Chapter 45
SAGE
The cemetery is cold and misty, the sun having almost completely set in the west, which is creating shadows around all the headstones.
I don’t know why I’m here — searching for answers I know aren’t going to be found, maybe, but I’ve grown to feel at home in this place. I’m not sure when it happened, when the cemetery stopped being creepy and became comforting.
I don’t think Beckham’s realized that I snuck the key for the crypts out of his wallet yet. If he has, he hasn’t said anything. I haven’t used it before today, only letting the idea burn inside me until I finally grew so restless that my legs took me out here by themselves.
A bird caws in the distance, pulling my gaze out toward the far end of the graveyard, back where the Hallows Boys took me that first night we were together, and the memory warms my chest. Who knew, back then, when I was a girl filled with sunshine who got taken into the dark, that I would eventually be falling in love with the three boys who dragged me there.
I stop by one of the headstones I’ve grown to recognize, an old Blackmore ancestor who’s been buried here since the late 1940s. Brushing the leaves from the top of the stone, I sit down in the cold grass and pull my knees to my chest as I take a breath.
There are many Blackmore headstones here, most of them so old that you can barely read the names and dates carved into the stone.
I stare at the earth around me, almost as if I’m waiting for the dead to rise and speak to me, give me the information I’m itching for, tell me about my ancestors’ pasts—my grandparents, my parents.
After a few silent minutes, I stand back up and continue walking through the cemetery, heading for the crypts.
I haven’t spoken to the Hallows Boys about what’s on my mind.
Part of me is worried that I’ll ruin the happy little bubble we’ve secured ourselves into, I guess, but there’s still so many questions I have about my parents.
I even went as far as to lie to them about where I am tonight, making an excuse that I was spending the evening with Gran, then staying home to have breakfast with her in the morning.
Even though they explained the Games to me, I’m still dying to learn more.
Kaiden said every generation has written about their time as the Hallows Boys, and that’s what I’m hunting for today, the notebooks with the tradition’s secrets within them.
Maybe I’ll spend all night here; maybe I’ll read every single word ever written by a Hallows Boy. Every word except for this generation. I’m not sure I could stomach reading about their previous Games with other girls or the one with my name in it.
Pulling the key from my pocket, I twist it in my hand as I approach the first crypt, the one with all the writing on the wall, with the portraits of the founders hanging on the concrete.
I take a glance around the cemetery, even though I know I’m alone, simply because part of this place will always remind me of being snuck up on. Then I slide the key into the lock and turn it, the metal creaking.
Pushing inside, I pull out my phone and turn on the flashlight, then I close the door behind me, securing myself inside the Hallows Crypt.
I open drawers to the large dressers that line the wall until I find a lighter, then I take my time lighting all the candles around the room so I can see what I’m doing. My eyes catch on the portraits hanging in the center of the wall, my father’s young face making my stomach churn.
My uncle and Benjamin both sit parallel to my father, all three of them handsome and full of secrets.
Next to the portraits, in a perfectly straight line, the names of all the Hallows Boys are carved into the wall, starting with Andrew Blackmore, Aaron Blackmore, and Benjamin Gilmore, then ending with Kaiden Thorne, Vincent Donahue, and Beckham Bentley.
My chest burns with anxiety, sadness, and anger.
How can three boys cause so much pain? How can the three boys who created this Game, three murderers, sit in the same place as the three boys I’ve fallen in love with?
What makes them different? Am I in way too far over my head, blinded by lust and affection and sex, that I can’t even see the similarities anymore?
How can I hate the founders so much but love the current generation?
None of it makes fucking sense.
When I start to feel crazy, I turn to look around for the journals.
Since this place is locked up, they aren’t hidden. There’s a small bookcase at the edge of the room, leather-bound journals lining the shelves, all in chronological order, starting with the founders and ending with last year.
I pull off the first book, marked 1 on the spine, then sit down against the wall and open the first page.
The Hallows Games—year one, October 31.
Members—Andrew Blackmore, Aaron Blackmore, and Benjamin Gilmore.
Female selection—Christine Spencer
Details of entire night to follow.
I flip through the notebook quickly, not wanting to read any intimate details about my parents’ first Hallows Games and stop at the last page.
In conclusion, we will be continuing the tradition every Halloween thus forth, as well as creating a Game that we can pass down to future generations in Blackmore.
Welcome to the Hallows Games.
This is only the beginning.
Signed, The Founders—Andrew, Aaron, and Benjamin.
Shaking my head, I slam the book shut as nausea creeps through my gut.
If only they’d just dealt with their issues like regular fucking people, none of this would’ve happened.
Megan would be alive, my parents too, probably, and I would’ve grown up in Blackmore.
I wouldn’t have been lied to, deceived by everyone in my life, until the moment I was abandoned.
I wonder if my parents would be happy with the fact I’m in Blackmore, learning about their past and all the secrets they worked so hard to keep from me.
Were they ever going to tell me about this place, our history?
Or was I going to grow up as Sage Lindman, marry some white-collar guy in California, and start a new generation of Lindmans, erasing Blackmore from the universe completely.
If my parents hadn’t died, and my uncle hadn’t chosen to stand by what the will said, who would I be right now?
I go for the bookcase again, plucking out the book that has 2 on the spine, then I flip it open.
The Hallows Games—year two, October 31.
Members—Andrew Blackmore, Aaron Blackmore, and Benjamin Gilmore.
Female selection—Megan Gallagher
Details of entire night to follow, written by Christine Spencer.
I know I need to read this one, even if it makes me sick, so I go back to my spot on the ground and turn the page. As I read it, it plays like a movie in my mind.