Chapter 6 #2
Mom used to say that people deserve the benefit of the doubt, that sometimes people are having a bad day or carrying stuff we can’t see.
As a kid, I struggled with that. I got especially bad at it after the murders.
I’d get so angry at everyone and everything that I couldn’t see past my pain to notice anyone else’s, but I’m trying to be better now.
I’m trying to be the kind of person she’d be proud of.
“Nice place you got here,” I say. “Is Norman Bates your interior decorator?”
Nico walks down the hallway as if I didn’t speak at all.
I go to pick up Bob, and he shies away, tensing his body, probably fed up with being carried everywhere.
At least he tolerates being carried now.
He and I bonded super quickly after I got him, but he only recently started trusting that I mean no harm when I pick him up.
I try not to do it too much. I want to respect his bodily autonomy, but the world is not built for such a tiny dog.
Nico is already halfway down the hall, his long strides putting more and more distance between us.
I walk at Bob’s pace, peering into the rooms branching off the hallway as we pass: a reading room with floor-to-ceiling bookshelves, and a bathroom with mint floor tiles and a message scrawled on the mirror in black marker.
I pause for a second to read it: ‘Oh look, Daisy, you’re wilting’ with a frowny face and a doodle of a shriveled flower next to it.
Nico gestures to an open door down the hall. “Donny’s through there.”
“Do I have to yell ‘ding dong’ for him, too?” I ask.
He rolls his eyes. Okay, maybe I need to address this head-on.
“I know we got off on the wrong foot, but I promise, I won’t be a problem,” I say. “I’ll work hard and do whatever you—”
“Stop.”
I shut my mouth so fast my teeth clack together.
Nico steps closer to me, and there’s something dangerous in the way he moves, all controlled power and sharp edges. My heart kicks against my ribs because he’s towering over me now, blocking out the dim hallway light. I should take a step back, but I can’t seem to make my legs work.
“You want to know why I don’t want you here?
It’s actually very simple.” He folds his arms. “I’m sure you’re a nice person.
I’m sure you’re perfectly capable of swinging a hammer, or whatever it is you do, but our team doesn’t need more people.
Everyone here has a specific skill set. A role.
Something they bring to the table we can’t get anywhere else.
What exactly do you have to offer besides an endless capacity for running your mouth? ”
Something heavy and ugly settles over me, making me wish I could sink through the floorboards. Bob plants his feet, growling like he’s a toy lawnmower.
“This isn’t an orphanage, or a homeless shelter,” Nico says, and the casual cruelty in his tone sends a cold ripple through me. “We do a real job here, and none of us has the time to hold your hand while you figure out how not to get yourself killed.”
My neck throbs, reminding me how close I came to being strangled. He’s right. I’m here because I’m scared and looking for protection. I won’t be even moderately useful to a ghost hunter.
“So you can see ghosts,” he says. “Great. So can I. So can all of us. But for reasons beyond me, Donny likes collecting strays, so you will get this job, but don’t expect me to be happy about it.
Donny may think you can do this, but forgive me if I don’t think you’re qualified to hunt serial killers just because you survived one. ”
I go to bite back I actually survived two, but he’s already walking away.
Bob erupts into a fit of barking. I crouch next to him to calm him down, but he’s having none of it, and his barking doesn’t stop until Nico disappears around the corner.
Well. I don’t think I’m going out on a limb to say Bob hates Nico, but Bob has hated everyone I’ve ever introduced him to except for me, so that isn’t saying much.
Nico’s words loop in my head, but they can’t quite compete with the hot feeling rising inside me, making my entire body clammy.
I want to be angry. I want to call him an asshole who gets off on making people feel small, but that would be easier if I didn’t agree with him.
I’m not qualified to hunt serial killers. I’m not qualified to do any of this.
But I’m also not leaving.
I didn’t drive all this way to turn around when I know Donny wants me here, and he saw something in me that makes him think I can do this. As crazy as that may be.
Dad’s voice cuts through the noise in my head: Doesn’t matter if you’re the smartest or the strongest in the room. What matters is that you don’t quit. Grit beats talent every time. You show up, you do the work, and you don’t let anyone tell you you’re not good enough.
He used to tell me that when I’d be running lines for school plays, or when I’d come home frustrated because I couldn’t nail the high note in my solo.
What would he say if he could see me now?
Probably to stop standing in this hallway feeling sorry for myself and go prove Nico wrong. So that’s what I’ll do.
Making sure Bob is following me, I walk down the rest of the hallway and knock on the open door. “Donny?”