Chapter 9 Brady
Brady
The grin that Collins gave me before she got out of my truck was nothing short of maniacal. While we were driving, I could almost feel her energy increase as we got closer to this place—like this old-ass fucking church was charging her batteries.
My impression of Collins was different from what it was a few days ago.
Yeah, she was confident and full of bravado, but she also seemed kind of…
lost. In the moments when we weren’t talking while working and she wasn’t faced with having to think of a clever comeback to everything I said, she was quiet. Contemplative.
Maybe a little sad, too.
That was why I said yes to coming out here tonight—because she seemed excited by it, not just on the surface, but really, truly excited.
I was kind of shocked she invited me, and I said yes before I thought it all the way through.
But she was right: my fresh start couldn’t only consist of me working and sitting in my apartment. I couldn’t hide from my new life.
Looking at the old church, I kind of regretted it. It looked…skeletal, almost. I didn’t believe in ghosts or hauntings or whatever it was that Collins was going on about on the drive, but if I did, this place would definitely be haunted.
I got out of my truck and shut the door as Collins put both of her lanterns on the hood. She put a candle in each of them, then started digging around in the pockets of her jeans.
She was wearing this massive black hoodie with the hood up.
When I first saw her in it, my thoughts went to “cute,” but then I shook those out.
I couldn’t act on that. I mean, it was nice to know that those types of feelings still existed in me somewhere.
But I wasn’t ready to act on…anything, really.
I watched her pull a red Bic lighter out of her pocket, along with a small white cylinder that looked like it got caught between her fingers.
“Oh hell yeah,” she said, taking the joint in her other hand and holding it up for further inspection. “Past me was looking out.” She slid it between her lips, and I looked away once I realized I was staring at her mouth.
I heard the click of her lighter, and when I turned back to her, the joint was still unlit between her lips, but the lanterns were aglow. Collins held one out to me, and I took it.
The crunch of leaves and branches under our feet as we walked toward the church ruins sounded vaguely like bones. Damn, this pretty girl was filling my head with some nonsense. Or maybe it was already the weed.
“So as far as we know,” Collins started as we were walking.
“This church was built in the first iteration of Sweetwater Peak—probably early 1800s—before everyone disappeared.” The way she changed the tone of her voice to sound more ominous at the end of her sentence made me smile.
She’d make a good guide for one of those ghost tour things. She was convincing.
“People don’t just disappear, Collins,” I said. “They leave or they die or they eat each other or whatever.”
“Of all people, I didn’t think you would go straight to cannibalism,” Collins said with a grin. “But I can confirm no one in Sweetwater Peak 1.0 was eating each other—or at least none of them have ever admitted it.”
“How can you confirm that?” I asked. “Also, how could they admit it when they’ve been dead for over two hundred years?”
“I have my sources, Brady.”
God, this woman was about to tell me she was psychic or something, wasn’t she? “Nutty,” I muttered under my breath.
Collins just laughed; she was practically glowing in the light of the lanterns.
The closer we got to the church, the more I was aware of my hair rising on the back of my neck and the way my spine felt like it couldn’t be straight enough. I started looking over my shoulder—suddenly worried that something could come out of the trees at any moment.
“Scaredy cat,” Collins said with another laugh.
“It’s creepy out here, okay? Any normal person would be at least a little apprehensive while walking toward a church that looks like it was the scene of at least six exorcisms.”
“Seven,” Collins corrected.
Oh god.
I stared at her, and when she looked up at me, her eyes were gleaming.
I shook my head. When we got to the front steps of the church, Collins bounded up them gleefully before walking through the open side of the door.
“Don’t fall too far behind, Brady,” she called. “The ghosts will get you!”
“Very funny,” I called back, trying to sound calm, but I cautiously looked around before walking up the steps as quickly as I could—hoping she couldn’t hear the fact that I picked up the pace after her comment.
The open side of the church door wasn’t quite wide enough for me, so I had to turn to the side and squeeze my way through it. When I got inside and looked around, I didn’t see Collins, but her lantern was on one of the front pews giving off a faint orange glow.
I cautiously walked toward it. She couldn’t have gone far.
The inside of the church was actually well-preserved—probably because it was mostly stone, except for the pews, the hardwood floors, and the pulpit.
My cautious footsteps creaked over the floorboards.
There was a ripped tapestry hanging at the front, but I couldn’t make out what it was—
“Boo!” Collins jumped out from behind me, and much to my dismay, I let out a high-pitched squeal.
“What the fuck, Collins?” I demanded, but she couldn’t answer. She was doubled over in laughter and gasping for air.
“You should’ve”—she sucked in some air between bouts of laughter—“seen your face. Oh my god.”
“Not funny,” I said, but I was fighting a smile. Her laugh was contagious. I was shocked at how much I enjoyed the sound—how much I didn’t want it to stop, even if it was at my own expense.
“So funny,” she said, still laughing. She reached out and grabbed my hand. I was too stunned to pull my hand away or think about the spark that ran up my forearm and started pulling me toward the glow.
The way I could feel the floor give slightly with my every step did not inspire confidence.
Collins sat on the pew next to her lantern, and I sat next to her—trying not to get too close—and set my lantern on the other side of my thigh.
“I think I like it in here,” I said. I felt like we were in an atrium, with the plants growing up the walls.
“You’ll like it more when you look up,” Collins said, and I followed her gaze to the ceiling—or at least, what was left of the ceiling. There were a few beams that cut through the view of the night sky, but other than that, it was all dark blue and glimmers.
“Holy shit,” I whispered. “This is…”
“Beautiful,” Collins finished. “It’s one of my favorite views in Sweetwater Peak.”
“I can see why,” I said. I felt like I could see the stars starting to appear as the sky got darker. The view was like a portal to another world. It also looked familiar, but I couldn’t think of why.
I heard the click of a lighter and the burning of paper. When I looked over at Collins, a small cloud of smoke came out of her mouth as she exhaled. She held the joint out to me, and I took it from her once again.
I thought about the fact that her mouth had just been wrapped around it as I inhaled. I felt everything about this moment in my lungs.
“So,” I said. “Tell me about this first iteration of Sweetwater Peak.”
“Did you research this place at all before you moved here?” she asked.
I shrugged. I did, but not the history of it. “Not really,” I said.
“Why’d you pick it?” Collins asked.
I let out an exhale. “Honestly, I saw this photo series of it in Blue Sky Geographic. ” Collins looked away. “I remember seeing a picture of the town pavilion and the way the peak cast a shadow of it…just kind of…spoke to me.
“Now that I think about it,” I said. “I think there were pictures of this church, too.” Maybe that was why this view looked familiar. I’d seen it before—in another life.
Collins nodded. “I saw that, too.”
“Do you know who did the pictures?” I always told myself I’d remember the photographer because I looked at the photos so many times, but my mind has been in a bit of a blur since I got here. “I always wanted to buy some of them.”
“Nope.” Collins shook her head. “Anyway, back to the history of this here ghost town.
“So basically, Sweetwater Peak history is split into two parts: before the salt and after.”
“The salt?” I asked.
Collins nodded. “Sweetwater Peak has an insanely large salt cave underneath the peak. Once upon a time, you could go inside it—see all the stalactites and shit—but the ground around there isn’t stable anymore, and it’s also full of water from the Sweetwater River.”
“Why is it full of water?”
Collins grinned again. “So, as far as we know, Sweetwater Peak was founded and established at some point in 1843—at least that’s when the post office opened—but the official establishment isn’t noted by the U.S. government or in the town records until 1865.
“And you were too focused on cannibalism and disease to name one of the other things that has the ability to level a population.” I could feel Collins’s excitement building, and because of that, so was mine.
Truthfully, I didn’t give a shit about what happened to the first iteration of Sweetwater Peak, but I did like hearing her talk about it.
She was a good storyteller. “Natural disaster.”
“So what?” I said. “Was there a flood or something?”
Collins shook her head. “Earthquake. The Elk Spine mountain range is a fault line that dates back to way before Sweetwater Peak, but because of it, we’re really susceptible to earthquakes.
“The earthquake cracked the ground underneath the peak, right where the river is, and basically turned the Sweetwater River salty.” Collins held her hand out, and I passed her the joint.
I tilted my head at her. “Is that what the saltwater taffy is about?”