Although Ash's mind was racing as he stared at the middle-aged man who looked suspiciously like an older Tom Hanks, he did not stand there speechless for long. The moment he opened the door, he rattled off, "No insurance, no credit cards, no new phone plan, no religion, and the building already has a security system. If you're selling something, you're out of luck."
He paused and looked the stranger over again. "Now that we've cleared that up, what are you actually here for?"
The suited man blinked. His gaze briefly dropped to Ash's apron and still-damp hands before returning to his face with an amused smile. "Mr. Williams, are you interested in a job?"
Ash raised an eyebrow. At least the man knew his name, which immediately made him more interesting than a door-to-door salesman. "I'm eighteen and about to start college. Is this a real job, or the kind where I wake up missing a kidney?"
He stepped aside and gestured toward the living room.
The man entered and gently closed the apartment door behind him, leaving it slightly ajar. Once they sat across from each other, he answered in the same calm tone. "It is a legitimate federal position. The hours are unpredictable, you may be called in without much notice, and availability is important. Your college schedule can be accommodated."
That answer made Ash more interested.
He removed his apron, tossed it over the back of a chair, and settled into the opposite seat. "You know my name, you know I'm a student, and I'm guessing you didn't get my address from a phone book. Before we talk about employment, how about you introduce yourself?"
The stranger reached inside his jacket and produced an identification wallet.
"My name is Raymond Cross. The department I work for handles the kinds of cases the FBI prefers not to explain in ordinary reports."
Ash accepted the credential.
The cover was dark blue leather with a thin gold border. A silver badge was embossed into the center, shaped like an open eye with a federal eagle set inside the pupil. When Ash opened it, he found Raymond's photograph, name, identification number, and issuance date, but strangely there was no agency name or job title anywhere on the card.
He handed it back.
"Raymond Cross. Very mysterious." Ash leaned against the sofa. "You came here offering me a job, so before we discuss what the job actually is, I want to know why you picked me and how you found me."
Raymond seemed prepared for the question. "Our first serious file on you came from Newt, Texas, after the Leatherface incident. Once your name appeared there, we reviewed several other cases connected to you."
Ash's expression remained casual, but his attention sharpened.
Raymond continued, "The West Virginia cannibal killings. The Woodsboro murders. The Jigsaw incident. Crystal Lake. There is a noticeable pattern around you."
Ash stood and walked toward the refrigerator as though they were discussing something far less important. "Coffee, tea, or beer?"
"Coffee would be fine."
Ash opened the refrigerator. "Don't have any."
Raymond stared at him.
"Tea, then."
"Don't have that either."
A faint twitch appeared near Raymond's eye.
"Beer."
Ash smiled and pulled out a large bottle of orange juice. "Nobody here drinks much. Juice it is."
He returned with two glasses and poured generously before sitting much closer than before. Raymond looked at the orange juice, then at Ash, and finally managed a polite smile. "You have an unusual sense of hospitality, Mr. Williams."
"Don't call me that. Makes me feel like I'm forty."
Ash handed him the glass. "You already know half my life story, so just call me Ash. I'll call you Ray."
Raymond started to object. "Mr. Wil—"
Ash looked at him.
Raymond sighed. "Ash."
"Much better."
Raymond took a small drink before continuing. "Understand that what we conducted was simply a background investigation. There was no hostile intent."
Ash nodded easily. If Raymond had come with hostile intentions, he would not be sitting comfortably on the sofa drinking orange juice. More importantly, Ash understood why a federal agency would investigate someone before offering access to classified work.
"Fair enough. Keep going."
"After the Crystal Lake murders, we became much more interested in your capabilities," Raymond said. "Then we noticed that you spent the last couple of weeks actively searching for reports of unusual incidents around New York. Last night, you encountered Jason Voorhees again and successfully eliminated him."
Ash's hand stopped halfway to his glass.
That was interesting.
He took another sip before asking, "How do you know that was me? I never gave Rennie or the others my name. The police shouldn't have my fingerprints in a criminal database, and those dock cameras never got a clear look at me."
Raymond shook his head. "Fingerprints had nothing to do with it. Surveillance did."
Ash waited.
"You avoided the cameras inside the industrial port very well," Raymond explained. "If we had started with no suspect, you probably would have remained unidentified. But once Jason appeared in Manhattan, there were only a handful of people we knew about who could realistically fight him and survive."
Ash understood immediately.
"You already suspected me."
"Exactly. Instead of searching the waterfront for an unknown person, I started with you and worked backward. We reviewed cameras around this building, nearby streets, subway entrances, and several locations along the route. Individually, none of the footage proved anything, but together it established enough of a pattern."
Ash nodded slowly.
That made far more sense than the NYPD somehow identifying him overnight from half a duffel bag and a witness description.
"Alright. Mystery solved."
He placed his glass down and leaned forward. "Now tell me about the job. Start with this department of yours. I assume it isn't one of those organizations where you have to sign your life away before anyone tells you what the initials mean."
Raymond gave a slight shake of his head. "It is classified, but only from the general public. We have no reason to pretend the supernatural does not exist when speaking to someone who has personally fought demons, undead killers, and other abnormal entities."
Ash smiled.
"Good policy."
"The organization itself is relatively new," Raymond continued. "Its official name is the Abnormal Incident Investigation Bureau."
Ash stared at him for a moment.
"AIIB?"
"That is the abbreviation."
Ash leaned back and considered the name. It sounded exactly like something created by a committee that spent six months debating what to put on government stationery.
Raymond ignored his expression. "Over the past several years, supernatural incidents have increased in frequency across the country and overseas. Eventually, the federal government could no longer treat them as isolated disappearances, unusual homicides, cult activity, or unexplained disasters."
He rested his glass on the table.
"The President authorized the creation of the Abnormal Incident Investigation Bureau through executive order. We operate federally and investigate incidents involving entities, phenomena, objects, or individuals that ordinary law-enforcement agencies are not equipped to handle."
Ash's interest increased immediately.
A government agency dedicated to supernatural incidents was almost exactly what he had wished for while wasting nights chasing fake ghost stories.
Still, one question remained obvious.
"Why me?"
Raymond's expression became more serious.
"Because we're badly understaffed."
Ash laughed. "That direct?"
"There is no point pretending otherwise."
Raymond leaned forward slightly. "If we needed infantry, tactical officers, investigators, or intelligence analysts, manpower would not be a serious problem. The federal government has plenty of highly trained personnel."
His brow tightened.
"But training someone to clear a building does not prepare them for a ghost that cannot be shot. A decorated soldier is still helpless against possession if he cannot recognize what is happening. A veteran FBI agent can investigate a murder scene perfectly and still die because the murderer has been dead for twenty years."
Ash stopped smiling.
That was a problem he understood very well.
Raymond continued, "Before the AIIB existed, the federal government's knowledge of supernatural events was scattered across hundreds of unrelated files. Local police reports, military incidents, unexplained medical cases, FBI records, Church accounts, intelligence reports, missing-person investigations—different agencies encountered pieces of the same world without realizing how they fit together."
He clasped his hands.
"There was no centralized archive, no standardized classification system, and almost no serious research program. One agency might encounter something another department had already seen ten years earlier and never know that information existed."
Ash thought about his notebook filled with false leads.
For the last two weeks, he had been wishing for exactly the kind of intelligence network Raymond was describing.
Now one had walked directly to his apartment and knocked on the door.