[Night]

The pair finally moved away from the door, allowing it to swing closed. While they were catching up, Brian pulled him aside. "You look like hell ran over, Lero. You really ought to go get checked out down at the free clinic." He suggested, eying Lero over with a sharp gaze. "I don't want you dropping dead in the middle of a shoot." Brian stuffed his hands in his pockets, turning his face away to seem more detached from the situation. Lero could tell that he was worried and unable to convey his emotions like a normal human being. He waved him off.

"I'm fine. Just a cold or something. I'll be back to normal in no time." The statement was followed with a wet cough, completely belying his intended point. Brain looked skeptical at best, allowing the tension to grow between them before he did that thing where he pinched the bridge of his nose. Lero was beginning to hate that gesture.

"I heard about what happened last night." He looked tired. "With your apartment."

Lero scowled, folding his arms over his chest and drawing in on himself. "I'm fucking fine, Brain. Just... How did you even hear about that?" Was Brian stalking him or some shit now? What the hell. He didn't need a nanny, he was a grown man and he could handle himself. Things may have been a bit shitty right now, but that's just the way things went.

[Night]

"Your landlord was considerate enough to call me this morning to tell me you might be late because of "extenuating circumstances." Strange, because I would think my employees might tell me things like that. You know that I would have understood if you called in, right?"

Lero scoffed. He didn't believe that in the slightest. Brian had been giving him constant crap for his poor health and having to cancel shoots every few weeks. Hell, just yesterday he had acted like the world was crashing down just because Lero had the sniffles. Brian frowned, looking hurt. "Really, it would have! You don't think I'm so heartless that I would force you to come in after your house got robbed, do you?" Lero's silence was enough of an answer.

That was a bit of a blow. Looking back over the past couple months, Brian could see where those accusatory looks were coming from, though. He softened around the edges, seeming to mentally prepare himself for the talk to come. "I guess I've been a bit of a dick, huh?"

[Night]

Lero cracked a smile at that. "A bit, yeah." He wasn't going to go and crucify Brian over his behavior. He knew that the dude was stressed out, plagued with a failing business and a hit or miss photographer. The only reason they had any patrons at all came down to Jay knowing how to network. It was astounding, really. Lero had never once seen him touch the phone that sat behind his desk, but they kept a constant enough stream of customers coming that they had yet to crash and burn. Always on the edge of it, of course, but never in the red. "I see your point, though. I'll call next time."

That was hardly a comfort. "I'm hoping that, for both of our sanities, there will not be a next time." He flopped into his desk chair, spinning the chair around a few times like a kid playing in his father's office. "Really, though. We're free for the rest of the afternoon. I'd be a big load off my shoulders if you'd just go down to the clinic and get looked over."

Lero pouted. It was quickly turning into his predominant expression. "But I hate the free clinic, Bri! There's always such a long wait, and people coughing blood and shit. It's terrible." Brian shot him a sympathetic frown, but insisted. Figures.

[Night]

When the two made their way out of the office, Oliver was gone and Jay was perched precariously on the top of his desk. The phone was ringing, and he was ignoring it entirely. Brian looked put out, shooting pointed glances at the phone until Jay seemed to realize (too late) that it was ringing. It quieted as his hand reached for it, and the brunette let his fingers brush the desk instead as though that had been his intention the entire time. Brian was going to explode, Lero was certain.

"How many times have I told you that you have to answer the damn phone, Jay?" He deflated, pinching the bridge of his nose. Lero wondered, idly, if it were possible to pull your own nose entirely from your face. He didn't think it was, but Brian seemed well on the road to accomplishing the impossible. Jay shrugged, rifling through some papers on the surface of the table as though he had been hard at work the entire time. Sitting on top of the desk. Right.

Lero shuffled off, resigning himself to a visit to the clinic, where he would probably come back sicker than before simply from aerial contact with whatever germs the other people there were carrying.

[Night]

-----

Oliver didn't believe in miracles. Not anymore, anyway. When he had taken his first vows into the clergy, he had still held grand ideas of a higher power. Still did, really. But there was only so long that you could make a living trying to verify false signs from above before you began to question if the Gods were still paying attention. He pulled at the ends of his scarf as he made his way through downtown, staring up at the towering white buildings with something akin to awe. Yeah... Maybe there were still blessings from the heavens, after all. He just wasn't so inclined to believe that it came in the form of the depiction of God's face on a slice of toasted bread.

The man that he had been called to investigate today was trying to claim that he had unrestful spirits haunting his house. While this wasn't normally something that the church sent him to deal with, it was the first case that he'd been called on in months. Everyone's toasters must have stopped working simultaneously, he thought with a wry humor as he turned down the drive leading up to a small house at the edge of town. He double checked the address before knocking.

[Night]

Robert Jonathan Dupree the Third sounded incredibly pretentious, when it was said all in one long mouthful. It didn't accurately portray the man that answered the door in the slightest. Oliver found himself actually having to tilt his head up to take in the entirety of the man that stood before him. The guy looked rather intimidating, only offset by a young face and sandy blonde hair that only seemed to add to his youthful appearance. "Robert?" He questioned. Six years of this same routine and he had yet to get any better at the actual meeting part.

"You can call me Bob." The man corrected gruffly, holding out a hand for Oliver to shake. "You must be Father Hudson. Please come in!" Oliver followed him into the house, already on high alert for any potential spirits that may decide to reveal their presence. From what he understood based on 'Call me Bob's' account to the bishop, they seemed fairly violent. He wouldn't want to be caught by surprise. As they filtered through the entryway and into the living room, however, he couldn't help but be slightly disappointed. Nothing happened. Another let down to add to the list, it seemed.

[Night]

Bob motioned for the clergyman to take a seat before offering to get him something to drink. Oliver declined politely, wanting to get this 'encounter of the fake kind' done with as quickly as possible so he could meet back up with Jay for dinner. It was always strange, to sit in a stranger's living room and discuss their encounter with the afterlife as though it were perfectly normal every day conversation. Though, for Oliver it kind of was. "So when did you begin noticing these..." He checked the notes he had been sent with. "Strange noises?" Oliver loosened his scarf from around his neck, revealing the stark white collar that marked his priesthood. The atmosphere seemed to shift around them, and he frowned. Bob must have felt it as well. The pair sat with held breath, waiting for something to happen. When nothing immediately flew at them from across the room, Bob spoke.

"I bought this house from some old man. Looked sketchy as hell, but it was a good price and I was in the market, you know? I moved in about a month ago, and I guess the noises started up the first night that I started staying here." Fair enough. Oliver made a few notes in his moleskin, nodding and motioning for the other man to continue.

[Night]

Bob shifted in his seat, rubbing his palms over his knees as though he were nervous to share his account in the place in question. "It started out kind of... I don't know, like a low humming? Almost something I could ignore, ya know?" He glanced around at the room, not meeting Oliver's eyes. It was something that the clergyman had seen in more cases than not. People were afraid they were going to be laughed at for speaking about these sorts of things under the assumption that they were real. In his experience, those that had legitimate cases didn't actually want them to be validated. They didn't want to believe. They wanted to be told they were crazy. Then they wouldn't have to deal with the fall out of having the knowledge of something bigger than they were forced on them.

"Go on." Oliver gave his most reassuring smile, trying to prove that he was both listening and willing to believe.

Bob was put momentarily at ease, though he didn't relax by much. "Well, after a few days, it wasn't so quiet anymore, right?" He didn't know why he was asking Oliver, as though he were going to tell him that wasn't what happened when he hadn't been there.

[Night]

Oliver let the silence hang between them as a silent probe. He wasn't the best at talking to strangers, and the tactic usually seemed to encourage them to just keep spilling out their story without much prompting on his end. This time was no different.

"A few days after that, it wasn't just humming anymore. It was actual words." He seemed willing to stop there, falling quiet once more and looking at Oliver as though he were expecting his immediate denial of the events. Oli could see it on his face; that search for invalidation that proved to him more than the personal account ever could that this was something that held actual merit. Perhaps it wasn't all a farce after all. He leaned forward with his elbows on his knees, glancing up from his scribbling in his notebook.

"And what were the voices saying?" He asked, intrigued. It was refreshing to have a case that may actually go somewhere. He was sick and tired of the fake leads. Bob rubbed at his knees some more, clearly nervous when he wasn't shot down.

"Well, I'm not really sure, actually. It seemed like they were speaking in some other language? I think they were chanting something." Oliver nodded, turning back to his writing to take further note. "At first I thought that it may have been the kids that lived across the street listening to their music. They're always up at weird hours, it wouldn't be a surprise, ya know?"

[Night]

He crossed his arms over his chest. "Then I thought that they must be playing a joke on me. They're nice enough kids, but I know how it is. They're in high school, it's getting close to Halloween - they want to play scary pranks on the new guy. I get it. But..." He stopped, yet again.

"But?" Oliver glanced up at him, meeting his gaze and holding it.

"But then the family was out of town for the weekend. I know, because they asked me to watch their lucain for them while they were gone." The words came at a stop and start, and he was clearly hesitant to further validate his claims. A non-believer for sure.

"The chanting didn't stop, I take it?" It was an easy guess. Bob nodded his affirmation, rubbing over the back of his neck with one large hand. Oliver leaned back in his seat on the couch, contemplating the information that he was being given. It didn't really sound much like a spiritual haunting. At least, not like any that he had ever heard of. "You said that the spirits seemed violent. Can you elaborate on that a bit, for me? Not to sound disbelieving, but chanting hardly sounds violent in and of itself."

[Night]

Bob cleared his throat once more, crossing and uncrossing his arms as though he were unsure what to do with himself. Oliver could relate to the sentiment. "Well... About a week or so ago, I came home to something scratched into the wall of the hallway." He started slowly. "I can show you... if you want..." Oliver nodded, a bit over eager. He followed as Bob stood and made his way around the corner and into the hallway that separated the living area from the rest of the house. There, on the wall, were two words etched through the wallpaper and gouged deep into the wood underneath. "Relinquere domum." Three marks were carved beneath. Oliver felt his blood run cold. From the pocket of his leather jacket, he pulled a small disposable camera.

"Mind if I?" He gestured with the camera towards the wall, and Bob nodded. He snapped a few photos from different angles before stowing the instrument in his pocket once more. "Is this the only evidence you've had, other than the chanting?" He asked, voice unsteady. He didn't want to pursue the words until he was sure he had the full picture. While he had no definitive answer as towards the nature of the supposed haunting, he did know that this alone was worthy of his attention.

Bob shrugged, looking as though he were going to deny any further claims. He struggled internally for a moment before shaking his head.

[Night]

"There's been something moving my stuff around the house." Bob scuffed his foot along the carpet of the hallway. "I thought maybe I wasn't putting things where I thought that I was, but then I started finding things in places that I know I didn't take them." He knew that it really wasn't a cause to call whatever this was a 'violent assault, but hey, he had been drunk and angry when he had called up the church and demanded an intervention. He was shocked that they had actually sent someone.

"Anything else? Anything at all?" Oliver pressed. Bob shook his head, this time sure that he had nothing else to share with the priest.

"I think that's everything. Like I said, I haven't lived here for very long." The fact that he hadn't been derailed left him feeling a bit lost. Surely if it were nothing to worry about he would have been assured and the Father would have been well on his way out the door by now. That... wasn't a comforting thought. He watched the clergyman as he jotted note after note down in his little book and felt as though he were about to receive some very bad news.

Oliver shut his notebook and peered up at Bob with a keen eye.

[Night]

"First, I have to ask if these words mean anything at all to you." Oliver pointed to the writing on the wall. He was assuming by Bob's general demeanor that he had very little knowledge of the language that it was written in, and had only assumed the worst based on the culmination of all the actions combined. This was confirmed when the taller man shook his head. The next bit was what Oliver wasn't looking forward to.

"Well, the good news is I don't think you're dealing with a spiritual haunting." He began. The church was familiar with, and even accepted the existence of spirits that simply refused to move on. While Oliver had never witnessed it for himself, he knew several others in his field with far more experience in the matter. "The bad news is that I'm not really certain what we're dealing with here." Bob had known he wasn't going to like what was coming, but it still did nothing to settle his anxiety over the situation as a whole. His natural reaction to fear was anger.

"What do you mean, you don't know! Isn't that like, your job?!" He threw his arms up over his head. Oliver stepped out of the larger man's immediate range, trying to make a placating gesture. It went unnoticed as Bob fumed. "Surely you've got to know something!"

[Night]

Oliver fiddled nervously with the collar around his neck. "Well. I know that whatever is going on, someone or something doesn't want you here." He pointed once more to the wall, holding his hand a scant few centimeters from the writing but not touching it. One could never be too careful in his line of work, a lesson that had been forced time and time again through his head while he was at the convent. "This is written in latin." He could practically feel Bob's eyes roll at the statement. It was rather obvious. "It means 'Leave this house.' While it's a sentiment that I'm sure a spirit may convey, they don't normally use dead languages as a method of communication." Oliver was tapping into every bit of his knowledge on this one, trying to come up with a logical explanation and falling short. This may just be one for the books. He thought to the books in his office at the church, trying to figure out if he could call the bishop and convince him to send some of the texts. This would require a lot of research, an intervention more than likely, and -

... And there was no way the church was going to allow him to handle this on his own. He was young in his priesthood yet, still inexperienced in most matters of the more supernatural nature. His job was to investigate miracles that the church saw very little potential in. This... This was well beyond his realm of control. That was a bit of a disappointment.

[Night]

Bob was afraid to ask, but this was his house, damnit! He wasn't going to just lay down and take this... whatever it was vandalizing his walls and moving his stuff around! Even ignoring that he couldn't sleep with all the chanting, it was downright annoying. (By annoying, he more than likely meant to think "scary," but he wasn't going to admit that even to himself.) "What would have done it, then?" He asked with a scowl.

"See now, that's what I don't know." Oliver's conversational ineptitude went to the wayside in light of something that was actually worthy of his attention. He tried to suppress the want to rant and nerd out to Bob about the possibilities the situation presented. He highly doubted that someone in Bob's situation wanted a constant stream of consciousness tossed in his direction. "The general idea seems to follow all the typical avenues of a haunting. Hearing voices with no source, moving objects, feeling as though you're being watched..." Bob hadn't said it, but Oliver wasn't completely detached from his own emotions. He had felt a bit off since he had taken off his scarf to reveal the mark of his profession at his collar.

The two began moving back towards the living room as they spoke. "I may have to make a few calls and get back to you with what I can figure out." Oliver picked up his scarf, winding it around his neck. "Until then, keep me updated if anything else happens, okay?"