Chapter 28
“You were possessed.”
Theo paces the floor in front of my bed.
His hands dig deep into his waves of hair, and every once in a while, he gives them a tug.
I can’t tell if he’s frustrated or angry or excited.
After convincing his dad that Arden had skipped breakfast and simply needed a snack, the three of us reconvened in the den, where Arden and I have been watching Theo tramp back and forth for the past few minutes.
“Wait a minute,” I start. Possession? Really? Can’t there be one thing about ghosts that is actually fiction?
“I want to disagree with you. But that’s what it felt like.” Arden shivers. “I wasn’t in control of my body anymore.”
“We’re three days into August,” Theo points out. “Loretta was right. Mercy is getting stronger.”
I shake my head. “But we’ve never seen anything like this before. In the construction logs, or what I’ve read about the other tenants that left. The stuff with Jesse, the railing falling, that’s all similar, but no one’s been possessed.”
“And no one has ever had that hex bag before.” Theo nods at the desk drawer where we’ve hidden it. “Maybe Mercy knows we’re trying to figure out how to get rid of her? Maybe she’s trying to stop us?”
This is the first time he’s really looked at me since we came back downstairs. “When we found the dolls, you thought she wanted us to release her,” I say.
His shoulders jut up and down. “That’s what it seemed like until we saw what she did to the other ones.” He crosses his arms over his chest. “And now she tried to possess Arden. None of that feels—”
“Harmless?” I suggest.
“It definitely doesn’t seem like a cry for help.” His voice is harder than usual. It almost feels like we’re fighting. Though I don’t know about what. Mercy? Or what happened upstairs earlier?
“So we’re back to thinking she wants us out of the house?”
“Or—”
I never get to hear his other option because Arden interjects, their voice louder than I’ve ever heard it. “Guys. We have to do the séance.”
Like hell we do. “No way.” Mercy just tried to take over Arden’s body without being invited. Imagine what she might do with permission. “Loretta told us not to.”
Arden arches one of their eyebrows. “Loretta hasn’t had a ghost try to wear her like a mascot costume.”
I can’t argue with that.
Theo already has his phone out. “I’ll text Matt. He’s done one before. And we will all need to do some research.” As soon as his fingers stop flying across the screen, he looks up at me. The intensity in his moss-colored eyes freezes me in place. “Amity. You and your mom can’t stay here.”
“What?”
“It’s not safe,” he insists. His voice is back to its usual soft, low timbre.
“What am I supposed to tell my mother?”
He chews on his bottom lip for a second. “Maybe you could ask her to take you to a nice hotel for your birthday.”
“Then I couldn’t be here for the séance. Not happening.”
Arden rests a hand on their shoulder and taps their fingers against it. “You could say there’s a gas leak.”
Theo jolts. “That makes my dad look bad.”
“Well, trying to convince her that there’s a ghost is not going to work.” I fold my arms over my chest. “I won’t go upstairs. Everything bad has happened up there.”
“Not the railing.”
I glare at Theo. “Well, that was directly under the window to the big bedroom. So still upstairs adjacent.” That almost sounds rational.
I don’t know where this resistance is coming from.
A month ago, if you had told me that there was an actual ghost in my house who made my crochet dolls move on their own and tried to possess my friend, I would have been the first one on the phone with a real estate agent.
But over the past few weeks, this place has started to feel like home. Like mine. Like somewhere I fit.
I am not letting anything take that from me.
Especially not a ghost.
“Amity.”
“Theo, I am not leaving. This is my house.”
He crosses his arms. I try (and fail) not to notice how it makes the muscles in his forearms flex. “Then I’m staying with you.”
He cannot be serious. “You can’t think my mother’s going to let you share a room with me. She knows that we’re…” I wave a finger between us, then let the rest of the sentence die on my tongue. I’m not sure what we are anymore.
“Then I’ll sleep in my truck in the driveway.”
“Theo.”
His eyes bore into me. “You’re not changing my mind.”
He wasn’t joking.
For two nights in a row, Theo left at the end of the workday with the rest of the crew, only to return after eleven. Each night, I could hear his tires chewing the dirt as he slowly eased the truck up the driveway. If my mother did too, she never mentioned it.
As soon as the engine quieted, I’d get a good-night text from him.
I typed a million different responses—apologizing, explaining, promising I’d figure it out—but I could never send anything more than “Sleep well.”
On the third night, I hear Theo arguing with his dad as they’re packing up to leave while I’m searching for a book in the den.
“I’ve gotten DMs and emails from people who want more videos, Pops,” he pleads. “We’re on schedule here, and we don’t start any new projects until the end of August. We can find half an hour to film a few.”
His dad clears his throat. “If those people want to see me work, they can hire me.”
“And a lot of them have.” The restraint in Theo’s voice is palpable. He’s trying so hard not to turn this into a fight. “But we aren’t going to find new clients if we aren’t being consistent with our content.”
I sit down on my bed. I feel weird eavesdropping, but they’re right in the kitchen. Anything I do to block out their voices will let them know I’m here, and I don’t want to disturb Theo when he’s finally telling his dad what he wants.
Mr. Hargrave coughs. “Why does this matter so much to you?”
“Because I’m good at it. Unlike all the construction stuff.”
“Son, you do fine—”
“Yeah, but I’m not you and Jesse. I’m not a master craftsman. I don’t have the patience for it. Or the hand-eye coordination.” Theo sniffs. “But the marketing stuff. The people stuff. That I am good at. And I like doing it. I want to do something I’m good at.”
“I’ll need to think about it.” They both go quiet, and for a minute, there’s no sound but the rustle of their clothes.
Finally, Mr. Hargrave sighs. “It’s going to change the schedule.
And I like having you both with me.” My chest warms a little.
From what Theo has told me, this seems like the closest his father has gotten to agreeing.
I hear what sounds like Theo clearing his throat. “Please really think about it.”
His dad grunts, then I hear the thumps of two sets of footsteps out the back door.
My fingers itch to snatch my phone out of my pocket and text Theo to see how he’s feeling.
But things have been kind of awkward between us since Arden’s almost possession.
I have no idea what to do in regular relationship situations, never mind when it seems like I’ve broken something, so I’m basically avoiding him.
Like if I wait long enough, he’ll forget I made it weird.
I’m sure that will work.
After the fourth time I type three words into a text message only to delete them, I toss my phone on my bed and go find my mother. Maybe I need to tell her what’s going on. She might have some actual advice.
Or at least offer a momentary distraction.
I find her standing at one of the windows in the living room, the edge of the curtain ticked back so she can see outside. “What are you doing?” I ask.
She jumps at my voice.
“I don’t think you can claim the role of neighborhood busybody when we can’t see any of our neighbors.”
She snorts, then lets the curtain fall to face me. “Why is Theo Hargrave sitting in the driveway in his truck?”
I mull over a bunch of excuses before telling her the truth. “He thinks I’m going to be possessed by a ghost because it’s almost the anniversary of the Harlows’ deaths.” She’s well aware of Theo’s ghost theories, so it doesn’t seem worth lying to her. “He’s been doing it the past few nights.”
“Sleeping in his truck?” She shoves her glasses into her hair so she can look at me more clearly.
I shrug.
“And you’re letting him?”
“I didn’t think you’d want him sleeping in my room.”
She laughs. “Go get that boy. He can have the couch, and I’ll crash with you.”
As I head out the front door and across the yard, I try to order my thoughts.
Most of our communication lately has been in the group chat, where we’ve all been consolidating the information we’ve found about séances, so I don’t even know what to say.
My mom’s worried about you makes it sound like I’m not, and asking how he’s feeling about his talk with his dad will reveal I was listening, but I’m afraid anything else will invite questions from him I don’t have answers to.
Despite my mental resistance, my feet drag me to his truck. The whole time, my heart is drilling against my ribs, and my lungs can’t seem to let in any air.
I pause at the passenger side window and knock lightly.
The buzz as it lowers seems louder than a scream to my ears.
“Hey,” I say.
He drums his fingers against the steering wheel a few times before nodding.
“Sorry. I didn’t really feel like seeing my dad at home tonight, so I thought I’d start my stakeout early.
” I watch his throat bob as he swallows.
“I mean, you heard him. He’ll ‘think about it.’ ” He throws some air quotes around the phrase.
So much for my stealth skills. I guess I can cross assassin off my list of potential career options.
I fold my arms into the open window. “I’m glad you spoke up. And it sounded to me like he meant it when he said he’d consider it.”
Theo shrugs.
“Do you want me to tell him about how Mom and I used the videos? How great they are?”
The waves of hair in his eyes flutter with his exhale.
“I can be your hype lady.” I try to make my grin enthusiastic, but I probably look like a clown ready for murder.
The door unlocks, and when I step back, Theo pushes it open. My phone buzzes with a text as I climb in.
I read it, then turn to him. “My mom wants to know if you want dinner.”
“Before she makes me leave?”
“Nope. But you’ll be sleeping on the couch.”
“Are you okay with that?”
I narrow my eyes. “I wouldn’t be out here collecting you if I wasn’t.
” I shoot off a quick text to my mom, then shove my phone in my pocket and face Theo.
“I’m glad you’re here.” His hand is resting on the console between us, and I slip my fingers between his.
He pulls our clasped hands into his lap.
His thumb brushes over mine as he stares down at them. Each touch is like a live wire pressed to my spine. “Am I a bad kisser?” He keeps his eyes locked on our hands.
“What? No. Of course not.”
“Then why do you seem to only want to ghost hunt when I try to kiss you?”
I hang my head. My brain is screaming to get out of the car. Or at least to lie. To say anything but the truth. But Theo looks so hurt, so confused, so completely unsure of himself, and I did that to him. I don’t want to be the reason he doubts himself, ever.
Even if it means I could lose him.
“Because I’m afraid I’m bad,” I whisper. The words feel like knives on my tongue, but I force them out. “Because I have no idea what I’m doing.”
“What do you mean?” He tugs at our clasped hands until I look at him.
“You were my first kiss, Theo. Everything we do, it’s a first for me.” I squeeze his fingers. “No one had even held my hand before you.”
Both of us go quiet. The buzz of insects in the trees blends with the nervous rush of blood against my eardrums as his eyes play over my face. That familiar wrinkle, the one that says he’s thinking hard, creases his forehead.
By the time he speaks, I have been focusing on my breathing for so long that I think I forgot how to make air move in and out of my lungs.
“They’re all missing out,” he says. He brings my knuckles to his mouth and kisses them gently. “Your hands are amazing. They’re soft, and warm, and they always smell like apples.”
“Theo…”
“I don’t want to wash my hands after I touch you, because then I smell like apples.”
I guess I’m never switching what hand lotion I use.
I stare at him. “Please wash your hands.”
Laughter erupts from him, and he kisses the inside of my wrist this time.
I don’t know what to say, so I just keep staring at him.
He tilts his head, his eyes studying me. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Because it’s embarrassing. It feels like everyone else has had tons of experience by the time they’re our age. It’s hard not to wonder if there’s something wrong with me.”
“There’s nothing wrong with taking your time.”
I sigh. “But that’s never what people are hoping for.”
Theo shakes his head. “I just want to be around you. I don’t care what we’re doing.” With his free hand, he runs his palm over the circumference of the steering wheel. “It’s not like I’m some sex god or something. I had one serious girlfriend before you. Junior year—”
“Before me?” My eyes are so wide, I must look like I’ve seen another ghost.
His cheeks are instantly flushed. “Are you not my girlfriend?”
“I am if you want me to be.” I love the way the word girlfriend sounds coming out of his mouth. I want to press my fingers to his lips so I can feel every syllable.
He smiles. “Like I was saying, me and my other girlfriend”—he winks dorkily at me—“did it once. I must have been pretty terrible because she never wanted to again.”
“I’m sure you weren’t—”
He holds up a hand. “Honestly, it was fine with me. I don’t think I was ready either. It had just felt like what you do after you’ve been a couple for almost a year.”
“I hate that. I wish we could do things at our own pace without everyone making us feel weird about it.”
“That’s what we’ll do.”
Tears burn at my eyelids. I scoot closer and rest my head on his shoulder so he can’t see me brushing them away. “Thank you for never making me feel like I’m…I don’t…made wrong.”
“Amity,” he murmurs into my hair. “You can’t be made wrong. I think you were made just for me.”
I peer up into his face. He’s smiling wide, but his eyes are glassy like he might be fighting off some tears too.
Inclining my head, I press my lips over that smile so I can keep it forever.