"We're an empire now, and when we act, we create our own reality."

Karl Rove, senior advisor to U.S. President George W. Bush from 2001 to 2007, as quoted in 2004 in the New York Times.

Zandra tells Vince to drive to a church-run food shelf, but she doesn't explain why. Better to leave her companions in suspense. That supernatural persona won't groom itself.

Cutiology. Palm reading. Doesn't matter. Any time you give a soothsayer your hand, you're finished. The game is over. People experience their entire lives through their hands.

The spotter's fingernails bore the teal polish that they dole out en masse at the food shelf. It's cheap stuff, and it flakes quickly. Of course, it's not the only cheap, teal nail polish around.

That's why the scaly eczema that ran up and down her fingers was important. The shampoo at the food shelf is also subpar. It's the kind that makes you break out when you rub it between your fingers. It paints a clearer picture of her, but that's not enough.

What is is the fact she's living off of cash she earns from those rings. That means she qualifies for assistance, but she's not naive enough to go to the government without a back up plan. There's a church in town, in the name of goodwill toward humanity and all that fluffy bullshit, with a no-questions-asked policy at its private food shelf. Anyone can come by for any reason.

The spotter had said, "Oh, yes. I saw him, and it wasn't just here." I bet they ran into each other at the food shelf. He's running in the same circles as she is, and they all follow predictable patterns. People are like that. Birds of a feather flock together. Figure out one bird, you can pattern the entire flock.

Zandra's not as confident about her hunch as she lets on to Vince and Jo, but she doesn't worry. Half of her act is being confident despite the odds. They're never in her favor in the first place. That's why it's called a hunch.

If only others were as skeptical, they might avoid some of the leaps in logic that prop up the assumptions that maintain everyday life. An abandoned, single-level motel the Jeep passes by reminds Zandra of what this means.

Several years ago, nature hadn't yet chipped away at the motel's parking lot and tall sign. The owners hadn't yet closed the business. Just the opposite. They hoped to break into new consumer bases by trying their hand at creative marketing: creating a ghost. Or so Zandra figured when the newspaper reported on a ghost-hunting organization "investigating" strange activity at the motel. By sheer coincidence, only the owners witnessed said activity.

The ghost hunters hired Zandra to assist with an EVP – "electronic voice phenomena," or catching ghosts on audio – session in Room 27. The ghost hunters supposed that Zandra could amplify the progress they'd made with spiritual contact. They played back the evidence for Zandra with a grin on their faces. Zandra heard a couple mumbles that could be anything. What happened during the session that followed is something Zandra never recounted to anyone since.

The owners told Zandra about a murder in Room 27 that allegedly happened in 1996. This surprised her, since her thorough reading of the newspapers from that year never recalled the event. She figured the owners planted that idea in the ghost hunters' minds before dispatching the team to collect the evidence. Anything captured on video or audio that seemed out of place would be pre-conditioned to be related to the murder.

Zandra figured it'd be fun to burst some bubbles. She could put on a show, take control of the ghost hunters' perception of events and twist the story on its head. After all, she was the authority in the situation. What she said would be taken as law. She planned to reveal not a murder, but a poisoning. Specifically, the death would come from environmental poisoning on account of the black mold in the motel's drywall and the deceased's severe allergic reaction.

This packed plenty of bite. The damp air and a little olfactory confirmation tipped her off to its presence when she first showed up. Another investigation, this time by a state inspector, could ultimately shut the motel down. Zandra would feel no remorse. The owners covered for Gene elsewhere. Best buddies. Partners in slime.

In an EVP session, a question is asked of the "spirit" by the still-living, and the ghostly occupant of the room responds in a way only perceptible to humans on playback of the audio recorder. In the company of the ghost hunters, Zandra put herself into a "trance" and started asking questions as part of the process. Not wanting to wait for confirmation later, the hunters broadcasted the playback as it was received. This created a real-time conversation between Zandra and "the spirits." A kindergartener and a roll of duct tape could've rigged this up in two minutes, but at the time it was considered cutting edge.

"Mold," came a garbled voice over the speaker the hunters set up. One of the hunters asked the "spirit" to repeat the word, and right on cue came a response of, "mold."

It could've also been "old," "showed," "told," "hold," "volt," or any number of garbled cousins of "mold." The haze on the word placed the source in the room, outside in the motel, or beyond. Zandra, having already trained her mind to the word "mold," heard exactly that, and she said as much to the ghost hunters. They filled in the rest in their minds. Upon repeated playbacks, everyone agreed the utterance was, "mold."

The Stevens Point Journal newspaper took it from there. The ghost hunters recounted Zandra's mold poisoning story, and a state inspector paid a visit to the motel. That put an end to the "ghost," as well as the motel.

It's all faith and perception in the end. That's what it is. That's what holds everything together. The brain is the glue.

Zandra came to that conclusion some time ago. There's a trapdoor the entire paranormal arena stands on. No one wants to acknowledge it, because the books and the TV shows and the celebrities and the marketing and the lore that condition millions of consumers would all go away. It comes down to one simple question not dared uttered.

How do they know they're talking to ghosts?

Take the best evidence for ghostly activity and put it to that question, and things fall apart quickly. There is no standard, no manual, no comparison chart, for what a ghost is. By its own definition, a ghost exists in a realm outside the typical human experience. How then is it possible to attach this evidence to that definition?

It's not.

EVPs, videos, physical phenomena, noises, anecdotes and unusual patterns are attributed to ghosts for no reason other than that's what living, breathing human beings have decided. It's completely arbitrary.

Who is to say that same EVP isn't instead an attempt by an extraterrestrial civilization to communicate through unusual radio methods? Or that that full-body apparition on videotape isn't actually an entity from another dimension stepping through a rip in space-time? Isn't it just as likely that the ghosts poking you in the ribs at night are an invisible species of gnomes?

The answer, Zandra recalls, is why she never starved while running Sneak Peek. Once enough people latch onto something, out rolls the confirmation bias. No one wants to feel left out. Belonging to a group is too important. Social isolation is half the reason people wind up joining ghost hunting organizations in the first place.

But even more than that, at a deeper, granular level, Zandra realizes what Herman explained in the Six Reasons he gave to her are true. The brain relies entirely on its senses to experience reality, and human beings are far from perfect physiological specimens. There is a degree of faith in that perception being correct that every person relies on to get through the day.

It's fair to say that that perception evolved throughout millennia as modern humans came into being. Eyes, ears, noses, nerves and the like didn't just appear overnight. And since the vessel of that perception never stopped evolving, neither did the picture that perception paints. What is real to people today will be different from what is real to people millions of years from now.

So what can be said is real if the definition of real is constantly changing? How can people from yesterday, today and tomorrow know what they are experiencing is actually real? They rely on others to confirm what they believe to be true.

Confirmation bias isn't a bug. It's a feature.

If somebody, or a group of somebodies, figured this out, and could put the right resources behind their goals, they could steer others to a pre-determined outcome.

Exhibit A: me. My clients aren't necessarily stupid. They're just people being people. There aren't suckers born every minute. There are people born every minute.

Of course, not everyone gets into the psychic game. Others, having dissected this fundamental piece of the human experience, choose other routes. They manipulate not one person, not several, but thousands or millions. Sometimes it's for nefarious purposes, sometimes it's for completely benign or altruistic reasons. Some become artists. Some become entrepreneurs. Some become educators. Some become tradesmen. Some become marketers. Some become clergy. Some go mad.

And some enter politics. It has it all. Confirmation bias. Money. Power. Manipulation. It's a hot stew with no bowl.

Like Gene.

"We're here," Vince says as the Jeep comes to a stop outside the food shelf. "What's next, Zandra?"