Friday November 13th, 2015
Ann Arbor, Michigan

Trevor sat in the overstuffed chair, idle rolling a mug of tea between his hands.  The warmth of the liquid warmed his fingers.  While the house, nestled in the outskirts of Ann Arbor, Michigan, was not precisely cold, the howling wind outside made it seem so.

And, of course, the entity standing in the corner, glaring at him with impotent rage, did not help.

"First of all, Miss McCormick, please, let me assure you," he reached up and adjusted the glasses perched on his nose.  "It's not a demon."

The woman who owned the house, older and matronly, pressed a hand to her throat and sighed.  "But, the Medium we had," she shared a glance with her grand-daughter, a twenty-two year old beauty who looked as scared as her grandmother.

Holding up a hand, Trevor just smiled.  Neither woman caught how the muscles of his jaw seemed to bulge as he ground his teeth together.  "Amateurs," he thought to himself.  He knew the medium in question.  He had been there while she and her 'team' of paranormal hunters had studied and cleaned the house.
 Well meaning amateurs, but amateurs none the less.

"It's understandable," he sipped the tea, watching the two women intently over the rim.  It was good tea.  "See, there are several types of ghosts.  To parse it down to the simplest terms," leaning over, he set the cup and saucer on the coffee table and smiled.  "There's the type that wander, trapped in loops and unaware of what, of where, they are.  Think of them as echoes of the past.  They are entirely unaware of their surroundings, like movies on repeat.  The second type are somewhat aware.  They do not always know they're dead," both women shivered just then, as the entity in the corner made the temperature in the room lower just a bit.

A simply glance from Trevor made it recoil.

"They can break their cycle, but it usually requires a catalyst.  Sometimes they interact with people around them but in general they have no real free will.  The most dangerous type are those who are aware and who have free will.  There is where you get what people call Poltergeists.  Sometimes they just want people to know they're there, to make contact and others they can be down right dangerous and malevolent, if they're of a mind."  That described the entity in the corner to the proverbial 'T'.

"Sometimes they claim to be demons when they're really not.  It scares the holy hell out of people.  Literally," he could have gone on to tell them that most spirits and ghosts were NOT malevolent at all.  But why confuse them?  Neither really wanted to know the truth.  Especially that the ghost was that of a young woman who had been tortured and murdered by Patrick McCormick, the late son of  Abigail and the father of Trina - the two women in front of him.

Yes.  Neither woman would be happy to know that they were being haunted because their dearly departed was a right prick.

"But," Trina said, looking around the room.  "Can you help us?"

There was a faint smirk on Trevor's lips as he picked up the tea. "Oh yes, ma'am.  Yes I can."

Age: 27
Height: 6'3"
Weight: 191 - Fit and broad-shouldered
Hair: Black
Eyes: Dark Brown