“What do you care?” I’ve been calm up until that point, but I’m tired and want this to be over. It was over the moment I had Caitlyn back but this has to happen—for Caitlyn and myself. Sheriff Watts will have to deal with it. “If you allow me to give the remains a proper burial, I promise that no one will hear of it.”

Sheriff Watts considers it.

“No one’s gonna know?” he asks.

“Do whatever tests you want, take dental records, whatever, and then let me bury the remains. No one is going to come looking for this girl.”

He peers at me. “How do you know it’s a girl?”

I’m so tired and fed up that I lash out. “Because she told me. Does that work for you?”

His expression goes from baffled to insulted. He throws up his hands. “Fine! Fine, fine, fine. Just do me a favor, Mr. Price,” he says, and stands up. “Next time, hire a professional to install your damn hot tub.”

*

A week later, I’m looking at myself in the mirror next to the front door, adjusting my black suit and tie.

“You ready, pumpkin?” I call.

“Coming!” Caitlyn replies, and descends the stairs, wearing the black dress with the white trim she wore at Nicole’s funeral. She insisted on wearing it.

We haven’t talked much about what happened the night she disappeared. All I asked was why she came back from Mildred’s. She replied that Katherine told her what was happening. That was the extent of our conversation.

“Don’t forget your coat,” I say, as she lands at the bottom of the steps.

“Dad, I was gonna get it.”

As she goes to the closet, I look around.

This is a different house now.

A weight has been lifted. The presence is gone. Honestly, I’m not sure how to feel. I’m happy that whatever you want to call what was lurking in the house is gone, but also, for the first time since the accident, I know Nicole is also truly gone. I no longer feel her in the other room, just out of sight. She took Katherine across, which is one more thing I’ll love her for, but now, there’s only a scar that will never heal. She’s gone, and even though Caitlyn and I live within the walls of the Nightingale House, it feels empty, like we’re the ghosts, and the house wants to move on.

I’m snapped out of my thoughts by Caitlyn approaching, wrestling with her coat. The coat is winning. I help her get her arms through the sleeves.

“Ready?” I ask.

“Ready.”

*

Elysian Fields Cemetery is a ten-minute drive to the outskirts of Kingsbrook. It sits on a hill, overlooking the town. The vast rows of gravestones have dates that range back to the 1700s and the landscape is dotted with sugar maples.