Coalescence (Camden Investigations Book 1) Read online

  Yet DJ’s actions could not deter her mother’s love. Mom’s eyes sparkled. They looked exactly as they were before the crash, which made DJ cringe all the more. She should be hideous. Her mother refused to appear before her youngest daughter sporting a sliced up skull.

  The caress she wanted to give to DJ would be anything but comforting to the nineteen year old. It would have been more acceptable to see her mother’s mutilated deformity. But in full denial mode, Mom appeared in perfect makeup with a creamy complexion and pouty pink lips. But it was all a fake. Just like the viewing at the funeral home. Her mother would not accept her final image. DJ doubted she ever would.

  “Mom, leave the house. Leave it now!”

  Jumping off her bed, cowering toward her closed bedroom door with the blanket still shielding her, DJ resisted the urge to scream. She had heard a noise emanating from the kitchen and deducted Iris had returned from a night of ghost hunting.

  But Iris responded, possibly privy to the commotion via telepathy. “Is everything all right in there, Sis?”

  DJ closed her eyes and clenched the blanket, her back pressed against her bedroom door. I’ve got to try to be more distracted. It’s the only way to keep this from happening.

  “Come on, Sis. Just let me know you’re okay in there.”

  “It’s just Mom, Iris.” Again.

  Chapter Three

  IRIS OBSERVED Mitchell as if he too were some kind of unidentified entity. They were standing at the rear of her car, with the trunk open, in the parking lot of Starbuck’s. That was quite normal. The way Mitchell stared into the bag wasn’t.

  The brown-haired man gazed into the bag containing the strange object with apprehension. He kept his hands embraced on the car as if he feared it might pull him away somewhere. If this man was afraid of something like that happening, Iris feared he was just another nutcase too willing to see what he wanted to see.

  Iris was doubtful about Mitchell. Specifically, his qualifications and motives to assist in her investigation. He called himself a scientist, but he hadn’t finished his degree and instead worked as a photographer. She hoped liked hell he wasn’t doctoring pictures for supermarket trash magazines. Yet when Mitchell appeared just as perplexed by the dial as she was, it began to alter the word “suspicious” from capitalized to lowercase in her mind. It was as if he was afraid to handle it, possibly because he was out of his depth to validate whether or not it possessed extraterrestrial origins. Or, could it be he was simply afraid of its supposed ability to levitate and fly about homes?

  Lead investigator of Eyes on Colorado’s Skies, the man appeared boyish for someone just past thirty. He wore a green button-down shirt, blue jeans, and boots. Iris wondered if this man was the authority of extraterrestrial events he claimed to be. Considering his attire, she desired any excuse to deride his credentials. He claimed to have been working on his PhD in Theoretical Physics when he abruptly quit because of financial concerns. Why would a career-oriented person turn to UFO hunting if money was a problem? Investigating the paranormal sure didn’t pay the bills.

  Her ultimate reason to ghost hunt was her psychic ability. What was this man’s inspiration? She drew in a long breath and resisted the temptation to judge further. She took her eyes off the intangible—what Mitchell might represent as a personage—and perused his attire. Okay, judging again. But jeans didn’t exactly scream professional. Her friends were often attired in this means. Apparently, paranormal investigators lacked dress codes, fashion sense, or both. She dug her toe into soft gravel. “So, are we going to analyze this thingy sometime today?”

  Mitchell raised a hand to caution. “What are your last Geiger readings from the EMF?”

  “Gamma. Not really enough to kill us—if we minimize exposure.”

  “Good idea. We should minimize contact. I’ll just take a quick peek to photograph it.” Mitchell’s eyebrows rose in wonder as it slid out of the bag. “Will you trust me to secure this somewhere safe, away from human contact?” He didn’t wait for an answer, snapping off three consecutive shots.

  “I would. But first, can you answer the very nagging question I’ve had running through my mind since yesterday: Where did this come from?” Iris postured, hands on hips.

  “I thought about that during my drive here. Right now, I would classify this item as unidentified.” Mitchell tucked the object back into its hiding place.

  “Unidentified, but not a UFO?”

  “I realize you observed it in flight. But you came into this investigation looking for a poltergeist. It could stand to reason, no matter what this object is, that it levitated because of your haunting and not by extraterrestrial means.”

  Iris paused to consider. So he wasn’t quick to claim alien intervention. She liked that. She nearly grinned.

  “What’s on your mind?” Mitchell asked. Iris cleared her throat, resisting the urge to smile. Mitchell was unable to mask the slight grin of curiosity plastering his face. Iris found it kind of cute. Maybe she was allowing this man to peer a little deeper into her soul than she would like in this circumstance. But what if Mitchell was more than just another guy staring into her eyes for a bedroom destination? What if this man was really about finding out how the universe ticked?

  “In your investigations, you try to keep objective? I mean, you try to rule out misinterpretations of witnesses, hoaxes, and such?”

  Mitchell slammed the trunk closed and then pocketed his cell phone. “Any good investigator does. I imagine you do the same when examining a scene claimed to be haunted.”

  “I do. Yet this case definitely has unexplained phenomena that can’t be dismissed. Like I told you on the phone, objects not only levitated but morphed in and out of walls. Now, I have seen levitation before, but never objects moving through walls. I had believed only apparitions were capable of manipulating matter. There appears to be more than just a poltergeist at work.”

  Mitchell scrubbed a hand along his neck. “And did anybody witness an apparition moving through solid objects?”

  “No. I wouldn’t be capable of this. My psychic ability alerts me of a presence. A connection usually made without the benefit of sight or sound. I’ve only been able to see an apparition on one other occasion. I believe our equipment might have recorded a voice, and although our camera took a pretty good hit, its screen remained intact, so I’m hoping my team can salvage some video as well. And there’s one other thing I didn’t mention over the phone. We lost time during the investigation.”

  “Interesting.” Mitchell’s posture straightened in response.

  “I didn’t tell you this because you probably would have screamed extraterrestrial intervention or whatever term you use for it.”

  “Time loss is generally associated with abductions, Iris. Do you have any nagging feelings, intuitions that something else might have occurred during your investigation? Something which might lead you to believe you were taken somewhere?”

  “No.” Iris folded her arms across her chest. “Hell, no. I wasn’t abducted if that’s what you’re getting at.” Now Iris felt annoyed at the inference. Yes, she still subscribed that the little green men theory was nothing more than a yarn for lonely people to feel connected to the universe. The dial had forced her to consider other possibilities, but she was miles away from coming to terms with alien life. Her father had instilled this doubt in her. Looking at Mitchell, she wondered why he was so open to the idea. He didn’t look like a geek, loner, or nutcase. He looked pretty fine in his attire. That was all Iris could agree on at the moment.

  “How about your team? Any feelings that they might have had a waking experience that might be confused with a dream?”

  “I can’t speak for my team, but I doubt it. Besides, we’re all still a little fuzzy from our overindulgences last night. I couldn’t trust our memories as evidence.”

  “That’s good. I appreciate your cautious nature.” Mitchell’s hand went back to scrubbing his neck.

  Iris raised a hand over her m
outh and feigned a cough. She wanted to laugh at this repeated gesture he kept making. It was comical as much as it was cute. “In your opinion, Mitchell, can you attribute our time loss, mechanical failure, and the odd temperature of the home to extraterrestrial phenomena?”

  “In other circumstances, I might. I really have to know what kind of presence was in this house. Despite the levitations, can we definitively rule out a visitation from the spiritual world?”

  “In my opinion, no, we can’t. As I said, I felt its presence.”

  “But there was no communication you could discern at the time. In other words, can you say for sure, the house wasn’t visited by a spirit?”

  “I’m not certain. There seemed to be some intelligence in the home that related to the dial. But we would really need to have acquired an EVP or validation from a medium.”

  “Well, there you go. Why don’t you consult a medium?”

  “I could it’s . . . just . . . My sister is a medium, but she’s not really active at the moment.”

  “What does that mean? Did she lose her gift?”

  “No, Mitchell. She just lost her will to use it. It’s a long story.”

  “That’s something. You and your sister both possessing supernatural abilities.”

  “Would you find this even more difficult to believe if I told you we were really half-sisters?”

  “Honestly, I would. I mean, I thought these abilities were passed from family members. And even if you’re half-sisters, that transference is still possible.”

  “I doubt it. DJ and I have two different mothers, neither gifted. There’s no way my Dad would believe he passed genes onto us. He’s never around anyway, always working some government gig. He’s probably signing a non-disclosure form as we speak.”

  “Ooh. I detect some anger. Don’t let me stop you. That’s healthy.” Mitchell leaned against the car. His eyes grew distant. “And you’ve got every right. If I ever have children, the one thing I wouldn’t do is abandon them.”

  Iris explained how Dad left her mom and remarried a younger woman, Doris Jean, when she was in first grade. “I never realized how much younger this woman was until later. I can’t speak badly of her. She always did right by DJ. And she didn’t deserve to die in such a horrible fashion.” Iris wondered what life would have been like with her biological mom. It was as big a mystery as the dial was becoming to be. Mom had stopped speaking to her when she chose Dad over her.

  “But you still were never that close with her, were you?” Mitchell’s comment nagged at her.

  Iris whisked bangs from her eyes. “I feel guilty that I blame her for losing my one last biological parent. I think Dad did his best. It was his career choice that ruined both marriages. And the funny thing is, I still don’t have a freaking clue as to what he does.”

  “Okay, you seem certain that your dad doesn’t possess abilities. Maybe it’s from your grandparents? Or, I know this may seem like a harsh question, but did Doris Jean ever have an affair?”

  “Shit, I don’t think so. But does lineage validate our abilities for you? Can you tell me, do you really believe I have psychic abilities and that my sister can talk with the dead? Because if you don’t, you might as well call me and my sister liars.” Iris felt awful accusing this man who’d come here to help. But she was certain it was her abilities that mattered bottom line, no matter how her dad figured into the picture. Still, when she made the choice of which parent she wanted to live with, she chose her dad for some inexplicable reason. Maybe it was simple as his gushy laugh.

  Mitchell squinted. “Hey, I don’t doubt your sister can communicate with the beyond. I’ve never witnessed it firsthand myself. All I can say is that I keep an open mind. That applies to this investigation and every past and future investigation I will conduct.”

  Mitchell’s serious tone caught Iris off guard. The part of her feeling guilty and hurt from her family’s past wanted to argue. Another part of her sought a kindred spirit. She’d always believed her future husband might be an investigator as well. She didn’t imagine the exact nature of their investigations might lead them to be at odds with each other on more than one occasion. She fantasized about whether this man in the green shirt might become more than just a one-time colleague. When she allowed her anger to subside, she couldn’t deny an attraction to the man who chased phantom objects in the sky. He did have other respectful attributes. He appeared to be a thorough investigator. And he might one day become the scientist his family would surely be proud of. She thought of his family, probably residing somewhere on the east coast. She needed to soften her first impression. He needed to see she wasn’t always this defensive. Iris extended her hand.

  “I feel rude. I think we skipped formal introductions. My name is Iris, Iris Camden.”

  “And I’m Mitchell.” His smile was forced. He extended a hand to shake.

  “Come on, Mitchell . . .?” Iris kept a grip on his hand.

  “I just prefer Mitchell. It’s my last name. I hate my first name with a passion, and if you can believe it, I hate my middle name more than that.” They released hands.

  “Ouch. Is that the reason you left your family?”

  She cringed at her candid response. It was a harsh thing to say. But Mitchell smiled and dug his hands into his pockets. “Would you like to get coffee, Iris Camden?

  Iris liked how Mitchell changed subjects, forgiving her callous remark. She could attend to his fashion sense some other time.

  THEY ENJOYED lattes, sipping from paper cups in the parking lot of a Starbucks.

  “I guess this is what it means to be an investigator, doesn’t it?” Iris asked.

  “Please explain.” Mitchell sipped his coffee gingerly. “Ooh. Still hot.”

  “I’ll say.”

  They laughed.

  “I mean, Mitchell. Look at us. We don’t even feel the need to share a table inside. We linger in a parking lot. It’s as if we expect or even need to be on call for that next investigation.”

  “Yeah, that next investigation that will probably lead us to inconclusive evidence.”

  “You’re so right. But what if it’s different this time? What if that object really is from some unknown place and is part of some unknown agenda?”

  “Hey, now you’re talking.” Mitchell squinted. “But in all seriousness, we need some point of reference to begin an analysis. I just wish . . .” He paused to listen to the engine of an airplane overhead.

  “What do you wish?”

  “Apparently, a sign from above. That airplane reminds me of a report a week back about a crashed satellite. Debris was reported from surrounding towns. It’s conceivable the dial could originate from that. It means we do have an unidentified flying object, by loose definition. That means, Iris, that even if the dial is manmade, I won’t classify it as such until I can place it from the satellite crash.”

  Mitchell scanned his cell for the photos of the crash. “You know, it’s conceivable the Morse boy might have been in the vicinity of the wreckage.”

  “Can you be certain of that?”

  “To be honest, I can’t answer that right now. I will have to do some research. Find out just what kind of gismos might belong in a satellite. Find out where the boy ventured to.”

  “And in the meantime . . .?”

  “In the meantime, we keep this dial under lock and key in storage. I think I can squeeze it in with the other items I’ve failed to unpack from my move. By the way, I like to refer to it as an artifact, at least until we can find what its purpose is.”

  “You look like you want to say more.” Iris feared that Mitchell would tell her others were chasing after it. If this were the case, Iris felt like she was back at square one, depending on a conspiracy nut to give her rational answers about a thing that seemed to change temperatures and time.

  Mitchell answered after a moment’s pause. “I do. We could really use your sister’s help. If this presence can enlighten us about your dial in any fashion, it would go
a long way in our investigation.” Mitchell paused and flashed his phone toward Iris. “Ah, there it is, well, a piece of it anyway.” Iris observed the photo. It was inconclusive at best. Possibly it was just a picture of roadside junk, but Iris empathized with Mitchell’s need for a definitive answer.

  Iris nodded. “I agree. But that’s going to be difficult. She’s having some . . . issues. We can always consider a consultant.”

  “I wouldn’t recommend that. If this object is some kind classified technology, there could be people looking for it right now. It would be best to keep this in the family. We should limit any conversation about our investigation when on the phone—both land line and cell.”

  Fear removed her from Starbuck’s and placed her back at the Morses’ home. Mitchell’s sudden bout of paranoia warded her back to the foyer, the place where she’d cowered from the unexplained just one day earlier. It was sobering and disturbing to think what the dial might be capable of. And maybe if it could change time, it would reason there might be others interested in chasing it. She realized at this moment, it wasn’t her distaste of conspiracy theories that made her feel discomfort, but it was the notion that this event was forcing her to consider what type of secretive work her father really did.

  Chapter Four

  IRIS REPLAYED the video. It was a remnant of the recording Kassidy salvaged from the camcorder. She had lost count just how many times she viewed it. Over her shoulder, Kassidy raved repeatedly how the video was not of the Morses’ home, but from someplace she had never recorded. More succinctly, a place she and the team had never visited. But Iris wondered if she had, somehow.

  For all intents, the date stamp on the video was a lie. The date was two days ago. Kassidy claimed she was sure they never visited the spacious room shown recorded whether it was taped two days or two years ago. So, did the video generate from mechanical equipment failure or from paranormal intervention? Or quite possibly, another option she had yet to consider? She decided not to tell.