Chapter 31
“There’s another one of us!” Xander yells.
“We don’t know that for sure,” I say, my pulse hammering in my ears.
“Know what?” Whitley asks.
I pause and wait for Amanda to leave the kitchen before speaking again. “Did you know his stepsister went missing?” I ask, nodding at Robbie across the room. “Because that’s a hell of a detail to leave out.”
She shakes her head. “Amanda told me her friend’s sister worked at Pinehurst. She said they might have a story for me. That’s it.”
I don’t hesitate. “Wait here.” I chug the rest of my beer, set the empty bottle on the counter, and push through the crowd toward the flip cup table.
Xander follows close behind, silent as a shadow.
Robbie stands at the edge of the table. His lanky arms are nearly as long as his legs. A sunburn spreads across his freckled shoulders beneath an American flag tank top.
“Hey, are you Robbie?” I ask, wiping the foam from my mouth with the back of my arm.
“Yeah, man,” he says, barely looking at me. “What’s up?” He pours a tiny amount of beer into a plastic cup as he prepares for the next round of the game.
“I’m Stetson.”
“Cool.”
His disinterest tightens my jaw. I begin counting the players to calm myself. Across the table, a guy with a mullet gives me a thumbs-up. “Yo, Murray!” he shouts. “You in?”
My body goes rigid. The hair on the back of my neck prickles before I even turn.
Murray is right next to me.
His overgrown buzz cut is longer than I remember. I shift my counting from players to his strands of hair, but my brain stalls like I’m looking at a math equation I can’t solve. He stares straight ahead, right through me as if I’m some nameless freshman in a crowded hallway.
I tell myself it’s not his fault. He doesn’t know I’m here. But somehow, the humiliation still swallows me whole.
“You want me to mess with him?” Xander asks. “I can tie his shoelaces together. Or put hot sauce in his drink.”
A grin tugs at my mouth. “I appreciate the offer,” I say. “But we need to stay focused.”
“I didn’t offer you anything,” Robbie says, his expression darkening. “Do we have a problem?”
Someone switches the music from country to rap and ups the volume by several notches. The bass shakes the floor and forces me to lean in to hear Robbie over the noise.
I rake a hand through my hair. “Your friend Amanda . . . she said I could ask you about Pinehurst . . . about your stepsister.”
Murray’s voice is too close behind me. He laughs about another drinking game, and his hot breath collides with the nape of my neck, weakening my knees.
Robbie’s head jerks back. His bloodshot eyes drag over me. He sighs, and the scent of beer and barbeque chips lingers between us.
I step back. “Do you know the Pomers?” I press. “They’re family friends of mine. Their son went missing at Pinehurst.” My heart pounds as I pick my next words carefully. They could send this conversation in any direction. “I’m trying to help reopen his case.”
“Nice,” Xander says. “Play the sympathy card. Make him feel bad!”
I shoot him a side-eye.
“I’ve heard of them,” Robbie says as he stacks cups on the table.
“Oh, good. So—”
“So, what?”
“Well, I was hoping—”
“You want to talk about this right now?” Robbie scoffs.
I pick at my cuticles. “If you don’t mind. Pinehurst is reopening. Have you heard? It’s been hard for Mrs. Pomers. If you could share anything, it’d help us. Big time.”
“Okay, let’s not blame this Robbie ambush all on my family,” Xander cuts in. “You’re missing too, kind of. Isn’t your mom also upset?”
“What’s in this for me?” Robbie asks, crossing his arms.
My mouth falls open. “Umm, uh,” I stammer.
Behind me, Murray keeps talking, his voice needling into my skull like an alarm I can’t turn off.
“Anything I uncover could help your family find your stepsister.”
Robbie shrugs. “I never really knew my stepsister.”
Xander grabs my wrist. “Don’t lose him,” he says. “He doesn’t seem like an emotional guy. Ditch the family angle.”
The music gets noisier. Murray talks louder. My ears start to ring. I lick pooling sweat from my top lip.
Robbie tips back his beer can and chugs the rest. Desperate, I blurt, “I have a few more forty-ounce beers in my truck.” I lift an empty bottle to his face. “I’ll give them to you for free if you tell me what happened to your stepsister.”
Robbie laughs and slaps a hand on my shoulder. “Damn, dude, okay. Now you’re talking. I got you.” He nods toward the hall. “Let’s go upstairs though. There are too many people down here. I’m not technically allowed to talk about this.”
A chill prickles down my spine. We have to go to a secret location for this conversation. He must have the answer to why Xander went . . . and I am going . . . missing.
“Yo, Murray,” Robbie says, clapping him on the arm. “I’ll be right back. Hold my spot at the table.”
“For sure,” Murray says. His eyes bounce over my shoulder, then go wide. “Whitley?”
He takes a step forward and immediately trips and falls. He lunges for a chair to catch himself, but instead, he drags it down with a crash.
The entire party erupts. “Ohhhhhh!”
Murray groans as he pushes himself up and reaches for his feet. His shoelaces are tied together in triple knots.
Xander snickers beside me as he admires his handiwork. “Success,” he says. I drag my hand down my face. “Oh, come on. It’s funny. If he really hurt you as bad as Whitley says, then he deserves it.”
A few of Murray’s new friends haul him to his feet. I wait for him to say something to Whitley, anything, but a sharp whistle cuts through the noise and pulls my focus in the opposite direction.
At the entrance of the kitchen, Robbie nods toward the hall like I’m his dog.
Whitley scampers over from the other side of the kitchen island. “Where are you going?” she asks, folding her arms tight across her stomach.
“Robbie’s bedroom,” I say. “He knows something.”
“Should I come?”
I shake my head. “Just Xander and me.”
She wrinkles her nose. “Oh, so I have to stay down here with Murray. Why does Xander get to go?”
“He’s invisible.”
“Ha ha.” Xander laughs.
Her eyes narrow. “Are you sure it’s safe up there? What if Robbie kidnapped his stepsister? What if he knows who killed Xander? They always say family members are most likely to commit the murder.”
I freeze.
“I’m not dead!” Xander shouts. “Tell her we already determined that. It’s just a curse from those witches. I have a chance to come back. Tell her!”
I swallow. “Xander wasn’t killed,” I say. “We were cursed. And the answer to breaking the curse could be upstairs.”
“And so could trouble.” Her bottom lip trembles. “All I’m saying is, be careful. Xander can’t help you. No offense.” She looks behind me even though Xander stands next to her. Xander sticks out his tongue, then mouths no offense, mocking her words.
“Cute boys tend to make you unaware of your surroundings,” she continues.
I groan. “Whitley—”
“I’m just saying . . .” She lifts her hands. “You brought me into this situation for a reason. Holler if you need help. I’ll wait down here, still dealing with your ex, like I have been all summer.” She flops onto the living room couch, next to a couple making out, and crosses her legs.
Xander turns to me with a mischievous grin. “Am I the cute boy she’s referring to?” he asks.
“What?”
“She said cute boys trip you up.”
“Forget about it.” I swipe at the air.
“You’re a cute boy,” he says. His golden eyes flicker toward the floor like he’s not sure he should’ve said that out loud.
I sigh. “Xander . . . it’s not the time. Look.” I point to the staircase. “We’re losing Robbie.”
He’s already made it to the landing and nearly slips out of sight. I jog after him, my pulse hammering louder than the bass rattling the floor.
The stairs creak with every step, the hardwood splintering beneath my weight. My hand trails along the railing and sends chipped white paint fluttering through the air like brittle snowflakes. At the top of the stairs, Robbie shoves open his bedroom door, but I hesitate before following him inside.
The stench hits first. It’s worse than the stale beer and sweat choking the downstairs air.
It’s a mix of dusty laundry, cigarette smoke, and something sour that sends my head spinning.
Wrinkled clothes are strewn across the stained carpet, and the only window is covered by a damp bath towel instead of blinds, barely hanging on by two plastic clothespins.
I avoid looking at his bed, fearful of what’s on those sheets.
Whitley’s warnings echo in my mind.
Stay aware. He could be dangerous.
“I really wish my sense of smell was gone too,” Xander says, pinching his nose. I try to breathe through my mouth.
“Are you sure you’ve never heard of Robbie before?” I ask Xander in the hall.
“Yeah. He would’ve been, like, ten years old when I was at Stillwell Trail. If a kid did something to me at Pinehurst, maybe I deserve to be dead.” He forces a laugh, but I don’t. An unease settles in my chest.
I step inside, knowing Whitley is only one call away.
Robbie slinks around us and shuts the door. The sharp click of the lock sends a hot wave of anxiety through me.
“I get all your beer?” he asks. He maneuvers through the mess with ease, avoiding the piles of clothes like they’re obstacles in a game only he knows how to play.
Xander nudges me forward. I stumble over a shoe that used to be white. “Uh, sure.”
He extends his hand. “Shake on it.” Dirt cakes the creases of his palm. His fingers waver in the thick air.
I glance at the door. “Is that necessary?” I ask.
Robbie’s lip curls. “What I’m about to tell you is going to make no freaking sense. So, yeah. It is necessary because I can’t have you back out of the deal.”
The room suddenly feels smaller. My mouth dries out from the stale air. But I force myself to lean in and shake his hand.
“We have a deal,” Robbie says, voice low.
“Yeah,” I say, shoving him off me. “Now tell me what happened.”
He snickers. “Why do you care so much about Ra-Ra?”
“Ra-Ra?”
“That’s a nickname. My bad. Her real name is Dara. My stepsister.” He moves toward his dresser.
Xander and I exchange a look. “When did she go missing?”
Robbie shrugs. “It depends on who you ask. I think she just ran off.” He opens the top drawer and rummages inside. “Long story short is that she ruined my family. My dad married my stepmom when I was a kid. That’s how Dara became my stepsister. She was way older, but kind of chill, I guess.”
He puts a cigarette between his lips, then flicks a lighter.
The flame sparks against his shadowed face.
“But then she ran away. My stepmom lost her damn mind over it. She kept saying weird crap—like Dara was in the living room when she wasn’t there.
Or she’d stare at the kitchen table and swear Dara was eating dinner with us.
But the chairs were empty.” He taps his temple. “Crazy, right?”
My pulse thrums in my ears. “Where do you think Dara went?” I ask.
“Hell if I know.” He exhales a thick cloud of smoke. “I haven’t seen her since. And my dad kicked my stepmom out when she started blaming us for ignoring Dara. She said only men couldn’t see her.”
Xander tugs at my wrist. “Stetson, it’s like you,” he says. “Only certain people can’t see her. Just like how only a certain person can’t see you. She must be cursed like us.”
The muscles in my throat tighten. I take a step back, tripping over a mound of sweatpants.
“And what does her disappearance have to do with Pinehurst?” My voice shakes.
Robbie slams the drawer shut. “She worked there as a lifeguard,” he says like it’s nothing. “But I don’t think that had anything to do with her running away. Now go get me my beer.” He grabs my shoulder and pushes me toward the door.
I dig my heels into the carpet. “Wait. Where is your stepmom now? Can we talk to her?”
He scoffs. “I don’t know. You’re asking too many questions. Don’t mention this to anyone. If this isn’t what you’re after, then I can’t help you.” He swings open the door.
“But—”
Robbie’s face reddens. He stabs out his cigarette against the wall, smearing a black streak of ash across the paint.
“Come on,” Xander says, seizing my arm. “He’s drunk. I don’t want you getting hurt over this. We have enough to work with.”
I nod.
Xander grips my hand, steady and firm, just like at the archives.
We bolt.
Robbie thinks his stepsister’s story makes no sense. But for me, it’s all too clear.
Our feet hit the stairs in rapid thuds. We take the last three in a single leap and land with a loud smack against the living room floor. Whitley jumps from the couch, startled. Murray stands across from her.
“What’s wrong?” Murray asks. “Are you finally going to tell me if you’ve talked to Stetson?”
“I said I did, but he hasn’t responded,” Whitley says.
“Try again.” His jaw tightens. “I want to see him before summer ends.”
Whitley glares. “Maybe if you weren’t such a jerk at the beginning of summer, he’d talk to you himself.”
Murray grabs her arm. “Wait . . . he told you about that?”
Whitley shakes him off like a bug crawling on her skin. She falls in step beside Xander and me heading straight for the door.
We don’t stop or say goodbye. I have no intention of returning the bottles of beer we promised Robbie, mostly because they don’t exist.
Behind us, confused, Murray watches Whitley leave alone like she’s running from no one.
But me? I’m running from everyone.