I took another sip of chocolate milk. “So you don’t believe in ghosts?”
Her eyes widened. “Oh, I totally believe. I just take a more technical approach than Sam.”
“What do you mean?”
Mi Jin sat up a little straighter. “It takes a really high amount of energy for a ghost to do something big, like move a solid object or possess a person,” she said seriously. “But they can affect electrical currents pretty easily. Like with white noise. If a ghost is speaking, your ears won’t pick it up. But if you get an audio recording, you can isolate the voice in the white noise. It’s called EVP—electronic voice phenomena. Same thing with photos—even if we can’t see a ghost, a camera can capture its image because it detects a broader spectrum of energy than the human eye.”
She paused, popping the last bite of bagel into her mouth. “So I try to use technology to communicate. It’s not that I think Sam’s way doesn’t work, I just think my way has a higher possibility of success. You should see my electronic Ouija board.”
“Seriously? Where’d you get that?”
“I made it,” Mi Jin said proudly. “It’s a regular Ouija board with some modifications.”
I took a sip of chocolate milk. “So the camera yesterday . . . You’re saying that could’ve been a ghost? Not that I think it was,” I added hastily. “But I know a lot of fans think the show’s haunted.”
Mi Jin nodded. “Yeah, totally. That’s why I recorded it happening.”
“So you don’t really think Oscar did it?”
“Nah. He’s good with electronics, but I don’t think he could’ve managed that.”
“Me either.” Propping my feet up on the coffee table, I tried to sound nonchalant. “Speaking of haunted equipment, I tried to use that laptop in room 301 last night, and it kind of freaked out.”
Mi Jin tilted her head. “How so?”
“Started playing old footage of the show,” I said. “And then it just weirdly shut off.”
“Huh. What was the footage?”
I smiled. “A tea party. Just Sam, Lidia, and Emily.”
“Which episode?”
“Dunno,” I said with a shrug. “I’ve seen every episode, but I didn’t recognize it. I figured it was footage they never used.”
Mi Jin paused, lips pressed together like she was weighing her words. “Could you tell where they were?” she asked at last.
“Um . . . a really small room.” I squinted, picturing the scene. “There were windows, but it was dark outside. They were sitting at a little table. It looked like the room was filled with junk, like maybe an attic. But the light was too dim to make anything out.”
Actually, the image would have made a beautifully creepy photo, I thought. The bulb casting a yellowish light on three people huddled around a table holding hands, surrounded by shadowed boxes and objects, the night sky visible through the windows behind them . . . Never use flash in low-light shots, Kat; you’ll flatten the background . . . Use a higher ISO—it’ll give you more contrast and depth . . .
It was a few seconds before I realized Mi Jin was talking. “What?”
“Do you think maybe it was the missing lighthouse footage?” Mi Jin said, studying me over her coffee cup. “You know, the dead air from the first episode?”
I blinked. “Actually . . . maybe, yeah. It could’ve been a lighthouse. Have you ever seen that footage?”
“Nope,” Mi Jin replied. “But I do know that Sam had a tea party in the lighthouse. Originally, he was going to do one for every episode, but Jess made him stop after that one.” She glanced around, lowering her voice. “I overheard Jess and Lidia arguing about it once. Lidia’s way into tea parties. You know, because of her brother.”
I frowned. “You mean Oscar’s dad?”
“No, Lidia’s twin,” Mi Jin replied. “He died when they were teenagers.”
My eyes widened. “How?”
“Heart condition,” she said simply. “They were both born with it, but his was much worse than hers, apparently.”
I remembered Lidia taking her pills yesterday and explaining about her pacemaker. “Oh.”
“They grew up in Oregon,” Mi Jin went on. “On the coast, really close to that lighthouse—that’s why Lidia chose it for the first episode of P2P. She and her brother were totally obsessed with it when they were little, because it was abandoned, but sometimes the light would just start flashing, like it was trying to signal a ship. They were convinced it was haunted.” Mi Jin shrugged. “Apparently Lidia got pretty worked up during the séance. It’s not good for her health. So Jess convinced her to stop doing them on the show.”
We sat in silence for a minute. I pictured Lidia seated at the table, so intent, so focused . . . the way her eyes had flown open just as the bulb exploded . . .
“Morning!” Mi Jin called. I glanced over as Oscar stepped off the elevator, eyes bloodshot, black hair sticking up in all directions. Mi Jin snickered. “Wow. Kat, looks like you’re runner-up in the most beautiful zombie competition.”
Oscar shuffled across the lobby to the breakfast room without a word. I shook my head. “Cheerful, isn’t he?”
She smiled. “You two just got off on the wrong foot. He’s a nice guy.”
“If you say so.”
Hearing about Lidia’s childhood made me wonder yet again about Oscar’s father. Why wasn’t he living with him? I opened my mouth to ask Mi Jin, but closed it when Oscar returned, carrying a bowl of cereal and a plate stacked with what looked like a loaf’s worth of toast. He flopped down on the sofa and crammed a piece of toast in his mouth, eyeing me.
“Psycho?”
I was offended for a split second before I realized he meant my Bates Motel T-shirt. “Oh. Yeah.”
“All you wear is horror stuff,” Oscar said dryly, and I gave him an icy stare.
“One of the perks of my mom leaving. I can wear what I want without getting harassed.”
As soon as the words left my mouth, I felt a pang of guilt. After all, Oscar’s
