13. LO #2
“It’s show-biz, baby,” Stevie says. I can tell from her tone that she’s trying to make me laugh and, unfortunately, it works. “I really am sorry. If it makes you feel any better, all of this shit that happened is making me realize we might’ve not needed to fake our show this whole time.”
I turn and look at her. “Are you, Stevie Anderson, telling me you believe in ghosts now?”
“Whatever,” Stevie says, leaning away from me.
I pull her back toward me by her arm. “ Finally ,” I say, and Stevie chuckles.
Because the pantry doesn’t get any natural light, I keep an eye on the weather app all night—waiting and waiting and waiting for the time it says the sunrise is supposed to start.
Stevie is asleep with her head propped up on my shoulder.
We’ve only been in here for an hour or two, but it feels like centuries.
The adrenaline is still pumping through me, keeping me too alert to relax.
“Stevie, the sun is up,” I whisper. I jostle her on my shoulder to wake her up without scaring her.
She lifts her head and I can see her processing everything—that she’s awake, that I’m here, that we’re in a tiny dark room. She puts her hand to the pantry wall as if to check that it’s real.
“None of that was a dream,” she mumbles.
“Unfortunately not.”
We slowly emerge from the pantry, half-crawling because my legs have lost all circulation from being curled up so tightly all night. My muscles are screaming for help.
I look around, waiting for something to happen: something to fly off a wall or table, or a figure hovering nearby. I feel less like there’s a ghost in the house and more like there’s a killer waiting for me, like I’m in some kind of horror movie.
But there’s nothing.
And then, after a beat and then two and then three, there’s still nothing.
“Let’s get out of here,” I say. I half stumble to the door, my body temporarily having forgotten how to walk. Stevie follows behind me. She rolls out her shoulders and groans.
As I look around my now perfectly quiet and still house, I think about everything that unfolded last night. We’d gotten the first part of an answer—there’s a ghost, and Sunniva definitely brought it into the house. But who is it? And why does it suddenly seem so agitated?
I want to know the whole truth. But I don’t know if I have it in me to deep dive into it yet—this is, unfortunately, still my house.
And after everything with Sunniva, I’m not sure I’m in the business of communicating with the dead.
Either way, I’ll have a whole lifetime to explore it. Ideally, with a priest next time.
And, just maybe, it’d be the perfect excuse to invite Stevie back for a second-part to our episode.
And the rest of the Paranormal America team, too. Obviously.
When we make it to the front door, I reach for the handle like it might burn me. Instead of being practically glued into place like it was last night, it’s back to normal. It turns with ease.
As I push the door open to leave, Stevie and I look at each other. I almost ask her if we made the whole thing up, if it was some weird dream, but I resist. I don’t think I want to know the answer.
The twins and Andrew are already outside when we get there, one of the twins napping in my small front yard.
“You guys good? We kept waiting for you guys to come out here and find us,” Andrew says.
Stevie and I look at each other again. The night flashes before me—the fear, the screaming, the hiding. I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to step foot in this house comfortably ever again.
But here’s Andrew and the twins in front of us, acting like nothing is wrong.
“You have no idea,” I mumble.
“We’re good,” Stevie says slowly, her brow furrowed slightly.
“We’re already packed up and ready to go. We got some insane footage from last night. I think this episode is going to be an absolute banger.”
“Yeah,” Stevie agrees. We look at each other again, part of me wondering if last night even really did happen or if it actually was all just some elaborate mutual nightmare.
But no—I know for certain it really did. Every second of it was horrible and completely unforgettable. It’s the kind of night that changes a person fundamentally—the kind of night that really makes someone, even the most skeptical, believe that some things can’t be easily explained away.
Stevie kicks Tanner’s foot from where he’s lying in the grass, and he jolts awake. He looks at Stevie and then at the rest of us heading out toward the van, startled. Stevie continues walking to the van, leaving Tanner to put the pieces together himself.
“We’re finally leaving?” Tanner asks.
“We’re finally leaving,” Stevie teases over her shoulder.
“Oh, thank god .” Tanner hops up from the grass.
The boys and Stevie load up the van with the last of their things and toss their backpacks inside. Andrew slams the back doors closed, and Stevie heads around to the front.
“You’ll be around?” Stevie asks, looking at me.
“I was actually thinking I might spend some time in Topanga.”
“Oh.” Her eyebrows visibly shoot up with surprise.
“We’ll see if those ghosts are a little more manageable than the one here,” I say, only half-joking.
Stevie gets into the van and shuts the door.
“We’re shooting another episode soon—not in LA,” she says.
She has her arm over the side of the van window, her sunglasses hanging between her fingers.
The early morning sun hits her face so beautifully, it makes my heart ache.
I have to resist reaching out to touch her.
“Just in case you’re looking for an excuse to get away. ”
“I’ll consider,” I say, my arms propped up on the open window.
Stevie’s lips twist into a smile. “Alright.”
I take a beat, taking in her crooked, teasing smile and the comforting timbre of her voice. She hasn’t even left yet, and I can already tell I’ll miss her. “Bye, Stevie Anderson,” I say and step back onto the sidewalk.
“Bye for now, Lo Lane.”
Our eyes stay locked on each other for a beat longer than we should allow.
Everything from the very brief time we spent together plays out in my mind—us first meeting, Stevie’s annoyingly effortless charm winning me over, the way she stayed so level for me during everything with Sunniva, and then the scariest few hours of my life.
Our—admittedly perfect—night in the hotel.
Stevie starts up the van and asks her team if they want to go get breakfast somewhere.
She holds up her hand in goodbye and then pulls away from my sidewalk, locking eyes with me in the side mirror a few times as she does.
The last time we look at each other, I’m certain there’s a smile on her lips.
I watch until the van completely disappears from sight, swallowed up by the other cars and suburban streets surrounding it.
Even as I watch her leave, I know this won’t be the last time I see her.