Since the moment he appeared, literally, Finn has had a near perpetual smile on his face. He’s always in motion, always in a good mood. But now he is still, and his face is stony. And I know I’ve messed up.
“Why?”
“Not just yours. Aisha’s and Sloane’s, too. And the others, before you. But there’s nothing. No witnesses, no leads, not even, like, a scrap of clothing. All of you vanished into thin air. How is that even possible?” I push to my feet and start pacing at the end of the bed.
“It’s a bad idea—” Finn starts.
“And I know you said you don’t remember what happened to you—”
“No,” Finn says sharply, so sharp I almost flinch. Immediatelyafter the word leaves his mouth, the anger follows, and he deflates. He runs a hand over his face and finds my eyes.“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to— I…”The emotion clears from his face.“I don’t remember any of it. So even if I wanted to help you, I can’t.”
“You don’t remember?”
“No,” he says.
“Nothing? You meet some tragic end, and you don’t remember any of it?” I’m being harsh, pushing too hard, but I can’t stop. If it were me, I doubt I’d ever stop trying to remember.
“What do you want me to say?”He throws his hands up.“I was out for a run one night near the creek, and I heard a branch snap, and then I woke up in the backyard, and I was like this. It doesn’t make sense, but that’s what it is. I’ve spent three years trying to figure out what happened to me. And I’ve hit wall after wall. There’s just…nothing.”
He’s working hard to appear unaffected by what happened. I have my own skeletons, and I can’t force him to open his closet door without having to open my own.
But he didn’t die in the house. I have a dozen questions, like whether he’s isolated to the house and its property, which backs up to the creek, and if so, how far the boundary goes. Finn isn’t the only ghost in this house. He isn’t the only place to find answers.
“Leave it alone, Jo,” Finn says, his voice and expression pleading.“Some bodies want to stay buried.”
Sixteen
I lie back in theovergrown grass of the backyard. Finn’s nineties rock filters through the open kitchen window. Somewhere in the house, my mom and Margot are bickering loud enough to make out their tones but too low to make sense of any words.
“Sloane?” I call.
For a few seconds nothing happens, and I’m grateful no one is around to witness me making a fool of myself.
Then Sloane appears in the grass at my side, perplexed.“What did—”
“It worked,” I say.
“What worked?”
“I summoned you. I wasn’t sure it was going to work, but it did on Finn, and…” I wave a hand. “Here you are.”
“I didn’t know that was a thing. Awesome.” Sloane nods, then looks around.“What are you doing?”
“Nothing,” I say. “It’s nice.” After a beat, I add, “Wanna join me?”
One side of Sloane’s mouth turns up. She fiddles with the grass near her sneaker. She starts picking out blades, concentrating on each one as she plucks it and starts a pile. “I used to hate the summer,” she says eventually.“The whole no-school thing was great, but, god, the heat. Our apartment had the worst AC.”
“Used to?”
“Perk of the job,” Sloane says.“Can’t feel the heat. Or the cold. Or anything, obviously. Makes it easier to appreciate it.”
I can’t help but smile. I lean back, hands splayed on the grass. Sloane lies down, knees drawn up, hands resting on her belly.
There’s no easy way to broach this subject. “Sloane, I was wondering…”
Sloane stiffens almost imperceptibly. She’s quiet for a beat. Then, tentatively, “You want to know what happened to me. Or us.”
I wince, bringing my knees to my chest and looping my arms around them.
