Chapter 11
After lunch, Mr. Hargrave sends Theo upstairs with me to talk about my plans for the second floor.
Because it is my mother’s goal in life to mortify me at every opportunity, she looks squarely at us as we cross through the living room and says, “Behave, you two.”
Theo salutes, his cheeks bright red. I simply gape at her.
What exactly does she think I’m going to do alone upstairs with this boy I’ve barely known a full week?
Tackle him and have my way with him? I wouldn’t even know where to begin.
And let’s be real, he’d probably have his ghost gadgets out the whole time trying to summon a spirit.
She laughs at my expression.
Shaking my head, I grab a flashlight from the stack of supplies by the door and basically dive into the darkened staircase to get away from her.
The last thing I need is for her to elaborate on what she means by behave.
She loves a PowerPoint, so no doubt there would be charts and graphs and visuals.
Theo must be feeling the same, because he’s right at my heels.
“Please ignore her,” I say with a sigh. “She is clearly some kind of hellspawn sent here to torture me for my sins in a past life.”
“Wait.” I hear a thump and turn around to find Theo gripping the railing like it’s a life preserver. “You believe in demons and hell and past lives, but you don’t believe in ghosts?”
I groan at his smirk.
By the time we’re at the top of the stairs, it’s impossible to see anything around us. I flick on my flashlight, and a white beam of light stretches ahead of me. I hold it up, but the light barely permeates the darkness.
Theo lets out a low whistle. “First things we’ve got to get up here are some work lights and fans.” He swipes at his forehead. I do the same, wiping away a puddle of sweat. The portable ACs do nothing to the air on the second floor, so it feels like we’re standing in the middle of a swamp.
“This is why I haven’t ventured past the living room yet.” If I want to perspire profusely, I can do it in front of a fan in the den.
“Because you’re afraid of the dark?” I hear the smile in Theo’s voice.
“More like I’m afraid of breaking my neck on a loose board.” I cast the beam over the floor, spotlighting multiple cracks in the hardwood and an old bucket lying on its side. I shoot him my most-perfect I told you so face.
He grins. “Then let’s light it up.”
Striding forward, he heads for the farthest bedroom and starts yanking down the cardboard and newspaper and sheets fastened across the windows.
I follow his lead. This level of the house has one long, straight hallway, with two rooms facing the front yard and two facing the backyard.
The biggest bedroom sits near the stairs and across from the bathroom.
As we tear the last of the material away from the windows of the big bedroom, light peeks between the boards nailed over the outside of the panes, brightening things enough that we can switch off our flashlights.
Spinning slowly, I take in the space. It’s huge. Easily twice as large as my old room in California.
All of this is going to be mine. Not only this room, but the whole second floor. And Mom said I can do whatever I want with it.
A giddy feeling surges through me.
Imagine it. I could turn the giant closet into a mini library.
Line the rest of that corner of the room with bins for my yarn.
Plop my beanbag chair in here. Put that giant flatscreen TV Mom thinks is such an eyesore on the interior wall.
Then the room next door can be my bedroom.
There’s a door in between them that I could take off the hinges or something to open up the space.
The other room could be for studying. Just a desk and some chairs, maybe a big couch. Everything organized and neat so there are no distractions.
Though I hadn’t planned to be quite so detailed, I end up rattling all these ideas off to Theo. He takes notes on his phone, nodding along, sometimes chewing on his bottom lip as if he’s generating some thoughts of his own. Then he has me help him measure the rooms and doorways.
When we’re done, he sits on the floor of the big bedroom with a notebook in his lap. I can see him sketching rough layouts of my rooms.
I walk around taking “before” photos, texting them to Taylor and my father. Not that I expect Dad to answer. He’s replied to, like, two of my messages since we got here.
Theo erases a few lines and then redraws them. “This place is going to be awesome.”
Despite the HGTV-worthy visions dancing through my head, I sigh.
“I hope so.” He catches the uncertainty in my tone and glances up at me, his brow furrowed.
Something about his expression urges more words out of my mouth.
“Moving away from home sucks. I feel…I don’t know…
lost? Like I’m not connected to anything.
I need this space to be somewhere I fit.
” Where I can just be me and not worry that everyone is judging me, I add to myself.
When I meet his gaze, my face warms. “That probably sounds really dumb.”
The crease in his forehead deepens. “Not at all.”
His voice is so serious. It presses into my skin, making me feel way too exposed.
Turning away, I click on the flashlight and aim it into the depths of the closet.
“Do you think this is where the ghost keeps their wardrobe?” I would rather speculate about ghosts than let this conversation get any more honest.
“Ghosts don’t need wardrobes.” My attention is trained on the closet entrance, so I can’t tell if he’s kidding.
“But maybe they want them. Imagine living for eternity in one outfit.” I shine my flashlight over the shelves that line the sides of the closet.
Their little cubbyholes are wide enough to hold books.
Perfect for a library. “We should all remember when we get dressed each morning that whatever we put on could be forever.”
“Morbid.”
I whirl around to face him. “You’re the one who actually believes in them. I’m just considering the realities.”
He snorts. “How’s that space looking for your books?” He nods at the closet.
I step deeper into it. “It’s a good start.” The flashlight beam sputters as I cast it around. I tap it against the palm of my hand until it pops back on, but the light is no longer as bright, the misty glow barely breaking up the dark.
“Start?” he asks dubiously.
“Wait until you see how many boxes of books I have.” The movers’ truck broke down halfway here, so everything has been delayed until the end of the week. Because of course it has. At this point, I no longer expect anything to go smoothly.
Except, maybe, proving to Theo there are no ghosts here. Or anywhere.
I move deeper into the closet so I can see it in full.
Across the back there’s a bar for hanging clothes, and behind that, what looks like a picture frame displayed on the wall. I have to get right on top of it to see it in the darkness, and I almost yelp as a face comes into focus. I press my hand over my heart to hush its erratic beat.
I’m peering at a portrait of a young brunette.
It looks more like a drawing than a painting, similar to what might have been produced by using a camera obscura.
She sits in profile in a simple long-sleeved dress and bonnet.
The lines of the portrait are delicate and lifelike.
She’d look peaceful if it weren’t for the shadowy blur behind her.
There’s something almost…well…demonic…about it, like this dark force is trying to leave her body.
“Nope,” I declare. This is not at all in line with my vibe for the space. “You want this for your room?” I call out to Theo. “It’s total haunted-house chic.”
I grab the portrait’s plain wooden frame and pull. It doesn’t budge.
I tighten my grip and tug harder. It still doesn’t move.
What the hell?
Jamming my hands on my hips, I stare at the picture like I can loosen it with my mind.
Then I try to yank it off the wall one last time.
I work up a literal sweat fighting with it, but no amount of pulling or twisting helps.
It must be nailed on there or something—though I don’t see any holes in the frame.
“Do I want what for my room?” The proximity of his voice lets me know he’s joined me in the closet.
I shine my light on the creepy picture. It shudders again before illuminating the girl’s face. “This monstrosity.” I wave my empty hand at the wall. “You know, assuming you can get it down.”
“Holy shit.” Theo stares at the portrait like he’s in a trance. “This is Mercy Harlow.”
“Of course it is,” I mutter.
Theo clutches the frame’s corners and lifts. It doesn’t budge for him either—which, honestly, is a relief. If he’d been able to remove it, I would have been convinced the portrait was misogynistic. I don’t need an ugly, disturbing painting in my house that also hates women.
“This is—” he starts.
“Weird?” I arch an eyebrow.
He digs a hand into one of the pockets of his cargo pants and produces an EMF reader.
I point at him. “We’re supposed to be working on my house right now.”
He gestures to the picture. “You just agreed this is weird.”
“Yeah, permanently-fixing-your-art-to-the-walls-is-a-choice weird, not supernatural weird.” I cross my arms. “Our deal specifies that renovating takes precedence over chasing imaginary spirits.”
He pretends to pull a contract out of his back pocket and inspects it. “I don’t see that language anywhere.”
“Get a hammer and wrench that thing off the wall.” I don’t need to believe in ghosts to not want that portrait anywhere near where I sleep. “You can bring it home and investigate it all you want.”
“Then you’ll have to come visit me, because you promised to help me with the ghost stuff.”
I stare at him, hands on my hips, until he relents.
“Just let me give it one quick scan,” he begs.
I blow out a resigned breath. “Fine.”
He doesn’t waste any time before pointing the device at the wall. The bulbs burst to life and the machine begins beeping in the least melodious way possible. The acoustics in the empty room only amplify its grating sound.
“Ha!” Theo shoots a triumphant look over his shoulder at me. Then it fades.
A second later, I hear his dad behind me.
“Theodore, that’s not a stud finder.” Mr. Hargrave surveys his son with a deep frown.
Theo smiles sheepishly. “Are you sure? Because it found a stud right here.” He aims the meter at himself.
“Notice, it didn’t beep,” I quip, flashing him a big smile.
Mr. Hargrave lets out a hearty laugh. “You keep him in check.” His face grows serious as his eyes cut back to Theo. “You’re supposed to be helping Amity decide on the layout up here.”
Theo’s face falls, and I can’t stop myself from jumping in. “He did. He was a huge help. We’re just finishing up.”
His father looks at Theo for a long moment, then nods. “Great. I could use you downstairs when you’re done.”
“No problem, Pops.” Theo’s voice is flat. It triggers that same tug in my chest I felt when I saw his tattoo.
As soon as his father is out of sight, I poke at the device in his hand. “That’s one of those FM radios, right?” Every time I’ve been around Theo he’s been so upbeat and excited. I hate seeing him so deflated.
“E-M-F,” he corrects me.
“And what is it supposed to do, make the ghosts appear?”
He sighs deeply, but there’s a liveliness in his gaze again.
“They register spikes in electromagnetic fields, which indicates the presence of ghosts. You were at my presentation last week. How little were you paying attention?” When he finally focuses on me, he spots my smile and rolls his eyes.
“Didn’t we agree you’d take this seriously? ”
I pretend to steal the contract from him and mime flipping through the pages. After a second, I jut a finger at the imaginary line I’m looking for. “All it says is that I would ‘help.’ ”
“Which implies participating.”
“Actually, I think it only implies my presence. And here I am.” I take an exaggerated bow.
“You’re impossible.”
I know he means I am being a pain in the ass, but that’s not what I see in his warm gaze and the softness in his mouth.
And it’s not at all what I feel when the word washes over me.
Impossible feels like the very opposite of weird. Something someone wants to have. Or to be.
I brush by Theo and head out of the closet so he can’t see how his words have affected me. “Let’s go find your dad.”
He lets me take the lead on the way downstairs until we both spot something on one of the bottom steps. He slips by me to grab it, our shoulders brushing in the narrow space. My traitorous heart kicks up speed at the contact, and the skin of my arm buzzes beneath my T-shirt sleeve.
“What is it?” I ask.
Theo holds it up into the beam of my flashlight.
It’s a faded ad for a realty company on scratched-up card stock.
At the center is a photo of an older Black man in a navy-blue sweater crossing his arms and making deep eye contact with the camera.
Over his head, it reads Today’s the day.
Sell your house NOW. J. Hawkins Realty is here to help.
“I wonder how long that’s been here,” I muse.
“We didn’t see it going up.” Theo’s got that look on his face I’m starting to recognize. The one that screams this is a ghost.
“I bet it’s been here for ages.” I snatch the ad and jog down the rest of the steps.
I don’t hear Theo following. When I glance back, he’s frozen in place, his eyes on me. “What if Mercy is sending us a message? A warning, even?”
“To sell the house? Is she a paranormal real estate agent now?” I crack a grin. He’s too easy to tease, and I’m starting to enjoy it too much.
“What if she’s telling us to get out?” He pulls out his ghost hunting device again and runs it over the card stock. Two of the bulbs flash and there’s one small beep. “There’s a spot of EMF here. She could have touched this. And upstairs—”
“This house is so old. Who knows what that thing was registering up there? Electrical wires, copper pipes, asbestos.” I keep walking.
The thump of his steps echoes behind me.
As I cross into the living room, I glance back at him and catch his bright-eyed expression.
“I promise you. A ghost is not leaving us mail.”