Page 68 of Some Kind of Haunted

It almost sounds like an accusation.

Jack only looks back at her steadily. “Do I know what?”

But it reminds me of what Harrison said earlier about Jack sacrificing anything and anybody in his way. I wonder if this is what he means. Whatever Virginia is hinting at. Something Jack knows.

Yet, even as I think that, I also think—Virginia might have some answers, but there’s also a lot of confusion there. She isn’t looking at me anymore. She’s looking out the window. She’s settled back into the chair.

“They’re feeding. They’re so early to be feeding.” Her face arranges itself in horror and maybe even some pain. “Can’t you hear it?” Her eyes meet mine again. “You can hear it.”

The slurping. She means the slurping. And I can’t hear it in this moment, but I have heard too much of it, and my heart trembles in my chest at the idea she’s hearing that right now.

“They want you to think you’re safe. None of you are safe. You have to stay together in the dark to be safe. They’ll separate you in the dark. You have to stay together.”

We all still, frozen in place. Stay together in the dark. She doesn’t sound quite right, and yet . . . The dark is the problem. The demons are the problem.

“Only the blood can stop it,” Virginia says on a long sigh. She yawns. Her eyes droop. “It starts and ends at the beginning. Only the beginning can end it.”

“What blood, Virginia?” Jack asks, intently. “What beginning?”

Virginia is shaking her head, and the words she’s saying now aren’t actually words. Just garbled noises. But Jack doesn’t quit.

“What did Amelia know? What did she sacrifice?”

Cleo stands, putting herself between Jack and the chair. “That’s enough.”

“What if it helps us understand?” Jack replies, but he’s gentle with it. As gentle as I’ve seen him. Pleading, almost. “What if it connects? She said we’re not safe, Cleo. That they’ll separate us in the dark. We have to figure out what it all means.”

Cleo shakes her head. “Come on, Jack. It’s dementia. She’s remembering old Feeds.” Cleo’s voice is quiet and Virginia isn’t reacting to anything we’re saying. Her eyes are closed. “Do you hear any slurping?” she asks of him.

No one asks me. And I don’t hear any of it right now, so I don’t get involved.

“She doesn’t remember who I am half the time,” Cleo continues, her voice getting fiercer and more raw. “She has, more than once, thought she was living through the Feed back when she was a kid. Whatever she’s claiming to see is only going to confuse the now. You can’t take it seriously.”

I can see he does, though. And I have to admit I do, too, slurping or not—but Cleo isn’t in the emotional place to hear that. It’s also clear as day Jack is going to push, but I know that isn’t the right tack to take. Not when Virginia looks so wiped and lost, and Cleo right there with her.

“What can we do to help?” I ask before Jack can ask Virginia another question.

“Nothing,” Cleo says with a sharp finality.

She’s wrong, obviously. She needs help, but maybe it’s not the kind Jack or I can give. Maybe she isn’t ready to accept it, even if she needs it. And maybe, just maybe, this is a family affair.

But that only reminds me we are family. Maybe she isn’t ready for help, but that doesn’t mean this will be the last time I offer it. I promise myself that, even as I manage to smile reassuringly at Cleo.

Because Virginia knew me. Maybe Cleo is right and Virginia is confused, but what if my grandmother did sacrifice herself to bring me here? To bring me here not only to fulfill my role as harbinger—but to help?

Virginia is snoring softly now. She’s not the answer Jack wants her to be. Not in this moment anyway.

“Okay, we’ll get out of your hair.”

“She said we’re not safe, Cleo,” Jack insists. “You need to come to town with us. We need to all be together. That’s what she said.”

I’m a little surprised Jack is so certain. That he’s so . . . good at believing people. I have spent my life learning not to trust much of anyone, even those with good intentions. But he trusted me. And now he’s trusting the words of a woman struggling with dementia.

“Come on, Jack.” Cleo sighs, looking back at her grandmother. “Even if I thought you were right, I’m not leaving her. You saw what happened when I did a little office work for all of twenty minutes—the neighbor saw her from the road.” She shoves her hair back from her face. “Besides, no demon activity has ever happened out here. I’m safe at the airport. The four of you . . . That’s fine. You guys gather. Stay together in the dark or whatever, if you want to take what she’s saying at face value. But I have to stay here.”

Jack opens his mouth to argue, but I can see Cleo is as worn out as her grandmother. She needs rest. A break. And us poking at her isn’t that.

So I physically pull Jack out of the room, down the stairs, and back out of the house. Of course, he could refuse to be pulled if he really wanted to stay. But he wasn’t moving on his own, and he makes me work to get him out the door.