Epilogue
EPILOGUE
1 YEAR LATER, NOVEMBER 1ST
Dia de los Muertos
The day was slipping into evening. I checked my watch, restless to leave. Most of the café had emptied, and the remaining staff moved quietly, cleaning up and preparing to close while handling a few last-minute orders.
Across the street, buildings were adorned with orange and red marigolds, colorful skulls nestled between the blooms. People wandered the streets, some wearing skull masks or painted faces. Children danced and ran around their parents, their laughter blending with the faint music drifting from somewhere outside.
I took a sip of coffee, my eyes falling back to the computer screen. On it was a listing for my old house on a realtor’s site. It looked different now. The siding had been repainted, the roof patched and repaired. The windows, once boarded up, now gleamed with fresh glass. It looked clean, almost inviting—like a house that had only known happy families and warm memories. As if its haunted past had been scrubbed away, leaving nothing but a perfect facade.
My eyes fell to the words below the image.
SOLD.
It had taken almost a year before anyone finally bought it. A nice couple with two kids, and their grandparents who occupied the downstairs.
I almost cried when I’d first been contacted about the sale. I wasn’t sure if it was from sadness or relief. I decided it was a little bit of both.
It felt like the final door to that past closing, Harper Pointe would only serve in my memory. Yet, even in my mind, it would be locked away with only a few scattered moments of my childhood to resurface.
I closed out the tab and moved to another page showing a different house, this one older, in a more Victorian style, with colorful arched windows, and red inlaid brick. A willow sat just beyond the small porch. Surrounding the house was nothing but forest, save for a set of wooden stairs leading down to a small river. There was a shed attached to a small barn at the back and from one end you could see a large body of water in the distance from the hillside.
It needed some fixing for sure, mostly in the barn, and inside of the house by the images I’d peeked through, but it was hidden, somewhat remote with the nearest town twenty minutes away.
I’d caught the listing for the house after seeing an article about homes with creepy histories and finding my old house being mentioned.
This house had a uniquely dark past. It had once been a small orphanage for disabled and mentally ill children. The man of the house had also owned a lumber business while his wife took care of the household. They seemed like the kind that cared, that wanted the best for the kids. Until it was revealed some years later, he had been paid by parents to kidnap their sick kids, what they considered a burden, forcing the kids to work. Many of them died very young and instead of burying them, he put them in the river, letting them float down into the straits.
After the man and his wife went to prison, the house remained empty for many years. Then it was picked up by some eccentric guy for a hunting lodge that he never used. He sold it to a group of new age fundamentalists, who tried to start a small community home but failed. It lay empty again for some years and was picked up by a growing traveling business looking to turn it into a rental, but they eventually moved on from it too when they didn’t care to make the repairs.
It had been up for sale for a couple of months, no one looking to buy a house with that kind of history.
Now, however, a couple of weeks later, the listing said: SOLD.
My heart fluttered a little. At that same moment, a notification popped on my screen and I saw it was an email from Micheal.
Eve,
I hope you’re doing well. I just wanted to let you know I’m more than happy to help with the visas you asked about. I should be able to have them sent to you by the end of the month. These will be temporary as we work on securing more permanent ones later. Speaking of visas, I’m glad to hear the IDs are working for you. You can thank Lez—or rather, his connections—for that.
As for the investigations following Severfalls and the events with Emery, Dom and I have continued to keep tabs. Congratulations on your thesis, by the way—I appreciated the extra additions you made. After it came to light, the FBI and police initially focused on Kennedy’s company and the investors involved in Projects Mockingbird and Redbird. However, they’ve ceased much of their investigation as of last week and aren’t looking to release any records. My guess? Someone high up in the government knew what was happening but doesn’t want their name tied to it. Safe to say Kennedy and Co. are done.
As for our part in it all, don’t worry—we’ve covered our tracks. The furthest they’ve gotten is identifying the attack as the work of masked men they couldn’t trace. We disposed of the vehicles, and Dom cleaned our records, thanks to having access to Cassidy’s logins through her work. While the feds found information about us as kids on your laptop, there’s nothing linking us directly to Severfalls. Still, it’s safer for you and Emery to lie low, especially since he was the most exposed. Luckily, they still think he drowned in the river—even if they haven’t found a body. My guess is the case will be closed by the end of the year. Here’s hoping.
That said, you’ll always have a safe place here with me if you need it. But considering the visas, it seems like you’re looking to make a new start somewhere else. I’m happy for you both.
Take care and let me know if you need anything else.
Best regards,
Micheal
I closed his email and saw another I had missed this morning from Jamie.
Eve,
I’m sure you’re having a great time with your mom’s “friends” in Cali. Just wanted to let you know your “thesis” (let’s be real, it’s basically a short novel) has hit over a million views—and it’s still climbing. Good thing you forwarded all the contacts to me because you’ve got several dozen people wanting interviews. Don’t worry, I’ve already declined them.
We’re doing okay here, just missing you. Wish you could’ve been here for graduation, but I get it—those “Cali friends” have you busy. Just promise me you’re staying safe (you better be).
Oh, and Lena says hi. She also doesn’t want you worrying about her. She’s been through hell this past year, but you know her—tough as nails (her words, not mine). She’s got plenty of support, and I know you’d be here for her if you could.
Call us when you get a chance.
Take care of yourself,
Love,
Jamie
PS: See attached photo
Jamie and Lena held my cat, Sammy, both grinning at the camera while Sam looked a little concerned. Tears stung my eyes as I smiled at the photo.
A notification chimed on my phone and I checked it.
Finally.
I drank down the last of my coffee then closed my laptop, slipping it into my backpack. Thanking the woman at the counter, I headed out, unlocking my bike from a pole. I started off down the street, being sure to watch for the groups of people walking along the road as I wove between them. Stopping a few streets down, I parked outside another building before hurrying inside.
The print shop was quaint and small, showing off several pictures with frames along the wall. There were a few shelves full of crafts. On another side was a printing station. I went to the woman at the counter and asked for my order and she brought them out right away. I stuffed the framed photos in my bag and thanked her before hurrying back out.
On the road, a warm breeze blew across as I made my way out of town and headed along the coast, the sun dipping closer to the horizon. I passed by several homes with families gathering, and one large cemetery where even more families stood around graves decorated with candles, flowers, and food. Eventually they disappeared and there was only the narrow road with me between the forest and the ocean.
I came upon a small drive and turned in. Up the dirt path was a two-story white and blue house with a deck. There were a couple of palms on either side but beyond that, nothing more than rolling grassy dunes and a sandy beach stretching for miles.
I parked my bike by the steps and went inside. The house was mostly dark, save for a light on in the kitchen.
“Emery?” I called out.
I glanced at the dining table and noticed a map and a journal spread across it. Despite having access to GPS and the internet, he preferred the old-fashioned approach. I walked over for a closer look and saw the marks he’d made along our journey.
Tracing my finger along the starting point, I followed the red line he’d drawn. First, we headed south through Kentucky and Tennessee, then veered west into Louisiana, marking New Orleans. We spent a few nights there, selling the car and buying a boat—nothing fancy, just enough to make a comfortable trip across the Gulf of Mexico. From there, we followed the coast of Mexico, passed through the Cayman Islands and Cuba, then south to Brazil. After that, we turned west again, eventually stopping north of Mérida.
Sometimes we stayed on the boat; other times we rented places, never staying anywhere for more than a month. Until now. We’d been in this house for most of the fall.
But soon, very soon. We’d be leaving again.
I traced through Panama out to the Pacific and then north. Way north. Up just a little past Vancouver. I flipped through his journal and saw all his sketches. The latest one of me sitting on a sand dune, smiling at him with my hair shorter and darker flying in the breeze.
I closed the journal and set my bag on a chair. I opened it up and took out the pictures, staring at each of them.
I felt my throat tighten, my hand trembling a little as I gripped the frame. To think that a year ago I learned so much. So much had changed.
A shadow moved at the corner of my eye, and I heard my name whispered.
“Eve.”
I didn’t think much of it, as I usually never did now. Sometimes my ghost still broke through even after a year of being medicated. If I ever had an encounter now, I ignored it.
I tried to at least, until I felt a heavy hand on my shoulder and nearly jumped out of my skin.
“Evee.”
I whirled around and found Emery. But not ghost Emery. My Emery. He smirked, his hair wavy, shorter now with the sides shaved. He wore a gray shirt and dark jeans and he was shoeless.
I smiled up at him, hugging the pictures to me. “Hey. Where did you run off to?”
“Just went down to the marina to check on the boat, wasn’t gone very long. How did it go?”
“Good. I think we got everything now. Are you ready?”
He smiled widened. “More than ready.”
I put the pictures in my bag, swinging it over my shoulder, and we went out the back door. On the deck, he put a blanket under his arm and picked up a box, glass clinking together inside.
We walked along a path through grassy dunes, making our way over to a small mound overlooking the water.
Emery set down the box and spread out the blanket on some flattened grass. I went to the box first and took out several colored glass candle holders, some tall in purple and orange, and a couple round ones in red. Taking out a lighter, I started to light the wick inside each of them, keeping my back to the breeze before placing them in a circle in the sand. I took out the pictures next and used the stand of the frames to keep them upright, digging them partially into the sand to keep them in place.
Emery stared at them, and I caught the glow of his eyes, his jaw clenching. He took out a string of marigolds from the box and placed them around the frames. I took one last object out of the box, a small rabbit figurine, and set it in the center.
We stared at the shrine. Not for one but for many. Pictures of the kids who didn’t make it out of the warehouse, Nina’s portrait in the center. Cassidy was there too in an oval frame.
“It’s been so long,” Emery said after a while. “And still it’s hard to look at her, my sister.”
I took his hand and threaded our fingers.
Even though they weren’t a part of the shrine, I thought of my family too. My brother, father, uncle, and cousin. Despite everything they had done, it was impossible not to hurt still, even now. It was a pain that stood on its own. No more anger or guilt accompanied it. A pain that grew less and less as time went on. Like waves that grew smaller and smaller with every tide.
Eventually we sat on the blanket, watching the sun hit the horizon to our left, turning the sky orange and pink. I smelled the salty air in the breeze and listened to the waves crashing.
When only a sliver of sunlight was left, I brought over my bag and sat back, pressing against him.
“A few more days of this,” I said absently. I looked over at him, feeling my heart start to pound a little faster. “You sure the boat will handle the journey up the coast?”
“I checked everything over twice,” he said. “I’m sure.” He leaned forward as he watched the water. “It’ll be interesting to be so close to Alaska, knowing I was there for so many years and didn’t see any of it from the outside.”
“I think it’ll be beautiful.”
“I know it will.” He took my hand and kissed it before pressing it against his forehead. “It’s going to be one hell of a trip though, probably the most difficult.”
I took a deep breath. “And the last.”
“Last?”
“For a long while anyway.” I pulled my computer out of my bag. “When I told you a week ago I wanted to go up the Pacific Coast to Canada, it wasn’t exactly to just sight see.”
“No?”
I opened up the page of the old house with the arched windows and the willow tree and showed it to him.
He studied it for a second, as if confused. Then I saw the realization hit his face when he saw the words on the bottom of the image.
“You bought a…”
“I know it’s a little crazy,” I started. “But when I saw it, something inside me said, this is ours. It has a bad past, like my old house, and since I can’t go back there, I thought…maybe this house deserves good memories. And you deserve a home.”
He laughed, shaking his head. “Eve, baby, you are my home. It doesn’t matter where we are.”
I smiled. “I know. But…if in the future we wanted to try a family again…or just have a safe haven to call ours. Maybe this is the place to start.”
His expression was hard to read, but I thought I caught a pained look in his gaze.
I took his hand. “I’m sorry, I should have told you. But I wanted to give this to you.”
“It’s not that.”
I knew then my words had brought the painful reminder of what had been lost. It hurt me as well, but I’d started to free myself of that pain too.
He pulled me closer, resting his forehead against mine. “It could be the kind of home we need, couldn't it?”
“Yes, it could.”
His mouth curled to one side. “I see it. As long as I have you like this, sweetheart, I’ll be happy anywhere.”
I kissed that curled side of his mouth. “I think you’ll love it. And if you don’t…fuck it, we’ll disappear somewhere else.”
“I’ll love it,” he said firmly. “I know I will.”
I turned back to the laptop and showed him some of the pictures of the inside. “This room here could be your library—how cool would that be?” I grinned, giddy with excitement. “I even got you your first book for it. Found it at a bookstore on my way into town.”
His eyes brightened like an excited kid on Christmas. “Evee, baby, you shouldn’t have.”
I rummaged through my bag and took out the small paperback, setting it in his hand.
“Ah, a classic…”
I tried to stifle a laugh as he gripped Wuthering Heights in his hand.
“You know I think this book might look better in the ocean,” he said, lifting his hand as if to chuck it.
“Don’t you dare!” I warned, grabbing his hand.
He groaned. “You’re going to read this to me on the boat, aren’t you?”
“Probably.” I snickered.
“A long-ass trip.”
We laid out watching the last of the light fade. Over my shoulder, I caught Emery’s ghost watching me. I noticed Emery look over too and imagined he saw a glimmer of his sister. Both nothing more than shadows and whispers on the wind.
I turned to the shrine, watching the faces flicker in the candlelight. I felt like there was something missing from it but couldn’t think of what.
Then I realized.
I drew the charm necklace from my neck. Emery’s expression softened when I put the necklace over Nina’s picture, the letter E facing us.
The sky turned purple, leaving only the light of the candles to flicker in the dark, and we sat together, unafraid, with the ghosts that remained harmless and were just a memory.
THE END