10. Spook
Spook
Silas
The last sliver of sunlight slips below the tree line.
I sit in the shadowed stillness of my office, the fatigue of the day pressing down as I cradle a glass of gin in my hand.
The ledger on my desk is closed now, its leather cover worn smooth under my palm.
The numbers are balanced, the ranch profitable, but the calculations bring no satisfaction. They never do.
I lean back in my chair, letting the quiet settle around me. The house groans with the shifting temperatures, and my thoughts wander to Helena, as they often do these days.
She moves through these rooms like she belongs here, her presence lingering long after she’s gone. Her perfume clings to the air, her warm amber eyes haunt my mind. As she works, her gentle humming of hymns becomes a constant presence in my head, persisting even when I desire quiet.
I’ve done my best to keep my distance, staying out of her way, but it’s a losing battle.
Her laughter filters through the walls, a soft sound that stirs something buried deep.
The sight of the curve of her hips has crossed my mind more than I care to admit.
It feels like a betrayal to my wife, to the vows I swore.
I’d promised myself that no one else would ever matter.
Not after my Caroline left. My hands would never touch another’s skin; my heart wouldn’t dare beat for someone new .
When she died, she took everything that was good in me.
For a year, I was a hollow man, living only because Kiran needed me.
Since then, the sharp edges of grief dulled, but the emptiness remains a constant companion.
Helena’s arrival disrupted that fragile balance.
Her presence pokes at the scabs, her purity like a harsh light exposing every dark corner I’ve tried to bury.
She parades her faith through the house: her hymns, her Bible, the quiet way she bows her head before meals. She clings to hope and redemption, concepts that have no place here. She knows nothing of me or the sins that stack higher than the barn roof. If she did, she’d run.
“Done for the night, Silas?”
Eli’s voice cuts through the quiet, dragging me back. I glance up as he steps inside, leaning against the doorframe, his eyes steady on mine.
I nod, setting the glass on the desk. “Balanced the books. We’re in the black again this month.” I gesture toward the whiskey at the far end of the desk. “Help yourself.”
Eli crosses the room, pouring himself a glass. “So, when’s the other business gonna be wrapped up?”
I meet his gaze as I pick up my gin again, the tension between us unspoken but understood. “Soon,” I say, my voice low.
Eli takes a slow sip, his eyes not leaving mine. “You’ve been saying that for weeks. It needs to end, Silas. You can’t keep dragging this out.”
I reach into the desk drawer, pulling out a small, weathered notebook. Flipping it open, I slide it toward him, revealing a page with a single name yet to be crossed off. “One more.”
He studies it, then nods, sliding the book back. “You used to handle these things quickly. Lately, you’re out for hours at a time.”
“The last few were...complicated.” I snap the notebook shut, shoving it back into the drawer.
Eli watches me carefully. “Just make sure you come back in one piece.”
“Always,” I reply, tipping back the rest of the gin. It burns, but it doesn’t chase away the unsettled feeling that’s taken up space in my bones. “What do you know about Helena?”
Eli raises an eyebrow as he sets his empty glass down. “What do you mean?”
I lean forward, resting my elbows on the desk. “We know all of her basic information, where she’s from, what she told us about her family. But she’s been here for over a month, and I still don’t know the first thing about her.”
“Have you tried asking her, or are you expecting me to do the digging?”
“The latter,” I admit.
Eli sighs, rubbing a hand over his jaw. “She’s twenty-eight, from some small town I’ve never heard of. She hates spiders and takes her work seriously. She’s determined to prove herself.”
“Do you trust her?” My voice is quiet, but the insinuation behind the question is anything but.
He meets my gaze, his expression unwavering. “She wouldn’t be here if I didn’t.”
I sit back, considering his words. A faint ticking from an old clock in the corner is the only sound in the room. Eli stands, grabbing his hat from the back of the chair.
“Don’t let your ghosts blind you, Silas,” he says, his tone almost gentle. “She’s not here to haunt you.”
He leaves, the door closing softly behind him. Alone once more, I stare at the closed ledger, the glass empty in my hand. Helena’s laughter echoes distantly in my mind, mixing with the memory of my wife’s voice. And for a moment, I feel the severity of both pulling me under.
Shortly before midnight, I move through my room, getting dressed, grabbing my boots. I sit in the chair beside my bed, the stillness of the night pressing down as I tug them on. Each movement practiced, a quiet rhythm that mirrors the thoughts circling in my mind .
With barely a sound, I open my door and step into the dimly lit hallway.
The air is colder here, untouched by the warmth of the woodstove below.
Three steps, and I’m in front of Helena’s door.
I stop, as I do every night that I leave.
The distance between us is only a few feet, separated by a simple wooden barrier.
My hand hovers near the doorframe, a strange pull keeping me rooted.
I tell myself it’s to ensure she’s asleep, that her quiet breaths rise and fall in peace.
But deep down, I know it’s something else.
A silent plea, perhaps, for her to pray to the God she so fervently believes in—a prayer that might reach even a man like me.
I shift my gaze across the hall to Kiran’s door. My vow to him echoes in the stillness: I’ll be quick. I’ll return.
Drawing a steadying breath, I turn to leave. My boots tread softly down the stairs, the old wood complaining beneath the commitment of my promise. Stopping by the back door, I pull on my coat and grab my hat. Turning the knob, I step out onto the porch.
I tread down the steps, the stables just ahead, their dark silhouette blending with the night.
As I approach the building, I pull back the heavy door, the creak of iron and wood shattering the quiet like a warning.
The familiar scent of hay and leather greets me as I step inside.
I grab my saddle and move into Shadow’s stall.
He huffs softly, his breath warm in the cool air.
“Easy, boy,” I murmur. I sling the saddle over his broad back, cinching it tight.
My rope hangs coiled on the wall, and I grab it, draping it over the saddle horn.
The leather creaks quietly, the only sound before we ride.
I lead him out of the stables, and once we’re outside I swing up into the saddle.
Shadow moves easily beneath me as we begin our ride, following the same trail I always take.
The night stretches wide and serene around us, the stars vivid against the inky sky.
But tonight, something feels different. The sensation starts as a prickling at the base of my neck, spreading like the slow creep of frost over my skin .
I pull back on the reins, bringing Shadow to a halt. My eyes are drawn to Helena’s window. The curtain shifts, a slow sway. I wait, my pulse quickening, watching to see if she’ll pull it back again. As I wait, the wind stirs, light at first, then stronger, threading icy fingers through the yard.
I glance up, expecting clouds to be rolling in, but the sky is clear. The wind shouldn’t be moving like this. Not here, not now. A shiver snakes down my spine.
And then I hear it.
Silas.
The voice is rigid, now familiar, and unmistakable.
It cuts through the night like a blade, echoing off the barn walls, bouncing through the hollow yard.
It’s the same voice I heard when I held Helena’s hand under the water.
It was soft then, distant. Now, it’s closer.
Louder; like it’s coming from above, called down from the stars themselves.
Shadow stirs beneath me, his ears flicking back. He steps sideways, uneasy. I lean down and pat his neck, feeling the taut muscles quiver through my glove. “Easy, boy.” My voice is steady, but my heart isn’t. Shadow doesn’t spook easily, but tonight, even he feels it.
Something is wrong.
The pit of my stomach twists, the apprehension spreading like poison. My eyes scan the yard, searching for movement, for shadows that don’t belong. The stillness presses in, heavier now, like the glare of unseen eyes.
Every instinct screams for me to press on, to finish what I set out to do. But tonight, the air is too thick, the dark too alive. For the first time, I pull on the reins and turn Shadow back toward the stables. Whatever waits for me out there can wait one more night.