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"Yes, we sometimes find whole conversations on tape." She smiled at him, "This is good, that we caught this. It means that you're not crazy." She patted his knee, "I can give you this recorder if you want to borrow it tonight? I just need the tape out of it. I'll give you a new tape even." She pulled out a notebook, flipping through it.

John looked at Vee, surprised that she was just giving him the tape recorder.

"I thought you had problems with your equipment getting broken. Are you sure you should just be giving this to me? I'll be careful with it, but still, it seems sort of counter-intuitive if you have any other cases to work right now."

He surprised himself saying that, "case". It was almost as if he was starting to respect what she did.

Vee laughed, "I have dozens of these. This one is cheap. Even if you do trash it, I can get a replacement for less than a hundred dollars." She smiled, "This is an essential, like cameras, only less expensive. Especially since I still use tape, rather than digital. It has better quality when it comes to unseen voices."

She patted his knee, "Also, the number I gave you, call it any time and I'll be over. I don't have any other cases going right now, and even if I do, I think I could probably sneak off to save you."

He handled the recorder in his hand; the quality wasn't that bad, considering the price. Still, he would make sure that it stayed in one piece, put it inside his jacket, and then started the car. He was hoping that they wouldn't have to go through much more before the investigation could start; another night without sleep would be dangerous.

"Vee, what do you think about what's been happening? Even if it's too early to know for sure, do you have any ideas about it? I still don't know what to think about all this supernatural stuff, but if there's something dangerous in the house, should Amy and I be concerned?"

Vee stroked her chin, "Well, it's an old house. It wouldn't surprise me if someone had been left behind there and didn't want you there. Sometimes it only targets a single person and once they're gone, it's done." She looked at him, "Or demon. You're welcome to spent the night in my cot, if you want? I can actually go home." She laughed a bit, "I'll give you a charm, it might help you sleep,"

John continued to drive, giving Vee the occasional look as she described the situation to him. The mention of a demon caused him to slow down and listen more intently, and once she was done speaking, he parked in front of her office.

"A demon? Vee, don't you think that's a bit, uh, melodramatic? Look, I saw The Exorcist before, and I don't want any pea soup chum coming from Amy or myself."

John's knowledge of the supernatural, embarrassingly, came from Hollywood movies, and this was the second time he had used one as reference for his talks with Vee. However, the offer of a charm caused him to speak again.

"I...I don't know about that, Vee. I've never really been one to put much stock in trinkets and lucky pendants. But, if you think it will help...I'll take it. I still have to sleep over at Amy's house, though. The guy from her last relationship, he might come over when I'm not sleeping on her couch, and I won't let that happen."

Vee nodded, "don't worry, there won't be pea soup. Or pee soup." She pondered that for a moment, "If it's a demon, it's likely you're the target. Not Amy - she hasn't experienced anything. If it's a demon, it would explain why it went to 'attack' you while I was there. It wants to be known. If we discover that's what it is, we ignore it for a while and then exorcise. They thrive on acknowledgement most of the time."

She inspected her nails, "A spirit would be better though. Easier to get rid of. We just need to lead them to the light, preferably. Otherwise, we could destroy it."

He gave her a confused look, but decided that Vee knew what she was doing and that he, really, didn't.

"Well, whatever the case, I hope you can take care of it. I could use a good night's sleep, and if the thing does decide to go after Amy when I leave, I don't want that on my conscience."

They were waiting in his car, and hers was parked nearby. He gave the tape recorder a final look, then back to Vee.

"Guess I'll see you at the house tomorrow? Or should I call your office? I'm willing to bet that there will be some activity tonight."

Vee smiles, "I'll come by at seven AM, if you'd like?" She smiled as she opened the door, "I can bring breakfast even, and a contract, just in case." She smiled, "Eggs, bacon, toast." She stretched, "I'll also bring some equipment, but we'll go over it when I come in the morning."

She walked off without a goodbye.

John drove back to Amy's house with the tape recorder on the seat beside him. He wasn't quite sure yet what was bothering him at night, but he was convinced that there was something there. Amy had convinced him with her all-around professionalism and focus; if she had been a head-in-the-clouds incense-waving mystic, he would have given her back the recorder, thanked her for her time, and vowed to never see her or her kind again. But, he had the recorder, and he was going to see her at seven.

Once he got back to the house, it was early evening and the smell of meat on the grill drifted through the air. Inside Amy's place, she was busy cooking pasta and listening to one of her records. John, upon entering, put the tape recorder down on the couch and walked into the kitchen.

"So, what do you think? Do you mind having her come by in the morning with some gear?"

Amy tasted the sauce she was mixing up, nodded to him, and then handed him a bowl of salad greens to get prepared.

"Oh she's fine, John; I'm just surprised that you wanted her over in the first place. I thought you didn't believe in ghosts and stuff?"

He drizzled the salad in olive oil, mixed it up, and then started adding more things to the salad while Amy checked the pasta for softness.

"Well, she's really done a lot to convince me that there's something here. I'll be glad when I get back home, but I don't feel comfortable leaving you in a house with something in it."

Amy nodded, then the two continued to work on dinner.

Dinner was uneventful. The house was oddly quiet, only their voices heard, echoing off of the walls. It wasn't all together frightening, only odd. The house made no sounds of settling, even as the pair headed to sleep.

As John finally relaxed, nothing having happened, the little ting came rushing from nowhere. It was the sound of a small bell. High in pitch it seemed to come from everywhere all at once. A cool air settled in the room, bringing puffs of breath out like smoke. It was a deep cold, one that went to the bones. Frost settled over every surface and John could no longer hear anything outside of the room.

The frost was thick on the floor. No, that wasn't frost, that was ice. He could hear it screaming faintly as it froze. He could still see the room, though, and it seemed as both the ice and the room were real, in the same place at the same time.

John sprung from the couch and fumbled for the tape recorder, and after a moment, he had it on and running. He checked the time on his digital watch, the display could light up at the touch of a button, and he quickly grabbed the tape recorder from beside him on the couch and announced the time in a shaking voice. After that, he got up and slowly put his feet on the floor. Freezing.

John reached out for his suitcase and, after a moment of extreme discomfort as he crouched on the ice, opened it and withdrew his service weapon, a Glock 19. After doing a quick press check, he slipped on his sneakers and walked to the hallway leading out of the living room area. He was terrified, no doubt, but he was also running on adrenaline. If this ice was affecting him out here, then he had to go check on Amy and see if she was alright.

Amy's room was left untouched, until he drew near. As he moved, so did the ice. The intense cold penetrated her room as soon as the door was open, but if he withdrew, it followed him. There was a deadening silence in the air, and it seemed to almost pulsate. Even when there was nothing to hear beyond the crackling of ice forming.

John drew back from the door, his gun still at the ready, and he realized quickly that this stuff, whatever it was, was on him, not Amy. She looked like she was totally unaffected in bed, and so he carefully made his way back to the living room, the cold penetrating him to the core and the silence grating on him. He wanted to punch his way out of this shell, but it wasn't anything he could touch; the ice seemed to float around him like a cloud that he was trapped inside.

John struggled to the door and placed his hand on it; it was freezing, and he let out a cry. After going back to his suitcase and grabbing another shirt to wrap around his hand, he lowered his gun to point at the ground, raised his other hand, now wrapped up, and approached the door again; he turned the knob, not sure what would happen next.

The ice melted away for now, leaving him boiling hot. There was no moisture in the room, not a drop. As the room heated, he would note it wasn't just that he had been cold. It was getting hotter. Rising mercury was added to an orange glow that was blinding. It kept getting warmer, hotter. IT was like laying in the sun in the middle of the desert.

Now there were sounds, "No! NO! NO! NO!" It was all he could hear, getting louder and louder.

John groaned again, now sweating profusely, and used his shirt-wrapped hand to grasp the knob, which was probably very hot right now, and tried to pull on it. But, just then, he realized that the ammunition in his gun could have gone off from all the heat around him. He turned to the couch, lined up his throw, and tossed the gun from his hand, the scorching hot metal of the slide nearly burning him, and it flew through the air. The gun just missed the couch, though, and hit the floor. It didn't go off, thankfully.

As quickly as it started, it stopped. The house settled, the heat went away and John was alone. It didn't seem as though anything had even happened. The room was quiet, the only sound the tape recorder whirling as it worked.

He slowly looked around the room, but everything was normal. As he struggled to catch his breath, he slowly went over to his Glock and picked it up with the shirt; the gun was not hot, not even particularly warm. Things were literally as if nothing had happened, and that was perhaps the scariest part. John sat back on the couch, staring out into the empty room with his gun in his hands. He slowly reached over to the tape recorder, set his gun down by it, and, after a considerable amount of effort, went back to sleep.

Vee came by in the morning with breakfast. She had several serving dishes with her. She knocked on the door, humming. She wanted to eat the eggs so bad. They just smelled so good.

"Hope you have ketchup!" She called to the door. She was cheery for it being so early. Her van was parked down the street, full of equipment.

John let her inside the house, and he looked terrible. There were dark circles under his eyes and he looked like he had tossed and turned all night. However, when she went inside, he managed a shaky smile and handed her the tape recorder.

"I think we got some good stuff last night. I...I don't even know how to describe what happened. Amy's still asleep, she usually sleeps in anyway, but I've been staying up for a few hours to work on the coffee machine. Er, I didn't have much luck; let me take those off your hands," he muttered as he reached out for the serving dishes.