Chapter 2
Shane
A few hours after finding the trespasser in Walt's makeshift kitchen, I stood outside the west wing listening to her set up enough surveillance equipment to film a small war. Every instinct screamed at me to throw her out, consequences be damned. But she'd seen Walt. She knew.
And Walt had been happy to see someone new for the first time in months.
I pushed open the door without knocking. Raven looked up from where she knelt surrounded by cameras, cables, and laptop screens. In the fading afternoon light, her black hair with its purple streaks looked like spilled ink against her pale skin.
"Privacy doesn't mean much to you, does it?" She didn't stop working, fingers flying over her keyboard as she adjusted settings.
"About as much as private property means to you." I scanned her setup—night vision cameras, motion sensors, thermal imaging. "That seems excessive for a YouTube channel."
"My subscribers expect quality content." She pulled up footage from earlier, and I tensed seeing Walt's confused face on the screen before she deleted it. "Don't worry. I keep my promises."
I moved closer, noting how she tracked my movement without looking directly at me. Smart. Alert. Not the reckless amateur I'd assumed.
"Tell me about Walt," she said, replacing batteries in what looked like expensive, professional equipment.
"That's not your concern."
"It is if I'm going to help you with him." She finally looked up at me, those dark eyes serious. "I need to understand what triggers his confusion, what time periods he thinks he's in, what stories to avoid."
The logical argument annoyed me because she was right. "His mind fractured after the fire. He couldn’t accept that it was over, that everyone was gone. Stuck in a loop where it's always the good years, always just before the fire."
"So he's been living here for almost thirty years?"
"Not really. More like on and off. When he was more lucid he stayed in town and local motels from time to time, when the weather was particularly bad. I found that out from asking around town after I bought the property in this area and found him squatting."
“Where did he get food and water from?”
I shrugged. “No one ever cleaned out the lodge’s pantry. I think he survived on cold canned goods until I came across him. I wouldn’t be surprised if old Mary Lorenzo took care of him before she died. She was a nice old woman. My brother Keith married her granddaughter.”
"What about all the medical supplies?"
"He was in a bad way when I found him. After convincing him I was the new owner of the place, I told him he had to ger a mandatory physical. We found out he had diabetes among other things. He's eighty-three. Every day is a gift and a challenge."
"It seems such a complicated way to live. He’d be better off in a care facility. I would be easier on everyone.”
“It wouldn’t be easier for him. Would it have been easier for your grandmother?”
“No,” she admitted quietly. “But she was family. You didn’t know Walt.”
“He’s family now, and that’s what counts.”
“Does your brother and his wife help you?”
“No. None of my brothers know about Walt.”
“Why?” she said. “I was a caregiver. It takes a lot out of you. Especially, if you have a full time job. Wouldn’t they help?”
“Of course they would. All of them would. But they’d insist on putting Walt in a facility. And I can’t fight the three of them when they set their mind to something. Add in their wives and ...” I shuddered. Walt would be in a hospital within the hour of them finding out about him.
She nodded. “It makes the best sense.”
I shook my head. “You don’t understand. This is his home. I can’t take him away from the only home he can remember.”
“Why?”
“Because I know what it’s like. I’m a foster kid.”
“Oh.”
I turned to face her, not liking the sympathy in her voice. "I don't need your pity."
"Good, because you're not getting it." She stood, and I was struck again by how small she was. Five-four at most, but she filled the space with attitude that belonged to someone twice her size. "I'm just trying to understand the situation I've walked into."
"The situation is temporary. One week, then you vanish."
"Right. About that." She pulled out a notebook covered in stickers and sketches, and just like that our heart to heart was over, much to my great relief. "I need to film enough content for a forty-minute Halloween special. I'll need access to multiple areas."
"Not the east wing."
"That's where the fire happened. It's the most anticipated area, the reason why people would come here."
"I said no." My voice dropped to a register that usually made people step back.
"It's dangerously unstable. Floors could give way, take you straight down three stories.
But also I don't want Walt following you there.
He thinks renovations are happening up there.
Seeing it destroyed would break what's left of his mind. "
"Okay. Then I'll need other compelling areas. The spookier the better."
"Fine. But only when I'm here to supervise."
"You don't trust me."
"I don't know you." I moved closer, noting how she held her ground even when I used my size advantage. "For all I know, you're planning to exploit Walt for views."
"I don't exploit people." Real anger flashed in her eyes. "I tell the stories of forgotten places. I preserve memories."
The passion in her voice caught me off guard. There was pain there, old and deep.
"Everyone says that until it benefits them and then integrity becomes negotiable."
"Speaking from experience?"
I didn't answer, but she must have seen something in my expression.
"Look," she said, taking out her laptop. "Let me show you what I actually do."
She opened a folder of edited videos. The production quality was exceptional, but it was the content that surprised me.
She didn't sensationalize. She researched history, interviewed locals when possible, treated each location with respect.
One video about an abandoned orphanage included a segment on childhood trauma and resources for survivors.
That hit a little too close to home with my background. "You actually give a damn," I said grudgingly.
"These places matter. The people who lived in them, worked in them, died in them—they matter." She closed the laptop. "Walt matters. I won't betray that."
A crash from somewhere below made us both freeze. Then Walt's voice, confused and agitated, echoed in a way that made the hair on my neck rise.
"Shane? Where are you? The lights are out in the dining room. Guests will be arriving soon."
I headed for the door, but Raven followed.
"Stay here. You’ll only make his confusion worse.”
"My grandmother had Alzheimer's," she said. "I know how to play along."
We found Walt in the main dining room, trying to light candles in tarnished candelabras.
It was almost midnight and he should have been asleep, but Raven’s appearance messed up his time table.
Shadows pooled in the corners like living things.
The room was enormous, designed to hold a hundred guests, and now it was just one confused old man trying to prepare for people who would never come.
"There you are," Walt said, relief flooding his weathered face when he saw me. "The power's out again. I've been telling maintenance we need a backup generator, but does anyone listen?" He squinted at Raven in the dim light. "Miss? I don't believe we've met. Are you here for the seasonal position?"
"Yes, sir," Raven said smoothly, moving to help him with the candles. "Just started today."
"Wonderful, wonderful. We're short-staffed as it is." Walt's hands shook as he tried to strike a match. "The dinner service starts at six. Prime rib tonight, Mr. Carlson's favorite. We don’t want to upset Mr. Carlson."
Mr. Carlson had been the old owner.
"Let me help with those," Raven said, gently taking the matches from Walt's trembling fingers. "You should rest your hands, Mr. Harrison. Don't want you getting hurt before the rush."
"You're right, you're right." Walt settled into one of the chairs, and in the candlelight, his uniform looked less faded, his face less lined.
As if the gathering darkness was pulling him deeper into his memories.
"This place has been my life, you know. Started as a janitor back in '78, worked my way up to head of maintenance.
Twenty-three years of keeping this lodge running. "
"That's impressive," Raven said, with genuine warmth in her voice.
"It was a good life. A simple life." Walt's pale eyes grew distant. "Until that night. The night everything changed."
The temperature in the room seemed to drop. Outside, wind rattled the broken windows, and somewhere in the building, something creaked—old wood settling, or footsteps on rotten floors. I couldn't tell which.
"Walt," I said gently. "Why don't we get you some dinner? I brought fresh soup."
"Soup?" He blinked, momentarily confused about which timeline he was in. "But the guests—"
"Are running late," Raven interjected smoothly. "A storm's coming in. They called ahead."
Walt nodded, accepting this. "Of course, of course. Vermont weather. Always unpredictable in October."
As I helped Walt to his feet, I caught Raven's eye. She was good at this. Natural. But I also saw the way she glanced at the shadows gathering in the corners, the way her shoulders tensed when the wind howled.
The lodge was creepy enough without Walt's confused wandering. Add in an isolated location, no cell service, and the approaching darkness of an October night, and I saw why her subscribers would eat this up.
We settled Walt in his makeshift living area—a corner of what had been the main office, where I'd set up a cot, a camping stove, and enough medical supplies to run a small clinic. The space was warmer here, more contained, and Walt relaxed as I prepared his evening medications.