Previously:  Jim Norris, the renovation contractor for Bellingham Manor has gone into the mansion to activate the fuse box. Just as the team is about to enter through the main entrance, a shotgun blast is heard coming from within the house.

********************
Bellingham Manor,  February 7, 2010
 
Emma ducked under Mike’s outstretched arm. He lunged for her jacket hood, but his hands came up empty as she charged through the doorway telegraphing their position to the shooter. Determined to stop her momentum, he circled Emma's waist with his arm and forced her to the floor.

"That hurt!" she complained when her butt hit the hard tile with force. 

Mike brought a finger up close to her nose and said, "You should know better than to pull a stunt like that, Emma.” When the young woman pulled the edges of her jacket tighter, Mike recognized it as a protective gesture. He felt a bit of guilt for chewing her out but knew she had to outgrow her tendency to leap first and ask questions later.

"My lifeguard instincts kicked in," she said by way of excuse. "All I could think of was that Jim Norris might need saving."

"We don't know that he’s injured.”

“Then why aren’t there any lights?" was her tart reply. "Last we saw, he was headed for the fuse box.”  

“I don’t know, but I intend to find out.” He looked to where Luke and Mia sat beside Emma, with their backs to the wall, forming a straight line. Mike zeroed in on Luke and pitched his voice to the immediate vicinity.

"Did you bring the tactical flashlight with this first load of equipment?”

"Yeah, I think it's here in the green canvas bag.”

Mike winced as he heard the sound of metal against metal—calculating the damage to the very expensive paranormal gadgetry inside.

"Found it!" Luke replied and tossed it into his partner’s waiting hands. Mike turned it on to be sure it was working, even though he’d already done so before leaving Bangor.

He’d motioned for the three of them to move in tighter when a second gunshot echoed off the walls. The blast sounded closer than the first one and set the foyer's chandelier in motion. The tinkling of the crystal tones was overshadowed by a violent shouting coming from beyond the massive bulk of the house's main staircase.

"One of those voices has to be Norris, but I can't make out the words," Mike said.

"I can't either," Luke replied, "But at least it sounds like he's still alive."

Mike’s eyes were dark holes in his face, casting him in a slightly sinister light. "Here's what's gonna happen now: Luke, you'll follow me wearing the night vision goggles while l sweep the area with the flashlight. The plan is to pinpoint the location, and it’ll be crucial for you to stay close so we can hear each other.”

"Why don't we call for help? We're not armed and could make matters worse," Mia interjected.

“There’s no time for that," Luke replied. "Remember, we're out in the boonies."

Mike made a patting gesture, urging everyone to lower their voices. “Mia, you make a good point, but so does Luke. So, I propose a compromise.” Indicating the communication device attached to his waist, he continued, "Once we're out of sight, give us another fifteen minutes to assess what's going on. If we haven't made contact with you by then, call the police."

Holding up her cell phone, Mia warned, “Fifteen and not a minute longer."

“Deal,” Mike said. He rose to leave, but Mia pulled him back around.

"Expect the worst!" she said. "Charles Bellingham's ghost is behind this somehow and he's more than capable of causing physical harm."

Nodding, Mike reassured her, “I'm sure you're right, and believe me, we're not looking to be heroes.”

Luke positioned the goggles over his face and quipped, “Heading the top of my paranormal wish list, as of now, is a Kevlar vest, and I sincerely hope that does not end up being a dead man's last wish.''

                              *** 

Once their eyes adjusted to the darkness, the two men zigzagged around the equipment the renovation team left behind. Mike examined the sawhorses and makeshift cutting tables as well as the scaffolding—all of which provided excellent hiding places for a man with a gun. When he was sure no danger lurked there, he signaled Luke to follow. In this manner, they made their way through to the massive kitchen. "Got to be a way to get to the basement somewhere around here," Mike thought.

Luke tapped him on the shoulder and pointed to a door not more than fifteen feet ahead. Alert to the fact the voices had stopped, they picked up the pace hoping the door wasn't locked from the inside. Mike reached it first. Putting a finger to his lips he pantomimed turning the knob and then kicking the door. Luke signaled his understanding.

To Mike’s surprise, the door readily opened. Jim must have left this unlocked. At least we're heading in the right direction.

Passing through he found himself standing on a short staircase. He descended the steps and came up against another door, turned the knob and found the door would only open a few inches. Peering through the bare space, Mike was able to make out a tall figure looking straight at him.

"Jim, thank God, man. We thought you might be lying in a pool of blood. What’s blocking the doorway?"

"It's Jenkins Porter, the stupid bastard. He started blasting away when I came through the door. Lucky for me, he's drunk, or I might be a dead man right now. His gun went off a second time while I was wrestling it from his hands. I’m not sorry to say that he's lying there bleeding all over the floor from where I bashed him over the head with it."

"Move him to the other side of the room so we can help, will you?" Mike said. "Then get us some light so we can assess Porters' condition."

Copious swearing accompanied the sounds of Jim dragging the caretaker’s body across the floor. After a few minutes more of waiting, the lights went on. Mike pushed through the doorway and moved to where Jim Norris stood with a shotgun over his shoulder. He was looking down at Porter when Mike came alongside. “He’s passed out,” Jim said. “I’ve half a mind to finish the job I started.”

“I think I’d feel the same way if someone had just tried to blow my head off,” Mike agreed. Turning to Luke, he said, “Let the ladies know we’re okay, and that Porter has been injured.”

“Should I instruct them to call the police?”

Jim Norris twisted around so Mike could see his face. His eyes were slits of anger and, to Mike's mind, telegraphed a clear warning.

Mike met his look and stopped to assess his next move. Decision made, he added, “Tell Mia to hold off calling the police for now. At least until we can get a better handle on what’s happened here tonight. Also, have her get out the first aid kit and bring it down here.”

Jim grunted and resumed the vigil over his attacker.

Luke retrieved a radio transmitter from his belt and spoke into it. “Mia do you copy?"

"That’s affirmative. Are you two okay? We were just about to call 911. Over.”

“Jenkins Porter tried to shoot Jim Norris. Lucky for Jim, he missed. But Mike says not to call in the police just yet. Over.”

“What was that, Luke? You’re breaking ---" An ungodly screeching sound drowned out the rest of Mia’s response sending shockwaves of pain into Luke's brain and causing him to drop the transmitter. Once the device left his hands, the pain eased up. He stooped to pick it up but fell back as it burst into flames.

“Holy shit, Mike. Are you seeing this?"

~~~

DEAR READER:

This is the latest chapter in a novel re-posting. I ask that you not read ahead as the rest of the chapters have not been edited and you will be confused.

Thanks for reading!

WFD