Paranormal Activity Detectives (1/2)
Title: Paranormal Activity Detectives
Author: spazzyskittles and ivesia19
Rating: PG-13
Pairing: Brendon/Ryan and small pre-Pete/Mikey
POV: 3rd limited (Ryan)
Summary: Each year, Paranormal Activity Detectives, a group of young investigators led by Ryan Ross, receives hundreds of calls reporting supernatural occurrences, only responding to the most severe. This is one of those cases.
Disclaimer: Paranormal Activity Detectives is based on the show “Paranormal State” and therefore not really our awesome idea. I guess Brendon and Ryan aren’t our awesome idea, either.
Beta: ivesia19 and spazzyskittles
Author Notes: So, this is the story that spazzyskittles and I have been working on since forever (which is completely my fault). Enjoy! Lord knows we did!
Case Briefing - [State College, PA]
[8:23 A.M.]
Ryan waits until Spencer has finished his first cup of coffee of the morning to give the camera crew the okay. Spencer without coffee is a scary thing.
“Why the fuck did I agree to this television thing?” Spencer grumbles, taking huge gulps of coffee. The coffee is hot - hot enough that when Ryan tried to take a sip just a couple of seconds earlier, he had spit the liquid back into the chipped diner mug, sputtering. Thankfully, the cameras aren’t on yet.
Holding up a finger to the crew to tell them to hold on a second, Ryan passes Spencer a couple of packets of Splenda that he always keeps in his bag to appease his best friend. The diner near campus where they usually film the opening case file doesn’t have any artificial sweeteners, but Ryan carries a couple around for Spencer.
“It’s good money,” Ryan reminds. “The station is basically the reason that you can indulge in your shoe collection.”
Spencer easily flips Ryan off, taking a moment to finish his coffee before sighing dramatically. “You just like being on camera,” Spencer snipes. He frowns. “I look like shit this morning.”
Ryan tilts his head to the side. There are tiny bags under Spencer’s eyes. Really tiny, but he looks okay. Jon, who is sitting next to Spencer, head lying down on his forearms, looks far more tired.
It isn’t Ryan’s fault that they want to film the case briefing so early.
“Jon.” Spencer nudges Jon’s arm with a pointy finger. “Wake up. We’re starting soon.”
A muffled noise precedes Jon looking up blearily. “Shut it, Smith. I was up until four trying to fix your laptop.” He puts his head back down against his shirt, no doubt trying to express just how difficult life is as a technical genius. “I told you to stop opening emails that Trevor sends. His attachments are as disease ridden as his sexual partners.”
Ryan pouts. “Hey!” he says indignantly.
“Oh yeah,” Jon says looking up again, this time with a smile on his face. “I forgot about that one time.” He shakes his head. “Dude, that’s why you shouldn’t drink tequila.”
Ryan is about to respond with something crippling to Jon’s self esteem (he really is, he knows things, knows secrets), but the crew signals him again. “Everyone can continue bitching after we film this,” Ryan mutters, quickly pulling out a mirror to check his hair. It looks good today.
Spencer shrugs, and Jon sits up a little straighter in the booth. “Deal,” he says.
Ryan passes Jon and Spencer each matching folders that holds the case information in it and holds onto one himself, nodding to the cameraman that he is ready. The cameraman counts them down, and Ryan opens the folder, looking down at the contents, holding his head at the best angle for the shot, his hair falling a little bit over his eyes.
The light goes on, signaling that they are taping, and Ryan looks over at Spencer and Jon. Spencer is raising his eyebrow up at Ryan, but Ryan is used to that after two years of doing the show. Spencer could pretend all he wants, but Ryan knows that Spencer actually likes doing “Paranormal Activity Detectives”.
“Case file 39f40k.64.” There isn’t really a reason for the case numbers being so long and complicated, but Spencer likes to seem important, so Ryan indulges him. Ryan knows that right before this tiny episode introduction, there are the opening credits, the one that has Ryan with his very unfortunate undergrad hair and Spencer during his pudgy phase. Jon looks the same then as now. They really have to redo that stupid opening. “The client is named Pete Wentz.”
Spencer frowns for a moment and then smirks. “Like the guy from that band you were obsessed with in high school?”
Ryan makes a mental note to talk to someone about editing that out later. He can feel his face turning the slightest bit red. “Beside the point,” Ryan says, trying to breeze over the statement, but Spencer and Jon are shaking with silent laughter. Bastards.
Jon sobers up after a pointed look. “Sorry.” A sharp laugh escapes. “So, Pete Wentz. Go ahead.”
“Why thank you, Jon,” Ryan monotones. He clears his throat. “As I was saying, our client is Pete Wentz. He says that his bar, Angels and Kings in New York, is haunted. Apparently, it’s gotten so bad that they’ve had to close down for a couple weeks.”
“I thought they got caught selling booze to underage kids,” Spencer says. Ryan is pretty sure that Spencer read that on Perez Hilton, but he isn’t about to call him out on it on television.
“That’s what they’ve told the press,” Ryan continues. “But it’s definitely a haunting.” Ryan reaches down into his bag and pulls out a stack of pictures. “Pete sent me pictures showing some unexplained activity. CDs thrown around the club. Chairs stacking themselves. There’s a burned audio of some strange noises, too. Definitely enough evidence to investigate.”
Jon flips through the pictures, frowning a little. Probably because setting up surveillance equipment there will be a pain in the ass. “So, I guess we’re going to New York, then.”
Ryan nods. He likes when they do East Coast jobs. They don’t really do much outside the middle states areas, but still, when they’re too far away from headquarters, the studio always sends some random psychic to help them. It usually works out fine, but Ryan prefers working with Brendon: the unusual, slightly hyper but endearing psychic.
Even if he’d never admit to it.
Angels & Kings NYC
Investigation - Day One
The car finally makes it down E 11th in the traffic, pulling up to where their film crew is already parked, waiting to film the introduction. It’s only then that Ryan realizes he is about to meet the Pete Wentz. Even though he feels like he has done a good job remaining aloof about it, Spencer smirks before they get out of the car. “Try not to cream your pants.”
“Fuck you,” Ryan says sweetly under his breath as he steps out of the car, his face camera ready.
He walks around the car and sees the Pete Wentz standing in front of the door, smiling a tight, awkward smile that doesn’t reach his eyes. “Hi, I’m Pete,” he says, shaking Ryan’s hand as the cameras film.
“I’m Ryan. I’m the head of the Paranormal Activity Detectives.” Ryan knows he is good at reading people. It’s necessary for his job. He needs to make sure he can catch when people are sincere and when they’re lying just to be on TV. Ryan sees straight through the calm that Pete is trying to project for the cameras; he can tell that, on the inside, Pete is actually pretty distressed.
“Yeah, I know. I’m a big fan of the show.” Pete gestures around him to the cameras. “Obviously.”
Ryan is stunned for a second since he thought he was the fan. But then he blinks and smiles in hopes of putting Pete at ease. “Well, this is Spencer,” Ryan says, gesturing to him, “a PATD member. He is great with research.” He points to Jon, who is already unloading equipment from the SUV. “And this is Jon, our tech specialist. He’ll be monitoring all the equipment.”
“Nice to meet you guys,” Pete says, shaking their hands. “You’re my favorite,” he tells Jon. Jon shoots Ryan a smug smile, and Ryan rolls his eyes.
“Where should I set up?” Jon asks a member of the show’s crew, who leads him inside, and Spencer follows with a bag and a box of equipment.
Ryan sighs and sees that Pete looks tired. “Should we start?”
Pete nods. “Of course. The sooner we get to the bottom of this, the better. For everyone.”
Bar Tour
2:04 P.M.
Pete leads Ryan and the cameraman up a staircase, pausing for a second to straighten a framed picture on one of the walls. “It’s always crooked,” he mutters.
When they finally reach the top of the stairs, Ryan looks around. He takes in the red walls, both from paint and from brick, the black leather seats, the yellow curtains, the warm woods. Countless bottles of liquor sit shelved on the wall behind the bar, and black and white celebrity mugshots decorate the walls. Ryan notices Frank Sinatra’s hanging above a black leather bench. It’s also crooked.
All in all, he thinks that it’s a pretty nice looking bar, would love to hang out there with a pint, maybe. He doesn’t know whether or not it being haunted would deter him. Allegedly haunted, that is. Ryan is, after all, there partly to make sure there is actually some paranormal activity going on.
“Well,” Pete says with a sigh in his voice, “this is it.” He gestures at the space in front of him and takes them toward the bar itself.
“This is the bar,” he says, patting the top of it. “We’ve had a couple of things go on over here. One of the bartenders told me that he placed a highball on top of the counter, and when he turned to grab the vodka, he heard a loud thud, as if someone had taken a glass and pounded it on the counter. When he turned around, it had moved a few inches to the right.”
Ryan raises his eyebrows, nodding as he makes a note onto his writing pad. “Were you around when it happened?”
Pete shakes his head. “No, I was on tour. But when he told me, he seemed genuinely spooked by it. It didn’t seem like he had made it up. He seemed almost reluctant to tell me. He only did when the manager had mentioned his own story. He had poured a shot of tequila. It was before opening, and he was the only one around. When he went to grab salt from the back, he came back to find the shot glass tipped over and the liquor spilling from it.”
“Hmm,” Ryan says, adding another note. “Seems like this spirit likes messing with the drinks.”
Pete laughs, mostly humorlessly. “Yeah, I’ll say.” He then leads Ryan to a space with chairs and tables. “Several employees have reported leaving for the back room and coming back to find chairs stacked.” He pulls out a chair to demonstrate, and Ryan writes more down.
Ryan follows him to an emptier area a few feet away. “We had a table set up here,” Pete says, making a motion in a rectangular shape. “We were selling CDs at this event we were holding. All of a sudden, one of them shoots forward several feet across the room.” He points in the direction of the bar. “Scared the shit out of people.” Pete shakes his head. “Not good for business.”
Adding a couple more notes, scrawling out a tentative poltergeist with a question mark next to it, Ryan looks up. “Have you had any incidents here lately?” he asks.
Pete furrows a brow. “Incidents happen here all the time. Catfights, drunken bullshit… Gotta be more specific, kid.”
Ryan lets the kid thing go because it’s Pete Wentz. Really, it’s almost like a nickname. “Have you had any disgruntled employees?” Ryan clarifies. “Long lasting hostilities? Has anyone died here? Taken their own life, maybe?”
“We have a history of the building somewhere in one of the back offices,” Pete says. “I don’t remember anything like that, but who knows. Could be.” He’s keeping his eyes down, something that tips Ryan off immediately. He’s been in this business long enough to know when to pry.
“Anything else? Are you sure you don’t have an idea of why the paranormal activity started?” Next to poltergeist on his notepad, Ryan writes down spirit. From the way that Pete is looking now, with his eyes down, his shoulders hunched over, defensive almost, Ryan doesn’t think that it’s just built up emotional energy causing all the phenomena.
“There was this musician,” Pete finally says. His eyes dart over to where the camera is, and Ryan can hear the hesitance in each one of Pete’s words. “He used to DJ for us sometimes.” Pete sighs. “Once in a while, he had a tendency to get a little out of control.”
Ryan quirks an eyebrow. “What do you mean ‘out of control’?”
Pete runs a hand through his hair, still not really looking at Ryan. “He would get really drunk. I’m talking about public urination drunk. Falling down drunk. He would shoot off his mouth, too.” Pete’s expression hardens, but beneath that, Ryan can see the hints of regret. “He got into some shit with one of the regulars a couple of weeks back and…” Pete coughs and looks away. “He got killed.”
“What was his name?” Ryan asks, pen poised.
Ryan’s almost sure that Pete’s voice breaks a little on the first syllable, but he covers it quickly with a throat clear. “Gabe Saporta.”
Team Overview
3:54 P.M.
Ryan, Spencer, and Jon are sitting on the stoop leading to the back alley from Angels & Kings. Outside, the New York City sky is overcast, a dark gray, and as the cameraman sets up the equipment to film the sequence, he keeps talking happily about how perfect the mood will be.
Whatever, Ryan doesn’t really fucking care. He does, however, care about the case, so when he gets the green light, he starts to fill Spencer and Jon in.
“Pete said something about an old employee, a DJ getting killed here a couple of weeks ago. His name was Gabe Saporta.”
Immediately, Spencer jots down the name, and Ryan knows that it’ll only take an hour or two before Spencer gets all the information about their deceased DJ.
“Apparently, Gabe was a big drinker, too,” Ryan continues, “which would account for all the focus on the alcohol. Also, he was an aspiring musician, so maybe that CD sale brought up some bad memories.”
“Pete didn’t plan to sign him, then, I guess,” Jon says.
Ryan shrugs. “I don’t know.” He stretches one of his legs out in front of him. “Pete seems to be pretty shaken up about this. I think he and Gabe were friends.”
Jon nods sympathetically. “So it might be hard to get all the unbiased facts from him,” he says.
“Exactly,” Ryan agrees.
“We should talk to some of the other workers here,” Spencer suggests. “Bartenders, bouncers, other business partners.”
Ryan nods. “Yeah, that’ll be good. We should make sure we get as much information about this place and Gabe as possible. Pete said he would look into finding some of the information he was given about the building when he bought it.”
“That should help,” Spencer says. “And I’m sure that there are newspaper articles about Gabe’s murder.”
“Most likely.” Ryan frowns. “I just don’t know if we can get everything we need from that. There’s obviously a reason that Gabe is sticking around. We won’t find the answer to that through research.” He flicks his hair away from his face.
“We need to bring in a psychic,” Jon says, casting a smirk at Ryan.
Ryan avoids Jon’s eyes and the camera, suddenly fully focusing down on his scribbled notes.
Psychic/Medium Arrives
8:12 P.M.
Ryan waits anxiously in front of Angels & Kings, watching the cars roll by slowly and looking for the familiar silver car among them. Well aware of the cameras behind him, he hopes that the nervous feeling isn’t written all over his face. Even though he thinks he has mastered the aloof look, his hand gives him away as he reaches back behind his head and tugs on a couple of strands of hair out of habit.
Finally, the car pulls up right in front of him, and Ryan steels himself for the whirlwind that is about to emerge from it.
No question about it, Brendon is a fan favorite. Of all the mediums they work with, Brendon is the one that people remember. And why shouldn’t they? The man is gorgeous, flamboyant, hilarious, and an incredibly perceptive psychic. Or so Ryan has read on the Internet on several fan sites and forums. He may or may not agree with the fans, though.
Out of the corner of his eye, Ryan sees the cameramen move as the car door opens, and his breath most definitely does not hitch when Brendon gets out of the car. At least, the cameras don’t catch that part, and after all, it’s what the camera sees that’s important.
And what it sees is a dark-haired man with light skin (though tanner and frecklier than Ryan remembers), chocolate brown eyes, and an ever-present smile. The plaid shirt he is wearing is entirely too colorful, which, though great for television, might ruin the dark, ominous feeling Ryan wants his show to have. Brendon’s pants leave barely anything to the imagination, and Ryan’s eyes do not look over the curve of his ass. Mostly.
Brendon walks up to him with that grin of his, and just as Ryan is about to extend a hand for him to shake, Brendon launches forward, surprising Ryan, who is standing rather stiffly, with a tight hug. Ryan shouldn’t be surprised, though. Brendon doesn’t seem to do handshakes. At least, not with Ryan and his team.
Ryan pats Brendon’s back awkwardly a couple of times as Brendon sways from side to side, still hugging Ryan. When Brendon pulls back, Ryan is afraid for one wild moment that Brendon will do something incredibly inappropriate, but instead, he steps back and says, “So, a bar, huh? This should be fun.”
“Yeah,” Ryan says, clearing his throat, unsure of why he feels a little disappointed. “It’ll be a real blast.” And then Ryan remembers the cameras. “Just for the record, I have not told you anything about this case, correct?”
Brendon shakes his head, smiling. “I know nothing.”
“Okay, let’s go see the bar.”
Before Ryan gets to the door, Brendon is on his heels and makes him hesitate when he puts a hand on Ryan’s hip. “Always about business, eh Ross?” he whispers.
Ryan clears his throat again. “We don’t have a lot of time.”
He can hear the sigh in Brendon’s voice. “I guess we don’t.”
When Ryan opens the door, he turns his head to see Brendon following him, running a finger along the doorjamb. He knows it is Brendon’s way of connecting with the house, or in this case, bar. Ryan’s gaze lingers on Brendon’s hand, knowing that Brendon uses touch to tap into his gift. He lets Brendon go ahead of him up the stairs, decidedly not looking in front of him where Brendon’s ass would be around eye level. Nope, not looking.
Brendon pauses halfway up, stopping right in front of the picture that Pete had fixed earlier. Ryan looks at it this time and notices it is of Pete and someone much taller than him with thick dark hair and funny looking glasses that are probably fake. Brendon touches the picture, and Ryan sees him hunch his shoulders and gasp. Most of the time, Ryan would say Brendon exaggerates a little for the cameras, but this just feels real to him with the way Brendon is shutting his eyes so tightly.
“I can feel so much sadness here,” Brendon says, and Ryan can hear it in his voice, as if Brendon feels exactly what he senses. “There is a lot of love, too, but a lot of… pain.” Brendon opens his eyes, big and shining and hurt, and looks at Ryan. Ryan pulls out his pad of paper and takes down a note. Then Brendon takes the picture off the wall and holds it to himself as he walks the remaining steps into the actual bar.
Brendon makes his way to the bar, feeling the countertop as he follows the length of it and looking thoughtful. “Do you sense some kind of presence here?” Ryan asks softly.
“Male. Definitely,” Brendon says, nodding and setting the picture down on the bar. “Relatively young, too. No older than thirty.” Ryan makes another note.
“Can you tell me his relationship with this place?” Ryan tries, watching Brendon grip the bar with both hands and lean forward, as if testing his weight against it.
“He spent a lot of time here,” Brendon says simply, focusing on the dark wood in front of him.
“Here as in Angels & Kings or here as in the bar in front of you?” Ryan asks to clarify.
“Both.” Ryan takes down yet another note.
There is a pause and then, “Can I walk behind here?” Brendon asks.
“Sure.”
Brendon gets behind the bar, and Ryan watches him eye the bottles on the back counter and on the shelves. Then he stops in front of a large bottle of José Cuervo. “He liked tequila. A lot.” Brendon picks up the bottle and turns to Ryan, who is surprised by the mischievous smile on Brendon’s face. “Wanna do shots?” He shakes the bottle a little in an effort to entice Ryan. It’s almost unnerving the way Brendon can turn it on and off like that. One second, he is overcome with sadness; the next, he suggests in front of the cameras partaking in mildly nefarious activities.
Ryan rolls his eyes. “I don’t think the owner would appreciate that.”
Brendon sighs. “You’re no fun.” He puts the bottle of tequila back on the counter, and in no way does Ryan think about Brendon licking salt off his skin.
Ryan follows the path of the bottle, watches as Brendon’s fingers unclasp from the glass and let go, and when Ryan meets Brendon’s eyes again, that look of sadness is back, and Ryan knows that the light moment has passed and it’s back to business.
“The man,” Brendon says, and his focus seems to be somewhere beyond Ryan. He puts both palms down on the bar, leaning forward, and Ryan watches the muscles strain in Brendon’s forearms for just a second longer than he should. “He was loud,” Brendon says, and he closes his eyes. “Full of life. He was a showman.” He smiles, but then he pauses. “But there was more to him than that. A lot of people couldn’t see beyond the happy face.” Ryan doesn’t know why, but when Brendon opens his eyes at that and looks straight at him, he can feel his chest clench.
“He was well-liked?” Ryan asks, trying to stay on topic. After all, there are cameras here. This is a show - they have a mission.
Brendon hums. “By most,” he allows. “But sometimes he would get into fights.” Brendon suddenly nods and moves from behind the bar, crossing the room quickly, his tight pants hugging his body on every stride, toward where the DJing equipment is set up. His hands hover near the edge of the platform. “There’s a lot of anger here.”
“Anger from the man? The spirit?”
“A little,” Brendon says. He bites his lower lip, and suddenly, Ryan remembers one of the threads he had read on a fan site about that very habit of Brendon’s. It takes him a second to realize that Brendon has started talking again. “Mostly, it’s residual anger from someone else.” He takes a moment. “From the person who killed him.”
Ryan nods. “The man was murdered by an angry customer,” he confirms. While Brendon is clearly the favorite of the viewers, he’s also arguably their best psychic. He’s rarely wrong, and unlike some people that have tried to find their slice of fame on the show, he doesn’t cheat or make shit up. He’s real, and it’s one of the reasons that Ryan sometimes feels inexplicably close to Brendon. Trusts Brendon without really realizing it. Brendon can relate. “Can you tell why the spirit wants to stay?” Ryan asks. “Is it-”
Brendon interrupts him. “Does the man’s name start with a G?” he asks suddenly. “G… Gah… Gabriel?”
“Gabe.” It’s not rare for Brendon to pick up on a name, but still, every time, it impresses Ryan. While he can sometimes sense a presence, he isn’t nearly at the level of Brendon. Sometimes, Ryan wonders what else Brendon can sense.
“He isn’t here because he’s angry,” Brendon relays. He frowns. “Well, he’s a little mad, I think.” He sighs. “I can’t really tell. I mean, I would be mad if I were murdered, but what I’m getting from the spirit right now is a little unfocused. I think we’ll have to try and make a connection later tonight during Dead Time.”
Client Interview
9:32 P.M.
“How long did Gabe work here?” Spencer asks, holding a small tape recorder out in front of him. He sits on a plain black leather bench adjacent to another one in front of the window. Ryan had decided before the interview that he liked the look of the yellow drapes behind Pete as he answers.
Ryan is standing between Brendon and Jon, watching as Spencer tries to get more information from Pete. Next to Ryan, Jon is whispering to Brendon about how even though the whole investigation is filmed, Spencer always insists on using his damn tape recorder. Brendon’s body shakes with silent giggles, and Ryan places a hand on Brendon’s upper arm to still him. He does it so that nothing messes up the shot, but when his hand touches Brendon’s bare skin, it’s Ryan who makes a noise, a low hitch of his breathing, that causes Brendon to raise an eyebrow. Ryan turns his attention back toward Spencer.
“Not that long,” Pete answers, leaning back against a red throw pillow. “Just a little bit over six months.”
“Did you know him well previous to his employment?” While usually the majority of the show is focused on Ryan, Spencer is really the best at doing these types of interviews. And, as Jon pointed out earlier during their short filming break, Spencer didn’t flush red and stutter at the thought of having a one-on-one with Pete. Though Ryan had done fine before, if he did say so himself, he had agreed to let Spencer have some face time.
He’s kind like that.
“Were you acquainted outside the workplace?” Spencer rephrases.
Brendon’s grin is visible even through Ryan’s peripheral vision. He always thinks it’s hilarious with how formal Spencer tends to get during interviews.
“We’ve been friends for awhile, yeah,” Pete says. “He was a great guy.” Pete cringes, barely noticeable, at the use of the word ‘was’.
When Ryan looks at Pete, really looks at him - looks past the fact that it’s Pete Wentz - he can see the bags under Pete’s eyes. He can see the strain, and he can almost see the sadness rolling off of him in waves. He wonders if Brendon can see it, too.
“He was one of the first people I met in New York,” Pete says. “Really helped me out in the beginning, so when he was looking for a job, I thought I’d help him out.” Pete squeezes his hands together. “Some help I gave him.”
When Ryan looks away from Pete, from the defeated look on his face, he can see that Brendon’s brow is furrowed in sympathy. Suddenly, Brendon turns to face Ryan, catching Ryan staring. Ryan averts his gaze quickly, feeling his cheeks warm at getting caught. He tries to focus and drown out the sound of blood pumping, his heart beating harder from embarrassment and… something else.
It works, since he notices a slight change in tone of Pete’s voice. It sounds more like he is thinking of a fond memory than a completely sad one. “I was always…” Pete starts, a hint of a smile at the corner of his lips, “always the one getting Gabe out of trouble. Talked the cops out of arresting him once. The silly bas- The silly jerk was really grateful for it all, though. Always felt really bad for causing trouble.”
“Where were you when he died?” Spencer asks, voice soft in a way that Ryan knows is to get honest, heartfelt answers.
Pete sighs, and Ryan feels Brendon step closer. “I wasn’t in town. My band was recording in LA. We weren’t supposed to leave until the next week, but we had the opportunity for an earlier start, so I took it.”
Ryan doesn’t need to have Brendon’s gift to pick up on what Pete is feeling. Guilt.
Spencer seems to get it, too. “Just because you weren’t there doesn’t make you responsible,” he tells Pete, and Ryan finds himself nodding in agreement.
Pete just shrugs, obviously unconvinced. “Can we take a break?” he asks, turning away from Spencer to address Ryan.
“Of course,” Ryan answers.
Pete gets up and makes his way to the bathroom at the side of the bar, and the cameramen put down their cameras and head outside for a smoke. Ryan, Jon, and Brendon join Spencer, occupying the spot Pete had.
“So, Dead Time,” Ryan says.
“Shouldn’t the cameras be filming this?” Brendon asks.
Ryan shrugs, and Spencer answers for him. “Nah, it’ll be more poignant just doing it without explaining everything. Besides, Ryan will do it in the voice over. I’ve still got the tape recorder going, so he won’t forget anyway.” Brendon nods in understanding.
“Anyway, during Dead Time,” Ryan continues, “Jon will be in the storage room, monitoring all the equipment.
Jon sighs wistfully. “I never get to participate.” He pouts jokingly, and Brendon laughs with him.
Ryan just rolls his eyes. “The rest of us and Pete will be up in the bar. I think the middle of it would be good. We’ll sit on the floor in a circle, have all the lights off except for candles, the usual. Let’s see if we can get Gabe to talk to us.”
“Sounds good,” Spencer says.
“Okay, we’ll break until two when we’re supposed to be back to set up for Dead Time. You guys can go back to the hotel or get something to eat or whatever. Just make sure you’re alert and awake at three AM,” Ryan instructs them.
“Got it, boss,” Jon says cheekily, and Brendon salutes mockingly. Ryan kind of hates it when Brendon and Jon get together. They like to team up and tease Ryan as much as possible.
Ryan frowns and heads toward the stairs, listening to Jon make plans with Spencer to get some pizza. They’re in New York, after all.
Then a hand stops him when he gets to the bottom of the stairs. His heart leaps, thinking that maybe the spirit might be touching him, but the hand grabbing his arm is very real and corporeal and incredibly familiar. “Brendon,” Ryan sighs, “you almost gave me a heart attack.”
Brendon just grins, not really loosening his hold on Ryan. “Sorry,” he says, not really sounding all that sorry. He takes a step towards Ryan who takes a step back automatically. “Where are you headed?”
Ryan has to think for a minute, trying to process Brendon’s question while he is so close and while they are in such a tight, dimly lit place. The door is just a couple of steps to his left, and he is torn between moving toward it and staying right where he is. “Uh, the hotel,” Ryan finally answers. His mouth works after all. “I need to rest. You know, take a nap before Dead Time. You should, too.”
Brendon smiles mischievously, and Ryan starts to panic, realizing what he seems to be insinuating. “I-I mean-” Ryan stutters out, but is interrupted by Spencer and Jon bounding down the stairs. Brendon steps away from Ryan after a second with a sigh.
“Who wants pizza?” Jon calls down to the bottom of the stairs.
“Save us some,” Brendon says, and Ryan nods vaguely. “We’re going to the hotel.”
Ryan’s eyebrows shoot to his hairline, and he looks at Jon and Spencer. Jon looks as if he’s stifling a laugh, and Spencer rolls his eyes. “Okay, I’ll guess you guys will be plenty hungry after, huh?” Spencer deadpans.
“I’m going to rest so I’ll be awake during Dead Time,” Ryan responds, shooting Spencer a look.
“Yeah, yeah. Sure, sure,” Jon says. “Have fun, you guys.”
“With taking a nap?” Ryan says exasperatedly.
“Right, that,” Jon says, winking not-so-discreetly. Ryan really hates his team sometimes. Jon and Spencer walk past Brendon and Ryan and out into the night, heading west in search of the pizza place someone from the crew suggested earlier. Brendon and Ryan follow them outside, and Brendon gestures to his car after Ryan has a word with the cameramen who are finishing up their cigarettes against the brick of the building.
Ryan sighs. “Yeah, okay, let’s go,” he says and gets into Brendon’s car.
The hotel that they’re staying at isn’t that far away, but the traffic in New York is horrible. People keep cutting Brendon off, though Brendon doesn’t seem to mind and just turns up his stereo louder, Sublime just barely covering Brendon’s voice.
Despite the music, Ryan feels strange just sitting in the car, so he yells over to Brendon, “You know where you’re going, right?”
Brendon grins. “Don’t worry, Ross. I’m not driving aimlessly around New York just so I can be in your company for a couple of minutes longer.” Ryan looks away when Brendon wiggles his eyebrows. “Besides, we’ll be stuck with each other at the hotel, too, so…”
“What?” Ryan hadn’t heard anything about this apparent rooming situation. He always had his own room. It was built into his contract. Plus, when Ryan had dropped his bag off earlier, he hadn’t been told he was sharing. “There’s only one King bed in the room,” he says. That’s in his contract, too. He likes to spread out.
“Yeah,” Brendon says. “I know. The studio told me that they’re having someone bring up a cot for me. Apparently the hotel was all booked up. If you want your own room, I can probably move the cot into Jon and Spencer’s room.” Suddenly, when Ryan looks over at Brendon, he looks worried, as if he has actually gone too far agreeing to a hotel reservation. Which is especially ridiculous considering how many things Brendon isn’t worried about. Like, oh, personal space.
“No, it’s fine,” Ryan relents, and Brendon reaches over and squeezes his hand. “It’s not a big deal.”
“You’re amazing, Ryan Ross,” Brendon says, smiling all the way back to the hotel.
New York Hilton Hotel
10:06 P.M.
Every time Brendon moves the tiniest fraction of a centimeter, the cot squeaks. The coils creak and the metal legs scrape against the floor. Even though Ryan has only been trying to fall asleep for five minutes, it’s annoying the hell out of him. He only has four hours to take a nap, and he isn’t going to waste all that time listening to Brendon’s bed slowly break.
“Brendon, stop moving,” Ryan groans into his pillow. “Your bed is too fucking loud.”
“I can’t help it,” Brendon answers. “There are all these springs digging into my side. This thing is sadistic.” He shifts again, beckoning out a new chorus of creaks and groans. “If it helps, it’s keeping me up, too.”
Ryan huffs, pulling his pillow over his head. “Actually, believe it or not, Brendon, that doesn’t help at all.”
Brendon doesn’t answer, but he continues to move about on his bed. The squeaks, which at first were just every so often, intensify until Ryan finally snaps.
“Get your fucking ass over here, Urie. I can’t listen to that damn cot anymore!” Ryan scoots over on the bed, leaving some room on the right side, and his hand reaches out to flick on the light from the bedside table.
“What?” Brendon asks. “Are you saying you want me to sleep with you?” The way Brendon says it makes Ryan pause for a second. He was expecting a thinly veiled sexual innuendo, something that would make Ryan flush red and smack Brendon in reparation, but Brendon’s voice is truly surprised. There’s also a hint of something that sounds suspiciously like nerves peeking behind every syllable.
“Neither one of us is going to get any sleep if your bed keeps making noise like that,” Ryan reasons. “And then we’ll be too tired during Dead Time to make any progress on the case. Besides,” he says, pulling out one of the extra pillows from behind his head, placing it against his side so that there was at least a small barrier between him and Brendon, “it’s only for a couple hours. We’ll ask the hotel to bring up a better cot later when we go down to the lobby.”
“Um… Ok?” Brendon gets up from the cot, the noise stopping almost immediately as his weight lifts up, and he settles down on the bed. The King bed is big, and even with the pillow between them, Brendon is far enough away that Ryan doesn’t accidently kick him as he situates the covers and rolls on his side after he turns the light off again.
He can, however, feel how as soon as Brendon settles down beneath the covers, he feels that much warmer, and shortly after that thought floats through his head, Ryan is fast asleep.
Angels & Kings NYC
Investigation - Day Two
Brendon pulls the car against the curb a little down the street from the bar. Ryan’s stare is a decidedly fixed one directed out the window, looking anywhere but where Brendon is trying to squeeze his car into the tight spot. It’s the middle of the night and there are still a bunch of cars. The city that never sleeps.
Oh, but we did, Ryan thinks just as Brendon sighs.
“Stop being so weird,” he states in Ryan’s direction.
An automatic, yet unconvincing “I’m not” is the only response Ryan can give him.
Brendon sighs again. “Well, we’re here, and there’s a job to do.”
“I know,” Ryan says, the two words low and monotone.
“Right.” Brendon opens the door and Ryan does his own, and they step out into the night, the cool air feeling good against Ryan’s still warm face.
Then Ryan’s mind is back to what he has been so determined not to think about. He doesn’t know how it had happened, but one thing is for sure. That pillow between them had done no good. Discarded some time in the span of the couple of hours during which they slept, its absence had left Ryan free to- No! He isn’t supposed to think about that.
Except Brendon had felt nice against him, warm and soft and solid. Smelled good, too.
Ryan barely realizes that he’s shaking his head as he follows Brendon into the bar and up the stairs, where Spencer, Pete, and the camera crew are helping set up for Dead Time.
“There you guys are,” Spencer says with a grin as Brendon and Ryan emerge. His smile falters when he looks at the two of them, and Ryan notices right then that his own face is set into a deep frown while Brendon, though not outright scowling - because it’s Brendon after all - is more subdued than anyone working on the show is used to.
Spencer perks up again, and Ryan knows instantly that it’s for show. He has known the guy long enough to tell when he is acting. “Brendon, can you talk to Pete? You know, prepare him for what’s about to happen and everything? Ryan and I need to talk to Jon about some last minute things.”
Brendon just nods and walks over to Pete, who is slumped a little over a table, and the corners of Ryan’s mouth pull further down as he wishes there was a little more bounce in Brendon’s step.
Suddenly, Ryan feels a hand wrap around his arm and grip tightly, and again, for a second, he thinks it could be Gabe’s spirit trying to make contact. But then he sees the Spencer-shaped blur, and he knows that he is about to get lectured. Spencer drags him towards the bar and into the back room behind it where Jon is fiddling with all the high-tech equipment.
“Hey, what’s going-” Jon says, but Spencer interrupts him.
“You did something.”
“Did not,” Ryan says defensively.
Spencer shakes his head. “There is one sad psychic out there, and that can’t be good for anyone. Tell me what you did.”
“I didn’t do anything.”
“Maybe that’s the problem,” Jon pipes up.
Ryan glares at him. “What are you talking about?”
Spencer reaches up with both hands and tugs on his hair, growling a little even. “Ryan, whatever issues you have, you need to get over them. If you hadn’t noticed, Brendon likes you, too.”
“I don’t-” Ryan starts.
“Save it. No one believes that, except maybe Brendon. Even Pete picked up on it. I don’t know why you’re always trying to deny it, but you’re this close to drawing little hearts and writing ‘B + R 4EVA’ all over that stupid notepad of yours. “ Ryan rolls his eyes at that comment. Is not. “Figure it out,” Spencer continues. “Make a move. Do something besides ignoring it.”
Ryan can’t quite meet anyone’s eyes, deciding to glower at Jon’s left shoulder instead of at either of them. “It’s almost three. We have a show to film,” he says quietly, taking the coward’s way out.
Spencer sighs. “You’re unbelievable. Fine,” he says and walks out.
Ryan is about to follow when he feels Jon grab his shoulder, stopping him. “If it helps,” Jon says calmly, “I think that if anyone can help you cast out whatever is haunting you, it would be someone like Brendon.”
Jon gives Ryan’s shoulder one last squeeze before taking back his post at the computers and equipment, as if he had not just shaken Ryan to the core.
Haunting him?
Sure, they had talked on the show at great length about the hauntings and supernatural experiences he had as a kid. One summer, he lived at his aunt’s house, right after his mom split. It was an old house, one that had belonged to his uncle’s family for generations. On a sunny Saturday afternoon during his first weeks at the house, he heard a child playing in one of the rooms upstairs. When he went to investigate, he saw a girl in old-fashioned clothing playing jacks on the floor of one of the unused rooms on the top floor. At one point, she had smiled at him, and Ryan had been delighted to have a new playmate. But when he asked his aunt about it, she had broken down crying, asking why Ryan would bring up other children in the house. He hadn’t known or understood then, but she had suffered a miscarriage just a few months before.
The other being up there on the top floor had not been so pleasant. He had gone searching for the girl again, but a terrible and frightening feeling had come over him when he wandered back into that empty room. It didn’t feel like the girl; it felt like something else, something very real, malicious and ancient. Even Ryan knew that whatever it was, it had never been human. He couldn’t shake the feeling that it was going to hurt everyone in the house, including his new ghost friend.
When he expressed his fears to his uncle, he was yelled at for making up stories and trying to upset his aunt. For the rest of the time in that house, he never spoke of what was there, but lived in fear of that hateful energy he had come across. And as Ryan grew older, he had become convinced that whatever that being was remembers him and tracks him down from time to time, for what reason Ryan does not know.
What he does know is that ever since then, he has been trying to find the Truth. Of what is out there, why he is being haunted, what he can do to make it leave him alone. That is why Paranormal Activity Detectives exists. That is why they help people haunted like he was. Is. To figure out how to help himself, he has to help others like him.
Everyone knows about what had happened. There have been several episodes focusing on Ryan’s “demon”. But no one really knows just how it affects him. Ryan keeps that locked up; that is not meant for the cameras.
Ryan’s mind believes that no one, not even - no, especially not - Brendon can help him. After all, nothing has yet. But at Jon’s simple sentence, Ryan’s heart had told him it believes otherwise.
Next Part
Author: spazzyskittles and ivesia19
Rating: PG-13
Pairing: Brendon/Ryan and small pre-Pete/Mikey
POV: 3rd limited (Ryan)
Summary: Each year, Paranormal Activity Detectives, a group of young investigators led by Ryan Ross, receives hundreds of calls reporting supernatural occurrences, only responding to the most severe. This is one of those cases.
Disclaimer: Paranormal Activity Detectives is based on the show “Paranormal State” and therefore not really our awesome idea. I guess Brendon and Ryan aren’t our awesome idea, either.
Beta: ivesia19 and spazzyskittles
Author Notes: So, this is the story that spazzyskittles and I have been working on since forever (which is completely my fault). Enjoy! Lord knows we did!
Case Briefing - [State College, PA]
[8:23 A.M.]
Ryan waits until Spencer has finished his first cup of coffee of the morning to give the camera crew the okay. Spencer without coffee is a scary thing.
“Why the fuck did I agree to this television thing?” Spencer grumbles, taking huge gulps of coffee. The coffee is hot - hot enough that when Ryan tried to take a sip just a couple of seconds earlier, he had spit the liquid back into the chipped diner mug, sputtering. Thankfully, the cameras aren’t on yet.
Holding up a finger to the crew to tell them to hold on a second, Ryan passes Spencer a couple of packets of Splenda that he always keeps in his bag to appease his best friend. The diner near campus where they usually film the opening case file doesn’t have any artificial sweeteners, but Ryan carries a couple around for Spencer.
“It’s good money,” Ryan reminds. “The station is basically the reason that you can indulge in your shoe collection.”
Spencer easily flips Ryan off, taking a moment to finish his coffee before sighing dramatically. “You just like being on camera,” Spencer snipes. He frowns. “I look like shit this morning.”
Ryan tilts his head to the side. There are tiny bags under Spencer’s eyes. Really tiny, but he looks okay. Jon, who is sitting next to Spencer, head lying down on his forearms, looks far more tired.
It isn’t Ryan’s fault that they want to film the case briefing so early.
“Jon.” Spencer nudges Jon’s arm with a pointy finger. “Wake up. We’re starting soon.”
A muffled noise precedes Jon looking up blearily. “Shut it, Smith. I was up until four trying to fix your laptop.” He puts his head back down against his shirt, no doubt trying to express just how difficult life is as a technical genius. “I told you to stop opening emails that Trevor sends. His attachments are as disease ridden as his sexual partners.”
Ryan pouts. “Hey!” he says indignantly.
“Oh yeah,” Jon says looking up again, this time with a smile on his face. “I forgot about that one time.” He shakes his head. “Dude, that’s why you shouldn’t drink tequila.”
Ryan is about to respond with something crippling to Jon’s self esteem (he really is, he knows things, knows secrets), but the crew signals him again. “Everyone can continue bitching after we film this,” Ryan mutters, quickly pulling out a mirror to check his hair. It looks good today.
Spencer shrugs, and Jon sits up a little straighter in the booth. “Deal,” he says.
Ryan passes Jon and Spencer each matching folders that holds the case information in it and holds onto one himself, nodding to the cameraman that he is ready. The cameraman counts them down, and Ryan opens the folder, looking down at the contents, holding his head at the best angle for the shot, his hair falling a little bit over his eyes.
The light goes on, signaling that they are taping, and Ryan looks over at Spencer and Jon. Spencer is raising his eyebrow up at Ryan, but Ryan is used to that after two years of doing the show. Spencer could pretend all he wants, but Ryan knows that Spencer actually likes doing “Paranormal Activity Detectives”.
“Case file 39f40k.64.” There isn’t really a reason for the case numbers being so long and complicated, but Spencer likes to seem important, so Ryan indulges him. Ryan knows that right before this tiny episode introduction, there are the opening credits, the one that has Ryan with his very unfortunate undergrad hair and Spencer during his pudgy phase. Jon looks the same then as now. They really have to redo that stupid opening. “The client is named Pete Wentz.”
Spencer frowns for a moment and then smirks. “Like the guy from that band you were obsessed with in high school?”
Ryan makes a mental note to talk to someone about editing that out later. He can feel his face turning the slightest bit red. “Beside the point,” Ryan says, trying to breeze over the statement, but Spencer and Jon are shaking with silent laughter. Bastards.
Jon sobers up after a pointed look. “Sorry.” A sharp laugh escapes. “So, Pete Wentz. Go ahead.”
“Why thank you, Jon,” Ryan monotones. He clears his throat. “As I was saying, our client is Pete Wentz. He says that his bar, Angels and Kings in New York, is haunted. Apparently, it’s gotten so bad that they’ve had to close down for a couple weeks.”
“I thought they got caught selling booze to underage kids,” Spencer says. Ryan is pretty sure that Spencer read that on Perez Hilton, but he isn’t about to call him out on it on television.
“That’s what they’ve told the press,” Ryan continues. “But it’s definitely a haunting.” Ryan reaches down into his bag and pulls out a stack of pictures. “Pete sent me pictures showing some unexplained activity. CDs thrown around the club. Chairs stacking themselves. There’s a burned audio of some strange noises, too. Definitely enough evidence to investigate.”
Jon flips through the pictures, frowning a little. Probably because setting up surveillance equipment there will be a pain in the ass. “So, I guess we’re going to New York, then.”
Ryan nods. He likes when they do East Coast jobs. They don’t really do much outside the middle states areas, but still, when they’re too far away from headquarters, the studio always sends some random psychic to help them. It usually works out fine, but Ryan prefers working with Brendon: the unusual, slightly hyper but endearing psychic.
Even if he’d never admit to it.
Angels & Kings NYC
Investigation - Day One
The car finally makes it down E 11th in the traffic, pulling up to where their film crew is already parked, waiting to film the introduction. It’s only then that Ryan realizes he is about to meet the Pete Wentz. Even though he feels like he has done a good job remaining aloof about it, Spencer smirks before they get out of the car. “Try not to cream your pants.”
“Fuck you,” Ryan says sweetly under his breath as he steps out of the car, his face camera ready.
He walks around the car and sees the Pete Wentz standing in front of the door, smiling a tight, awkward smile that doesn’t reach his eyes. “Hi, I’m Pete,” he says, shaking Ryan’s hand as the cameras film.
“I’m Ryan. I’m the head of the Paranormal Activity Detectives.” Ryan knows he is good at reading people. It’s necessary for his job. He needs to make sure he can catch when people are sincere and when they’re lying just to be on TV. Ryan sees straight through the calm that Pete is trying to project for the cameras; he can tell that, on the inside, Pete is actually pretty distressed.
“Yeah, I know. I’m a big fan of the show.” Pete gestures around him to the cameras. “Obviously.”
Ryan is stunned for a second since he thought he was the fan. But then he blinks and smiles in hopes of putting Pete at ease. “Well, this is Spencer,” Ryan says, gesturing to him, “a PATD member. He is great with research.” He points to Jon, who is already unloading equipment from the SUV. “And this is Jon, our tech specialist. He’ll be monitoring all the equipment.”
“Nice to meet you guys,” Pete says, shaking their hands. “You’re my favorite,” he tells Jon. Jon shoots Ryan a smug smile, and Ryan rolls his eyes.
“Where should I set up?” Jon asks a member of the show’s crew, who leads him inside, and Spencer follows with a bag and a box of equipment.
Ryan sighs and sees that Pete looks tired. “Should we start?”
Pete nods. “Of course. The sooner we get to the bottom of this, the better. For everyone.”
Bar Tour
2:04 P.M.
Pete leads Ryan and the cameraman up a staircase, pausing for a second to straighten a framed picture on one of the walls. “It’s always crooked,” he mutters.
When they finally reach the top of the stairs, Ryan looks around. He takes in the red walls, both from paint and from brick, the black leather seats, the yellow curtains, the warm woods. Countless bottles of liquor sit shelved on the wall behind the bar, and black and white celebrity mugshots decorate the walls. Ryan notices Frank Sinatra’s hanging above a black leather bench. It’s also crooked.
All in all, he thinks that it’s a pretty nice looking bar, would love to hang out there with a pint, maybe. He doesn’t know whether or not it being haunted would deter him. Allegedly haunted, that is. Ryan is, after all, there partly to make sure there is actually some paranormal activity going on.
“Well,” Pete says with a sigh in his voice, “this is it.” He gestures at the space in front of him and takes them toward the bar itself.
“This is the bar,” he says, patting the top of it. “We’ve had a couple of things go on over here. One of the bartenders told me that he placed a highball on top of the counter, and when he turned to grab the vodka, he heard a loud thud, as if someone had taken a glass and pounded it on the counter. When he turned around, it had moved a few inches to the right.”
Ryan raises his eyebrows, nodding as he makes a note onto his writing pad. “Were you around when it happened?”
Pete shakes his head. “No, I was on tour. But when he told me, he seemed genuinely spooked by it. It didn’t seem like he had made it up. He seemed almost reluctant to tell me. He only did when the manager had mentioned his own story. He had poured a shot of tequila. It was before opening, and he was the only one around. When he went to grab salt from the back, he came back to find the shot glass tipped over and the liquor spilling from it.”
“Hmm,” Ryan says, adding another note. “Seems like this spirit likes messing with the drinks.”
Pete laughs, mostly humorlessly. “Yeah, I’ll say.” He then leads Ryan to a space with chairs and tables. “Several employees have reported leaving for the back room and coming back to find chairs stacked.” He pulls out a chair to demonstrate, and Ryan writes more down.
Ryan follows him to an emptier area a few feet away. “We had a table set up here,” Pete says, making a motion in a rectangular shape. “We were selling CDs at this event we were holding. All of a sudden, one of them shoots forward several feet across the room.” He points in the direction of the bar. “Scared the shit out of people.” Pete shakes his head. “Not good for business.”
Adding a couple more notes, scrawling out a tentative poltergeist with a question mark next to it, Ryan looks up. “Have you had any incidents here lately?” he asks.
Pete furrows a brow. “Incidents happen here all the time. Catfights, drunken bullshit… Gotta be more specific, kid.”
Ryan lets the kid thing go because it’s Pete Wentz. Really, it’s almost like a nickname. “Have you had any disgruntled employees?” Ryan clarifies. “Long lasting hostilities? Has anyone died here? Taken their own life, maybe?”
“We have a history of the building somewhere in one of the back offices,” Pete says. “I don’t remember anything like that, but who knows. Could be.” He’s keeping his eyes down, something that tips Ryan off immediately. He’s been in this business long enough to know when to pry.
“Anything else? Are you sure you don’t have an idea of why the paranormal activity started?” Next to poltergeist on his notepad, Ryan writes down spirit. From the way that Pete is looking now, with his eyes down, his shoulders hunched over, defensive almost, Ryan doesn’t think that it’s just built up emotional energy causing all the phenomena.
“There was this musician,” Pete finally says. His eyes dart over to where the camera is, and Ryan can hear the hesitance in each one of Pete’s words. “He used to DJ for us sometimes.” Pete sighs. “Once in a while, he had a tendency to get a little out of control.”
Ryan quirks an eyebrow. “What do you mean ‘out of control’?”
Pete runs a hand through his hair, still not really looking at Ryan. “He would get really drunk. I’m talking about public urination drunk. Falling down drunk. He would shoot off his mouth, too.” Pete’s expression hardens, but beneath that, Ryan can see the hints of regret. “He got into some shit with one of the regulars a couple of weeks back and…” Pete coughs and looks away. “He got killed.”
“What was his name?” Ryan asks, pen poised.
Ryan’s almost sure that Pete’s voice breaks a little on the first syllable, but he covers it quickly with a throat clear. “Gabe Saporta.”
Team Overview
3:54 P.M.
Ryan, Spencer, and Jon are sitting on the stoop leading to the back alley from Angels & Kings. Outside, the New York City sky is overcast, a dark gray, and as the cameraman sets up the equipment to film the sequence, he keeps talking happily about how perfect the mood will be.
Whatever, Ryan doesn’t really fucking care. He does, however, care about the case, so when he gets the green light, he starts to fill Spencer and Jon in.
“Pete said something about an old employee, a DJ getting killed here a couple of weeks ago. His name was Gabe Saporta.”
Immediately, Spencer jots down the name, and Ryan knows that it’ll only take an hour or two before Spencer gets all the information about their deceased DJ.
“Apparently, Gabe was a big drinker, too,” Ryan continues, “which would account for all the focus on the alcohol. Also, he was an aspiring musician, so maybe that CD sale brought up some bad memories.”
“Pete didn’t plan to sign him, then, I guess,” Jon says.
Ryan shrugs. “I don’t know.” He stretches one of his legs out in front of him. “Pete seems to be pretty shaken up about this. I think he and Gabe were friends.”
Jon nods sympathetically. “So it might be hard to get all the unbiased facts from him,” he says.
“Exactly,” Ryan agrees.
“We should talk to some of the other workers here,” Spencer suggests. “Bartenders, bouncers, other business partners.”
Ryan nods. “Yeah, that’ll be good. We should make sure we get as much information about this place and Gabe as possible. Pete said he would look into finding some of the information he was given about the building when he bought it.”
“That should help,” Spencer says. “And I’m sure that there are newspaper articles about Gabe’s murder.”
“Most likely.” Ryan frowns. “I just don’t know if we can get everything we need from that. There’s obviously a reason that Gabe is sticking around. We won’t find the answer to that through research.” He flicks his hair away from his face.
“We need to bring in a psychic,” Jon says, casting a smirk at Ryan.
Ryan avoids Jon’s eyes and the camera, suddenly fully focusing down on his scribbled notes.
Psychic/Medium Arrives
8:12 P.M.
Ryan waits anxiously in front of Angels & Kings, watching the cars roll by slowly and looking for the familiar silver car among them. Well aware of the cameras behind him, he hopes that the nervous feeling isn’t written all over his face. Even though he thinks he has mastered the aloof look, his hand gives him away as he reaches back behind his head and tugs on a couple of strands of hair out of habit.
Finally, the car pulls up right in front of him, and Ryan steels himself for the whirlwind that is about to emerge from it.
No question about it, Brendon is a fan favorite. Of all the mediums they work with, Brendon is the one that people remember. And why shouldn’t they? The man is gorgeous, flamboyant, hilarious, and an incredibly perceptive psychic. Or so Ryan has read on the Internet on several fan sites and forums. He may or may not agree with the fans, though.
Out of the corner of his eye, Ryan sees the cameramen move as the car door opens, and his breath most definitely does not hitch when Brendon gets out of the car. At least, the cameras don’t catch that part, and after all, it’s what the camera sees that’s important.
And what it sees is a dark-haired man with light skin (though tanner and frecklier than Ryan remembers), chocolate brown eyes, and an ever-present smile. The plaid shirt he is wearing is entirely too colorful, which, though great for television, might ruin the dark, ominous feeling Ryan wants his show to have. Brendon’s pants leave barely anything to the imagination, and Ryan’s eyes do not look over the curve of his ass. Mostly.
Brendon walks up to him with that grin of his, and just as Ryan is about to extend a hand for him to shake, Brendon launches forward, surprising Ryan, who is standing rather stiffly, with a tight hug. Ryan shouldn’t be surprised, though. Brendon doesn’t seem to do handshakes. At least, not with Ryan and his team.
Ryan pats Brendon’s back awkwardly a couple of times as Brendon sways from side to side, still hugging Ryan. When Brendon pulls back, Ryan is afraid for one wild moment that Brendon will do something incredibly inappropriate, but instead, he steps back and says, “So, a bar, huh? This should be fun.”
“Yeah,” Ryan says, clearing his throat, unsure of why he feels a little disappointed. “It’ll be a real blast.” And then Ryan remembers the cameras. “Just for the record, I have not told you anything about this case, correct?”
Brendon shakes his head, smiling. “I know nothing.”
“Okay, let’s go see the bar.”
Before Ryan gets to the door, Brendon is on his heels and makes him hesitate when he puts a hand on Ryan’s hip. “Always about business, eh Ross?” he whispers.
Ryan clears his throat again. “We don’t have a lot of time.”
He can hear the sigh in Brendon’s voice. “I guess we don’t.”
When Ryan opens the door, he turns his head to see Brendon following him, running a finger along the doorjamb. He knows it is Brendon’s way of connecting with the house, or in this case, bar. Ryan’s gaze lingers on Brendon’s hand, knowing that Brendon uses touch to tap into his gift. He lets Brendon go ahead of him up the stairs, decidedly not looking in front of him where Brendon’s ass would be around eye level. Nope, not looking.
Brendon pauses halfway up, stopping right in front of the picture that Pete had fixed earlier. Ryan looks at it this time and notices it is of Pete and someone much taller than him with thick dark hair and funny looking glasses that are probably fake. Brendon touches the picture, and Ryan sees him hunch his shoulders and gasp. Most of the time, Ryan would say Brendon exaggerates a little for the cameras, but this just feels real to him with the way Brendon is shutting his eyes so tightly.
“I can feel so much sadness here,” Brendon says, and Ryan can hear it in his voice, as if Brendon feels exactly what he senses. “There is a lot of love, too, but a lot of… pain.” Brendon opens his eyes, big and shining and hurt, and looks at Ryan. Ryan pulls out his pad of paper and takes down a note. Then Brendon takes the picture off the wall and holds it to himself as he walks the remaining steps into the actual bar.
Brendon makes his way to the bar, feeling the countertop as he follows the length of it and looking thoughtful. “Do you sense some kind of presence here?” Ryan asks softly.
“Male. Definitely,” Brendon says, nodding and setting the picture down on the bar. “Relatively young, too. No older than thirty.” Ryan makes another note.
“Can you tell me his relationship with this place?” Ryan tries, watching Brendon grip the bar with both hands and lean forward, as if testing his weight against it.
“He spent a lot of time here,” Brendon says simply, focusing on the dark wood in front of him.
“Here as in Angels & Kings or here as in the bar in front of you?” Ryan asks to clarify.
“Both.” Ryan takes down yet another note.
There is a pause and then, “Can I walk behind here?” Brendon asks.
“Sure.”
Brendon gets behind the bar, and Ryan watches him eye the bottles on the back counter and on the shelves. Then he stops in front of a large bottle of José Cuervo. “He liked tequila. A lot.” Brendon picks up the bottle and turns to Ryan, who is surprised by the mischievous smile on Brendon’s face. “Wanna do shots?” He shakes the bottle a little in an effort to entice Ryan. It’s almost unnerving the way Brendon can turn it on and off like that. One second, he is overcome with sadness; the next, he suggests in front of the cameras partaking in mildly nefarious activities.
Ryan rolls his eyes. “I don’t think the owner would appreciate that.”
Brendon sighs. “You’re no fun.” He puts the bottle of tequila back on the counter, and in no way does Ryan think about Brendon licking salt off his skin.
Ryan follows the path of the bottle, watches as Brendon’s fingers unclasp from the glass and let go, and when Ryan meets Brendon’s eyes again, that look of sadness is back, and Ryan knows that the light moment has passed and it’s back to business.
“The man,” Brendon says, and his focus seems to be somewhere beyond Ryan. He puts both palms down on the bar, leaning forward, and Ryan watches the muscles strain in Brendon’s forearms for just a second longer than he should. “He was loud,” Brendon says, and he closes his eyes. “Full of life. He was a showman.” He smiles, but then he pauses. “But there was more to him than that. A lot of people couldn’t see beyond the happy face.” Ryan doesn’t know why, but when Brendon opens his eyes at that and looks straight at him, he can feel his chest clench.
“He was well-liked?” Ryan asks, trying to stay on topic. After all, there are cameras here. This is a show - they have a mission.
Brendon hums. “By most,” he allows. “But sometimes he would get into fights.” Brendon suddenly nods and moves from behind the bar, crossing the room quickly, his tight pants hugging his body on every stride, toward where the DJing equipment is set up. His hands hover near the edge of the platform. “There’s a lot of anger here.”
“Anger from the man? The spirit?”
“A little,” Brendon says. He bites his lower lip, and suddenly, Ryan remembers one of the threads he had read on a fan site about that very habit of Brendon’s. It takes him a second to realize that Brendon has started talking again. “Mostly, it’s residual anger from someone else.” He takes a moment. “From the person who killed him.”
Ryan nods. “The man was murdered by an angry customer,” he confirms. While Brendon is clearly the favorite of the viewers, he’s also arguably their best psychic. He’s rarely wrong, and unlike some people that have tried to find their slice of fame on the show, he doesn’t cheat or make shit up. He’s real, and it’s one of the reasons that Ryan sometimes feels inexplicably close to Brendon. Trusts Brendon without really realizing it. Brendon can relate. “Can you tell why the spirit wants to stay?” Ryan asks. “Is it-”
Brendon interrupts him. “Does the man’s name start with a G?” he asks suddenly. “G… Gah… Gabriel?”
“Gabe.” It’s not rare for Brendon to pick up on a name, but still, every time, it impresses Ryan. While he can sometimes sense a presence, he isn’t nearly at the level of Brendon. Sometimes, Ryan wonders what else Brendon can sense.
“He isn’t here because he’s angry,” Brendon relays. He frowns. “Well, he’s a little mad, I think.” He sighs. “I can’t really tell. I mean, I would be mad if I were murdered, but what I’m getting from the spirit right now is a little unfocused. I think we’ll have to try and make a connection later tonight during Dead Time.”
Client Interview
9:32 P.M.
“How long did Gabe work here?” Spencer asks, holding a small tape recorder out in front of him. He sits on a plain black leather bench adjacent to another one in front of the window. Ryan had decided before the interview that he liked the look of the yellow drapes behind Pete as he answers.
Ryan is standing between Brendon and Jon, watching as Spencer tries to get more information from Pete. Next to Ryan, Jon is whispering to Brendon about how even though the whole investigation is filmed, Spencer always insists on using his damn tape recorder. Brendon’s body shakes with silent giggles, and Ryan places a hand on Brendon’s upper arm to still him. He does it so that nothing messes up the shot, but when his hand touches Brendon’s bare skin, it’s Ryan who makes a noise, a low hitch of his breathing, that causes Brendon to raise an eyebrow. Ryan turns his attention back toward Spencer.
“Not that long,” Pete answers, leaning back against a red throw pillow. “Just a little bit over six months.”
“Did you know him well previous to his employment?” While usually the majority of the show is focused on Ryan, Spencer is really the best at doing these types of interviews. And, as Jon pointed out earlier during their short filming break, Spencer didn’t flush red and stutter at the thought of having a one-on-one with Pete. Though Ryan had done fine before, if he did say so himself, he had agreed to let Spencer have some face time.
He’s kind like that.
“Were you acquainted outside the workplace?” Spencer rephrases.
Brendon’s grin is visible even through Ryan’s peripheral vision. He always thinks it’s hilarious with how formal Spencer tends to get during interviews.
“We’ve been friends for awhile, yeah,” Pete says. “He was a great guy.” Pete cringes, barely noticeable, at the use of the word ‘was’.
When Ryan looks at Pete, really looks at him - looks past the fact that it’s Pete Wentz - he can see the bags under Pete’s eyes. He can see the strain, and he can almost see the sadness rolling off of him in waves. He wonders if Brendon can see it, too.
“He was one of the first people I met in New York,” Pete says. “Really helped me out in the beginning, so when he was looking for a job, I thought I’d help him out.” Pete squeezes his hands together. “Some help I gave him.”
When Ryan looks away from Pete, from the defeated look on his face, he can see that Brendon’s brow is furrowed in sympathy. Suddenly, Brendon turns to face Ryan, catching Ryan staring. Ryan averts his gaze quickly, feeling his cheeks warm at getting caught. He tries to focus and drown out the sound of blood pumping, his heart beating harder from embarrassment and… something else.
It works, since he notices a slight change in tone of Pete’s voice. It sounds more like he is thinking of a fond memory than a completely sad one. “I was always…” Pete starts, a hint of a smile at the corner of his lips, “always the one getting Gabe out of trouble. Talked the cops out of arresting him once. The silly bas- The silly jerk was really grateful for it all, though. Always felt really bad for causing trouble.”
“Where were you when he died?” Spencer asks, voice soft in a way that Ryan knows is to get honest, heartfelt answers.
Pete sighs, and Ryan feels Brendon step closer. “I wasn’t in town. My band was recording in LA. We weren’t supposed to leave until the next week, but we had the opportunity for an earlier start, so I took it.”
Ryan doesn’t need to have Brendon’s gift to pick up on what Pete is feeling. Guilt.
Spencer seems to get it, too. “Just because you weren’t there doesn’t make you responsible,” he tells Pete, and Ryan finds himself nodding in agreement.
Pete just shrugs, obviously unconvinced. “Can we take a break?” he asks, turning away from Spencer to address Ryan.
“Of course,” Ryan answers.
Pete gets up and makes his way to the bathroom at the side of the bar, and the cameramen put down their cameras and head outside for a smoke. Ryan, Jon, and Brendon join Spencer, occupying the spot Pete had.
“So, Dead Time,” Ryan says.
“Shouldn’t the cameras be filming this?” Brendon asks.
Ryan shrugs, and Spencer answers for him. “Nah, it’ll be more poignant just doing it without explaining everything. Besides, Ryan will do it in the voice over. I’ve still got the tape recorder going, so he won’t forget anyway.” Brendon nods in understanding.
“Anyway, during Dead Time,” Ryan continues, “Jon will be in the storage room, monitoring all the equipment.
Jon sighs wistfully. “I never get to participate.” He pouts jokingly, and Brendon laughs with him.
Ryan just rolls his eyes. “The rest of us and Pete will be up in the bar. I think the middle of it would be good. We’ll sit on the floor in a circle, have all the lights off except for candles, the usual. Let’s see if we can get Gabe to talk to us.”
“Sounds good,” Spencer says.
“Okay, we’ll break until two when we’re supposed to be back to set up for Dead Time. You guys can go back to the hotel or get something to eat or whatever. Just make sure you’re alert and awake at three AM,” Ryan instructs them.
“Got it, boss,” Jon says cheekily, and Brendon salutes mockingly. Ryan kind of hates it when Brendon and Jon get together. They like to team up and tease Ryan as much as possible.
Ryan frowns and heads toward the stairs, listening to Jon make plans with Spencer to get some pizza. They’re in New York, after all.
Then a hand stops him when he gets to the bottom of the stairs. His heart leaps, thinking that maybe the spirit might be touching him, but the hand grabbing his arm is very real and corporeal and incredibly familiar. “Brendon,” Ryan sighs, “you almost gave me a heart attack.”
Brendon just grins, not really loosening his hold on Ryan. “Sorry,” he says, not really sounding all that sorry. He takes a step towards Ryan who takes a step back automatically. “Where are you headed?”
Ryan has to think for a minute, trying to process Brendon’s question while he is so close and while they are in such a tight, dimly lit place. The door is just a couple of steps to his left, and he is torn between moving toward it and staying right where he is. “Uh, the hotel,” Ryan finally answers. His mouth works after all. “I need to rest. You know, take a nap before Dead Time. You should, too.”
Brendon smiles mischievously, and Ryan starts to panic, realizing what he seems to be insinuating. “I-I mean-” Ryan stutters out, but is interrupted by Spencer and Jon bounding down the stairs. Brendon steps away from Ryan after a second with a sigh.
“Who wants pizza?” Jon calls down to the bottom of the stairs.
“Save us some,” Brendon says, and Ryan nods vaguely. “We’re going to the hotel.”
Ryan’s eyebrows shoot to his hairline, and he looks at Jon and Spencer. Jon looks as if he’s stifling a laugh, and Spencer rolls his eyes. “Okay, I’ll guess you guys will be plenty hungry after, huh?” Spencer deadpans.
“I’m going to rest so I’ll be awake during Dead Time,” Ryan responds, shooting Spencer a look.
“Yeah, yeah. Sure, sure,” Jon says. “Have fun, you guys.”
“With taking a nap?” Ryan says exasperatedly.
“Right, that,” Jon says, winking not-so-discreetly. Ryan really hates his team sometimes. Jon and Spencer walk past Brendon and Ryan and out into the night, heading west in search of the pizza place someone from the crew suggested earlier. Brendon and Ryan follow them outside, and Brendon gestures to his car after Ryan has a word with the cameramen who are finishing up their cigarettes against the brick of the building.
Ryan sighs. “Yeah, okay, let’s go,” he says and gets into Brendon’s car.
The hotel that they’re staying at isn’t that far away, but the traffic in New York is horrible. People keep cutting Brendon off, though Brendon doesn’t seem to mind and just turns up his stereo louder, Sublime just barely covering Brendon’s voice.
Despite the music, Ryan feels strange just sitting in the car, so he yells over to Brendon, “You know where you’re going, right?”
Brendon grins. “Don’t worry, Ross. I’m not driving aimlessly around New York just so I can be in your company for a couple of minutes longer.” Ryan looks away when Brendon wiggles his eyebrows. “Besides, we’ll be stuck with each other at the hotel, too, so…”
“What?” Ryan hadn’t heard anything about this apparent rooming situation. He always had his own room. It was built into his contract. Plus, when Ryan had dropped his bag off earlier, he hadn’t been told he was sharing. “There’s only one King bed in the room,” he says. That’s in his contract, too. He likes to spread out.
“Yeah,” Brendon says. “I know. The studio told me that they’re having someone bring up a cot for me. Apparently the hotel was all booked up. If you want your own room, I can probably move the cot into Jon and Spencer’s room.” Suddenly, when Ryan looks over at Brendon, he looks worried, as if he has actually gone too far agreeing to a hotel reservation. Which is especially ridiculous considering how many things Brendon isn’t worried about. Like, oh, personal space.
“No, it’s fine,” Ryan relents, and Brendon reaches over and squeezes his hand. “It’s not a big deal.”
“You’re amazing, Ryan Ross,” Brendon says, smiling all the way back to the hotel.
New York Hilton Hotel
10:06 P.M.
Every time Brendon moves the tiniest fraction of a centimeter, the cot squeaks. The coils creak and the metal legs scrape against the floor. Even though Ryan has only been trying to fall asleep for five minutes, it’s annoying the hell out of him. He only has four hours to take a nap, and he isn’t going to waste all that time listening to Brendon’s bed slowly break.
“Brendon, stop moving,” Ryan groans into his pillow. “Your bed is too fucking loud.”
“I can’t help it,” Brendon answers. “There are all these springs digging into my side. This thing is sadistic.” He shifts again, beckoning out a new chorus of creaks and groans. “If it helps, it’s keeping me up, too.”
Ryan huffs, pulling his pillow over his head. “Actually, believe it or not, Brendon, that doesn’t help at all.”
Brendon doesn’t answer, but he continues to move about on his bed. The squeaks, which at first were just every so often, intensify until Ryan finally snaps.
“Get your fucking ass over here, Urie. I can’t listen to that damn cot anymore!” Ryan scoots over on the bed, leaving some room on the right side, and his hand reaches out to flick on the light from the bedside table.
“What?” Brendon asks. “Are you saying you want me to sleep with you?” The way Brendon says it makes Ryan pause for a second. He was expecting a thinly veiled sexual innuendo, something that would make Ryan flush red and smack Brendon in reparation, but Brendon’s voice is truly surprised. There’s also a hint of something that sounds suspiciously like nerves peeking behind every syllable.
“Neither one of us is going to get any sleep if your bed keeps making noise like that,” Ryan reasons. “And then we’ll be too tired during Dead Time to make any progress on the case. Besides,” he says, pulling out one of the extra pillows from behind his head, placing it against his side so that there was at least a small barrier between him and Brendon, “it’s only for a couple hours. We’ll ask the hotel to bring up a better cot later when we go down to the lobby.”
“Um… Ok?” Brendon gets up from the cot, the noise stopping almost immediately as his weight lifts up, and he settles down on the bed. The King bed is big, and even with the pillow between them, Brendon is far enough away that Ryan doesn’t accidently kick him as he situates the covers and rolls on his side after he turns the light off again.
He can, however, feel how as soon as Brendon settles down beneath the covers, he feels that much warmer, and shortly after that thought floats through his head, Ryan is fast asleep.
Angels & Kings NYC
Investigation - Day Two
Brendon pulls the car against the curb a little down the street from the bar. Ryan’s stare is a decidedly fixed one directed out the window, looking anywhere but where Brendon is trying to squeeze his car into the tight spot. It’s the middle of the night and there are still a bunch of cars. The city that never sleeps.
Oh, but we did, Ryan thinks just as Brendon sighs.
“Stop being so weird,” he states in Ryan’s direction.
An automatic, yet unconvincing “I’m not” is the only response Ryan can give him.
Brendon sighs again. “Well, we’re here, and there’s a job to do.”
“I know,” Ryan says, the two words low and monotone.
“Right.” Brendon opens the door and Ryan does his own, and they step out into the night, the cool air feeling good against Ryan’s still warm face.
Then Ryan’s mind is back to what he has been so determined not to think about. He doesn’t know how it had happened, but one thing is for sure. That pillow between them had done no good. Discarded some time in the span of the couple of hours during which they slept, its absence had left Ryan free to- No! He isn’t supposed to think about that.
Except Brendon had felt nice against him, warm and soft and solid. Smelled good, too.
Ryan barely realizes that he’s shaking his head as he follows Brendon into the bar and up the stairs, where Spencer, Pete, and the camera crew are helping set up for Dead Time.
“There you guys are,” Spencer says with a grin as Brendon and Ryan emerge. His smile falters when he looks at the two of them, and Ryan notices right then that his own face is set into a deep frown while Brendon, though not outright scowling - because it’s Brendon after all - is more subdued than anyone working on the show is used to.
Spencer perks up again, and Ryan knows instantly that it’s for show. He has known the guy long enough to tell when he is acting. “Brendon, can you talk to Pete? You know, prepare him for what’s about to happen and everything? Ryan and I need to talk to Jon about some last minute things.”
Brendon just nods and walks over to Pete, who is slumped a little over a table, and the corners of Ryan’s mouth pull further down as he wishes there was a little more bounce in Brendon’s step.
Suddenly, Ryan feels a hand wrap around his arm and grip tightly, and again, for a second, he thinks it could be Gabe’s spirit trying to make contact. But then he sees the Spencer-shaped blur, and he knows that he is about to get lectured. Spencer drags him towards the bar and into the back room behind it where Jon is fiddling with all the high-tech equipment.
“Hey, what’s going-” Jon says, but Spencer interrupts him.
“You did something.”
“Did not,” Ryan says defensively.
Spencer shakes his head. “There is one sad psychic out there, and that can’t be good for anyone. Tell me what you did.”
“I didn’t do anything.”
“Maybe that’s the problem,” Jon pipes up.
Ryan glares at him. “What are you talking about?”
Spencer reaches up with both hands and tugs on his hair, growling a little even. “Ryan, whatever issues you have, you need to get over them. If you hadn’t noticed, Brendon likes you, too.”
“I don’t-” Ryan starts.
“Save it. No one believes that, except maybe Brendon. Even Pete picked up on it. I don’t know why you’re always trying to deny it, but you’re this close to drawing little hearts and writing ‘B + R 4EVA’ all over that stupid notepad of yours. “ Ryan rolls his eyes at that comment. Is not. “Figure it out,” Spencer continues. “Make a move. Do something besides ignoring it.”
Ryan can’t quite meet anyone’s eyes, deciding to glower at Jon’s left shoulder instead of at either of them. “It’s almost three. We have a show to film,” he says quietly, taking the coward’s way out.
Spencer sighs. “You’re unbelievable. Fine,” he says and walks out.
Ryan is about to follow when he feels Jon grab his shoulder, stopping him. “If it helps,” Jon says calmly, “I think that if anyone can help you cast out whatever is haunting you, it would be someone like Brendon.”
Jon gives Ryan’s shoulder one last squeeze before taking back his post at the computers and equipment, as if he had not just shaken Ryan to the core.
Haunting him?
Sure, they had talked on the show at great length about the hauntings and supernatural experiences he had as a kid. One summer, he lived at his aunt’s house, right after his mom split. It was an old house, one that had belonged to his uncle’s family for generations. On a sunny Saturday afternoon during his first weeks at the house, he heard a child playing in one of the rooms upstairs. When he went to investigate, he saw a girl in old-fashioned clothing playing jacks on the floor of one of the unused rooms on the top floor. At one point, she had smiled at him, and Ryan had been delighted to have a new playmate. But when he asked his aunt about it, she had broken down crying, asking why Ryan would bring up other children in the house. He hadn’t known or understood then, but she had suffered a miscarriage just a few months before.
The other being up there on the top floor had not been so pleasant. He had gone searching for the girl again, but a terrible and frightening feeling had come over him when he wandered back into that empty room. It didn’t feel like the girl; it felt like something else, something very real, malicious and ancient. Even Ryan knew that whatever it was, it had never been human. He couldn’t shake the feeling that it was going to hurt everyone in the house, including his new ghost friend.
When he expressed his fears to his uncle, he was yelled at for making up stories and trying to upset his aunt. For the rest of the time in that house, he never spoke of what was there, but lived in fear of that hateful energy he had come across. And as Ryan grew older, he had become convinced that whatever that being was remembers him and tracks him down from time to time, for what reason Ryan does not know.
What he does know is that ever since then, he has been trying to find the Truth. Of what is out there, why he is being haunted, what he can do to make it leave him alone. That is why Paranormal Activity Detectives exists. That is why they help people haunted like he was. Is. To figure out how to help himself, he has to help others like him.
Everyone knows about what had happened. There have been several episodes focusing on Ryan’s “demon”. But no one really knows just how it affects him. Ryan keeps that locked up; that is not meant for the cameras.
Ryan’s mind believes that no one, not even - no, especially not - Brendon can help him. After all, nothing has yet. But at Jon’s simple sentence, Ryan’s heart had told him it believes otherwise.
Next Part