Free Ghost Town by Jason Hawes Page B

he had given her one of those smiles—the warm, self-deprecating kind that always made a warm flush come over her—and said, “Besides, what’s wrong with going outside your comfort zone once in a while?”
    She had acted stern and disapproving, but she had granted his leave request. How could she not? He was a model employee, beloved by both patients and staff. All she would have gained by turning him down was to make herself look like even more of a coldhearted bitch than people already thought her to be.
    As she entered the “Most Haunted Town in America,” she drove slowly so she could look around and get a feel for the place. Smalltown Americana, for the most part, with a quaint old-fashionedbusiness district downtown. It might have been a nice place to spend an afternoon antiquing, if it hadn’t been for two things: the childish names of many of the businesses—such as Diner of the Living Dead and Howl at the Moon Saloon—and the throng of fools walking the streets decked out in Halloween costumes. To make it worse, most of them seemed to be adults, at least biologically speaking. Psychologically was a different matter.
    She had anticipated this, of course. A quick Internet search the day before had brought her to the town’s Web site, and she had read up on its history and its current tourist trade. But she’d had no idea it would be this cheesy. More than that, the town seemed tasteless and ghoulish to her. According to the Web site, Exeter was located on the banks of the Mossapeak River, and in the early twentieth century, there was a devastating flood. Hundreds of people were killed, and most of the townsfolk who survived moved away soon after. Some remained to rebuild, and while it was a slow process, Exeter was eventually reborn. An inspiring enough story, she supposed—the phoenix rising from the ashes and all that. But as the years passed, residents began reporting incidents of ghostly visitations and the like. Ridiculous, of course, and undoubtedly tied to repressed feelings about rebuilding the town on the site of what was, symbolically at least, a mass grave. But to turn around and use the tragedy of the flood as a marketing ploy to bring in tourist dollars was nothing short of reprehensible. In all her years as a practicing psychologist, she had run across worse examples of human callousness but not many.
    Satisfied that she had seen enough, she ended her little tour and headed for the hotel where Esotericon—and wasn’t that a toocutesy name?—was to be held. She had programmed the location into her car’s GPS, and she reached the hotel without any problem. Once there, she parked, turned off the engine, and then sat, unsure what to do next.
    When she had set out way too early that morning, she had toldherself she was going there to check on an employee who was making a very questionable career move. After all, as Drew’s supervisor, it was her job to make sure he maintained the highest professional standards in his work. Admittedly, driving all the way from Chicago on a Saturday was a bit above and beyond, but then, she had always been something of an overachiever. And she had been concerned about Drew lately. Over the last couple of months, his behavior had changed, although in some ways for the better. He had always been personable and caring, but only up to a point. It was more than just maintaining professional distance. It was as if he hadn’t been able to bring himself to get too close to people. But that wall had come down, and he had begun interacting more with his colleagues at work, forging deeper relationships with them. With everyone but her, it seemed.
    But there had been some distressing changes, too. He was willing to explore what he called “alternative explanations” for his patients’ problems. He hadn’t gone all woo-woo New Age on her, but he was definitely more broad-minded than he had