Chapter 5
FIVE
The storm passed through, leaving behind a dense, red glow in the evening sky. I stared out the living room window, studying the overgrown front yard and trying to keep my breathing steady.
My jaw ached from how hard I’d been clenching my molars since stepping back onto Elmwood premises. I massaged my fingers, a poor attempt to ease my restlessness.
It shouldn’t be like this. The phrase repeated in my head, some frustrating teenage version of myself moping about how unfair life was. How, after defying all the odds of owning a place of my own, I faced the possibility of losing it.
“I’ll get Octavia to show you.” Wilson was in the kitchen, throwing questions at our guests. He’d even tugged out a legal pad at dinner, scratching down their responses between bites.
Once dinner finished, everyone lingered at the table, sitting in front of their empty plates, exchanging jokes and getting as warm and comfortable with one another as the stove was with the rest of the house.
“Via?” Wilson wheeled into the living room, his face still bright from a laugh he’d just had.
I turned away from the window, tugging my hand away from the loose end of my loc.
“Are you okay with giving Rae a tour?” Wilson’s voice lowered, conscious of the sour mood that plagued every part of my body.
I nodded. “Sure.”
When I didn’t move from the window, he came closer.
“What?” he asked, all sense of humor faded.
“Nothing.”
“Via.” His voice was insistent under the weight of annoyance.
“I’m tired.” I tried to offer him a hint of a smile. “It was a long drive, and motel beds aren’t exactly the most refreshing.”
Wilson’s eyes softened. He couldn’t do a close read between my words.
He didn’t catch the slight dip of my voice, and the way I barely moved my lips because he’d never had to look for those changes.
My brother and I didn’t share many things growing up.
With different mothers, we spent most of our childhood apart.
He joined us on the road in the summer, each one of our interactions a snapshot.
So, buying Elmwood and being here with him for the past six months was the most consecutive interaction we’d ever gotten.
“Should I get Esther to do it?” he asked.
“No, she should get back to town. The storm’s cleared and it’ll be dark soon.”
He nodded. We’d made an executive decision after the multiple accidents that our workers wouldn’t live on the property until we sorted things out.
Esther left every night right before sunset, and we locked all the doors and shut the blinds as if those things could protect us from something that was already inside.
“When this is over, I’m going to get a mold specialist out here,” I said.
“You know, I looked into your mold theory.”
My brow shot up. “Really?”
This could be good. He could get back on the right track, joining me in reality.
“And it doesn’t fit.”
My heart sank into my stomach, floating in the acid, garlic, and rosemary.
I sucked the back of my teeth. “Wil…”
“It doesn’t,” he promised.
“Did you actually investigate? Or did you call it quits after one article because musings on garlic and wooden stakes were far more exciting?”
“I’m not excited—”
“You just spent half an hour fawning over every movement that woman made.” I lowered my voice and gestured toward the kitchen, where our company still lingered, chatting with Esther.
“I asked questions, gathered data, and did what I was trained to do,” he said gently. “I promise, I’m taking everything you say seriously.”
I imagined he saw the seven-year gap between us in vivid detail because Wilson often spoke to me as if I still barely knew how to tie my own shoes.
I scratched my cheek. “It’s just…I thought you’d have your feet on the ground at least a little.”
“And I thought you had more of an imagination,” he said with a small smile. “You used to tell us bedtime stories about witches and werewolves.”
“I was a kid.”
In Wilson’s framework, I remained a little girl willing to believe in any and everything. Unmarred and unchanged by the ever-changing road I’d grown up on. He believed he could coax out the remnants of a dream.
I wasn’t much better. The story I kept of him was that of a teenage boy who carried around thick textbooks on cosmology. The boy who could answer all my questions—even the ones my parents couldn’t solve.
“We have literal evidence on tape,” Wilson said. “Why are you still fighting this?”
“Because I don’t think there’s some world-changing, eclipsing answer to this problem. The solution’s likely a simple one and we’re wasting time on fantastical.”
I used to enjoy complexity, especially when Wilson was my company in the thick of questioning.
When driving across the country, our favorite places to beg our parents to stop were observatories.
We’d peek through the telescope and offer bundles of “what-ifs” to whichever volunteer was willing to answer.
Complexity became more of a nuisance when Wilson wasn’t around as much and my inquiries were answered with, it’s not important.
My parents weren’t creatives, they couldn’t (and perhaps wouldn’t) dive deeper than what reality offered.
Didn’t flex their imagination. And I saw merit in that.
Because fantasizing led to so much more heartache and disappointment than accepting the facts ever could.
Fantasy was beautiful in stories but in real life, it got nothing done.
It didn’t offer solid ground to build upon.
And having solid ground to build on was the one thing in this world I wanted more than anything.
“Rationalization’s very common. Even after uncovering physical evidence.” Rae stood in the entryway, hands behind her back. She didn’t make eye contact as she carefully scanned the room. “It’s one of the five stages.”
My heart jumped but I remained firmly planted on the ground, trying not to wince at her intrusion.
“You know, most Americans won’t experience a paranormal phenomenon in their lifetime, while they consistently plague others. It’s a lot to do with the activity belt. People outside the belt can and should be skeptical.”
“The belt leads all the way out to the West Coast.” Wilson nodded. “Your team’s pinpointing a hotspot map, right?”
“We have been.” Her smile brightened her eyes. The approval she offered Wilson made my chest tighten. I nudged away the pressure, reminding myself this wasn’t summer with our parents. We were adults. We weren’t vying for attention and head pats.
“Hotspots?” I asked because, much like with her book, I didn’t like the idea of being left in the dark.
“Hotspots are areas of consistent paranormal activity. Over the years, we’ve learned that certain places attract paranormal entities. Which means if you don’t live there, it’s all fantasy.”
Rae’s gaze lingered on my fingers as I scratched my neck. She’d been doing that throughout dinner, cataloging every small move I made. I understood it was part of her work, but it didn’t make the weight of her gaze any less exhausting.
She didn’t take physical notes like December, but something told me Rae could easily list detailed observations if prompted.
“Is Elmwood in your hotspot zone?” I asked.
It took her a second to pull her gaze away from my hand. “No.”
“Which is a good thing.” Wilson released a sigh. “Once fixed, the problem won’t be chronic.”
Rae hummed and nodded, but she didn’t verbally agree.
Wilson and I exchanged unsure looks, a rare moment of sibling synchronization.
She scanned the room once more, gaze snagging on the row of framed photos on the mantel.
Rae stepped closer, leaning in to inspect one with my uncle and I.
I’d been around four and clung to him, laughing.
Uncle Anthony was the first adult who’d been animated and fun around me.
I’d rarely let the man have a moment of peace when he’d been around.
And he wouldn’t have had it any other way.
Meanwhile, my parents did their best to train me into being a quiet, polite kid.
“Do you want to start the tour?” I asked. “Before it gets too dark?”
“Let’s see what we’re working with,” she said without missing a beat. Rae started toward the foyer, leaving behind her scent of fresh linen and vanilla. Wilson offered me an encouraging smile when I glanced in his direction before following her.
“Jonah,” Rae called as she slipped on her sneakers.
He appeared in the hallway, hastily wiping away crumbs from Esther’s carrot cake.
“You have the EMF?” Rae shrugged on her jacket. I forwent my coat, grabbing a pair of work gloves instead and slipping them into my back pocket along with my walkie. It was easier to get in touch with Esther and Wilson on the radio than to pull up their numbers on a phone.
“No…I didn’t think we’d need it this early.” His cheeks were red. “I’ll get it now!”
Rae’s gaze carried a hard sternness that didn’t quite suit her. The wrinkle in her brow seemed tacked on at the last minute, an afterthought to flesh out a half-hearted scolding. “Always bring the essentials, even when you don’t think you’ll use them.”
I bit back a comment about her not bringing it either and started out the door. Jonah split off from us immediately, going to grab the forgotten item that seemed to have cost him some points with his boss.
“How far’s your nearest neighbor?” Rae had her phone out, snapping photos of the house.
“They’re…” I trailed off when she knelt, her jeans stretching across her ass. It was an unfortunately beautiful sight. The fabric hugged her as if it were just happy to be there. I understood the sentiment. I resented the sentiment.
“About twenty miles”—I swallowed, regaining my bearings when she glanced over her shoulder, confused by my pause—“west.”