Chapter One: Landing (first draft)

Will took his first step off the ship, committed to never stepping onto a water vessel again unless under the influence of opium to calm sea sickness. The swell of the crowd mercilessly urged him forward, towards the immigration building. The discomfort of arriving in an inferior class bubbled around him, though the throng of humanity paid no attention. Everyone was rushing towards a new life. He looked off to the left at the large hull of the S.S. City of New York, his iron prison for the last week as he made his voyage from Britain to New York.

Although the anxiety of entering a new country by himself settled deep in his stomach, he felt distractedly lighter with every step that distanced himself from the recent tragic events he left in England. The group of second class passengers formed a line as officials gave them orders. Will found himself sandwiched between a foreigner, which he realized he was now himself, and a family with two young children.

The young boy stared at Will quizzically and asked, “Why do your clothes look so funny?” The mother hushed him, shaking her head. Will’s heart clenched inside as memories of his lost mother came back. He turned to survey the line and settled on one of his two small suitcases.

His clothes were indeed unfashionable yet finely made. He had found them among his father’s clothes from his own teen years. Although he was at an age he disagreed with most of his parents’ decisions, Will sorely missed them. He felt no closure from his parents’ sudden deaths and still was uncertain of his new future without them.

Before he let himself dwell, inviting the heaviness that accompanies grief, he turned to reflect on his meeting with Mr. Quincy. Will was perturbed to be left in mystery about the circumstances that inevitably brought him to America’s shores, and he was ready to take answers, by force if necessary.

By the time he reached the registration desk Will was quite frenzied and lost in his own thoughts. The registration clerk repeated himself again, “Young man, what is your name?”

Will focused again and apologized. “Barstow. William. Of Southampton.” The clerk took down some additional information before sending Will through the rest of immigration processing. The building opened into a large foyer where families gathered and found waiting relatives. Will checked his pocket watch and waited as the crowd first bustled then thinned with the filtered sunlight.

Will had settled himself into a small niche away from the hustle and had nearly dozed off when he heard the heavy click of hard soled shoes crossing the faded marble floor. A portly man neared him, his graying hair tucked neatly beneath a fashionable hat. Will grabbed his outer coat and stood.

“Mr. Barstow?”

“I presume you are Mr. Quincy.”

The portly man chuckled and extended his hand. “You presume correctly, young William.” Will eyed the man and slowly extended his hand for a brief handshake.

“Well, then! Now that that is done, we can be on our way.” Mr. Quincy turned on his heel and started back to the door.

Will felt his anger bubbling up again and started in an agitated tone, “Mr. Quincy, I will not-”

“Young master,” he broke in, “it would be wise to take this conversation up in private. Please grab your luggage and hasten so we do not miss the ferry. We don't want to hold up the train.”

Train… “Wait, we aren't staying in New York City?” His answer bounced off Mr. Quincy's receding back as he reached the main doors. “Where are we going then?” He muttered to himself while, reluctantly reaching down for his luggage and setting a quick pace to catch up. Outside of the building city life walked by at fast clips and honks. A carriage opened its door and permitted Mr. Quincy and Will inside. Knocking twice on the side, they set off into the darkening veins of the city.

“I am not going to a tobacco farm to work in the fields, am I?” Mr. Quincy chuckled and shook his head. After that, neither spoke until after arriving at a train station and boarding a rather quiet car.

“Good evening, Mr. Quincy. We will be serving supper in an hour.”

“Yes, thank you.” Will followed Mr. Quincy into a well furnished compartment and sat across from him. Not more than a few minutes later the train blew its horn and the jaunted chug of its first steps pulled them out of the station. Will watched as the city streets became farms and woodland nearly too dark to make out. He startled when Mr. Quincy mused, “You look much like your mother.”

“You knew my parents?” Will’s anger temporarily abated at the comment.

He leaned forward and said, “I had the good grace of being an acquaintance of your father, however briefly. I did perchance make acquaintance with your mother, a beautiful woman. I have a very good memory for acquaintances.” He tapped his forehead and winked. “It was years ago, though.”

Will looked at the man across from him a good while before asking, “Who are you?”

Mr. Quincy sat back and in his seat and instead asked Will a question. “What do you know of your situation? What did your family’s lawyer tell you?”

Will grunted with exasperation. Indeed, nearly immediately upon the horrid incident of his parents’ brutal murder, the lawyer was rapping away at the door. They sat in his father’s office where the lawyer commenced in delivering the contents of the will.

“The unfortunate clause, young Lord, is that of the age whence the property may be transferred to you. At seventeen, you are shy four years. I will be conducting a search for any relations that may act as steward during that period. Another stipulation is I am unable to release any moneys until then. I will work as quickly as possible to have a relation legally appointed.”

Will sat in silence; as the lawyer continued on and watched his world fall down around him. The remaining afternoon and weeks that followed blurred; Will’s situation worsened daily.

Will returned to the present. “I know, Mr. Quincy, that I would be living on the streets soon if not for a mysterious summons I received. The message simply stated to meet a Mr. Quincy, you, sir, in New York City the evening the S.S. City of New York docked. I was to do so or lose my family’s entire estate. The ticket, also in the envelope, was a one way departing the next day.” Will nearly spat out the last few words in his frustration. “Sir, I saw my brutally murdered parents, was threatened to lose everything I ever known, and was forced to live on nothing for weeks.”

“Yes, I cannot imagine… you say you only received the transport instructions? This matter I must investigate — no turning around now — but rest assured, if this interview goes well, your estate and well being will be taken care for.”

“An interview? I had no word of employment. I have only just applied to law school!” It had been an argument he and his father had many times. Will was not interested in the politics of high society, but his father insisted he learn the ethics of law so he may take over the family interests. As the only child, he found he did not have much choice and accepted his father’s wishes.

“Think of this as more of a trial. To see how well you work with our team. To test the extent of your skill.” Will eyed him not fully understanding his meaning. “Ah, you are less aware than I thought… why do you think we asked you here?”

This topic Will pondered frequently on the interminable voyage to the new World. “A friend of my father’s, or an enemy? I hadn’t much of a choice, given the circumstances.”

“Yes, quite so.” Mr. Quincy felt around in his inner coat pocket to retrieve a small worn leather-bound notebook. “You had a bit of luck when Dr. Lowe agreed to see you about your nightmares.” Will’s eyes widened in surprise; of all the scenarios he could imagine out on the sea, none had included his family doctor sending him across the ocean.

“Dr. Lowe recognized your symptoms and is fully aware of your situation. So, you could say, your situation is due to a friend of you and your family. You were selected for your possible talents for which we require. You see visions, correct?”

In his earliest memories, Will saw shadows where others saw nothing, but he had learned to suppress such outlandish suggestions. He had suppressed them so well, he hadn’t experienced them for years. That is, until the deaths of his parents. It was as if a floodgate opened. Sleep did not find him, and when it did, he saw horrible visions.

Mr. Quincy nodded to himself. “As I thought. Mr. Barstow, you may be what we call a sensitive. More precisely, we believe you have the gift of a seer.”

“A wha- a seer?”

“Yes, in simplest terms, a person capable of seeing ghosts.” Will scoffed and Mr. Quincy gave him a reproving look before continuing. “It is different for everyone, so I cannot say precisely to what extent or how you come upon your visions. I will give you a more acceptable explanation after we dine. I believe our food will be ready soon, and from your look, you need some time to think.”

Ghosts. Visions of ghosts. Will could not believe how preposterous the suggestion was, but as he considered his past, the answer seemed to fit like a missing puzzle piece. Ghosts aren’t real though, they are stories told in the dark to scare friends and little children. I am not a child. I am the sole heir to the Barstow Estate.

A light knock on the private compartment announced supper. Will’s stomach growled in response to the smell of delicious food wafting in. He had not eaten well the past two months as rations diminished and the ship food was more than to be desired. His face flushed with embarrassment when Mr. Quincy chuckled. “You should eat slowly to avoid upsetting your stomach.”

After a forcibly slowed meal of a steaming cream soup, roast rabbit, and potatoes, Will was more relaxed and sleepy than he had been since his parents' deaths. The waiter removed the dishes, and Will slumped back in the seat with the sense of satisfaction a child has on Christmas morning.

Lazily, the recent conversation seeped back into his conscious and he grimaced. Ghosts and things that go bump in the night. Despite Will's disbelief in anything ghostly, he did start to wonder what sort of man would have need of such a “gift”. Will's curiosity won over.

“Mr. Quincy, earlier you said “we”. Who, precisely, are you?”

Mr. Quincy looked at Will for a length of time and came to a conclusion. “What I am about to tell you I do so in utmost secrecy. Discretion is necessary.” Will found this disclaimer highly amusing despite himself and nodded solemnly. “Yes, just as well.” He leaned forward confidentially. “I am taking you to a remote location where we keep a team of individuals with special abilities. Each has a unique skill that is useful in resolving… paranormal conflicts. In return for these services, the government protects and provides substantial yet necessary living accommodations.”

“Wait. You are saying this is a government organization?” Will had never heard of such an outlandish claim. He began to doubt the gentleman's sanity.

“Mr. Barstow, you may come to believe me with some evidence or proof of the other world. Rest assured, young man, you will have several opportunities in the next few weeks to gain experiences that will convince you otherwise.”

Will could not decide if he found that statement threatening. Before he was swayed one way or the other, Mr. Quincy continued.

“Very few know of this enterprise, so you will not have heard of us. You could say we are an invisible branch of the government.”

“You aren't a secret society that performs midnight rituals and animal sacrifices, are you?” Will whispered conspiratorially.

Mr. Quincy sighed back into his seat. “Mr. Barstow, this is serious business we speak of.”

“Oh la. You speak of a secret government group of ghost seers who do what? Tell ghost stories to scare politicians? Do you have an agenda?”

They sat in silence for several minutes. Mr. Quincy regained his composure. He remembered back to his encounters with William's father. His father was a realist and quite stubborn although not opposed to a logical argument. While his only child seemed headstrong, Mr. Quincy could see the same qualities. After a while he responded, “We are, by no means, a secret occult or society, but you will be subjected to cleansing rituals and may be involved in aiding protective rituals. We have experienced many unexplained events, what we like call any paranormal encounter, lately, and I personally set aside a small experimental project to aid in the resolving of these events. Our primary focus is the security of our Congressmen and families. You could think of us as a specialized army that fights invisible enemies.”

Will still did not believe much of what Mr. Quincy said but decided to humor the elder gentleman. “Why would you ask me to join this elite army then, if I have no loyalty to your country?”

“We look for the best, and Mr. Barstow, we hold you in high esteem for what we believe you are capable of doing. The government has performed deeds for each member of the team in repayment for their specialized services.”

“And the service your government provides me is to keep my estate frozen until it becomes available to me,” finished Will. Mr. Quincy nodded.

“Hm. What do you intend for me to do with this supposed ability of seeing?”

“Each team member has a unique ability to communicate or otherwise interact with the other world. A sort of highly active sixth sense. For each case, we send out all or some of the team to use detective skills and research the unexplained event. If a paranormal entity is the cause, and this is nearly always the case, the team members use their abilities to encourage the entities to leave the Earthly plane.”

Will thought this over in his head. “So, you are saying this secret team is a group of specialized ghost hunters?”

Mr. Quincy chuckled, his mustache twitching slightly. “From a perspective one might call it that. The mentors that will take care of your education in these matters may feel differently, so you may refrain from calling anyone that until you know them better.”

“What do you recommend to call them? What was that you said earlier? Sensitives?” Mr. Quincy nodded. “Okay, how many sensitives do you have in your employ?”

“Not including yourself, there are five.” Will was not expecting so few, but it made sense to him that so few would be gullible enough to allow such an obviously insane man to lead them out to the countryside in a foreign country in the dark. Mr. Quincy took Will's pause as acceptance and patted the younger man's hand. “Consider your first few weeks an induction. If, after you have gone on a case or two, you do not feel this can be a solution for you, we will purchase you a return ticket to Britain. We will no longer have incentive to support your household, but I am sure that as enterprising as your father was, you also can make do. However, if you do feel this may work, we will provide the necessary funds and political support to ensure your estate is taken care for in your absence.”

Will had many more questions, but the finality of Mr. Quincy's tone left him in a state of an unrequited conclusion. A sleepy wave swept through him as the warm food settled and the warmth of the cabin tucked him in.

Across from him, Mr. Quincy read a newspaper and propped a small pillow behind him. He looked above himself and saw a second pillow with a blanket under it.

“Beg your pardon, Mr. Quincy, but how long will we be on this train?”

“We will arrive at our destination early morning. I advise you get some sleep; tomorrow will be an exciting day.” Will’s inner voice snickered and could only imagine what incredulous stories he would hear tomorrow.

“One more question: where is the proof of commitment or a contract stating my estate is secure?”

“Your lawyer, Mr. Livingstone, was to deliver the contract and explain its circumstances. Are you sure you have not seen the document?” Will shook his head.

“I had to leave immediately to reach the ship in time. My lawyer did not present himself in the meager time I was given to prepare.”

“Unfortunately, I am not a lawyer, so I am not certain of the ramifications of your being here with an unsigned contract. Mr. Smith can answer these questions when you meet with him. But rest assured, young William, that the American government has worked with the British government to secure temporary possession until you have signed a written agreement. Ah! I believe I have the rough draft with me that you may keep.” He pulled his locked briefcase into his lap, removed a small key from his inner pocket to open it, and shuffled through several documents before coming to a folder labeled “Barstow.” Will was unaware, but inside this file contained much of his life in observations, legal documents, and the histories of his closest relations.

After a moment, Mr. Quincy handed Will a five page long document in an envelope, written in small legal type. He flipped through it and saw his lawyer's handwriting was indeed on it.

“This copy needs to go into Mr. Smith's archives, so you would be so charged with delivering it to him when you arrive.” Will nodded absently as he tried to make out the legal terminology. What he could understand set a scenario similar to what Mr. Quincy summarized, vaguely stating he would provide services to the U.S. government for the interim of his landing on U.S. soil until his twenty first birthday, at which point he will receive a return trip ticket to Britain.

Will felt much more secure to see a solid piece of evidence in the midst such sketchy conversations. He placed the paper back in the envelope, put it in his coat pocket, and pulled down the blanket and pillow.

“Mr. Quincy, I will quit the evening now. Please wake me if I am not already up before we reach this secret remote destination.”

Mr. Quincy nodded behind his newspaper and Will set up his seat to sleep. His dreams were filled with ghosts and his father reprimanding him as a child, telling him ghost shadows did not exist even as his father was carried off by white ghouls.