FOUR

They made good time on the turnpike, driving well over the speed limit. Such good time that Don decided they could afford to pull over for a late lunch at the New Jersey/Pennsylvania border. Forty-five minutes later they were ready to get back on the road. Don, who had forgotten his sunglasses on the table, ran back in and found a note with the tip.

"Get it checked," it read.

He could not help staring at Susan the entire walk across the parking lot. She did not talk at all in the restaurant; she ate her food with her head bowed and made eye contact with no one. Even the food was ordered by pointing to it on the menu. And yet, somehow, she got something from the waitress that made her leave a note.

Owen was waiting by Don's car.

"How much longer do you figure?"

"Couple of hours, maybe. We'll be there in plenty of time to set up the tent for the night."

Just as he was pulling out of the parking space he looked back at the restaurant; the waitress was cleaning the table. She read the note and her hand flew up to her mouth and looked with wide eyes out of the window. Don turned toward the exit before their eyes could meet.

The rest of the drive was almost without incident. The exit to Brookstone, Virginia was five miles from Guy William's farm. There was a stretch of road where you could see the greenhouse and part of the barn, to Don, since he was a child, this was a sign post as to how soon he would see his uncle and aunt. The farm was on a hill as was the road with a valley and swamp in between. As they came upon this part of the road, in his rearview mirror, Don saw Owen pull over suddenly. Susan had the door open and was stepping out before the van had completely stopped. She was looking at the farm.

She looked afraid. Then without warning she turned and threw up into the ditch.

Don pulled over and waited for them to catch up. Judy was taking notes in a small transcription pad. Don wondered what she had written.

4:53pm -- Susan pukes.

Uncle Guy came out of the barn as they pulled up into the drive. Don was greeted as he always was, with a hug and a shove. Guy was Don's father's youngest brother and only ten years older than his nephew.

"The ground is pretty wet down there, I built a platform for your tent and took down the port-a-potty we used during the clearing. And I ran an electric cord down for lights and whatnot."

"Thanks, Uncle Guy."

"I hope you know what you're doing, Donny."

"It can't hurt."

Uncle Guy called out to those getting out of the van. "I think it will be easier to unload your things if you go down to the service road."

"I'd like to see the field from where you did on the video," Susan said, as she came out of the van.

After the rest of the introductions were out of the way, Guy took them to the field. They walked by the barn past the greenhouse, and skirted around the cornfield. Susan had gone quiet again, she was looking around in a casual manner but she kept walking fast than Guy, who was supposed to be leading. It was a large cornfield that took a few minutes to walk around. Between the field and the path along the cornfield was a thick patch of trees that blocked the view of the field below.

"I had to run the cords along here," Guy said, nodding at the thick orange extension cords. "I tried to get it through the trees so you could set up closer to the service road but they were too thick. I put the platform at the bottom of the hill over here."

"That's okay, maybe we can bring the tractor down to move the stuff over," Don offered.

The path took a sharp right along the tree line. As they reached the top of the hill, Susan stopped. Don wondered if she was going to be sick again but she said, "Leave me," then went through the tall grass to the left of the path, across the crest of the hill. Away from the path, she sat down and looked down at the field.

The rest watched her, when it became obvious that this was all that was going to happen they decided that they would set up the tent.

Guy and Don hooked a small hauling trailer to the back of the tractor, then everything from the van was packed into the trailer. Guy convinced Owen that his van would be safer in the driveway than it would be on the old service road. For some reason the local kids, Guy told him, really liked to break into things -- cars, homes, sheds, pretty much anything with a lock. Although it was a rare occasion when something was taken, Guy did not think that they should take that chance. Owen agreed and said that he hated people messing with his stuff when they had no business touching it. As he said this, he glared around himself in hopes that Ethan was in earshot.

Ethan was sitting on the hill with Susan, who had patted down the grass for him.

What do you think? Ethan asked.

"There is a power here. Are you getting anything?"

It's more like the ground is energized. Or it's the spirit of a really big guy.

Susan smiled slightly but did not look away from the field.

She watched the field for the entire time it took for the tent to be set up, and the equipment to be unloaded and set up. She did not notice when a large wooden picnic table was carried past her. The sun was low in the sky when Owen came around the tent and up the hill. He had finished placing the mics around the parameter of the field and was ready to either try them out or get something to eat.

"Suzy," he called in a high, silly voice. Susan blinked and looked at him.

"Did you need some help?"

"Honey, we are done."

She looked down at the tent, her eyes widened.

"Why didn't you come to get me?"

"You were zoning." Level with Susan, he stopped on the path. "Besides, Don and Guy helped."

Disappointed, she nodded. She liked to help to help to get things in order. It made her feel connected with the process instead of the focal point. One could get lost without a connection. Ethan was there, of this she was glad, he would watch out for her in a way that Owen and the others could not.

"There's nothing left to do?" she asked.

"There's food and mic and video testing. Judy and Don are getting the bunks ready."

Susan stood up. As she walked over to the path, something moved in the field. She snapped her head around to it but whatever it had been was gone.

"What?" Owen asked.

"Playing games," she said.

* * *

"So, Don," Judy said as they set up the bunks. "Do you live in the area?"

"My folks used to live a few towns over but we moved out of state when I was in high school."

"And where do you live now? Somewhere exciting, I would imagine," Judy gave him her sweetest smile.

"I'm in Atlanta at the moment, but I don't know about it. I haven't really settled in."

Judy waited to be asked, but when Don's concentration seemed to be on the cot, she offered, "I'm at Mass U. staying in the dorms, but I wouldn't mind seeing more of the country."

Don started to spread out a sheet over the bunk. Under the sheets were a pile of blankets. "Are those electric blankets?"

"Oh, yeah," Judy explained. "Ever since we had that cold snap and had to sleep bundled together under some sleeping bags in the van, Owen refuses to travel without them." She leaned out to Don, "Personally I don't mind bundling."

Their eyes connected, but before anything more could be said Jack came in and announced, "Food."

Food was sandwiches and a salad for Susan, which was eaten while the equipment was tested. Susan wanted to start as soon as possible. There was something going on here that she could not get a handle on, and it was bothering her.

The sound and video were being recorded and then fed into computers. No one wanted to take the chance of missing something. The computer analyzed the sound and video data and separated the sounds that everyone could hear, (wind moving though the trees, birds, and the like) from what they could not hear. Usually this category included all manor of ghostly voices, foot steps, gun fire, all echos from the past. Video was easier, it just recorded what was there but they could not see.

Susan was more or less in the middle of the field, eating a chicken salad from a plastic container. Judy and Owen were at the computers checking levels.

Jack watched from the picnic table where he nibbled on chips. Don stood in the open tent flap where he could watch both Susan and the computers. Karl waited to be told which mics did not work so he could fix them.

Owen gave Don the high sign, who then gave it to Susan.

"One. Two. Three." Her voice was the only sound.

Owen checked the incoming data. After sending Karl to mics three and seven, and making sure that the video was recording, they were ready to begin.

"Is there anyone here?" Susan asked, then paused.

"Who are you?" Again, she paused.

"What do you want?"

As she came toward the tent, Owen and Judy were rewinding the tapes and preparing to read the data.

The only sound on the audio was Susan's voice and she was alone on the video.

"Did you rewind the tape to the beginning?" Susan asked.

Judy checked. "Just to the start of the questions."

"Did you record the mic check?"

"Yes. Why?"

"Can you run that too?"

Between Susan's voice saying "One," and "Two," at the bottom of the sound range -- showed as spikes on the computer screen -- was some other voice. It took Owen a minute to isolate it from the other sounds.

There was one word recorded. It was a man's voice and had the quality of conversation. It said, "Look."

A chill rose up Don's back like an icy finger up his back bone. It felt as if his hair was slowly standing on end. On top of that, it felt as if he was being watched by unseen eyes.

"Well," Owen said, "we got their attention."

"But they aren't helping us," Karl said. "They didn't answer any of the questions."

"Maybe they're the wrong questions," Susan offered.

Why was everyone acting like this was a common occurrence? Don wondered.

"I'm going to go back out," Susan said. "Ethan will come with me to be sure that the camera is picking up orbs and then I'll try to get them to come to me."

Don was again standing at the tent flap. Susan walked out into the growing darkness. Twisting back to look at the computer screen, Don could see that Susan was not alone. There was a bubble trailing her. That must be an orb, he thought. He had read about them, but had never gotten up the nerve to look at any of the pictures. He would be embarrassed to admit that he had not been able to make himself focus on his uncle's video tape.

"Is that Ethan?" Don asked as he pointed at the screen.

"I would say so," Owen said, his voice low in concentration, his focus on the screen. The camera was on a rotating tripod to enable them to get a full view of the field.

"Hello," Susan said, and caused Don to turn back to her.

"I'm Susan. If anyone can hear me, please respond."

She waited. The scanning view of the field showed nothing. Owen went to the tent flap.

"Nothing's happening. What do you want to do?" he called to her.

"Let's wait until it's completely dark and try again," she said coming back to the tent.

Completely dark, Don thought, as Susan brushed past him. And then she's going back out into the field. We won't be able to see her. We'll hear her voice coming from the void but she'll be out there alone.

Susan turned back and put her hand on Don's arm. "I'll be okay. Thanks for worrying."

Don felt his thought pull back, scurrying back to the safety of the inside of his head.

Susan felt it too; she took her hand off him and turned away.