26th April, 2161.

Dear Marissa,

It should have been gloomy today. It should have been raining, as though the heavens themselves were mourning our loss. My loss. The sky should have been overcast, the sun too pained to glow, yet today was a mockery of my hope. The sun had never shone brighter before. The birds chirped gleefully, each enjoying the company of their mates, yet I stood alone. There was a pleasant fragrance in the air- a stark contrast from the settings that I work in, and yet, my heart sinks even further, for I will have no one to share the pleasures of life with.

The others maintained a respectful distance. They have been through this before. It is not uncommon in our field of work, yet the wounds never heal. They have been ripped open far too many times to be mended once more. It is funny how we strive to put the souls of otherworldly beings at rest, yet hope at each funeral that our own would return to us, be they alive or dead. I have experienced this kind of pain only once before. I'd have thought that it would be the hardest thing in my entire life. I was mistaken.

We were all dressed in black, yet even the grace with which the colour sat on our lithe frames seemed far from fitting for the occasion. We have run out of tears, I more so than the others. Not to say that they don't grieve for her. We are, after all, a family bound to one another with a common purpose. It is at times like these that I wonder if I prefer or detest their presence in my life. I do not know if they are to blame for the coffin that has just gone six feet under. Wreaths of flowers lay on the holy Earth, yet they have neither colour nor smell. They are dull, and would soon wilt away. To me, they are only a cruel likeness of the one I have just lost. An innocent life snuffed out too early.

There were many faint murmurs. Many prayers said, and blessings spoken. Rituals conducted to ensure that our dead stay that way- dead. I didn't stand by to watch. I couldn't. I'm kneeling on the ground, all but broken. I haven't lost the fight, yet. I looked up when I feel a hand on my shoulder.

"Sacrifices must be made if we are to win the battle, Roger. Remember that."

I seethed with anger. He never approved of me having my own family, yet this was a step too far, even for him.

"She is not just another casualty of the case, Cole. She was my daughter!" My barely contained anger drew many looks- some of sympathy, pity or understanding, and others of irritation, yet I didn't care as I trailed off brokenly. She was our baby girl. I had made one promise to myself, and already, it has been broken. I promised to protect her and cherish her. I promised myself that she would want for nothing. That I would play the role of both father and mother, yet here I am, mourning her.

I heard the clang of metal beside me. I looked up to see Alice watching me expectantly.

"We have the next case on our hands already, Roger. Aidan. Aidan.D.Farrell. Enough mourning. A ghost killed your daughter. It's time we finished the game."

This is our way of life. No mourning, no celebration. It's either hunt, or be hunted. One does not simply retire from the game. Retiring means death, yet it is something I'm not so afraid of now. Perhaps, I'll just hang the proverbial boots after this one.

After all these years of hunting, the name Aidan.D.Farrell definitely stands out. A hundred and twenty years. That's how long he has been haunting this world, though it hasn't escaped public notice that he has become increasingly violent only over the last decade. Of course he has been noticed far longer, but it's never been disappearances or outright murder. This is a case that is simply screaming for attention. Once I'm done with him, my legacy will live on for much longer than I intend to tarry here.

Love,
Roger

P.S: Yes, I joined a group of hunters after you left. Thought I'll feel closer to you if I document this journey.

*****

29th April, 2161.

Dear Marissa,

The drive to Brislington is simply uneventful. Some parts of Bristol are remarkably green. The rest are quite developed, and it does not surprise me in the least that he is here- after all, a major part of Brisol claimed to be haunted even in Aidan's time and much before that. The house does not look haunted even by a far stretch, but we have gathered enough evidence to know the truth. Aidan seems to be the smartest of the lot. He has not left as many tracks as they usually do. Apart from the circumstances of death, there is no trace of haunting, but the reports leave the fact indisputable. The deaths are all those of ghost hunters who have tried to put him to rest and failed. Ten years. For ten years he has evaded everyone in this game of cat and mouse, but no longer. It will end with us. At the end of this week, the place will be free of one of the most renowned ghosts of our time.

The places of haunting, supposedly by Aidan, are not that close by on a map of Bristol. They are too far away to even be deemed connected, yet the correlation is undeniable. I open the map to see three markings, all in red- All Saints' Church, Bristol Old Vic, and the Dower House, all at least a half hour away from each other if the journey is made on foot. Perhaps only a few minutes though, as the crow flies. There is no clear trace of what those places meant to him in life, but then again, they did mean something. What it was, is for us to find out, if we are to send him back to the realm he belongs to.

We start with the Dower House, seemingly least haunted of them all. We are hoping Aidan himself will draw us out to the other two locations since he has been, can we say- attention seeking, of late. It is not long before we hear the pounding of hooves. The lady who caused them has long been laid to rest, which leads us to believe that this one is Aidan. The sounds come closer and closer,and before long, we hear Cole swearing that a hand roughly shoved him, almost causing him to be trampled, though I daresay he deserved it. This task won't take longer than usual, I am sure. After all, what is one ghost against a team of five well-trained hunters?

We move into the Dower House, setting up our base there; tinned food to avoid misuse of knives, and all our equipment neatly stashed away. The five of us- Cole, Alice, Fred, Nick, and I- we sit down and plan our course of action. The last time has dealt us a much needed lesson in caution. Nick is the youngest of us. He's Alice's son. He insists that he should be here to protect his mother, though how he is anything more than a liability is beyond me.

We equip ourselves with our cameras and lights first. The digital thermometer, the sound recorder and the EMF recorder are all held firmly between our fingers should the activity escalate today itself. Fred looks almost off guard right now, though I would possibly put it down to the fact that he comes from a family that has been hunting ghosts for so many generations. The lands he hail from are, after all, known for their legendary folklore. Reddish hair and blue eyes, he looks quite younger than he really is. One wouldn't guess that be is a ghost hunter simply by looking at him. He's a thin lad who looks like he could be scared by something as common as clattering windows, though he's about the most knowledgeable and resilient of the group.

Alice, well, she's your typical Brit, in both face and character. She and her son both. Of our group, Alice is the only one I'll ever called soft-hearted. She's the kind of woman who looks tough, won't hesitate to get snarky, but is fiercely protective of those around her. I think you'd approve if her if you were here. Maybe you'd even go as far as being fast friends. Nick is okay. Clara and he, they were, shall we say, close? I think he took that hit as much as I did, but it'll be a lie if I say that I don't hold our daughter's death against him. The two of them were most susceptible, and she decided it wouldn't be him. He was right there, Marissa, and he did nothing. I hope he doesn't cost us this time too.

Cole hails from the States. There isn't much to tall you about the guy. He's always got a straight face, and I don't like the guy one bit. He just manages to get under my skin, but in this team, I'm sure we all got each other's back. Cole too. He's not bad- just too stern all the time. He's the kind of guy who's all about business, though I daresay he might have just warmed up to us a little bit. He's the one who usually does any kind of talking with the officials. He's got that air of authority around him. He's like the unspoken leader of the team. Somehow, I think he has as much of a score to settle as I do.

Anyways, I don't think I'll write as much anymore. It's best I stay on guard. After all, the house is haunted!

Love,
Roger

*****

30th April, 2161.

Dear Marissa,

The hunt has begun. We've set up all the cameras and we are waiting for Aidan to give us some solid evidence today. Stranger as you are to the concept of ghost hunting, I think I'll still wager that you'd know why we need some good footage. The microphones and recorders are all set. If we're not mistaken, Aidan will show himself today. He doesn't sound like a fellow who'll hide behind a voice, and if it is so, I think my team will agree when we say that we are up to the challenge.

We're waiting here, hearing the sound of dripping water. We did investigate the sound until we figured it was just a faulty tap. It is surprisingly warm, considering the fact that ghosts usually cause a drastic dip in the temperature. We don't really have animals around to test our theories, though. There's a heavy silence that shrouds us, the only sound- that of the water droplet splattering against the stone cold floors. The watches tick, but still there is no noticeable activity.

11:50 pm...

12:00 am...

1:00 am...

Alright, it's 3:30 am now and I'm going to get some shut eye. Cole will be on watch. Hopefully, this isn't all an elaborate prank by some kid obsessed with the paranormal. If so, it is nothing but annoying. Good night Marissa.

Love,
Roger

*****

1st May, 2161.

Dear Marissa,

Last night went by peacefully, and I was surprised Cole let us sleep right through it. In fact, he let us sleep right through the day until sundown. I was shaken awake by Cole, none too nicely, might I add, and you won't believe what meets my eyes now. A newspaper. A particular report on it, to be more precise.

"Gruesome Death In Bristol Old Vic; Suspect On The Run"

Of course the suspect is on the run. He has been for the last one hundred and twenty years. The picture is proof enough. It looks harmless at first glance, but the posture in which the body lies would give a lay man the creeps. Hands and legs bent at odd angles, it looks like a painful death, but his face- his face looks the worst of them all. Where his eyes should be, are two empty sockets, the bugs already trying to salvage what they can. The mouth is unnaturally wide, and nearby lies a bloody knife.

It looks like a serial killer on the run, but we? We know the truth. Even the killers steer clear of that place at night. We know now why we found nothing yesterday night. Aidan wasn't at the Dower House. He was at the theatre. It seems as though he wants us there. He does not realize who he is trying to bait. He has seeded his own destruction. When we go there tonight, we will be ready. I leave you now, Marissa. We have a lot to do. Plans to chalk out and such. I would hope not, but if you're with Clara, give her my love too. Tell her Papa will see her soon.

Love,
Roger

*****

2nd May, 2161.

Dear Marissa,

So you see, our plan was to let him lead on. We went to watch a play they were putting up and decided to stick around even after that. It was something of a tragedy, a rather old one, but a nice play nonetheless, though we were watching just to kill our time. Even as the curtains closed and the audience filtered out, the lights began flickering- old fashioned yet true. For a young lad like him, Nick almost looked amused. I could have sworn he was giggling until Cole shot him a frosty glare.

Tonight too, our routine is the same. Planning, recording, a little rest, sharing old tales and memories. For me, I'm doing the writing any time I can (my role in the team usually includes documenting. I believe this counts). Tonight might be more dangerous Marissa. Wait a minute. Cole is saying something and Alice looks worried. I'll come back.

Okay, Marissa, thinks aren't looking too good and I'm leaving for now. He's a big lad and one of the best but someone better give him a piece of our mind before something bad happens.

Fred's off to somewhere and we don't know where.

Love,
Roger

*****

3rd May, 2161.

Dear Marissa,

It seems Nick knew where Fred was going last night. Apparently he said something about checking the cameras and fixing something up. You see, Fred likes Nick best among the team, so it's quite likely it was why Nick knew and we didn't. We are keeping an eye out for him even as I write. Nick is starting to pester us now. Fred isn't back yet. We're going to go look for him now, knock some sense into that hard head, and search the cameras for any evidence.

Love,
Roger

*****

She knows what happens next, and she can all but see the letters that would've met her if they'd been written down.

"We looked a while around the cameras that had been set up since that was likely where Fred had gone to. Nothing seemed out of place and it was still as we'd left it. The nights at the theatre are considerably colder but we've been coping up easily, so it isn't surprising that Fred stayed away, giving that he had no need to come back. We check all around and the last place we go is backstage where we'd set up the last camera.

There, among the flickering lights, were a few wires and a single camera. Nick trips over something and lets out an involuntary scream of horror. We use our flashlights to see just what it was that had tripped him, and there, among the many drapes and props lay the prone and lifeless body of Fred. He was fallen in a crumpled heap, and the wires around him suggest that he was electrocuted, yet why would he touch any of the sockets?

We go through all the cameras to see if there is any sign or proof of activity. Any clue that it was Aidan who had done this. We check the recorders too, yet there is nothing. Absolutely nothing. There is no time to mourn Fred. Contrary to what you may think, it's better we clean up and focus on saving ourselves than endangering more lives when mourning. Of course we won't wait for the authorities. We'll bury him beneath a tree and move on. He'll be mourned after we are done with this case. I go now to help the team."

She knows this is how the entry would have ended. She wonders if this is how death will come to her too- without anyone to mourn her and when she's all alone. Dismissing such thoughts quickly, she flips over to the next entry, eager to finish.

*****

4th May, 2161.

Dear Marissa,

We lost Fred when we were least expecting to, and I'm guessing the water all around his body did him no favours when all that current passed through him. We are no closer to figuring out this bothersome ghost and we've lost Fred already. Cole has become our honorary leader now and There are no disputes about it. We all know it's better this way. He'll make sure we sleep with an eye open and always stay on our toes. I wonder how Nick is coping up, though I suppose it isn't the first time he has seen someone dead. I'm glad he's got Alice around. In a way, I think we are all glad for the company of someone who can understand us and help lighten our hearts. Don't worry, she's not even anywhere close to you, dear!

I think if there's anyone who can take Aidan on face to face, it'd be Cold, or it'll be Alice if she is to protect Nick. Cole's saying that we visit the church for a while and give Aidan the illusion that we are giving up. He tells us to leave the cameras up though, in case Aidan gets too lazy about it all.

We are at the church now. This monk that used to haunt this place? He's long gone too so it's a bit safer out here. We only hope Aidan doesn't follow us here. We need some time to collect yourself after Fred's death. Cole is more of the brawn as Fred was the brain of the team. Something about Cole makes him look a bit uneasy. It looks like he's hiding something. Come to think of it, he's always sounded like he knows exactly what Aidan will do. Also, it may well be just me, but he holds something against me. He knows something that we don't, and I have a feeling that by the end of this hunt, it'll be out in the open for all to know. Pardon me, love, but I really want to sleep now while I can. The next few days are going to be action-filled. I'll tell you all about it when I join you there.

Love,
Roger

*****

There aren't many entries after that, she can tell. They had a hard time looking out for themselves as it was. Things such as writing a diary became unimportant when it came to saving one's own life. It wasn't as though Cole gave his leave to write either. They did nothing but proceed with the hunt. See where that got us- she thinks. Huddled in a dark corner, she's reading, looking for anything that can save her before he comes back for her.

She thinks back to her friends from the East who often spoke of such tales and she wondered if the people in those stories felt this way too. She thinks back to Cole and wonders what he must have felt like knowing that not only his, but others' lives hung in the balance too. She remembers watching her as he told her to run, and never come back. He was asking her to let go of her identity and start over. She still doesn't know why. Was it the same thing that prompted the other one to take his life? No, it couldn't be. He took his life so that he could meet his family.

Once more, she flips the page over to read the words scribbled over them, the letters dancing across the page.

*****

7th May, 2161.

Dear Marissa,

We had a run in with Aidan today and I must say it was a terrifying experience. My hands tremble even as I wrote this down, but I want you to know. I want everyone who reads this to know that we are knee deep in trouble. Scratch that. We are neck deep. There's next to no way out. Alice and Nick don't know what happened. It was just Cole and I out there, and I must say I know a part of the story now.

I know one side of it. Maybe just half, but I know I'm closer to the truth. I'm scared for my life, Marissa, but I want to die on my own terms. The reason I'm writing this down so soon is because I have a sinking feeling that I'll never make it out of here and I want it to be known- what really happened down here. I don't want anyone coming back, for if they do, they'll likely never return.

We went back to the theatre today, just the two of us. The place was deserted today. We kept hearing squelching boots and shrieks, but we walked ahead. There were blood-curdling screams, but Cole dragged me through making me wonder if it didn't affect him at all. Those are sounds I hope you never hear. They were the sounds of death. A woman burning to her death. I could smell the charred flesh in the air, Marissa. I could feel the heat rolling off in waves, searing my skin and blinding me. We were in the stage now and I couldn't help but feel we were re-enacting that gruesome death. I could feel the fire blinding me, the smoke choking and killing my lungs, but you know what? My instinct was screaming at me to rush I to that inferno and save the woman inside. It was such an irresistible urge and I would've been burnt to crisp if Cole hadn't physically held me back.

I could feel myself dying. I could almost hear screams of "Roger, help!" in the air. I fell. I writhed in pain. That feeling of the fire searing my flesh, it's something that will haunt me till death. They say that ghosts make the temperature drop, yet whether or not he is toying with my mind, all I could feel was fire. Hellfire. Cole didn't even flinch and that's another time I got the feeling that he was hiding something. All around us, rising above the crackling of the flames and the heart-rending screams was a bout of maniacal laughter.

"He's innocent!" Cole muttered but even I knew we were heard. The laughter grew in volume- now turning into a cackle- as did the lunacy in it.

"He stopped being an innocent the day he got involved with you!"

I don't know what it was Marissa, and call me crazy but I swore I heard a woman. There was a lot of speaking after that, but burning out as I was, I didn't gather much apart from the fact that Cole burnt some house down and that, obviously, Aidan has something to do with it. Something about a granddaughter who was kind enough to speak to his lingering ghost- apparently he promised to look after all those of his line until it broke off. So far as I gather, he killed the woman and that triggered Aidan.

I thought I was doing the right thing when I joined them, Marissa. I thought I'd have hope of finding you somewhere along the line. After all, you did seem plenty interested in one of those haunted houses of yours that you left behind for me. I swear I joined them because I missed you and I didn't know what more to do. I've lost our daughter to this job now and I don't know when I'll lose myself. Sometimes I wonder, love, if you'll still have me when I do find you. Yes, I prefer to hope you are dead rather than believe you are stuck in the middle, or worse, abandoned me for good. I hope you had a peaceful death, and you are happy with our daughter. So, will you have me?

Love,
Roger

*****

She recognizes the date on top and she shuts the book as her eyes squeeze shut, the memory being too raw to recollect. Ever since the two of them returned, he seemed to have lost his mind. He kept raving about how he had made the wrong decision and how he was going to join Marissa and Clara again. In his eyes were a look of guilt, madness and grief. He was never suited for this kind of life. She remembers how he kept flinching away every time the had a fire around. Perhaps that was why he killed himself. Maybe he knew that he was going insane. After all, he did say that he wanted to die on his own terms. Maybe this was it.

She remembers all too clearly what had happened that day. Two of them had gone back to Bristol Vic leaving the other two behind at the Dower House - one to recuperate, and the other to protect. They'd gone through the camera recordings of the previous day and there it was in the camera that Cole had brought away with him- there was the hazy image of a man in some parts of the recording. His face was decayed and rotting. In place of his eyes were deep black hollows that seemed to be a bleeding mess. In place of his heart was a gaping hole. He was so disfigured and beyond recognition. His voice was raspy, yet even she could hear the thinly veiled anger in it paired with an insatiable thirst for vengeance. On the way back, Cole said, "We aren't going to make it out of here" but each time I asked, he pretended as though he'd never said those words. Just what had they gotten into?

She remembers meeting her son outside. He told her that the man wanted some time alone and so he came out to get some air. When they went in together, they were surprised to see that he wasn't in his brooding corner, and even as she screams, her first instinct is to cover her son's eyes. Hanging from the ceiling, eyes laying beneath his feet, was Roger as she'd known him. She'd known he was brooding, but why did he kill himself, and why did he ruin his eyes? She looks back into the diary of the deceased teammate to read his last thoughts. Had he given any further indication of this?

*****

8th May, 2161.

Dear Marissa,

I'm scared. Huddled in this dark corner, I'm praying like I never have before. Why am I still writing? Don't you see? He's playing with me. He wants me to write this. He's toying with me before the end. I know it. The EMF readers are going crazy and I'm freezing here though it's midday, but most of all, I sense his evil presence. I feel myself drowning even further in despair because that's what he wants.

He's talking now, dear. Do you know what he says? He wants Cole to know. He wants me to know. He's saying these words and I'm...writing them. It's like I don't even have a choice. My fingers are gliding over the page of their own accord, and it's taking every bit of control to write these words, for he isn't saying them.

Over a decade ago, there lived a beautiful girl with eyes as blue as a clear sky and hair that was shone golden. She was adored by all around her, but more so by her grandfather who swore to protect her for as long as could be. The girl was his whole world and more. He'd take here anywhere she wished and oblige all her whims and fancies. One dark night, as they walked through an abandoned street, a robbery was attempted, and even as the little girl ran and hid herself, her grandfather was attacked. His eyes were gouged out, in case he survived to identify them, but he didn't. Even as the girl screamed herself hoarse for hours later, the man bled out and died, his promise to protect the girl going unfulfilled, and so, he lingered.

For years after his death, she would visit him at his old abandoned house. They'd talk to each other as though he never died and he'd still protect her in any way he could. She never told anyone of what she did there. She soon got married. She had a wonderful kid, but she told no one of the ghost that loved her and whom she loved like a father. Somehow, though, people started talking. They called her a witch. A sorceress who spoke with the dead. A team of ghost hunters took up the case, but they never got any evidence. The man had once been a hunter himself. He knew their methods like the back of his hand, so it was no Herculean task to give them the slip. One day, when the woman came home to talk to her deceased grandfather, she was stopped by the team. She wanted them off those lands, but they didn't listen. Do you know what they did after that? In their anger and frustration at failing, they burnt the woman down with the house.

She screamed and pleaded, but they let her die. Her husband? He joined hands with her killers after her death. He let their daughter die, and yet he denies that he is in the wrong. He joined the killers for fame and glory.Tell me, is he not as much of a murderer? He deserves to die. He is no different. Oh, and his eyes? They're pretty. Not as much as the lady or her son, but I think they'll fit me well. I promised to keep an eye on my girl, didn't I? That means I need to have one. Yes, I think his eyes will fit well indeed.

*****

That's where it ends. No "Love, Roger", nothing. Everything after that is stained red. The pages are soaked in blood. That's when it hits her. Roger didn't kill himself. He was killed by Aidan. All the while they had searched the recordings, he hadn't disturbed them because he wasn't there. He had been away, killing Roger, and Nick had just gotten lucky. She remembers grabbing Cole by the collar and asking, "What did you do?" Now she knows. Cole was the one behind all this. Cole had led the team that burnt down the house along with Aidan's granddaughter. He was the reason Aidan had become so violent. He was the reason why people were dying, and she stops for a moment, realization coming to her once more. All those who had died- they weren't just innocents. They had all been ghost hunters involved one way or another with the incident that had led up to this. Aidan wasn't seeking the attention of people- he was seeking their attention. Cole's attention. Chills run down her spine as it dawns upon her that any hope she had of making it out alive has just been blown to smithereens.

Cole's death is still fresh on her mind, and it had, by far been the most painful. He had been unrecognizable when he'd been found, yet she knew it was him if only because no other had dared come there after the report of a murder. Nick had been with Cole when it happened. She had been soothing him as she held him close, the blood sluggishly flowing down his temple going unnoticed. She can almost see it all happening in her mind's eye.

His torch in hand, Nick trailing close behind him, they walk down the stairs that lead to the basement, for that is the darkest and coldest place in any building. Cole suspects that the activity may stem from there and he wants to nip it in the bud before it gets worse. She has been left behind to cover them from afar and measure their surroundings and the surveillance for any activity. They are connected over a network, each of them having microphones on their person. Having no mediums among them complicates matters, but they try nonetheless. They carry dowsing rods too, though the belief in them has long died out.

"Nick, wait here, boy. If you hear anything wrong, fetch your mother."

Not long after, there are sounds of a struggle. There are screams and cackle, and Nick runs to do as told, but he can't. As though with a mind of their own, the props try to block his path. The wood splinters against him, impaling skin where it can even as Nick pushes against it. He runs blindly going as his foot leads him, flailing his arms to ward of anything that might assail him once more until he finds his mother. They do not succeed in making their way back, though. The entrance to the basement simply eludes them for days. After a considerably long time, things settle down and they find their way to stop at the end of the stairs, horror-struck.

There, in the middle of the basement, just across the staircase lies Cole, bloodied and dead. The blood is still fresh on his multiple wounds. It must have been a slow and painful death. There are multiple cuts on his body, each precise yet not too deep. The blade that made them does not lie too far off. It is serrated and rusted, still stained with blood. The marks around Cole's neck show signs of strangling. His nails have been torn away, his joints all broken, the limbs pointing at odd angles, the bones peeking out from skin. His hair is wet, the ceiling still dripping, and she can imagine what must have happened. The water would have dripped on his head drop by drop even as he bled out. It used to be a medieval form of torture. It must have driven him insane before death. His mouth is parted, and the lips look parched as though he consumed just salt and nothing else. His eyes too, are missing as is the case with all of Aidan's victims. Beside him, spelled out with his blood are the words "Justice Has Been Served."

She can still feel Nick trembling beneath her fingers. He sobs quietly onto his mother's shoulders. He looks more like a kid than she has ever seen in the last few years, yet she does not begrudge this. The words in the basement are still swimming in her mind as she thinks back to Roger's diary. Justice has been served. Justice for whom? That's when a gasp leaves her as her mind connects the dots. Ten years ago. A daughter who has been killed. A husband who joined her killers. Roger. That meant that the woman was...Marissa. Not just Marissa. She was Marissa.D.Farrell. They weren't dealing with one ghost. They were dealing with two.

She feels Nick shifting beneath her and she looks at him, sensing that he has something to ask her.

"Ma, do you think we'll make it out of this? Are we going to die here?"

She stiffens at the question. He has grown up now. He is no child for her to give him any false hope. He needs the truth more than a false reassurance, yet he is still her child.

"No. You will live, Nick. If God wills it, he shall let us out of here."

She looks into his eyes as she spells out each word with as much sincerity as she can gather and searches his face for a reaction. That is when she sees it. Sunken eyes that are nearly lifeless. A deathly pallor. Wounds that haven't healed at all and still bleed. Her thoughts wander back to the previous case. This is what Clara looked like before she-

Her breath hitches in her throat. This is what Clara looked like before she died. This is what she looked like when she was possessed. She watches as Nick's face contorts, and as she backs up further into the corner, Nick opens his mouth to speak, but the demonic voice that spills forth is not his.

"But I won't."

*****

The next day, the paper was filled with news and the streets were rife with gossip. Bristol Old Vic had been shut down for the foreseeable future as had the Dower House been cut off from the public. A whole group of people were found brutally murdered, but what was most significant was that no team investigated that case ever since. The ghost hunters had mostly given up on their profession and turned a new leaf; the message that had been painted in blood was loud and clear.

It is time for the predator to become the prey.