“Shane, please! At least listen!”

“I’ve heard enough. Let me know when you want to move on to table rapping or Ouija boards—those are a lot more fun. We could get some ten-year-olds to show us the ropes.”

“Shane, wait! Where are you going?”

“Bed,” he said, and went up the stairs. “Night.”

Claire was still holding Michael’s hand, and Miranda’s. She let go of both, pushed her chair back, and went up after him. She heard his door slam before she made it to the top, and raced down the hall to bang her fist on the wood. There was no answer, no sound of movement inside.

Then she noticed that the picture on the wall hallway was crooked, and moved it to stare at the button underneath. Would he?

Of course he would.

She hesitated for a second, then pressed it. The panel across the hallway clicked open, letting out a breath of cold air, and she quickly slipped inside, latched it back, and went up the stairs.

Shane was lying on the couch, feet on the curved polished-wood armrest, one arm flung over his eyes.

“Go away,” he said. Claire eased herself down on the couch next to him, because his voice didn’t sound, well, right. It was quiet and a little bit choked. His hand was shaking. “I mean it, Claire, go.”

“The first time you met me, I was crying,” she said. “You don’t have to be ashamed.”

“I’m not crying,” he said, and moved his arm. He wasn’t. His eyes were hot and dry and furious. “I can’t stand that she pretends to know. She was Lyssa’s friend. If she knew, if she really knew, she should have tried harder.”

Claire bit her lip. “Do you mean she—?” She couldn’t even say it. Do you mean she tried to tell you? And he couldn’t admit it if she had. If he admitted that much…maybe his sister didn’t have to be dead.

No, Claire couldn’t say that. And he couldn’t hear it.

Instead, she just reached out and took his hand. He looked down at their clasped fingers, sighed, and closed his eyes. “I’m drunk and I’m pissed off,” he said. “Not the best company right now. Man, your parents would kill us all if they knew about any of this.”

She didn’t say anything, because that was absolutely true. And something she didn’t want to think about. She just wanted to sit here, in this silent room where time had frozen still, and be with him.

“Claire?” His voice was quieter. A little smeared with sleep. “Don’t do that again.”

“Do what?”

“Go out like you did tonight. Not at night.”

“I won’t if you won’t.”