the fruit trees.
“I purposefully made his life the opposite of mine to keep myself grounded. I had a feeling I would need that space,” he continued, the words tumbling out of him now. “But I think we’re both lethally curious. It’s a sickness really. We both want to understand everything. If there’s a reason for something, he wants to know what it is and won’t stop until he gets an answer. Personally, I’m okay if an answerdoesn’texist. I care more about what I can learn from an experience and how I can move forward with that information.”
“Oh.” That got her attention. Bit of a rarity for people to be that self-aware.
She’d made it a point to not get that deep into theBARDfandom. Her own adventures were more important to her than discussing his online. Still, she’d known about the long-standing debate on whether Maverick was playing a fictional character or a thinly veiled self-insert. No one knew for sure.
The answer resided somewhere in the middle like a rabbit in a magician’s hat—the illusion in place well before the audience arrived. The notable details about him were probably true: the deep empathy he displayed while interviewing, how inquisitive and brave he could be, and the unwavering hopeful look in his eye whenever he was unable to solve a case after giving it his all. Hewantedto believe.
Lucky had been right in deciding to play it this way. Everything truly began with Maverick.BARDviewers trusted himandhis character. NQP was banking on that crossover audience. If Lucky could convince him, everyone else would fall in line andbelieveher.
“I suspected as much.” She nodded. “Would you like to know more about yourself? I can tell you if you’re up for a little challenge.”
He frowned, confused. “What do you mean by that?”
“Is that an on-the-record question?”
“Doesn’t have to be.”
“It should be. Turn on your camera. It’ll be good for the show.”
They repositioned a pair of armchairs in front of the windows to make use of the natural lighting, setting them next to each other at an angle to ensure they’d both be in frame. After handing her a small microphone to hold and a quick sound test, he made some preliminary notes for someone named Therese.
He asked, “Have you ever been interviewed before?”
“Probably not in the way you’re thinking.”
“What makes you think you know what I’m thinking?”
“Oh, it’s way too early for you to have all my secrets. You only get one today and that’s not it.”
His eyes narrowed quickly before relaxing. “Do you always make cryptic little remarks like that?”
“No.” She grinned, leaning toward him. “I’m trying to be mysterious. Is it working?”
“It’s notnotworking,” he admitted. “Before we officially begin discussing your first night in Hennessee House, could you tell me a little about yourself? Specifically, what you were referring to earlier.”
“I’m not psychic,” she said immediately. “I can’t tell the future, and no, I don’t know what you’re going to do next, but I can read people.People, not their auras or anything like that. I’m talking about personality, likes, dislikes, core beliefs, important events that shaped them, repressed memories, and their secrets—the ones they know about and some they might not. First impressions truly tell me everythingIneed to know.”
