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“This was waiting in my inbox when the plane landed.”
    Bridget stared at the screen. The subject line read RE: Bijou Theatre Investigation—URGENT! “Who’s John Rudolph?”
    “Fan of the show—retired doc from the state mental institution. He follows the blog and saw Mike’s post about the investigation. Just open the attachment.”
    Bridget touched the paperclip icon and waited for the image to fill the tiny screen. It was a scan of a file from the State Hospital’s Psychiatric Department. “1974,” Bridget read aloud, “Who’s Tanya Jameson?”
    Thomas glared at her then turned his attention back to the road. “The last medium to make contact with that freak. Just read.”
    Much of the file was medical lingo, but certain words jumped off the page in terrible clarity. “Oh my God, Thomas I had no idea. How could I have…?” Her vision blurred as her eyes filled with tears.
    “What is it, babe?” Mike asked, laying his hand on her shoulder.
    Blinking to focus, Bridget read the highlights.
     
    Subject: Jameson, Tonya, 35-year-old white female, stated occupation: psychic. History of mental illness with onset at puberty. Several instances of institutionalisation at other facilities with diagnoses of paranoid schizophrenia. Patient has been largely unresponsive, at times catatonic. Occasional bouts of extreme agitation in which she bites and scratches self and claims making intentional contact with a ghostly entity at the Bijou Theatre in Travois, Wisconsin. Descriptions of encounters consistently violent in nature. Subject claims to have initiated sexual contact with entity upon which the entity rejects subject’s advances asserting, ‘You’re not the one.’
     
    “Jesus,” muttered Mike.
    Bridget scrolled to an entry nearly a year after the initial assessment, “Subject responding to combination of talk therapy and anti-psychotic medication.”
    The final entry, three months later left Bridget trembling. She struggled to read it aloud. “Jameson, Tonya, 36-year-old white female found dead of self-inflicted wounds, bled to death having bitten the flesh from her inner wrists. The words, ‘Why didn’t you love me, Kip?’ written on wall in subject’s blood.”
    The three were silent for the rest of the drive. The front tyres jumped the kerb as Thomas screeched the van to a halt in front of the Bijou. They piled out and hurried through the front doors, calling Toni’s name.
     
    * * * *
     
    Through half-closed eyes, Toni watched the ghostly cocktail party around her. Though she knew the guests were just residual hauntings—mindless past events played on an endless loop—she felt like a wanton exhibitionist and it thrilled her. She sat back on the couch with her dress hiked up over her hips, her legs spread wide and her arms draped over the back. She was lost in the sensation of countless probing fingers and mouths, all orchestrated by Kip, exciting her body. Her throat and nipples and lips were sucked simultaneously. Phantom fingers stroked her flesh and plunged into her dripping pussy.
    The image of the handsome greaser faded in and out of her view and when he stood before her, completely naked, her gaze fell on his thick, rigid shaft and she cried out in anticipation.
    “You are the one I’ve been waiting for,” he said.
    His eyes flashed as he braced himself on the back of the couch and pushed into her. His cock was hot and stretched her wide. Wrapping his arms around her waist he held her to him as he sat back until she was straddling him. The invisible hands and mouths seemed to multiply until every inch of Toni’s body was ablaze with glorious sensation. Kip tugged her bodice to the side and she watched him bow his head towards her chest. He sucked hard on her nipple. An unseen mouth teased the other.
    Kip lifted his face to kiss her, dug his strong fingers into her ass cheeks and guided her up and down on his stiff shaft. Toni steadied herself on the back of the couch as her orgasm