CONCLUSION: While results are inconclusive, the house has a history of violence and multiple deaths (see note re: Montlake Massacre of ’83). Resident has been encouraged to reach out to us again if she experiences anything new. Resident has started using pine branches and needles to protect against dark spirits. When asked about this particular method, resident stated it made her “feel safer,” though she wasn’t sure as to why. THMG suspects possible haunting, but has no conclusive evidence at this time.
32
LUCAS EVENTUALLY MOVED the table and chairs back into the kitchen after hanging up with Mark. He then worked through the entire night scribbling questions he had for Echo and Josh Morales—if the guy ever called him back—rather than going to bed. He did this in the kitchen rather than his study, with lights burning bright above his head. The table had left him properly spooked, and he’d spent a good part of the evening checking the windows and doors for possible points of entry.
He hadn’t been able to find anything that even came close to explaining how a few girls could get inside without him knowing, but it didn’t change the fact that they had. He left himself a note on the kitchen table to call an alarm company first thing in the morning. Money be damned, he’d rather rack up more debt than end up dead.
His head hit the pillow at a little after five in the morning, his brain swimming with interview questions and worries about trespassers. He thought about Caroline and Italy, recalling memories of their less-than-perfect honeymoon—the way they had to stand at every café they came across because the place wanted to charge them to sit; how they had eaten gelato after gelato, unable to pick their favorite flavor; how they had almost lost each other in a mass of people while the pope puttered by in his bulletproof golf cart.
When sleep refused to come, he went back down to the kitchen and continued to work. By the time Jeanie came downstairs a little after nine a.m., Lucas felt as though he could have fallen asleep where he sat.
He watched her walk to the fridge without so much as a hello. There was something skittish about the way she moved, as if trying not to wake something that Lucas couldn’t see. When their eyes finally met, she gave him a bland look—annoyed, as though his mere presence put her off.
“Morning,” he said.
“Morning,” she muttered, pulled open the refrigerator door, and slid a gallon of milk onto the kitchen island. Lucas remained silent as she retrieved a bowl from one of the cabinets and fished out a box of Cinnamon Toast Crunch from the pantry. Wordlessly, she fixed herself a bowl of cereal. Rather than joining him at the kitchen table, she stood at the island to eat. Lucas frowned.
“What’s up, Jeanie?”
She glared at him and he immediately remembered her pretty blue blouse. He looked down at his coffee cup.
“I’m sorry about yesterday, kid,” he told her. “I got caught up.”
She replied by crunching a mouthful of cereal. Story of your life, Dad.
“We’re going to go up to Seattle today, okay? We can do whatever you want. I’m taking the day off.”
Jeanie arched an eyebrow upward, looking dubious. The bruise beneath her right eye was nearly gone, having shifted from a wounded purple to an odd shade of yellowish green.
“I’m serious,” he said. “We can go as soon as you’re ready, but pack a bag. You’re going to stay with Mark and Selma for a few days.”
She stood motionless for a moment, her face a puzzle of confusion.
“It’ll be fun.” He tried to play it up, gave her a smile that was supposed to be jovial but felt entirely stupid. “Selma will—”
“Oh, right, Dad!” The words exploded from her throat. She shoved her cereal bowl away. Tiny toasts rode a wave of milk over the rim of her bowl, splashing across the counter. “Now you’re sending me away?”
“Jeanie, I’m not—”
“You are!” Her fists hit the Formica top.
“Jeanie, stop.” He gave her a stern look. “I’m not sending you away. You said you didn’t want to move and we’re not—”
“Well, good.” She cut him off. “That means I don’t have to stay at Uncle Mark’s, doesn’t it? We’re not moving, so I’ll just stay home.”
“No, kid. I need to get some stuff done and it would be—”
“Better?” Jeanie narrowed her eyes just enough to resemble her mother. He half expected her to do an about-face and stomp through the kitchen and back up to her room. But rather than fleeing the way she normally did, she stared down at the island as if in thought, as though trying to reel it in for once. “What kind of stuff?” she finally asked, and while she was trying to play it cool, he could see the muscles of her jaw clenching from across the room.
“Work stuff.”
“I thought you were giving up,” she murmured.
“I thought so, too. But you convinced me to reconsider.”
Jeanie lifted a hand, rubbed at the fading bruise beneath her eye, and sighed. “Well, either way, I’m not staying at Uncle Mark’s.”
“Jeanie . . .”
“No, listen, Dad,” she said, her face going rigid with determination. “You want to make it up to me? Don’t make me stay over there.”
“What’s wrong with Uncle Mark’s?” Lucas asked, confused by her adamant refusal.
“I just don’t want to stay there, okay? What’s the big deal?”
“Even after . . .” He paused, not wanting to say it. Jeanie shook her head at him and scooped another spoonful of cereal into her mouth.
“It’s just a house.”
Except he didn’t want Jeanie there, not with what had happened the night before. But if he refused Jeanie’s request, there would be a battle. When it came to emotions, Jeanie took after Caroline. She was explosive, sometimes irrational. There would be screaming, probably some crying. She had a difficult time listening to reason, no matter what the circumstance. His gaze paused on the phone number he’d scribbled onto a Post-it Note tacked to the surface of the kitchen table. If he could get an alarm guy out there today, maybe he’d stop stressing so much, actually be able to get some work done.
“Maybe,” he told her. Jeanie’s expression brightened for once. He grabbed his phone, ready to call the number and see how quickly the alarm place could do the job, but before he could dial, his cell buzzed in the palm of his hand. He peered at the bright screen, which displayed an unknown number, answered.
“Hello?”
Jeanie grabbed her bowl and left the kitchen. A moment later, the sound of the television cut through the otherwise quiet house.
“Hi, Lucas?” A male voice, a slight Hispanic accent.
“Speaking.”
“It’s Josh,” the voice said. “Josh Morales from Lambert Correctional.”
Lucas blinked at the unexpected but welcome call.
“Hey! . . . Yeah, how’s it going?” Lucas asked. “Thanks for calling me back.”
“Nah, don’t mention it. Sorry it took me so long, man. What can I do you for?”
Lucas turned his attention away from the living room and looked back to his cup of lukewarm coffee. “I was wondering if we could set up a meeting; you, me, and possibly your friend Eperson if he’s interested. I thought we could talk about Halcomb, just your experiences with him as a guard at the facility.”
“He’s interested,” Morales said. “I talked to him the afternoon you left, told him who you were. He bought your book the next day, the one about Ramirez.”