Ghost Hunters

The air in the back of the retrofitted surveillance van smelled like stale coffee.

Aiden Brooks let out a long, dramatic groan, rubbing his temples as the door clicked shut behind the woman who had just spent forty-five minutes trying to 'sense' their aura.

“I thought she’d never leave,” Aiden grumbled, smoothing down his suit jacket. He leaned back against a monitor, adjusting his short, red hair in the reflection of a dark screen. “If I hear one more person claim they can talk to the dead without bringing a recording, I’m going to lose it.”

Vero, sitting cross-legged on a crate of equipment, didn't look up from where she was calibrating a new EMF meter.

“It’s San Francisco. Crazy is the default here,” Vero muttered, finally looking up, blonde hair falling into her eyes. “At least she didn't try to sell us 'blessed' crystals. Besides, we're the ones desperate enough to advertise interviews in a CVS parking lot with flyers stapled to telephone poles. We're going to attract the crazies.”

Aiden sighed, checking his watch. “We need a third pair of hands, Vero. Someone who can carry the heavy gear, isn't afraid of the dark, and preferably doesn't think every draft is a ghost whispering their name. Is that too much to ask?”