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want. But treat them with respect. And the
point of this, since you asked, is to prove they exist."
    I couldn't understand why Jordin's brow was still wrinkled.
"What if that's not enough?" she asked.
    I had no answer.
    The male voice did not call out to us again all night.

    When four a.m. arrived and the activity seemed to be settling down for the night, I declared that we were done, and we
began rolling up our sleeping bags. While Jordin had originally insisted on our staying the entire night, the last hour's
excitement had wiped her out and she put up no arguments
at the mention of getting a pair of hotel rooms before we flew
home.
    Once we were back in the rental car and out on the highway again, she turned to me and said, "So where are we going
next?"
    I'd been afraid of this. Paranormal investigation is a field
in which closure is a very rare commodity. The nature of how
it works-positioning oneself to observe highly random paranormal events-all but prevents you from ever feeling like the
job is complete. Usually you wound up feeling instead like you
stopped only from exhaustion, and often right when things were
just getting interesting.
    That lack of closure made it a very addictive activity, particularly for newcomers. It was a difficult business to walk away
from, which had made it all the harder for me to return.
    I knew that no matter how many times I took her investigating, it would always run the risk of never being enough, since
there would never be any resolution to the experience. There
was no evidence strong enough to convince the whole world
that ghosts exist.
    I looked at her, frowning, and tried to think of a way of cutting off that craving in her before it grew too strong. "You said
you wanted to touch the paranormal. You just did, Jordin. More
than most people ever will."

    She was silent for a moment before she quietly said, "But I
didn't find what I'm looking for."
    "And remind me what that is?" I tried to coax her.
    "Pick the next place, Maia."Jordin's expression hardened as
she stared out the windshield. "We're going again."

    Carrie Morris had tired eyes.
    I was trying to give Jordin's roommate time to sort through
her memories, using kind-but-firm questioning techniques I'd
learned in class. But I'm not known for my patience. And this
chick wasn't going out of her way to hide her disdain for my
presence.
    The three of us sat on a sidewalk bench in the courtyard
outside Hogan Hall in the cool morning sun. Carrie was on one
side of me, and Derek-who hadn't said a word since introducing
the two of us-was on the other.
    It turned out that the group of friends Jordin routinely went
off on this "annual vacation" thing with were all members of the Columbia volleyball team, of which Jordin was once a proud
member. But not anymore.

    "So you saw Jordin Thursday afternoon, August 5, on the
beach ... ?" I tried to prod her. "You're sure that was the last
time you saw her?"
    "Yeah," Carrie replied, watching other students bustle about,
bobbing one knee up and down in agitation. "She kept saying
how she wanted to go to England, she was planning a trip to England, she talked about it all the time. So when she disappeared,
we figured she'd finally gone."
    England. Jordin's interest in England didn't surprise me. I
knew all about it.
    "So you didn't suspect anything was wrong right away. How
long was it before you went to the police?"
    "The next Wednesday, I think."
    "Derek said they didn't take you seriously."
    Carrie yawned. "Well, this officer gave us a big condition
that had to be met before a person could be declared missing.
We were in the middle of explaining to him how long Jordin had
been gone when he recognized her name. He said it was probably
some kind of `rich person eccentric impulse' and suggested we
`contact her estate.' "
    Every time she quoted from someone else, Carrie made annoying little rabbit-ear quotation marks with her fingers.
    I turned to Derek.