As far as Emerson was concerned, those who had crossed the veil from life into death were nothing but a thorn in his side. If he had it his way, heâd have long ago stripped himself of his supposed âgiftâ. The lost souls werenât the worst of it â heâd long ago learned how to tune out their whispers, their ghostly touch. It was the angry ones, the ones tied to places, to people, those that had died a gruesome death and wished to seek vengeance that were the worst.
Emerson freaking hated Poltergeists.Â
This latest one had been a right pain in the ass to deal with. Emerson had endured hours of pinched sides, phantom biting and lastly, a push to his back that had sent him careening into a nearby wall, bloodying his nose.Â
At this point, he was starting to rethink his position at the DSI.Â
Now he was on his way back to his apartment, ice pack held firmly to his nose, in no mood to entertain another âcaseâ â and yet, standing there outside his apartment, dutifully labeled Kingâs Paranormal Investigation Services with a crooked plaque, was, no doubt, another client.Â
Emerson pulled the ice pack away from his nose. âDonât ask,â he grunted, before sighing as he thumbed through his keys. âWhat do you need?â he asked, manners be damned â he was in a mood. âAnd can it wait until tomorrow?â Or, at least, until heâd downed four Advil â minimum.Â
JoJo was leaning against the door waiting for the other to arrive when she looked at her watch. âYouâre late.â She offered, though there was no anger or animosity behind the words. âOr did you forget about me.â The blonde questioned lightly before opening the door for the other. âAnd no, it canât wait until tomorrow. You know you have to catch me up on everything going on darling.â
 She looked the other up and down. âThough maybe we should fix all thatâs going on here.â JoJo motioned up and down on the other.