Low battery
And then it powered itself off.
Dad glanced at me. “You okay?”
“Yeah,” I said lightly, tapping the Elapse to hide the fact that my fingers were shaking. “Battery’s dead.”
He frowned. “Already? Did you forget to charge it?”
“I guess so.”
Another lie. When I turned the Elapse on five minutes ago, it had been fully charged. Then, one photo later, it was dead.
It looked like my attempt at psychic photography hadn’t been a failure, after all.
It was quarter to midnight by the time we got back to the hotel. We’d gotten plenty of creepy footage: the mist creeping up the bridge and over our feet like spindly fingers, rocky cliffs disappearing into the clouds, words in Mandarin scratched into the stone railings. Sam and Lidia had spent a full thirty minutes in one spot, both claiming to feel a gentle pushing sensation on their backs.
But when we gathered in Jess’s hotel room to review the video, it was obvious the only thing everyone really wanted to see was the thing on the bridge. And Oscar and I wanted to see if it was the Thing.
We’d huddled together in the backseat of the van on the drive back, talking about what had happened in hushed tones. I’d noticed Dad glancing at me in the rearview mirror a few times, and I couldn’t help feeling guilty. I hadn’t lied to him, but I definitely wasn’t telling him the full story. I was still too afraid of what his reaction would be if he knew.
Now, I watched as Mi Jin tried to hook up Jess’s camera to the TV. “It’s not gonna work,” she said, tossing a few cords on the floor. “We don’t have the right adapter.”
“Laptop will do,” Jess replied. “Hand me the cable.” Her eyes sparkled as she connected her camera to the laptop, and I glanced around at everyone else. No one was saying it, but I could see the anticipation on their faces. My breathing grew shallow, and I closed my eyes, trying to relax. I’d been so preoccupied wondering about the Thing, I hadn’t really considered how potentially huge this could be for the show. Actual footage of a ghostly figure.
Dad’s face filled the laptop screen, and Jess pressed fast forward. “Hope no one minds if I skip ahead,” she said.
Roland thumped his fist on the desk three times. “Let’s see some ghost Kat!” he joked, and everyone laughed. I smiled, but my lungs felt squeezed tight.
“Here we go.” Jess sat back, and the room fell silent.
The laptop’s volume was too low for me to hear from where I was sitting, but it didn’t matter. I watched the screen as Roland talked into the camera. Just behind him, Dad was looking around, hand in his pockets. Then his eyes widened, and he pointed. The camera swung in that direction, and there was the tunnel entrance. I could see the mist swirling around the bridge on the other side. And in that mist, very distinctly, was a figure. It was too foggy to make out much detail, but it was there, standing by the railing, the profile of its face barely visible.
But very familiar.
I held my breath. The next part happened quickly. Dad headed for the tunnel, calling my name. The camera zoomed in. The fog churned in a particularly strong breeze. The figure turned and faced the tunnel, and I felt a jolt of recognition—my eyes, my nose, my mouth. Then there was the distant sound of Oscar’s voice, the camera whipped around, and there was the real me. On-screen Jess’s scream came loud and clear through the laptop’s speakers, and the camera fell.
Jess pressed pause, and the screen froze. For a second, no one spoke. Then Roland swore softly under his breath.
“Play it again,” Dad said. His voice was weirdly flat. Jess didn’t reply, just hit rewind. This time, she played it back in slow motion. And when the figure on the bridge turned to face the camera, she hit pause.
It was the Thing. No question. Most of its body was shrouded in mist, but I was pretty sure it was wearing a dress, and I’d bet anything it had a long braid down its back.
Jess hit play again, and the slow motion resumed. The footage moved slowly, seamlessly, as the camera swung around from me on the other side of the tunnel to me on the bridge behind Jess.
No editing. No tricks. A ghost Kat, and then the real Kat.
Passport to Paranormal had never captured anything like this footage before.
Once again, everyone turned to look at me. My face burned, and I shook my head, unwilling to speak. I needed to be alone, I had to think about this. What did it mean?
Mi Jin broke the silence. “A doppelganger,” she said excitedly, clasping her hands on top of her head. “It’s a flipping doppelganger. I’ve researched them a ton for my screenplay. Wow. Wow.”
Then everyone started talking at once, and they all had different theories. Astral projection. A reflection in the fog. An illusion caused by the demonic spirit that guarded the bridge. Jess rewound and played the video for a third time, then a fourth. Only Oscar and I stayed silent. Because we didn’t have to theorize. We already knew what it was.
And here was the proof I needed to show Dad I wasn’t losing my mind. Or was it? What would Dad say if I told him that the ghost Jess had captured had ripped up his contract? Maybe he’d think I was just using it as a convenient excuse. Or maybe he’d believe me. Could I take that risk, when the consequence might be leaving the show for good?
“Kat. Are you okay?” Dad was suddenly at my side, and I blinked.
“Yeah.” I stood up abruptly. “I’m fine. Just . . . tired.”
“Oh, Kat. I’m sorry.” Jess closed her laptop. “I didn’t mean to frighten you.”
“No, I’m not scared,” I said, but my shaky voice gave me away. “It’s just kind of freaky,
