Chapter 55
FIFTY-FIVE
FENRIR
PRESENT
The noise is so loud it shakes the house. There’s a second where I think Hayami has pulled the trigger, got there before me, but her body goes tense, not limp. Her fingers grip my forearm as I pull away from our kiss, and she lowers her gun.
Her eyes search my face, probably thinking the same as me, that I pulled my trigger and that was what the noise was. We remain where we’re standing, holding onto each other for dear life.
“Fenrir?” she says, her voice a light rasp as if she doesn’t trust it to be hers.
“I’m here. We’re both here,” I tell her, lowering my gun.
“That noise,” she says, glancing around the room. “What the hell was that?”
“I don’t know.” It could have been anything, but it was so loud, it shook the foundation. “It came from downstairs.” I stare at the door, then slip the gun into my waistband and take her hand. “Come on.” I pull her from the room and jog down the landing, Hayami behind me, her gun still in her hand.
We reach the stairs, run down the first set, then turn and begin our descent on the second set. Then we both freeze, Hayami one step behind me.
Fuck.
She sees it.
I can tell she does because her arm tenses, her hand grips mine, and her body goes rigid, mirroring my own.
She sees her.
And I don’t know why I’m shocked by this, by her.
There’s been so much weird shit going on that this shouldn’t be a surprise.
But she’s never appeared before us. Not even Junko saw her.
The only person who did was Kevin’s father.
But she’s here, clear as day, her body floating ten inches above the ground, her hair coiled around her shoulders, the gash across her face like someone has thrown a can of red paint at her beautiful portrait.
There’s no expression. How can there be when half her face is missing? But her eyes are wide, ghastly, as if she’s the one who’s afraid of us.
“Fenrir,” Hayami whispers, her voice barely audible above the beating of my heart.
“I see her. Do you see her?”
“Yes.”
I’m not imagining things.
We can’t just stand here. I hold up my hand, palm flat out in front of me, ready to say something.
“We come in peace. We mean you no harm. What the fuck do you want?”
I have no idea what to say to the ghost of this house, to the woman who was brutally disfigured and murdered by her husband, the spirit who seems intent on telling us something, on trying to speak to us from beyond the grave.
But before I open my mouth, she turns around with a graceful fluidity to face the door. I don’t have time to wonder what she’s doing before the door opens.