The Hysteria: Book 4, The Eddie McCloskey Paranormal Mystery Series (The Unearthed)
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Authors: Evan Ronan
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Thriller writer Evan Ronan, author of
The Unearthed
, brings you the next edge-of-your-seat adventure in his paranormal series…
The man's daughter isn't possessed. But Eddie can't tell him that.
The people aren't actually missing. They're
hiding
. But Eddie can't tell the cops that.
He's in way over his head. But Eddie can't tell the deep-cover team of federal agents that.
Random, increasing violence plagues the town. The bodies are piling up. Eddie can’t trust anyone. Something inexplicable is happening.
And there may be no way to stop it.
This time, Eddie McCloskey might not make it out alive...
The Hysteria
is approximately 74,000 words.
the hysteria
by evan ronan
INTRODUCTION
The purpose of this document is to provide an overview of Coordinate Remote Viewing (CRV) Training Stages I through VI. CRV is the process by which a person is capable of “perceiving” information concerning a site remote from him in location and/or time given only the geographic coordinates of their location.
Stage | Example |
I Major gestalt | Land surrounded by water, an island |
II Sensory Contact | Cold sensation, wind-swept feeling |
III Dimension, motion, mobility | Rising up, panoramic view, island outline |
IV General qualitative analytical aspects | Scientific research, live organisms |
V Specific analytical aspects (by interrogating signal line) | Biological warfare (BW) preparation site |
VI Three-dimensional contact, modeling | Layouts, details, further analytical contact |
-From the CIA Remote Viewing Manual
(Feb. 1985)
I said, “Where’s Eamon Moriarty?”
Sally Pastrana stopped ironing the button-down shirt. “I don’t know, Eddie.”
“Would you tell me if you did?”
She went back to ironing.
Her living room was overrun by toy guns. She was on the bad side of forty but didn’t look it. In the other room her small platoon of kids were at war. They were all hers but you wouldn’t know it because her hips did lie. There were loud bangs and ear-splitting shrieks from the other room and furniture crashed.
Without much oomph, Sally said, “Hey, knock it off in there.”
I decided to go for a little humor. “You running a daycare?”
She shrugged. “I
wish
somebody paid me to do this.”
“Whose shirts are those?” I asked. An adult male was conspicuously absent from the home.
“Myron’s. I saw him last week. Ex-number two, possibly husband number four.”
“I need a graphing calculator to solve for X there.”
Not my best stuff but I thought it snicker-worthy. She didn’t laugh.
“When’s Myron coming home?”
“Three min, five max.”
I didn’t understand the urgency behind pressing his shirts then. You’d think with seven rug rats playing demolition derby in her house she’d reprioritize.
She saw me judging Myron. I know because she said, “Who are you to judge?”
“Takes one to know one.”
She stopped ironing and regarded me. “You were inside
?
”
I gave her my flip smile. It’s the only smile I really have. “Would you believe me if I told you I was innocent?”
“No.”
So that meant she was smart. I was glad she’d learned a thing or two marrying all these convicts. In every movie about the joint, someone’s been wrongfully convicted. I was inside about a year and during that brief stint, I’d not met one dude who wasn’t guilty of the crime he was convicted of plus at least three more, most of which were worse than the one he was in for.
“What did you do?” she asked matter-of-factly.
“I tore the tags off a mattress. Big no-no.”
My humor was lost upon her.
She shrugged and went back to pressing the shirt. She was a good ironer. The neck and the top of the back looked smooth. She replaced the shirt with a pair of khakis that were already wrinkle-free.
“I should call you Penelope,” I said.
“Yuck. I don’t like that name.” She didn’t ask me to explain the reference.
Something went crash in the other room. It sounded a lot like glass. Sally stopped what she was doing. Her eyes trailed up to the ceiling.
“That better not be glass!”
“It’s not,” two or three of the hell beasts said.
Sally either took their word for it or couldn’t be bothered.
I said, “You’ve got a big family.”
“One too many conjugal visits.”
Sally Pastrana fell into that strange female demographic who exclusively dated male prisoners. She’d met all three husbands
after
they’d been incarcerated. Just hours before husband one was released on parole, Sally filed for divorce. Husband number two was one of his buddies from the cell block. Bros before hoes wasn’t a rule in the joint, apparently. Husband number three was on another block because he’d been convicted of aggravated assault.
After sampling the prison population, she’d moved onto the male criminal/psychiatric population. And that was how she’d met Eamon Moriarty.
My brother’s murderer.
She’d heard about Eamon, who as a boy had either killed his older brother or allowed him to die and had definitely tried to kill his subsequent adoptive family. She’d driven up to Bayside, where he’d been held and treated for almost six years, and began a relationship with him. Soon she was visiting twice a week.
Eamon had left Bayside under mysterious circumstances. He’d been signed out in the middle of the night by some government officials. This had come as a surprise to all of Eamon’s treating physicians at Bayside. Now nobody knew where he was.
I had to find the little fuck because he’d killed my brother.
And Sally Pastrana was the only person I hadn’t talked to yet.
“Tell me about him,” I said.
She finished with the khakis and moved on to the next pair. She chewed bubble gum and her jeans were a little too small and too young for her. Her thong peeked out whenever she bent over.
“He was a nice, handsome young man. It’s just awful what happened to him.”
“You mean before he murdered my brother?”
She put the iron down again and looked up at me. “You know it wasn’t his fault.”
I choked down my anger. It wouldn’t get me anywhere with Sally. “How long did you two, uh, date?”
“Almost six months.” She turned off the iron and folded her arms. “Then he disappeared.”
“Did he know he was leaving?”
“What would you do if you found him?”
“Oh, you know. Catch up. Talk about old times.”
Her eyes were full of judgment, which I thought strange coming from her. “Would you kill him?”
“Sally, I don’t think that far ahead. I don’t even know what I’m doing after I leave here. I’m just making these questions up as I go along.”
“Don’t lie to me. What would you do?”
I’d settle my account with my brother’s murderer. “Look, Sally. This kid is sick. He’s a killer. He holds grudges better than the Greek gods. If he gets the chance he’ll kill some very good people. And me. I’m not so good but I enjoy being alive.”
“What were you inside for?”
“I was an addict. So—”
She cut me off. “So you know that good people make mistakes and you know that unfortunate circumstances force people into bad decisions.”
“I was a drug addict. He’s a killer.”
Her head only moved a couple inches from side-to-side, but the gesture was unmistakable. She saw little to no difference between me and Eamon.
Sally said, “How long were you in?”
“Long enough to see women like you do the walk of shame.”
“You have no right to judge me. Because I’ll bet you saw many women like me in there and I’ll bet you wished we were coming to see you and I’ll bet that, after the lights went out, you fantasized about women like me.”
The answer was no, but we were already off track enough. “Did Eamon say anything about leaving Bayside?”
“Why should I tell you if he did?”
Then my eyes fell on the freshly ironed pants and wrinkle free shirts and I finally made the obvious connection. “You don’t know where he is.”
She said nothing. Which told me everything.
I smiled. “Thanks for your time.”
Before I got out of the room, she said, “I know where he is, Eddie.”
I stopped in the doorway. “You’re ironing your ex’s clothes. You wouldn’t give that guy a second thought if Eamon was still around. And if you knew where Eamon was, why haven’t you gone to see him yet?”
“You don’t know that I haven’t.”
“Sure I do. You have a strange ethos, but that ethos doesn’t include two-timing your inmate boyfriends.” Her renewed interest in ex-husband number two, as laid bare by her ironing clothes he wouldn’t need or ever probably see again, had tipped me off.
Her face fell. “Okay. Fine. I haven’t seen him because I can’t.”
I didn’t move an inch. “What do you mean you can’t?”
She was quiet a moment and looked away before she spoke. “He told me he was going away.”
“Where?”
“He didn’t know where.”
“With who?”
“He wouldn’t tell me.”
“Why not?”
“He said he’d made a deal.”
“What kind of deal?”
“He didn’t say. That’s all I know.”
“Were these men from the government?” It was a dumb question. They had to be from the government because nobody else had the authority to move a prisoner-patient like Eamon Moriarty.
“I think so. But he didn’t say.”
“When did he tell you he was leaving?”
“About two weeks before he was gone.”
“Did he say anything the last time you saw him?”
“Just that he loved me.”
“He loved you?”
“Yes.”
“Did you believe him?”
“Yes.”
I asked her a few more questions but she didn’t know anything. And I didn’t like being this close to her. She had nice perfume on but it couldn’t mask the prison stink I was too familiar with. Nothing can.
“Did he give you a way to get in contact with him?”
“No…”
“But?”
“He said he’d find me if he could.”
“Those were his exact words.”
“Yeah.”
If he could
. Not when he could.
“Okay. Thanks, Sally. I’d tell you to stay away from bad men but I don’t think you’d listen.”
“His father beat him, his mother didn’t love him—barely acknowledged his existence some days—and his big brother was a bully. He had no one to turn to.”
I had to walk away.