Chapter Twenty-eight
Baxter
Lake’s confusion was unmistakable as we sat outside the silent house in Calisto’s borrowed car, and that was without me reading his mind.
We’d gone to Lake’s house with police escorts so he could grab his laptop and some clothes, and then back to the hotel, where we showered and changed.
Until that point, our plans for the rest of the day had aligned.
After that, they’d diverged sharply. Lake had every intention of following Ben’s instructions and staying put at the hotel. I, however, had something else in mind.
“You’re probably wondering where we are,” I said.
Lake let out a humorless laugh. “What gave it away? Was it the twelve times I asked where we were going and you refused to answer?”
“I’m sorry,” I said and meant it. “I’m kind of going through some stuff. I made it clear you didn’t have to come.”
“So I’m just supposed to let you wander off on your own when I know there’s a maniac trying to get your attention? What kind of boyfriend would that make me?”
“A sensible one.” I turned my attention back to the house. The curtains were open, but there were no signs of movement inside. It would almost be a relief if no one was home. “This is my parents’ house,” I explained. “I figured the police would want to talk to them. I wanted to do it first.”
Lake’s focus sharpened instantly. “Is this where you grew up?”
I shook my head. “They moved after I died. I got as far as tracking them down, but hadn’t yet plucked up the courage to pay them a visit.”
“Are they that bad?”
I contemplated the question for longer than it should have taken to come up with a response.
“They were more absent than anything. My dad had his own business and worked long hours, and my mum…” I frowned, struggling to pin down the memory.
“I don’t even know what she did, but she was away more than she was home.
I went through a steady rotation of babysitters. ”
“What were they like?” Lake asked gently.
“Fine. None of them mistreated me, if that’s what you were asking.”
“I’m just trying to get a clear picture.” He reached over and squeezed my knee. “You said your parents weren’t happy with you being gay.”
“That’s putting it mildly,” I said, bitterness creeping into my voice despite my best efforts. “I came out when I was sixteen. They were fine at first. I understood why later when my mother let slip they thought it was a phase I’d grow out of.” I flashed Lake a smile. “Spoiler: I didn’t.”
“And I thought you were just a great actor,” Lake drawled.
“I moved out as soon as I turned eighteen and could afford a place of my own and never looked back. We drifted even further apart after that. I’d feel guilty and visit, and things would be so frosty I’d wish I hadn’t bothered.
” I glanced at the house again. “Then I died. Do you think they regretted how bad things had gotten when they stood at my grave? They must have done, right?”
“I don’t know,” Lake said.
I had to give him props for being honest and not just saying what I wanted to hear.
I unclipped my seatbelt, but didn’t move to get out.
“I keep thinking about what Ben said. About the brother theory. But it can’t be true.
” I didn’t leave Lake a gap to offer his opinion.
“I grew up reading their minds. That’s how I knew how they really felt about me being gay.
I’d have known if they had a secret son. ”
“Would you?” Lake asked.
“I would have known,” I repeated. “So it has to be someone who just looks like me. Or Jamie got mixed up. His brain was starved of oxygen. That can cause hallucinations.” Lake stayed quiet. “What, no historical anecdote about hallucinations?”
He rolled his head to the side, empathy softening his expression. “Do you want one?”
“It might help.”
“Well, the obvious one is King George the Third.”
“Oh yeah… obvious,” I said with a smile.
“He had documented episodes of madness that included hallucinations.”
“Anyone else?”
“Samuel Taylor Coleridge. He was an English poet who had constant visions, most likely linked to his opium use. Funnily enough, he used to live around here.”
Just hearing Lake talk was calming. “Both English. Surely, you’ve got someone French for me.”
“Joan of Arc,” Lake said without missing a beat.
“She believed divine voices guided her. Modern interpretations lean toward auditory or visual hallucinations.” He shifted in his seat.
“Most are now understood to be undiagnosed mental health issues, or, with people like Coleridge, drug use.” Lake laid his head back against the seat. “Are we going to knock?”
“Yeah.” I took a deep breath. “I’m just bracing myself. Hi Mum, hi Dad. I’m back from the dead. Also, you know how you always hated me being gay, here’s my boyfriend. Say hello.”
Lake winced. “I can wait in the car if you prefer.”
“No,” I said immediately. “I really don’t want that.”
I got out slowly, reluctance weighing down my every movement.
Lake joined me on the pavement. “I don’t even think they’re home,” I said.
“We’ve been here for ages and there’s been zero movement.
” Comforted by the thought, I headed up the path.
A neighbor opening their door and taking out the rubbish registered vaguely, but I kept my focus on the house ahead.
“Owen! How lovely to see you! It’s been too long. Are you here for a visit?”
I stopped dead, just short of the door. When I turned, the woman who’d spoken frowned and pressed a hand to her chest. “Oh, I’m sorry. I thought you were…”
“Owen,” I said.
She nodded. “Silly of me. You’re much younger than he is. But with your head down like that.”
“Who’s Owen?” Lake asked sharply.
She glanced back toward her house as a phone began ringing inside. “You’ll have to excuse me. I’m expecting an important call from the doctor.” She smiled and hurried back indoors.
“Did you get anything?” Lake asked once the door closed.
I shook my head. “Nothing useful about Owen. She was more concerned about her biopsy results.”
“If your parents aren’t home, we could always knock,” Lake suggested. “She thought you were him, so that must be who we’re looking for.”
“And he’s been here,” I said. Something leaden settled in my gut. That put my parents squarely in the middle of this. Lake knocked before I could overthink it, his thoughts giving away his concern that we might stand here for another ten minutes if he didn’t take control of the situation.
It only gave me a few scant seconds to compose myself before the door swung open. My mother stood there. Older. Thinner. Her face showed lines in a way I didn’t remember. She didn’t have gray in her hair, but I assumed that was courtesy of a bottle rather than time having been generous.
“Hi, Mum,” I said. “Long time no see.”