Chapter Three Doubt truth to be a liar
CHAPTER THREE
Doubt truth to be a liar
I SPENT THE REST OF the day working at Louisa’s stall. Time passed excruciatingly slow. For most of it, I channeled into people’s pasts, using my visions to interpret their futures.
At lulls throughout the day, when foot traffic died down and I needed to unwind, I took my usual spot at the old grand piano on the second floor of the mall.
I never really played, just fiddled at tuning the piano or running through refrains that I still remembered.
From the windows nearby, the view of the horizon was perfect as the sun began to set.
Two floors down, the parking lot was vast and endless, and the nearby department stores formed an eclectic set of alleyways all around Center City Mall.
But on my last break before closing, I saw them from a distance: two figures in the parking lot near the mall’s exit. The first was familiar, but it took me a moment to pinpoint him as the bodyguard I’d seen with the Saint James heir.
The second figure was undeniably Jojo.
He argued with the bodyguard, each of them shouting something frantically. Eventually, the bodyguard went off in a separate direction, while Jojo hurried to his car.
Questions burned at the back of my mind. I texted Jojo, asking if everything was all right and if he could help us close down the stall. His response was brief.
Sorry. Can’t make it back tonight. I wanted to probe him more. But an announcement blared over the speakers. The mall was closing for the night and all stragglers needed to leave the premises.
At my side, my phone pinged with a text from Louisa.
Where are you? You were supposed to be back ten minutes ago.
Closing the piano’s fallboard, I grabbed my things and hurried back to Louisa’s stall.
We were packed in minutes, and when we exited Center City Mall, the cool rush of air grazed our fingertips and the boxes we both carried.
Louisa made one-sided conversation. During my shift, I’d told her that I’d move to Rhode Island with her, and she couldn’t contain her excitement.
The rain had stopped. The parking lot was nearly empty. But there in the distance, a familiar sedan was parked near an alleyway.
“That’s Jojo’s car.”
“Hmm?” Louisa said, not listening.
I squinted, straining to see it among the few remaining cars in the lot, wondering if I’d made a mistake. But I recognized the last few numbers on his license plate and that tiny bag of incense tied to his rearview mirror.
As I walked with her to the car, I juggled one of the boxes while texting Jojo.
Are you still at the mall?
Three dots appeared instantly. They disappeared for a beat, and then they returned moments before his message sent.
No. Headed out hours ago. Why?
I see your car—I began to write, but then erased it. Just didn’t know how long ago you left.
Right when I said I was. When Louisa got there. There was traffic. As usual.
I hesitated.
Are you sure? You’re not hiding something from me?
The three dots reappeared. Then he answered.
What would I possibly have to hide?
Not a denial. Not the truth either.
When I didn’t answer, he double texted.
Look. I know this move is hard. It’s hard for me too, and I hate that it and the new job are separating us.
But maybe… maybe it’s for the best? I know you don’t think it is.
But I can’t be who you need me to be, Sianna.
I can’t be more to you than what I am now, and I don’t think either of us want our friendship to end on bad terms.
Three dots appeared again, and my heart thumped furiously.
Let’s just say goodbye now. With everything I have to prepare for the research job, I won’t even be around much for the rest of the summer anyway.
Beside me, Louisa glanced at my phone from over my shoulder.
“Is he breaking up with you?”
I spun to face her, slipping my phone in my pocket, dropping it in the process, and stumbling to retrieve it.
The screen cracked and the fractured image of my reflection loomed up at me: the tight coils of my curly black hair framing my round face; the brown of my eyes, brimming with tears that I couldn’t—wouldn’t—let fall.
Looking away from Louisa, I wiped my eyes with the back of my palms.
“I’m—oh, Sianna, I was only teasing.”
“I know,” I said, pretending to laugh. She patted my shoulder with concern. “There’s just something in my eye. And actually, I think I’ll go back with Jojo.”
Louisa frowned, following my gaze across the parking lot to the car near the alleyway.
“Is that his car? He’s still here?”
I nodded, feigning annoyance as I pulled out Jojo’s car key from my bag. He’d given me the spare one—something Louisa didn’t know I had.
“He lost his car key,” I lied. “He’s been trying to find it all day. I just realized I have his spare, even though I told him it was probably at home.”
“You just realized it? Or were you mad at him and let him waste his time looking for them? I’ll never understand the two of you.” She shook her head, though she couldn’t hide her slight amusement. “Why don’t you talk about it when you get home? He’s just one floor up.”
“It’s urgent,” I said.
“I don’t like the sound of that, Sianna.”
“It’s fine,” I insisted. “If you stay any longer, you’ll fall asleep at the wheel when we drive back. And we both know I can’t drive shift.”
Louisa sighed, relenting finally.
“If anything happens, call me. All right? The kind of people who hang around here at this hour—”
“We’re the kind of people who hang around here at this hour. I’ll be fine. I spent over twelve hours looking into the lifelines of half the people in the mall. If I’m in danger of anything, it’s catching a cold.”
Louisa hesitated. “All right,” she said again. “But if you and Jojo aren’t on your way back yet by the time I get there, then I’ll lock you in the boot myself and drag you home.”
We finished loading the car, and by the time Louisa got in the driver’s seat, I was already making my way to Jojo’s sedan.
She waited until I opened it, slipped in the passenger seat, and locked it from the inside before she drove off. I pulled out my phone and texted Jojo again.
Why are you being so cryptic? Did something happen?
My hands shook as I waited for his answer. But he didn’t respond immediately. One minute passed, then two, then fifteen. I glanced around the car. It was old and secondhand, the inside war-torn and beat-up from when the first owner had sold it to Jojo.
In the back seat, Jojo had crammed his laundry and stacks of books: Supernatural Sightings; Virginia’s Haunted History; Ancient Artifacts of Note.
There was food too, folded wrappers from sandwiches he’d eaten over the week, food containers that hadn’t been washed and faintly smelled of the rice Louisa had made for us a day ago.
With his busy schedule, I wasn’t surprised that he’d used his car as a second home.
His apartment was crammed enough with books and research.
His car was probably the only place that he could have a makeshift dinner.
In the front of his car, the glove box was slightly open. I tried to close it, but as I did, a loose sheet of paper caught my attention.
Jojo’s handwriting was scribbled on it.
Objects have history. Breaking the curse means uncovering what’s tethering it to the family.
I frowned, looking closer.
Ghostly possession can happen one of two ways. A body without a host. An object functioning as a conduit between the spirit and its ability to control the original host. A separation ritual may need to be performed to free the original host of spiritual possession.
None of his scribbles were coherent. Nor were they the research materials I’d thought I’d find in his notes. I dug inside, not knowing what I was searching for even as I pulled a letter from where it lay crumpled in the back.
The top and bottom corners had been burned, making it impossible to decipher who the letter was addressed to or from. But the lily insignia at the bottom was unmistakable. So too was what I could make out from the letter.
I’m writing because you don’t answer my calls or my texts or emails.
I heard you took the job at Westfield. I don’t know what to say.
It’s been years. Why now? What’s changed?
I want to ask all those questions, want to pretend I’m excited to see you again.
But part of me is afraid. Because I know what it means.
We both do. I guess this is just me being optimistic.
Me hoping upon hope that the rumors are wrong.
That you’re not coming back. That we can let the curse play out as it will.
But I know time is running out. For the both of us.
All I ask is that you hold out. Just for a few months.
If I can’t break it, if I end up like the others, then so be it.
But if I survive? If I inherit what’s ours?
Then it will be worth it. I know it sounds selfish of me.
But I’ve been sending the money like I said I would.
Isn’t that enough? I’m begging you. Don’t take the job. Don’t come back.
I read the letter again and again, trying to make sense of it, seeing the words with my own eyes but not accepting it. Until it sank in.
Jojo’s behavior these last few weeks and everything he’d said today. The reason why he’d been so distant from me was because his new job was at Westfield.
He’d lied to me about it, and he knew someone at Westfield, someone who was begging him not to return.
Since the fire, I’d had so much guilt about what had unfolded.
So many people had died. And if it hadn’t been for me, my parents would never have gone to Westfield that day either.
They’d be alive. Throughout all of my grief, Jojo had talked down on Westfield, on its culture, on the prestige of having previously attended it himself.
And yet, here he was, taking his first research job at the very university he’d denounced.
The place we’d both sworn to stay away from.
Outside, footsteps drew closer.
I ducked, hiding beneath the glove box, and something fell from where the stacks of letters and papers had been hastily crammed inside.
It was cool and firm to the touch, and I winced as it pressed against my palm; a bracelet, and from the trails of moonlight filtering into the car, I could make out glass beads and cowrie shells threaded together into its form, while a gold ring dangled from the center of it.
At the metal base of the ring, I traced an outline of engraved initials: KSJ.
Jojo had never been the type to wear jewelry, so finding something stuffed in his glove box was as odd as the burnt letter. Before I could stop myself, I slipped the letter and the bracelet in my pocket.
I glanced outside as the footsteps neared, wondering if Jojo had returned. But it was staff and security from the mall, not him.
They’d closed the building for the night and were heading in my direction, toward their own cars parked nearby.
I couldn’t let them find me here after hours, rummaging through Jojo’s things like some bitter, toxic ex.
Before they could see me, I stumbled out of the car, slipping the door closed and venturing into the confines of the alleyway linked to Center City Mall.
Up ahead, there were rows of dumpsters, and farther off, the exit of the alleyway loomed.
I was nearly there, my heart thudding in my chest, making every breath I took strained.
But then I saw him behind two dumpsters, his body limp, his back pressed against the wall.
Something red and deep and liquid trailed from the foot of the dumpster.
I knew better than to look, but I crouched down anyway.
Blood.
Just a few hours ago, we’d been in Gus’s store, bargaining over how much it would cost to look into his future. And now, the death he’d foretold, it had found us both.