Just one bolt; that’s all. One measly, stubborn, little piece of iron had single-handedly brought the job to a screeching halt. It didn’t seem rusted or bent; there weren’t any damaged threads. What the hell… The repairs had gone without a hitch so far but this puppy wasn’t budging. That left him with two options: either grab a hacksaw or beat the living crap out of it. He had to get it out soon though, because the late night hour was just around the corner.
  

   CJ hammered the bolt with one massive blow and it finally came out of the mounting; sending the tiny fastener flying through the air and the speaker plopping down on his shoulder, where he balanced it the best he could from high on the ladder.
  

   Just as he got his footing, a freezing draft came out of nowhere and blew against his body. The breeze tickled the hairs on his forearms and shattered his sense of balance. Then he saw something move out of the corner of his eye as it scurried across the ceiling.
  

   He took a peek at the big wall of mirrors—on the far side of the showroom. There was a young man standing beside the ladder just below him.
  

   Dammit…never look into a mirror. He knew that.
  

   He balanced the loudspeaker in his arms and headed down the ladder; nothing new—until the ghost grabbed his ankle and sent an ice-cold, stabbing pain rushing through his bones. Before he could toss the speaker to the side, the semblance bellowed-out a high-octave shriek and the lights began to flicker. CJ lost his balance and tumbled down to the ground.
  

   The semblance strolled over and looked down on CJ, seeming to be pleased with his prank; he held his stomach and let out a wicked laugh. The apparition leaned in close and smiled but just as he flashed his pearly-whites, his teeth began to drop from his head and bounce on the floor next to CJ. Then his hair began to fall out in strands and weightlessly land on CJ’s feet. Within a single beat his youthful skin shriveled into a hide of gray wrinkles while his lips curled inward and turned black in color.
  

   CJ shuffled backwards on his butt as fast as he could but the semblance was suddenly standing behind him, peering down with a set of lifeless eyes.
   

   The ghost reached down and slashed his fingers across CJ’s cheek, piercing his face with a freezing, inhuman pain.

   It was on…
  

   CJ reached for his tool bag and the phantom made a dash for the lounge.
  

   Not the lounge! Crap.
  

   CJ had no choice but to follow, knowing the semblance would be ruthless…but even worse; he had no way of warning the patrons at the bar.
  

   CJ went inside and tread carefully under the sapphire-colored lighting. He searched the lounge with an eagle eye; where one could easily be misled by the ice-blue silhouettes and glowing torsos of humans, instead. The semblance could be safely stirring among them…creeping around with ease. CJ peered over the sea of necklaces and pinstriped suits, raking his eyes over the translucent haze as he maneuvered through the crowded nightclub. Sleek, nickel barstools and modern, silver sconces popped in and out of sight as people stirred and moved about.
  

   After CJ had made his way deep into the crowd, the semblance emerged at the far end of the bar, casting an ominous presence and wearing colorless clothes…his black hair blended-in with the shadowed walls behind him. He remained unnoticed for the most part, lingering in an area that received little-to-no light—until a few patrons at the bar begin to sense his menacing stare. As they turned toward the stranger, their friendly expressions took flight and their faces became cold and unresponsive. Other customers picked up on the distraction and they, too, stopped socializing and began looking his way—enticed by his mysterious confidence. The chain reaction spread through the lounge like a virus, with the patrons now standing in collective silence; staring at the shadowed man…anticipating his next move.
  

   In that breath of hesitation.....

   CJ went straight to the airport from the Resurrection. He never stepped foot in the hotel provided in New Orleans. He carried all the immediate staples in his briefcase though, such as a toothbrush and razor, but he wasn’t able to change clothes. Since Mark did stay at the hotel, he was able to place CJ’s bag with the bands luggage. CJ’s overnight bag would arrive in Savannah the next day.
  

   When CJ got to the Hotel in Savannah, he sweet-talked the Hotel Manager into opening the gift shop for five minutes—just long enough to grab a green, souvenir t-shirt and a new leather bag. CJ placed the few tools he had left in the new bag and went up to his room.
  

   He ran a hot shower and had a couple of stiff drinks brought to his room; then he unplugged the little radio from the nightstand and took it into the bathroom. He tuned in to a local station that happened to be broadcasting the rock musical, Tommy, performed by the London Festival Orchestra.
  

   He gave the hot water valve a few more spins and turned the bathroom trashcan upside-down; as a makeshift table for his drinks. After grabbing several towels to make a neck rest, he climbed into the old, French-clawed tub and leaned back against the sloping porcelain. While the hot water beat down on his aching body, he held one cold drink at a time against his face, rolling each frosty glass across the tiny cuts in his cheeks and forehead. Within a few minutes the shower had begun to loosen his tense muscles and ease away his stress.
  

   He began to think about Clarise, wondering if he’d ever have such an esteemed adventure again. Never before had he developed such a bittersweet friendship with a spirit and never…had a ghost helped him on stage without using the Hayson.
  

   Clarise seemed to give him a sense of hope; that he could get better at this ghost stuff. The underwater scenario scared the living shit out of him and it almost ended his life. He wanted to maneuver these gigs without provoking any fear and the sooner that could happen—the better. Clearly, though, he still had a lot to learn. Even Clarise knew more about the Hayson than he did.
  

   He started concentrating on the next gig and wondering; what was inside the Hayson at this point in the game? Had he kept close track of all the activity? Had each Hayson been safely tucked away? How could he top the show in New Orleans and reach a higher level of excitement with the concerts?
  

   Also, what was the deal with the Landlers? Had one of them been on the shuttle to Boston that day? He decided he couldn’t dwell on the Landlers; he could only take Clarise’s advice and be careful. He would have to keep the Hayson close by at all times, and if he planned on thinking bigger and better, then he needed to be much more alert.
  

   Just then, he saw the shadow of a person on the other side of the shower curtain. He flung the curtain open to find an old woman staring at him. She had long, gray hair grown down to her waist and she was wearing a faded, brown dress that seemed fused in places to her crusty, mud-like skin.

   She stood before him with her hands pressed together—as though she were about to pray. She tilted her head and spoke softly through her old and seriously wrinkled lips.

"Some rest for the day is in motion.
Though the air and the sky,
may speak in your favor.
The earth and the soil,
are always your neighbor.

It has been a year…
since the leaves of the trees,
have been swept by the breeze.

When the old earth is revealed,
a new soul will arise.
Until that day,
new life shall not be seen."
  

   “What the fuck…” He rubbed his eyes with his knuckles. When he opened his eyes she had disappeared.
  

   CJ’s shower lasted almost one full hour—with the curtain halfway open. He finally crawled into bed at 3:00 A.M., with a wake-up call scheduled for 8:00 A.M.