Revised Chapter 4

CHAPTER FOUR

"You doing okay?"

Finn waved one hand without looking up. It had been nearly two months since he'd been released from the hospital. And he was already sick of the questions. What had happened? How did it feel to get shot? Did they let him keep the bullet?

"Take a break if you need one." The other guys had been really nice about everything, but being singled out on the small crew as in need of coddling was getting irksome.

Finn finally looked up, managing a small smile at the two other guys on the crew. Both were older than he, and while friendly not what he would call friends. Still, they'd been kind, if curious. He nodded in acknowledgement, trying to let go of his irritation. His temper was riding close to the surface these days. It wasn't even the never ending questions from schoolmates, co-workers and the like, or even his foster parents. It wasn't even that he'd heard Sousa had a prom date, and it wasn't him. Not unexpected, still hurtful though.

It was Justin. Ah hell, it was always Justin.

Finn let his smile fade as he went back to painting the fence, feeling kind of like Tom Sawyer. White paint. Always white. Apparently the historical society would go nuts if it was one shade toward beige. Something about keeping everything authentic. He seriously thought some of the folks out here would have a stroke at the thought of Rose Wall Manor being anything less than perfect. It didn't really bother him too much though. He was paid the same, no matter what color they were given to use.

His mind slipped away from the paint color as he considered the source of his bad temper lately. Since he'd been released from the hospital, things had been going well. The school and all his teachers were helping him catch up quickly. Even the police were letting him be, having come to the decision that Finn had acted in self-defense and whatever burns the man had on his throat had to have been there before the robbery. Drug related, most likely. Even the camera thing was dismissed as a fluke, which was good since Finn knew for a fact he'd never touched them. Who would have guessed Deann and Roger would even be supportive in their own way? Finn's favorite meals and a shopping trip for new clothes, he'd also been allowed to order something off the menu which cost more than a dollar, for once.

That was all good. The problem? The problem was Justin.

Justin was acting ....nice. Supportive and considerate in public and even in private. Charming and helpful, going out of his way to make sure his older brother was comfortable. And it was this perfect behavior that was currently putting Finn on edge.

Not because he didn't recognize that Justin was up to something. This was his 'planning' stage. No, the problem was really because Finn wanted to believe that this time, Justin meant it.

Finn knew beyond any doubt that Justin had a lot of trouble forming attachments. And he was certainly manipulative and sneaky. But he was also highly charming and a lot of fun when he wanted to be. Knowing his brother like he did, Finn knew he needed to be on alert, and in a way he really was watching closely. Even so, he could almost feel a tangible need to believe that this time it was real.

But last night Roger had been fuming that 'someone' had taken his can of lighter fluid he kept for the ancient family barbecue. And there was Justin, sticking up for Finn, telling the Jones that he was sure his older brother hadn't taken the flammable liquid.

One look at Justin's calm demeanor and earnest expression, and Finn knew. Justin was planning something. Again. Something with fire. Again. And after the incident with the robber being "burned", Finn didn't need any more focus on fires.

Finn sighed and took a second to stretch his side, feeling the slight ache from fresh scar tissue just below his ribs. He looked at the cheap watch he wore, a gift from 'Santa' at the last Social Services Christmas party. It was almost time to go for the day.

The sixteen year old sighed quietly to himself, his thoughts wandering back to his little brother. With Justin in the planning stages of whatever he was wanting to pull, now would be the time to stop it. Stop him. Finn took a deep breath, smelling the sharp smell of fresh paint. Why in the world couldn't he tell anyone about Justin? Was his mind so messed up that it triggered some kind of psychotic break and made him freeze up, literally? Finn felt miserable just thinking about it all.

School was winding down as anticipation churned up the student body. Spring break was just around the corner. Some kids had grand plans, even at sixteen. Some, like Sousa, were already thinking about the Senior Prom. Finn gritted his teeth at that particular thought. Yeah, they weren't a couple. Yeah, Sousa wasn't serious about anyone. The closest she came to serious, was him. And yet they weren't together. Why? Things were so close between them, so natural. But press her even slightly, and she pulled back.

Finn sighed, then relaxed his jaw as he realized he was painting the fence but to little effect without fresh paint on the brush. He forced himself to focus as he dipped the brush back into the nearly empty can, doing a better job.

Plans. Everyone had them. Even him. Finn's own plans were to avoid whatever trouble Justin was working on and make as much money as possible, doing odd jobs where ever he could. And not think about the school prom. Focus on the bigger picture.

The Plan. The main one.

Yeah, there was a kink in it. One big fourteen-year old kink. But Finn couldn't bring himself to give up on it. Not this close to getting away. Eighteen. Aging out of the system. College assistance if he stayed in state, and possibly even a continuing foster home if he made the grades. There was even a children's home not too far away if he wanted to go to the local community college.

But Finn didn't want that. Oh, college itself didn't bother him. It was the staying part of it that he didn't want. The military seemed a better option. As long as he stayed out of trouble with the law. And a lot of that depended on Justin, since the older brother often ended up getting blamed for whatever the younger had done.

It all circled back to Justin. What in the world was he planning?

"Finn, hey! Over here!"

The sixteen year old looked up, realizing belatedly that he was being called. Finn twitched his head to one side automatically to get the hair out of his eyes. Uh. His boss was calling him over, and he wasn't alone.

Deann waved at him, Justin standing next to her. Finn straightened and put his paint things down carefully before heading over to see what was needed. He didn't hurry. They were about an hour and a half early picking him up. "Sir?"

He was currently working for a landscaping business that also branched out into general maintenance. One that had contracts with several historical sites around the area. In North Carolina, there were quite a few of those. Less so in a mixed rural area like Cypress Quarter, although there were some.

"Finn, your mother thinks it's a bit too much out here for you just yet." The man's voice held no hint of temper, so at least he wasn't mad.

Finn looked at his boss, a big older man who had more wrinkles around his eyes than those funny looking dogs with the scrunched up faces. Came from being outdoors all the time, even with a hat, he supposed. The man nodded at him. "Get a drink of water, clean up, you can cut out early."

He wanted to take the offer. Finn was definitely tired and achy. Still he hesitated. His eyes glanced over at Justin, catching a smug little smile. Finn rolled his neck and shook his head. "I'm good, sir."

Deann handed him a towel. "You look about done in, too pale. You shouldn't be out here like this."

Finn's boss stiffened. "He hasn't complained." The older man didn't like being called out by anyone.

The teenager shrugged at his foster mother. She couldn't help it. Justin had probably put a bug in her ear about this. It wasn't that she wanted Finn to overdo things, but that the idea to pick him up early most likely wasn't originally hers.

The woman looked at her watch, frowning. "I need to do some shopping, and Justin wants to go to the mall. Easier to pick you up now."

Finn nodded. Yeah okay, that made some sense. Not a big plan, but what Justin wants ...Justin wants right now. Not later when Finn was officially off of work. But now.

"I'm fine." The sixteen year old said coolly, turning stubborn as his jaw tightened. Maybe it would be wiser to give in and let Justin feel superior and in control, but deep down inside he balked. Too tired to do the more prudent thing instead.

The older man grunted in approval, then peered closely at Finn with a small frown. "Actually, you do look a bit pale, kid. Take off early, it's fine. We're almost done here."

A sharp whistle caught their attention, all of them turning to look toward the main house. The older man sighed. "I forgot about her." He muttered. He peered over at Finn. "Look, go help Ms. Watson move some boxes for me inside, then you can head out. I won't even cut your pay today."

It was a generous offer from the usually taciturn and tight-fisted man, Finn realized. He knew, the whole crew knew, that the lady from the historical society and their boss never did seem to get along well. She thought he was gruff and uneducated. He thought she was prissy and stuck up. When they talked, it was if each was speaking another language entirely.

Grateful, the teen nodded. "No problem." It got him off work early but without making him look or feel weak. Cool.

"Good lad."

"I'll help." Justin volunteered with a big smile, making Finn stop and stare for a second.

Deann smiled, putting her hand on Justin's shoulder as the younger teen deftly moved out from under her touch. He always made it look casual, accidental. But Finn knew his younger brother was fickle about touching. Sometimes he craved it constantly, and sometimes he hated the very idea.

Finn and Justin didn't talk as they headed over to the old manor house and the waiting Ms. Watson. The older woman may have once been blond by nature, however she now had the help of a high priced salon. Her hair was pulled up in a tight twist that suggested something old-fashioned, but really wasn't. Her pink suit looked costly, and matched her nails and shoes. Why some women had to match just about everything they wore was beyond him.

The boys quietly followed the pink-attired Ms. Watson into Rose Wall Manor. The bottom area was a rustic basement, and held a small room that wasn't 'accurate' per se. One claustrophobic room had been turned into a bare bones office, though it did have a water cooler next to a small desk littered with papers and appointment sheets. It was something of a surprise to see an old-fashioned phone on the desk, with a cord and everything. It seemed out of place somehow.

Rose Wall Manor was a beautiful, if small piece of North Carolina history. No one famous had ever stayed there, or at least no one famous enough to stick in the memory of a sixteen year old. Not like a President or anything. It had once been part of a huge plantation back in the day, but all the farm land had been sold off until there was just the acreage surrounding the immediate manor house. Finn knew that much, having heard some of the volunteers practicing their spiels before events. Currently the house was owned by the local historical association, and it rented out as a pretty spot to hold a wedding or party.

The house held two main stories and a full walk-in basement. But only the servants had ever used the basement area. Finn actually wondered if it really qualified as a true basement, since it wasn't technically underground. If you walked in at ground level, this was what you found. Rough stones and work tools. The higher class people, like guests and family, walked up the wide grand stairways with framed white arches underneath them supporting the steps, right up to some sort of six-paneled doorway framed by pillars. Finn had heard the term 'late Federal' tossed around sometimes, though he'd only been out to the property a handful of times. Less to do landscaping-wise during the winter months and all.

The estate took it's name from a quite literal source, he knew. A wall that encompassed only the land on one side of the house, facing the highway of all things. Imprinted in every third brick was a stylized rose symbol. Finn had no clue why someone would do that, but he figured people with lots of money could spend it in any number of crazy ways. Just look at the houses on MTV.

The teens listened as Ms. Watson quickly outlined what she wanted. He nodded, it sounded simple enough. Ever since Hurricane Floyd had flooded the area back over ten years ago, the entire county had twitchy nerves when it came to heavy rains. With the rain-soaked storms of last week, it seemed like some eager volunteers had moved the boxed Christmas decorations up from the basement storage area upstairs to what had been the main family nursery back in the day. Just in case.

Now it was time to restore the boxes back to storage until needed. Apparently the holiday decorations were quite costly, being historically accurate and all. So the boys needed to be 'extra careful'. Especially since the society had scheduled tours coming up, and it wouldn't do to see carefully labeled modern boxes in the antique nursery. They didn't match with the hand-carved cradle and rocking chair.

Finn and Justin both headed up one of the steep twin staircases, stopping at the top. With a sigh he realized that he wasn't sure which room was the nursery. He'd not ever taken the tour himself, just mostly worked the grounds. And he'd only had the job about a month before the incident in the convenience store.

"That one?" Justin pointed randomly at a door and walked into the room without waiting for his brother to respond.

Nervous, Finn peeked in after him. He made a face as he saw that Justin had ignored the red rope markers meant to keep out the tourists. He was on the other side of the room picking up what looked like valuable antique stuff. Porcelain boxes and something that looked like a silver hand mirror, with Justin admiring his own reflection. The fourteen year old looked out of place standing on the expensive looking rug in his black high top shoes and jeans. Yet at the same time, he also looked strangely at home surrounded by the trappings of someone wealthy. Maybe it was his attitude that the world belonged to him in some way, because it certainly didn't come from any actual experience being rich.

"What would you give me not to break this?" The fourteen year old didn't even look at his brother as he spoke, his voice quiet and without inflection.

Finn's nerves settled even as he felt disappointed, let down somehow. "Nothing." He said dully. So much for his younger brother's acting perfect routine. He'd known it couldn't last, but it was still disappointing somehow.

Justin finally looked up, smiling. Finn searched his younger brother's expression but saw no obvious tension. He doubted that this was the baby sociopath's big plan, more a moment of opportunity to play with him. "Could cost you your job." Justin said, one eyebrow going up in taunting expression.

"There are other jobs. Come on, I thought you wanted to get to the mall. Looking for something in particular, or someone?" He put out the snare in an effort to distract the fourteen year old. It was a guess, but an educated one. There was always something Justin wanted, or someone he wanted to draw into his personal space.

"Missy Tolliver."

Finn snorted lightly, surprised that Justin had actually offered an answer. "She's my age. With a car." An expensive car at that. Which was probably the attraction since Missy was rather mousy actually.

Justin smiled lightly, as if knowing that his brother was trying to distract him but that he'd allow it, this time. The younger teen shrugged and put down the box and mirror. "I was just playing."

Yeah. Finn knew that part already. Unfortunately it wasn't a game anyone else enjoyed. Best offense with Justin was distraction, even if he knew you were trying it usually worked, except when there was something specific his brother wanted. "Think you could sleep in something like that?" He jerked his head toward the bed.

Justin made a face at the rather stark looking four-poster and Finn nodded in agreement. The bed appeared hard and uncomfortable, and really small for something that looked like it was crafted for two people. Hardly enough room to roll over. Weren't these things meant to be romantic or whatever? The spread looked home-made and as antique as the furniture. Give him a fluffy modern blanket any day over this crap.

"Not a chance." Justin sneered and left the room behind as they went back out into the hallway. Finn pointed at another door further down, but his brother ignored him, going directly across the hall to what was probably another main bedroom.

Yeah. The second room held a similar bed, but this one had a sheer canopy with some sort of embroidery crap all over it. Fussy looking stuff. And there were dolls on the bed that looked hand sewn, and even a tad creepy with their stitched on expressions.

"Can't believe they say this place is haunted, who would want to stay here? Ghosts must be desperate to haunt this place." Justin sneered, throwing out his arms and turning in a slow circle in the middle of the room. Again he ignored the red-rope markers meant to keep people back.

Finn was about to comment when he thought he saw someone else in the room and he visibly jumped. His heartbeat revved up as he caught his breath, holding onto the extra air as if he might need it. Fight or flight. His hands fisted for only a second even as his mind registered the lack of a threat and the moment passed. He let out his held breath with a rough chuckle, his heart rate slowing.

It was a full length oval mirror in a wooden stand reflecting a dress form, an old-fashioned piece like one of those sewing things one of his former foster mother's had used in her living room. Ladies put dresses and skirts and stuff on them so they could be hemmed. This one held a full length ivory lace dress that looked like the decorations on a fancy cupcake or something. The layers of lace must have moved and startled him. Except they weren't moving now. Finn looked around, but saw no windows open and nothing moving around. No breeze or draft that he could feel.

"What?" Justin asked, looking around the room again. The younger teen sniffed the air, "do you smell a candle or something?"

"Thought I saw something." Finn muttered, chalking it up to being in an empty house and a trick of the mirror. Stress too. Thinking about Justin's plans could do that to a guy. Not to mention Justin's actual presence. He just wanted so much to be gone from here. Not just the house, but the town too. He sniffed too, but could only smell something lightly singed. Finn grunted. "Probably the heating system burning off dust."

Justin made a small face at him, more of a 'are you stupid' look than anything else. "That would be at the beginning of winter, not spring."

"I don't know, I just saw ..." Finn turned to look back at the mirror, and sucked in a harsh breath. Holding it until his lungs began to ache. Fight or flight seized up on him as the impossible superseded his senses. Finn forced himself to blink, to clear his vision. It didn't work.

Seeing his brother's expression, Justin turned to stare in the same direction. "What?" He demanded, looking confused. "What's wrong?"

A woman. Changing her clothes. Palid, gray, and almost not real looking. She was pulling off a work shirt that looked like it had been made to fit a larger male. As Finn stared, the image became clearer and his ears started to ring.

"There's nothing there." Whined the fourteen year old, sounding as if he were at the end of the hallway and not stepping up next to him. Finn could feel Justin's presence beside him, despite his senses telling him that his brother was much farther away.

Finn wanted to agree, only ...he could see her. Gray layers again. Some with fields, some with shadowy movements. His eyes focused sharply on the image of the lone woman. As her image became clearer, the other layers seemed to become more ethereal, fading out slowly. The woman brushed something off of her sleeve cuff, and he could start to see some details. Like the fact that the shirt had several patches, though the sewing around the repairs were even and neat.

More details began to register with him. Like that the strange woman was older than he, older than Deann it looked like. Not terribly pretty, but not ugly either. She looked like she worked hard, with a body that wouldn't be out of place in one of today's gyms. Weren't woman from the past supposed to be all soft and stuff? His hair slid down to hide one dark eye as he watched, but he was afraid to push it out of his face. As if moving might make the vision disappear somehow.

Distantly, in a small corner of his brain not glued to the sight before him, Finn realized that the woman didn't look like she belonged in the manor's bedroom. The clothing didn't fit with the surroundings. Most likely a servant, probably anyway. Her shirt looked well worn and she was wearing trousers with a weird front panel that had buttons on both sides of her hips. That didn't look historically accurate, but then, what did he know?

Still, it didn't fit in with the sheer canopy over the bed or the lacy dress. Or the portraits. Tearing his gaze from the woman before him, his dark eyes slid around the room as far as they could without him moving his head. There were several paintings hanging from the walls. Not mounted like normal, but hanging from extra long ribbons from some sort of picture rail beneath the molding. These portraits were all men except for one, and the woman was wearing a white bonnet thingy. All were posed so stiffly that you couldn't get a read on them or who they were, only that they obviously felt they were important.

Late Federal. The words echoed in his brain as his eyes flicked over to a wigged man's portrait sitting on a wooden easel. Finding no inspiration, Finn's eyes went back to the mirror, half hoping that the image would be gone and the mirror would be reflecting properly. It was standing right behind the dress form with the lacy frock. But what he was seeing was completely different. No dress, no lace, and no woman wearing a white cap of any kind. Just a lady wearing trousers, undressing.

Ghost.

It had to be a ghost. Finn nodded slowly to himself as he swallowed, finding it harder than he'd thought. She was gray after all, mostly indistinct, a bit wispy perhaps? Some servant girl having an affair in the family quarters? Had she been caught? Killed? Was her spirit doomed to stay in this one room forever, always changing her clothing?

He'd begun to think it was a possessed mirror, like you might see in a horror film. Finn had even had a wild thought about how to smash it up without anyone finding out about it. Then the woman moved across the room to drop some small items on a nearby table.

She was no longer reflected in the mirror. She was moving around the room. And the table? Rough planks, not something that the historical society would have placed in prissy Rose Wall Manor. It looked as gray as she did.

Suddenly Justin pushed on his shoulder, hard. Finn flinched back, his eyes wide.

The fourteen year old looked angry and puzzled as he stared up into Finn's face. "What?" He asked, not as loudly this time, looking like he was gritting his teeth a bit. "You look like you're about to pass out. Whatever you're doing, cut it out."

"You don't see it?" The sixteen year old asked, his voice hoarse.

Justin gave an almost-shudder and took a deep breath, as if he wasn't entirely comfortable. But Finn didn't say anything. The younger boy narrowed his eyes and sharply turned to stand behind his brother. Being shorter, he had to look around Finn, but he should be looking right at the ghost lady.

"Nothing." Justin shoved Finn in the back, but not with enough force to actually move his brother. "Bad joke, come on."

Only Finn didn't move. The ghost woman had now pulled off her shirt completely, and Finn was a bit disappointed to see she was wearing some sort of wrap thingy around her chest. Immediately he felt bad for spying on her, even if she was just a ghost. Did the dead even care about privacy?

"Yeah, we need to go." Finn muttered, though he couldn't seem to tear himself away to actually move. He managed a half-turn with his shoulders, though his feet didn't budge. And the woman didn't disappear. She remained there, sitting on some ghost-chair and pulling off a pair of boots that came up high on her calves. No longer looking at the mirror, he could see her a bit better. In fact, the harder he stared, more of the manor room itself started to turn gray and lose color. He could now tell that the woman was a brunette, but her hair was washed out in some places. Sun bleached, or maybe gray hair creeping in? It was braided and pinned back in a severe style Finn had never seen before. From the front it looked like she had really short hair, but it was really cinched back into these small tight braids wrapped up at the nape of her neck. It looked almost military in it's precision and severity, not fitting with a softer woman from the Late Federal period. Probably.

"Finn?" Justin's voice again, only this time it didn't sound right. Not his usual confident tone. "Finn, what did you just do?" The younger boy's voice rose with something that sounded like trepidation, which wasn't his norm.

His baby brother must be seeing the ghost now too. Finn grunted as Justin caught the back of his shirt, clinging there. Fear from his little brother was an oddity in itself. Usually the fourteen year old was something of a daredevil, nothing much ever phased him. Finn had read somewhere that this was a trait of most sociopaths, along with risk-taking behaviors.

So fear? Actual fear from Justin was new.

But as freaky as all this was, it was nothing compared to any of the slasher flicks out of Hollywood. Finn looked around and could still make out the greens and pinks of the Late Federal wallpaper from the room in Rose Wall Manor, but not nearly as brightly as he remembered when he'd first entered the room. Now it was the manor room that was starting to wash out and look gray. Freaky, but no dripping blood or gore.

"FINN!" Justin sounded freaked, which perversely made the older brother smile wanly.

Finn slowly turned in a circle, finding more and more of the room he'd been standing in turning gray in color. And changing. Justin turned with him, holding onto his shirt with both hands now, fisted. As Finn watched, the walls seemed to become transparent as other walls came into fuzzy focus. As if this spot existed in more than two different rooms, or they in it. Finn frowned thoughtfully. None of this made any sense, and if Justin hadn't been witness to it too then Finn might have thought himself nuts.

"Do you think she belongs here? Died here?" Finn asked as he turned back to look at his ghost. "Was another house built here before the late Federal? Is Early Federal a thing? Or what about Colonial? Where does that fall on the architecture list?"

"FINN! Stop it! This isn't funny!" Sounding shaky, Justin's fists banged against his older brother's back, although without leverage since he didn't let go of Finn's shirt first.

The sixteen year old frowned. "It's just a ghost. She can't hurt us." He hoped so anyway. He would have thought an adventure like this would be right up the fourteen year-old's alley, not something that would frighten.

"I can't see anything!" Justin whimpered behind him, actually letting go to wrap his arms around his brother from behind. Surprised, Finn stilled. He could feel his younger brother trembling against him. The kid was really scared. Pressed tightly against his back, he could almost feel Justin's heart racing.

Finn looked over at his ghost woman and shook his head. "I don't know how to make it stop." He hissed at his brother, his hands going to Justin's since they were locked around his chest. "Go away." His voice firmed as he stared at the lady ghost. She didn't seem to know they were there. Until a weak voice broke through, sounding like it had been a struggle for the sound to pierce through the filmy gray layers.

"Mr. Michaelson?"

For a second Finn about panicked, his mouth dropping open to scream. Then he realized that the ghost's own mouth hadn't moved. He bit his lip hard enough to leave teeth indentations for a moment before realization struck. It was the lady from the historical society calling him! The one in the silly pink suit, Ms. Watson. Probably waiting for her Christmas decorations. But she sounded like she was far away, too far away.

"In here!" He called automatically, then stared. His ghost lady had looked up. She couldn't actually hear him, could she? The ghost glanced around casually, then looked back down to finish pulling off her boots and thick socks. Was she hearing something from the past? Maybe whomever was coming to kill her. Damn. Was he going to witness her murder and the reason she still haunted this place?

Finn felt more than a little strange, watching the scene. Antsy and unsure, it jangled his nerves to watch the woman casually undress. Especially with something unseen and obviously unexpected waited to take her life and leave her a weak image to haunt an out-of-the-way site like this house.

The woman was hanging up her shirt, worn and patched as it was, on large wooden pegs attached to the wall. A wall that was in the wrong place. Finn's eyes scanned the area, seeing some problems with the room dimensions when his brain went off the track as the woman reached for a pot of some sort of cream. It seemed both enticing and yet wrong somehow, and yet he didn't look away as the ghost began rubbing the cream onto her arm. The scar on her limb barely registered on his adolescent brain, even as part of him immediately cataloged what she was doing. Deann had a cream for him to put on his side after the skin healed sufficiently, to lessen scar tissue.

Feeling odd that he shared something with his ghost lady, Finn managed to drop his gaze for a moment, studying her boots. He frowned. Her feet weren't actually touching the floorboards. Just like the walls, the floor was in the wrong place. In fact ghost woman and the chair were about three inches above the wooden floors and its rugs, not floating though. Not flying or floating or anything, it was as if the floor in the gray-tinged past was just a few feet above the current floor. The rugs Finn knew to be under his cheap sneakers weren't there anymore either. They were under her booted feet, but instead of expensive weaves they looked plain and soft, even torn and mended in a few places. And they weren't where they were supposed to be.

"Make it stop." Justin sounded pitiful, tugging at things deep inside him that Finn hadn't even known existed. Compassion and a softer concern for his brother were foreign feelings.

"I don't know how." Finn admitted roughly. "But I don't think she's going to hurt us." He tried to reassure.

"Mr. Michaelson? Finn?" Again, the lady from the historical society called out. She didn't sound any closer than she had the last time, probably downstairs.

"We're in here!" The teen repeated, louder this time. His eyes went wide as this time the ghost woman really did look around as if she could almost hear him. Her face looked clearer to him, less indistinct and gauzy. Strong chin with a sharp nose, eyes alert and moving around the room. She looked at ease and alert, although not alarmed. Not like prey, more of a predator. It made Finn wonder about her death, who had tangled with this woman? She was no weak bunny of a servant, not with that attitude of strength she seemed to personify by her carriage.

Finn cautiously waved a hand at her, but the ghost didn't react. He took a small step forward, making Justin's arms tighten around him in protest. He stopped and took a closer look around the room, not his room in the historical building, but the one where the ghost appeared to live. And they weren't the same room! The dimensions were different, not just the furnishings. His ghost didn't live at Rose Wall Manor. Live. Huh. Finn smiled at his own foolishness, because ghosts couldn't 'live' anywhere. They were dead. It was a sort-of fundamental truth, to be a ghost you couldn't be alive.

The ghost room looked far more simple than his ghost woman. Simple and clean, sparse of more than some pegs on the wall, rough work table, benches and a small, round red and green shield on the wall. This was Late Federal right? So shouldn't the shield have like red, white and blue? There were three stars and a sliver of a moon, but they were green with white edging. Not very patriotic.

Nervously Finn held up one hand and waved at her again, bigger than before. Meant to be attention getting.

No reaction.

Of course there was no reaction. She was a ghost. Responding earlier toward someone speaking to her from the past, not to him. The distant past, and definitely not to him. Except ...he kept remembering the bird in the hospital room. That large predatory bird had not been a ghost. Uneasily he shifted his weight, drawing a whimper of protest from Justin who was still clinging to him as if he were the only thing around.

"Where have you gone, Mr. Michaelson?" Ms. Watson actually entered the bedroom and looked right at them. Only she still sounded like she was downstairs or at the end of a lengthy hallway instead of right next to them. And she looked ...decidedly gray and out of almost out of focus.

Finn blushed, wondering at the strange sight they were showing. Here he was with a nearly undressed ghost girl, and his brother wrapped around him like a living blanket. "I got turned around." He offered weakly. "I ...er, have you ever seen ...I mean ...you can see her, right?"

But the historical site woman didn't appear to hear him. Worse, it didn't look like she could see the ghost woman. Or him. She glanced around the room without registering any of them and headed back out into the hallway, calling out his name again.

Stunned, Finn stared at the vacated doorway. "Huh?"

Ms. Watson hadn't seen him or Justin at all. Standing in the doorway looking right at him, she had not been able to see either of them. Finn waved his hand in front of his face. It looked perfectly normal to him. Not even gray in color. His hand, looked like his hand.

He turned his head to look more closely at his ghost lady, only to find she'd undone the buttons on the front of her hips. Her hands were poised to push them down and Finn flinched, spinning away and feeling like he was doing something really wrong by watching her in the first place.

Justin cried out at the sudden movement, stumbling. Finn stopped and caught his brother, the younger teen's hands scrambling until they wrapped securely around him one more time.

"Justin? It's just a ghost." He hoped. "She can't hurt us." He hoped.

"G...ghost?" The younger brother stammered. "All I can see is black. Nothing. It's gone. The world just vanished. I can feel you're here, but I damned well can't see you! Do something!"

Finn's stomach turned over. Justin couldn't see anything? Nothing? He turned his head and stared at the ghost woman one more time, relieved that she still had her pants on. But now she was staring ....at them.

Finn's mouth dropped open as he saw every detail in the woman's room. The wooden planks forming the walls, the finely carved chair that looked sturdy and heavy. Pegs along the wall holding up articles of work clothing. Mud on her boots that she'd just removed. He could even smell something very outdoorsy, musky. Farm-like.

Justin raised his head, his eyes going wide with shock. His hold on his older brother tightened almost painfully around his still sore midsection, making it hard to draw a full breath.

Finn could now barely make out the Late Federal room they'd just been standing in not a minute before. The four-poster canopied bed looked gray and very indistinct.

The ghost could definitely see them now. And she didn't look happy about it at all. The woman reached for something on a table next to her chair. A gun? Maybe. Her jawline tightened angrily and Finn's eyes ran from her chin, down her arm, to her wrist and then to the weapon. She said one word that he couldn't make out and raised her hand. If it was a gun, it wasn't like any he'd ever seen in any movie, not even sci-fi. Handle, straight barrel with a narrow opening. Two small arcs coming from the sides, making it look a little like a cross bow, but no strings. There were charms though, small and swinging from either arc. The ghost frowned and the outermost charms on either side of the barrel began to glow slightly. In under two months Finn was once more looking down the barrel of a weapon.

"Cool!" Justin whispered. "But duck!"

Panicky, Finn caught his breath and flung himself backwards out of pure instinct just as the barrel of the weapon began to glow a sick green color, right in front of his face. Scrambling back, Finn's feet could find no purchase after the initial push-off. With Justin still holding on to him, the two over-balanced and fell with a thick thud onto the floor. From about three feet off the floor.

Finn's hands clenched on top of the historic rug, feeling the rough weave with great relief. He looked wildly around, but the ghost woman and the ghost room were gone. Vanished completely.

"There you are!"

Shaking, Finn looked carefully around himself. He was definitely lying on the rug in the room. The right room. The bedroom, from Rose Wall Manor, the one with the dress form and the canopied four-poster bed. Ms. Watson from the historical society stood over them, frowning down at both brothers and looking perturbed.

Finn couldn't help it, his eyes went to the standing mirror, and started breathing again when all it reflected was that silly lace dress.

"These rooms are not meant for professional wrestling, boys." The pink-suit attired woman twisted her mouth sourly.

Justin actually recovered first, rolling and moving smoothly to his feet. As frightened as he'd been before, you'd never know it by looking at him now. He was the picture of charming innocence.

"That rug is an actual period piece." Ms. Watson made come-hither motions with her hands, looking quite cross. "And your mother is downstairs waiting for you both."

"Foster mother." Justin corrected in a soft voice as he approached the woman looking open and sweet. He excelled at that look. Finn admitted that having his little brother soothe the historical society lady was a good thing. Because right now, he was having trouble with the basics beyond breathing.

Finn climbed slowly to his feet, a bit unsteady and feeling his whole body aching. His hand went to his recently healed side and he winced. His dark eyes looked around the room, but no strange woman popped back into existence. No ghost. Nothing. Finn put one hand on the historical vanity next to him, blinking rapidly. He'd never felt so completely drained of energy in his life.

"It was all my fault." Justin's words pulled Finn out of his stupor, he finally turned and watched the younger boy at work. He took one step forward and when the world didn't spin or turn gray, he took another step.

The fourteen year old smiled shyly at Ms. Watson. "I didn't realize and went in the wrong room, my brother was only trying to get me to leave. But I've never been in here before and it's so fascinating. I'm so sorry."

The straight forward look from Justin's blue eyes, the sincere smile and shouldering of the blame was all it took. Ms. Watson's sour expression smoothed out and she actually smiled back at the youngster. "It doesn't look like you did any damage in here, and it really is a fascinating place."

Justin shook his head and smiled sheepishly. "I just wanted to look at that dress close up. Was that lace hand made? It's hard to imagine wearing that around here, especially in the summer. It looks perfect. Is there a picture of anyone wearing it in the house?"

Ms. Watson's smile grew bigger as she straightened the pink suit jacket she was wearing. "So many intelligent questions! Yes and no dear. The dress is not authentic to the house. But I was so pleased to have found it in an estate auction a few years ago. It is from the right period, and hand crafted. Alas, this much lace on a single gown is probably machine made. The bobbin net machine in the later part of the 1700's changed fashion forever, let me tell you! Fascinating subject, of course. I had to pull a few strings to get it added to the room. We had a little historical battle about it." The woman actually giggled.

"I think you did good." Justin said smoothly, with no sign of his expression showing that he probably didn't care one whit about anything she'd just told him.

"Well, dear. Did well." Ms. Watson fussily corrected the younger teen's grammar as Finn rolled his eyes behind her back. "Did you know that the wallpaper in here is an exact replica of what was originally in the house? Now that took a lot of time and the effort of several experts."

"Ma'am?" Justin looked up at the woman earnestly. "Have you ever seen a ghost out here?"

Ms. Watson chuckled and shook her head. "The house does have a certain haunted reputation, but ... no. Just a hint of movement from the corner of my eye. Things moved mysteriously, that sort of nonsense. Doors found open that people swore had been locked but moments ago. Once a volunteer swears she saw a rocking chair moving on it's own. Most likely nothing and all with reasonable explanations. Though there have been reports of a lady in white, of course."

"Lady in white?" Finn echoed, still feeling odd as he followed behind the duo. He slitted his eyes against the bright sunlight pouring in through the sheers covering the windows. He had a huge headache all of a sudden.

The historical society matron smiled and patted Justin's shoulder. He didn't pull away from her, Finn noticed. "Don't you know? Where ever there are ghost stories? There's always a lady in white."

Finn nodded absently. He certainly hadn't seen a lady dressed in white. Was gray close enough? Unless you counted her shirt, that had been white, hadn't it? And he'd never heard a ghost story where the dead were armed.

A mental image burned into his brain had him wondering. The woman reaching for the weapon. Had it really been a gun of some kind, or a cross bow? Neither seemed right. Finn could still see it in his memory like a picture. But what about those strange symbols hanging from the weapon? Had they really glowed, or was his imagination running away from him? Did the people of the Late Federal period have pistols like that? Which all seemed ...wrong.

"Finn?"

The teen looked up, seeing both Justin and Ms. Watson waiting for him at the door to the hallway.

"Coming." He faked a smile and hurried after them. His head turned toward Justin as he passed his brother. The younger teen's blue eyes bored into his own gaze. Questions. And something more, something darker. Finn sighed. He'd seen and heard Justin vulnerable and weak. Not something the younger boy would take lightly. He could pretty much count on retribution.

Too exhausted to think about it, Finn shrugged, wincing at the beating on the inside of his skull. He wasn't sure of any of the answers himself. Wondering about Justin's reactions versus what had happened to them today? The first one was one he understood far better.

"We'll call this one the Discovery Channel." Justin said with a wide smile as he followed Ms. Watson down to the nursery.

Finn frowned and sighed. "I know for sure that one's taken."

Justin's smile grew. "Oh, but they are using the title wrong. They only show us things everyone has already discovered."

So many things wrong with that statement, but Finn's head hurt far too much to argue. So he let his little brother have the last word even as his mind tumbled over and over the events they'd just been through.