The Shooting Range

He brushed off the idea starting to creep into his mind; his obsession thus far was more than one of curiosity. What other motives could he have? He positively despised that woman at times, but he wasted so much of his time thinking about her. It was starting to get to him now that it was apparent.

“What? What are you looking at me like that?” Zacharie looked a tad flustered, even a frown was beginning to show on his face. “Anyway. We need to focus on the matters at hand with that ridiculous ghost problem.” He adjusted the collar of his shirt a bit in an effort to hide his anxiety. He was certainly feeling a bit hot under the collar. “I listened to the cassette again recently. I fear I may ware the tape out that this point to be honest.”

Zacharie was more than relieved that Gordon was willing to change the subject. He even managed to convince his own mind to do the same, he would have to battle with his fucked up emotions another time. Preferably alone.

"Nothing. That's the problem." He sighed and pulled off his headset completely, still waving the revolver in his hand a bit. "Not a thing out of the ordinary, no voices or footsteps except our's. To be honest I would need audio equipment that we don't have, hell, I don't even know how to use to examine it closer." Zacharie reached into his coat and placed his revolver in it's holster. "There's likely nothing to be found on the tapes, however."

He paused for just a moment, recalling that night again. "You looked pretty ill." Zachaire looked at Gordon with a raised eyebrow. "And I mean, physically. Not just psychologically. Were you alright?"

“I won’t.” He said with an air of confidence towards the other man. He knew that Gordon could take care of himself. But he was beginning to wonder about what everyone’s state of being was down in that basement during the whole ordeal. Did they experience any physical ales on top of the chills and eerie sensations?

Perhaps he could step into Fran's office to see-

Ah.

Never mind.

“By the by.” He said, reaching into his coat again, but for his cigarette case this time. “The red paint is completely gone from the basement. The message, the spill, everything.” Zacharie said with a more serious tone, his expression changed to match it.

“Fuck all is what I make of it.” Zacharie seemed pretty frustrated with that fact, taking out a cigarette and lighting it. “I’m trying to use all and any logic I can and I can’t even begin-” He paused to take a second drag, holding it in as he finished his sentence. “-to fathom what caused it to disappear.” He punctuated his sentence with an exhale of smoke, the wind carrying it behind him and away from the shooting range.

“Unless you have any clues.” He said with a bit of sarcasm.

Zacharie was quiet for a moment after that statement, taking a few short puffs of his cigarette before finally speaking up. "I had a crazy thought." He paused, this definitely not a phrase he'd choose to start a pitch with. "Now assuming there was a 'ghost', perhaps I wasn't alone in thinking the Ouija board was silly. Perhaps we offended it. Using such a toy, thinking it would just play along."

The spy looked doubtful of his own idea, but it had come to him as a joke originally. But the more he thought about it, the more it began to make sense.

"Let's just assume that everything pisses off a ghost then." Zacharie could not believe that sentence had exited his mouth, but it did. "See what I mean? We're getting nowhere." The spy scowled a bit, holding his head in his other hand. "I'm... yes. I think we're going to have to plan another trip down there, albeit actually plan something beforehand this time."

"It's settled." Zacharie finished the last drag of his cigarette and flicked it to the ground. He put it out with the heel of his shoe. "We should adjourn and meet at the base tonight perhaps," He paused, crossing his arms and tapping his foot a bit. "I'm not certain if everyone will be up for any sort of meeting to plan something."