Chapter 2

Rooney swiped the security card through the slot on the hotel room door and pushed it open. First, she needed to hit the bathroom, and then she planned to change into a comfortable pair of PJs before snuggling up with a pillow and her magazine.

The room loomed eerily still, almost too still. For a brief moment she wondered if some of the spiritual energy from the séance had followed her up the elevator. Dismissing the dismal thought, she emptied her bladder in the bathroom, and upon exiting, crossed the room to her suitcase lying open on the bed nearest the window.

Coming to an abrupt halt, a loud gasp caught in her throat. When she saw the man seated in the club chair next to the draperies, she did the first thing that came to her mind…grabbed a weapon. Seconds later, she faced him with a fully loaded can of hair spray in one hand and her curling iron in the other.

He put a hand in the air. Whoa, now, I mean you no harm, Miss.

"How did you get in here? What are you doing here? And just who-who are you?"

Wait…you're looking at me when you speak. Not only can you hear me but you can see me?

"Of course I can hear you…and see you. I'm not standing here with a curling iron and a can of hair spray to attack the chair."

Oh, that. Won't do you any good. Both would go through me.

He didn't look menacing. In fact, he looked forlorn and way too calm for someone bent on attacking her. Dressed in a pair of denim jeans and a white cotton shirt, his hair was cut short, his features fine and symmetrical. Despite his calm demeanor, a chill ran down her spine. A white aura circled his translucent body. Something about the stranger wasn't quite authentic…tangible. "Don't change the subject. I asked what you're doing in my room." She glanced toward the door. "And how did you get in here?"

Why don't you take a seat on the edge of the bed and I'll explain everything.

"Are you out of your mind? I have no intention of holding a conversation with a stranger who's broken into my room."

I didn't break into your room; I walked through that door, or was it the wall? He shrugged. In any event, there was no break in.

"Not listening to this, calling security."

Rooney, that's you, right?

"Oh. My. God. You know my name?"

He gave a sheepish nod. I heard you talking to your sister backstage after the séance.

"You followed me?"

I wouldn't call it following you. I entered the elevator with you and sort of walked shoulder-to-shoulder with you up here.

"You weren't at the séance on stage, so what then, were you in the audience?"

No, I was on stage, but kind of hanging around in the background. He put his hands in the air, palms out. I swear, I won't hurt you, but I’ve been lurking around this hotel for two months now wondering how I was going to get out of this mess. Then you arrived at La Bonne Chance with your sister, you know, the fabulous Fontaine sisters, the crème-dela-crème of psychics, and my prayers were answered.

She snorted. "I'm not a psychic, mister. Looks like you picked the wrong sister."

No, I picked the right sister. Now if only I can get her to hear me out.

"I don't want to hear you out; I want you to get the hell out of my hotel room. Like now!" When he didn't comply, she moved the can of hair spray until it loomed inches from his face. "I'm going to count to three. If you aren't out of that chair and out that door by then, I'm giving you a face full of hair spray."

Go ahead. Maybe then you'll realize what I am and listen.

"You asked for it." She held the nozzle down and let him have it between the eyes. Not a muscle on his body moved. Much to her dismay, she didn't have the satisfaction of seeing him blink. The aroma of hair spray hung heavy in the air, but it didn't seem to bother him as much as it did her. Through a series of chokes and chortles she managed to eke out the words. "What are you, some kind of weirdo with inhuman defenses?"

A ghost.

"What!"

You asked me what I am and I'm telling you. I'm a ghost.

Eyes wide, voice in shriek mode, she fell onto the edge of the bed and glared at him. "You can't be a ghost. I don't believe in ghosts!"

Understandable. Neither did I until I became one.

She reached out and touched his arm, more to prove him wrong than anything else. When her fingers danced through vacant air, she released a startled scream. Coming to her feet, she paced a small area beside the bed. "This can't be happening. It isn't possible."

My words precisely when they pushed me off the balcony and I wound up in this state.

She resumed her prior position on the bed. "Someone pushed you off a balcony?"

More like tossed me over, here at the La Bonne Chance Casino, seventh floor, two months ago.

"Two months ago? You've been wandering around here for two months?"

He released an exasperated sigh. I thought you might be a good listener, but I've said that twice now. Two months ago I died, and yes I've been hanging out here, twiddling my thumbs and trying to figure out what to do next.

"You can't leave the hotel?"

Not yet, anyway. I'm working on it, but you have no idea how much energy it takes just to project my voice. No one else has been able to hear me, or see me, until you, Rooney. Now I seem to be experiencing a renewed sense of energy.

"Stop saying my name as if we're besties."

Well, after that séance and the conversation you had with Violet about your little sister, Vanessa, I kind of feel as if we are.

"We're not, so get that out of your head."

Poor little Vanessa, must be hospitalized at Roswell Park Cancer Institute in Buffalo, huh?

"Yes, and we were darn lucky to get this gig ten miles from the hospital. She has—you have no idea how I hate the word—leukemia. Wait, you did it again, changed the subject. I'm calling Vi, maybe she can help you. Like I said, she's the supposed psychic, although I wonder about that," she added under her breath.

No, she's the real thing. That is, she often does receive subliminal messages from the spirits.

"And how would you know?"

I tested her at the séance.

"You did what?"

Okay, about halfway through tonight's session, do you remember when she said, 'A male spirit has joined us named Stuart?

"That was you?"

Yep, and no one spoke up because I guess no one had a loved one with that name that had crossed over.

"Stuart what? What's the second part, or should I say what was your last name? Not saying I believe you're a ghost, just playing along for now."

Granger, Stuart Granger on my birth record.

"Oh, this is rich. Like Stuart Granger, the British actor?"

That was Stewart Granger, and yes, like the British actor. My mother loved all his films, especially The Man In Grey, Fanny by Gaslight, Caravan, The Magic Bow. Oh, hell, she loved all his films, named me after him, except changed the spelling a little.

"That does it. Now I am calling Vi. She can't bring you back from the dead but maybe she can help you somehow."

Won't work, he won't listen to her. He's like you; doesn't believe in ghosts and if she tells him she's a medium... Stuart laughed. More than likely, he'd kick her in the tires all the way to the road.

"Kick her in the tires?"

In the ass.

"Oh. Who is this he you're talking about?"

My kid brother, Stephan. See, he's probably not quite right in the head these days. Three tours in Afghanistan and one in Iraq will do that to a man.

"You don't know if he's right in the head or not?"

No, he came home a month after I died, so you can see the problem here. I didn't have a chance to see him, tell him what happened. He knows nothing about any of this, thinks I jumped to my death because all the newspapers called it a suicide. I gotta admit, it was a well executed plan. I mean, it looked like a suicide.

Rooney put her head back and rolled her eyes. "Do you have any idea how crazy this all sounds?"

He offered a slow nod. Of course I do, but I'm telling you, I didn't commit suicide, someone killed me. That is, two men wearing masks killed me. They were waiting in my room and tossed me over the balcony.

"Okay, back up. You booked a room at the casino on the seventh floor and you claim two men were waiting for you after you checked in?"

He crossed his heart, his fingers passing through his white cotton shirt. Exactly, room 718.

"Why did you book a room here, maybe we should start with that?"

A guilty expression crossed his face. To meet a man.

"What man?"

Roger, someone I met online.

"You met a stranger online and agreed to meet him at a hotel?"

Yes, bad for safety I know, but many times we hook up like that. His face took on a doom and gloom expression. Or I once hooked up like that…past tense now.

"I know where this is going, but I have to ask, who's we?"

I knew you were a smart cookie. We…as in gay men. Roger didn't even exist. Someone set me up online and those men were waiting for me instead.

"Why did they want to harm you?"

At first I thought they were just gay-haters, you know. People like that sometimes hang out in chat rooms, but then the more I thought about it, the more I realized it wasn't that. Why wear masks and why carry guns? A gay-hater will take the time to beat the crap outta ya, bring on the pain for all your sins. Deep in thought, he tapped two fingers against his chin. These guys were professionals, methodical, sent by someone to make sure I couldn't leave this hotel alive. They held no malice for me; to them it was a job, nothing more.

"Are you going to tell me why they killed you or are you going to keep me in suspense?"

It can only be one thing…the lawsuit, the million dollar or many millions of dollars, lawsuit I filed against Catskill Resources, Inc.

Rooney rolled her finger. "Keep it coming. I'm all ears."

After fracking on neighboring land owned by Catskill, methane gas showed up in my water. Nearly killed me until I figured out what was going on. Not only that, but the grass started dying three years ago and I could smell gas leaking through the soil. I notified them countless times but they never sent anyone out. So I filed a lawsuit against the company and it was coming up on the court docket soon.

"I thought I read somewhere that fracking was banned in upstate New York by the Governor."

It was in 2014. This happened before the ban.

"Does your brother know about this?"

No, and Catskill doesn't know about him. The land falls to him now per my Last Will and Testament but he wasn't named in the lawsuit. I did that to protect him, never thought I'd get killed over this.

“What about your parents, other siblings?"

Mom and Dad have been gone over ten years and now there's just me and Stephan. He sighed again. Correction. Technically, I'm gone too so it's just Stephan now. Once they find out someone's living there and he's my brother, they'll kill him too.

"You can't be serious?"

Dead serious, pun intended. You can see why I need you to help me.

"Oh, no." She wagged a finger at him. "I'll go to the newspaper, the local sheriff, someone, but I'm not taking this crazy story to your brother, especially since you say his head might be messed up."

He's not mentally ill or anything. I imagine he's a mite mixed up now after serving all those tours in the Middle East. I mean, who wouldn't be?

"Doesn't sound like you know your own brother very well."

Don't get me wrong, I love Stephan, always have, but we're ten years apart. I was long gone from home by the time he was ten. Then he grew up and went off to war and we just lost our way, I guess. I wrote to him, but never got much in return, a letter once a year wishing me a Merry Christmas, no return address.

"My gut is telling me to walk away from all this, you ought to know that."

But what is your heart telling you?

"I'm crying foul on that one. You'd be better off telling this to Vi, or let me tell her."

He shook his head. I'm telling you she won't get to first base with Stephan. You don't want his death on your conscience knowing you could have done something to save him, do you?

She clucked her tongue. "Oh, talk about hitting below the belt. Besides, what makes you think I'll make it to first base with him?"

I already told you, you're like him, you remind me of him in a way.

"Don't con me, ghost man." Yet, he'd piqued her curiosity. "In what way?"

You don't bullshit, come to the point, and a big plus…you're not a psychic like Vi. You don't believe in ghosts so why would you be telling him about one? Besides, I'll coach you before you drive out there; tell you things about us that only I would know. What do you say?

"I say I must be crazy to be thinking about helping a ghost."

You will think about it though?

"I'll sleep on it and let you know."

When? We don't have much time.

"Don't crowd me or I'll say no this instant."

He put his hands up again. All right, all right. I'll give you time to think it over.

"Where will I find you when I make my decision?"

I'll find you. Remember, I can't leave the hotel…not yet, anyway. He rose from the chair and blessed her with a grateful smile. Thank you, Rooney.

"Don't thank me yet. Now go on and get out of here before Vi comes back."

You won't tell her, will you? That might put my brother in more danger.

"No, I won't tell her." The corner of her lip came up in a sneer. "No offense, but she knows my opinions on ghosts and wouldn't believe me anyway."

Stuart brushed past her, walked toward the door and turned to mouth the words, Thank you. Then he left the room by walking straight through the closed door, leaving Rooney staring after him all wide-eyed and open-mouthed.