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As they made their way through the eerily quiet corridor, the hushed glow from oil lamps cast an amber hue, Ariel and John stepped into the grand foyer. Without a word needed between them, John began to erect the stand while Ariel commenced with the temperature readings.
"Jasper's captured an angle of the entryway; he'd appreciate one of this area too," observed John as he methodically placed the camera on its tripod. Ariel glanced up from her chart, where she had just jotted down 68.3 degrees...
"Understood," she responded, approaching the clergyman.
"What do you think about this viewpoint?" he inquired, fine-tuning the tripod's position. A soft smile played on Ariel's lips as she signaled her approval with a thumbs-up.
"Perfect!"
Reflecting her smile, John inquired,
"Got those readings?"
"Yes," Ariel affirmed, her gaze sweeping over the chart once more with a contemplative air.
"Alright, let's gather the next camera then."
Suddenly, a flicker of movement caught Ariel's peripheral vision—a fleeting shadow. Rooted to the spot for an instant, she pivoted towards its source.
"Ariel...?" John's voice trailed in his wake when he noted her absence behind him. Ariel blinked and dismissed it as her imagination; the space was devoid of anyone else. Forcing brightness into her voice, she caught up to John,
"Just my mind playing tricks on me," she said cheerily. His eyes—a soft hue of blue—studied her for a moment before he nodded and they continued onwards.
Back at headquarters, Ariel assisted by shouldering a camera herself. With directions to deploy more cameras throughout various chambers and corridors, they ventured forth.
Securing the main door behind them, Ariel recorded a new entry: 70.1 degrees on her ledger. The afternoon had seen them arrange several cameras already—and now only a few remained.
"What's our next target?" inquired John after setting up another surveillance device in the corridor.
"The dressing room...at last," Ariel expressed with relief—they had dealt with four consecutive corridor cameras prior.
Perusing her chart once again—temperatures were consistent across all hallways—they quickly navigated towards the theater's dressing rooms located on its far side. As they passed through unfamiliar passageways and doorways, it struck Ariel how truly expansive this theater was; Jasper hadn't exaggerated. Recollections of something Leroy mentioned floated back to her:
Secret chambers, hidden doors, and optical illusions are common in venues like these...
A lump formed in Ariel's throat as she threw cautious glances around—nothing seemed remotely recognizable.
That Jasper! How could he not provide us with a map of this place?!
"We must be close to our destination now, right?" John broke his silence for the first time in what felt like an eternity.
Ariel offered a shaky smile in response,
"Um- yes, I believe so..."
"And here's hoping we haven't strayed off the path..." joked the priest in a teasing tone.
Ariel felt a lump in her throat, and her attempt at laughter emerged as a high-pitched squeak. At that moment, they heard muffled voices. As they rounded a corner, a door with the sign "Dressing Rooms" painted in bold letters appeared. Ariel and John shared a glance of relief and pushed the door open.
As it turned out, the dressing rooms were just behind the stage area. The voices they had caught earlier emerged from actors deep in rehearsal. Ariel's eyes widened as she took in the scene behind the curtain – something she'd always been curious about. A huddle of performers paused their script run-through to glance at the newcomers.
With warm grins, Ariel and John were met with subtle nods before everyone returned to their tasks. Ariel stayed close to John as they navigated past leaning stage sets, dormant lighting rigs, and wardrobes filled with costumes. Her eyes darted across the stage, absorbing every detail from the overstated drapes to a line of doors they approached. Each door boasted a star and an actor’s name; around ten spanned before them.
"I can’t seem to find Mr. Warner's dressing room," noted Ariel scanning each nameplate. John's brow furrowed in contemplation,
"That’s true but also Shiloh's is missing."
Ariel blinked surprisedly and turned to the priest,
"Oh! That hadn’t crossed my mind... why would that be?" she pondered aloud. John could only offer an equally baffled shrug.
Suddenly, a nearby door swung open startling both detectives. Leroy stepped out into the dim backstage light dressed in his monastic attire.
"Leroy!" gasped Ariel, holding her hand over her pounding heart, "You nearly gave me a heart attack!"
Leroy acknowledged John with a nod and shot Ariel an apologetic look,
"My apologies—not intentional on my part for your heightened state."
With folded arms and narrowed eyes, Ariel confronted him,
"And what brings you here still? I presumed your duties today had ended," she questioned.
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An annoyed wrinkle formed on Leroy's brow,
"Is that your thought? Attempt conducting ten exorcisms back-to-back," he retorted gruffly.
Ariel studied Leroy - indeed he appeared exhausted...
"Are you wrapping up soon?" inquired John, his voice tinged with curiosity and a hint of urgency to defuse any potential discord.
With a nod, Leroy responded,
"Only a few more areas to cover."
"That's fantastic. Ariel and I will trail you and install these cameras. After that, we'll all reconvene at the base," John proposed with a warm tone. Agreement was shared amongst them, and they split up to attend to their tasks.
As John and Ariel started setting up the equipment in the first dressing room, the feeble light from an oil lamp barely touched the corners of the space. Impulsively, the priest cranked up its flame, filling the room with an amber glow that caught Ariel by surprise eliciting a startled exclamation while John took a sharp breath in astonishment. The sound of Leroy's distant yell echoed down the hall followed quickly by footsteps approaching Ariel,
"This is my space!"
They wheeled around to see an apparition of dismay—the woman who claimed the room stood there, shocked. The thud of hurried steps on wooden boards reverberated as another voice joined the fray,
"Chino! What's happened?" The flustered tones belonged to Mr. Warner who, upon witnessing the devastation of what was once an orderly dressing room, stood speechless.
"But... wasn’t this place cleansed?" he stammered in bewilderment.
The scene before them was chaotic; garments lay ripped and scattered like afterthoughts on the floor, cosmetic products painted in wild streaks across walls that once held serenity, and amidst it all stood a fractured mirror reflecting fragmented beams of light across a ceiling speckled in orange hues. From behind Warner and Chino emerged Leroy’s figure in the doorway,
"Not this room too...?" he muttered, his voice carrying disbelief.
Mr. Warner faced the monk, his complexion washed with shades of fear,
"What is happening here?" His question hung heavy in the air.
Leroy’s expression grew somber as he surveyed the wreckage,
“It appears that our efforts to cleanse have fallen short..."
Uncomprehending and alarmed, Mr. Warner pressed further,
"What do you mean ‘fallen short’?” Panic was etching itself into his every word. Lewsey's gaze continued scanning the ruins as he responded hopelessly,
“It means they were ineffective,” his statement resigned.
Ariel’s frown deepened upon seeing Leroy’s despondent demeanor.
"Leroy..." she began, her attention keenly focused on him. A tormented Mr. Warner passed his fingers through his hair anxiously,
"Is such failure... normal?" He couldn't help but usher his actress away from what seemed like tainted grounds.
Each member of the trio of investigators exchanged bewildered looks, their experience in the supernatural realm offering no answers to the current enigma. The noise of anxious whispers compounded as more performers gathered, eager to uncover the source of the commotion. Cutting through the anticipation with a purposeful stride, Shiloh's heels announced her before she peered into the dressing room with wide eyes.
"Daniel..." she gasped, hand fluttering to her lips in shock. The room had gone still with tension until the confident voice of Mr. Warner pierced through the uncertainty, addressing the cluster of nervous actors.
"Mr. Warner, what's happening here?"
"Are we at risk?"
"Is it safe for us to stay?"
"You know, just now I felt an odd chill..."
"Stay calm; it's merely a small hiccup, there's no threat here," assured Mr. Warner, his tone slicing cleanly through the haze of apprehension. "Samburu, escort Chino to the lounge and tend to her with a soothing cup of coffee. The rest of you," he continued commanding attention, "return to your script studies."
With obedience spurred by his authoritative command, the ensemble dispersed promptly. Samburu shepherded Chino away leaving only Shiloh, whose gaze remained fixed on the mysterious dressing room. Noticing her unease, Mr. Warner approached.
"Maybe a coffee would help settle your spirits?" he posited gently. But Shiloh shook her head—a mute gesture—her voice barely holding back emotion.
"How much longer must we endure this?" she whispered,- her eyes shimmering with unshed tears. "The theatre has been my life's sole passion yet this morning... this morning I found myself hesitating to come."
No sooner had she confessed than tears broke free, and she folded into Mr. Warner's arms who embraced her awkwardly.
"Everything will turn out alright," he consoled her stiffly patting her back.
Shiloh withdrew slightly to search his face with desperate hope.
"If only I could share your confidence," she voiced under hushed breath, "But if this darkness persists... I fear my resolve might shatter."
Something hardened in Mr. Warner's gaze then; with gentle but firm hands he distanced Shiloh from him,
"You must banish such thoughts immediately," he insisted sternly as if instilling belief were akin to casting a spell. "Your professionalism is non-negotiable; our show must go on."
Stepping out of his embrace, Shiloh addressed her tear-streaked face,
"Of course, Daniel... Your words ring true." Her voice carried a new steadiness perhaps borrowed from his conviction.
Exhaling deeply, Mr. Warner offered a tempered smile and extended his arm in offer for guidance,
"A cup of coffee shared might do us both some good," he suggested more tenderly now.
Hesitant for half a beat before accepting his gesture was Shiloh; her cheeks bloomed with color that not even Ariel could mistake for anything but emotion in their dim surroundings—while they departed together from the dressing room area, leaving behind an air filled with unspoken concerns that Ariel discerned all too clearly: Act now!
An uneasy hush descended upon the trio. Ariel furrowed her brow as her gaze landed on the adjacent dressing rooms.
"Why didn't we catch this sooner?" she murmured, her voice a mixture of confusion and concern.
Leroy, wordless, started a methodical procession from door to door, his determination palpable. Driven by curiosity, Ariel and John were quick on his heels. Each room presented the same scene of ruin, mirroring Chino's—absolutely ravaged in an identical manner. At the end of the line, Leroy's silhouette framed the doorway, his eyes lost to the bedlam within. Ariel reached out, touching his arm in a silent gesture of solidarity.
"This isn't something you could control, Leroy—and we're all safe," she reminded him gently.
Turning towards her—a flash of vulnerability crossing his features—Leroy responded with a heavy exhale, "I really believed we had everything under control."
Sympathy etched into Ariel's features as she nodded. A new quiet hung heavy until John, maintaining a tactful distance, offered optimistically,
"Maybe installing cameras could help us," his lips curving into a tentative grin.
"That sounds like a smart move," Ariel concurred with newfound resolve, leaving Leroy's side to join John in preparation, "Are you with us, Leroy?"
With newfound purpose, Leroy accepted a camera from John and flashed a mischievous smile,
"Absolutely! What am I? A slacker like Jasper?" His levity was a welcome return to form.
The light moment drew a collective chuckle from them before they turned their attention back to their task. Ariel meticulously noted the temperature in each room; mysteriously, they were all normal.
"67.5..." she scribbled for the final entry. Compelled by an inexplicable feeling of being observed (as though eyes were boring into her), she glanced up and caught sight of the stage performers who had earlier retreated for rehearsal gathered in a tight knot—staring intently at Ariel rather than focusing on their lines. Their unease regarding the recent scare was palpable. Resolute to exude confidence and reassurance, Ariel straightened her posture and revisited her clipboard with feigned scrutiny—as if it held the key to unraveling this mystery.
If only that were true...she pondered solemnly while pretending to analyze the figures. John quietly sealed shut the last dressing room's door,
"All set," he announced with an audible breath of relief.
"Time we left this place," prompted Leroy hurriedly, steering clear from the fixed stares of the troupe—an implicit reminder of those he felt he failed to safeguard.