It of course stood empty, the piece of my soul he represented once more quarantined within my bosom, lashed together with all the others by an object as tenuous as my certainty that in doing the only thing I could do . . . I had done the right thing.

FORTY-FIVE

Stephanie

After seeing Charlie off with our friend’s mom, who I fed an excuse about needing to stay with Dad, I left the hospital with Lucas. And finally, during our ride to the rendezvous point with the rest of SPOoKy, I confessed to him about the interactions with Erik.

I started with the pictures I’d found in the attic. From there, I told him about meeting Erik in that first dream and how he had warned me of Zedok. I explained about finding the graves behind our house, and how Erik’s name on the last one had led me to seek Lucas out. I even told him about how adamant Erik had been that I not have investigators over to the house. That Erik had admitted to being the figure under the sheet, and about the promise I’d made to Erik to free him. I left out the detail of the almost-kiss, though. And also all those things Erik had said to me leading up to it.

Things were already so complicated. And, after all that had happened between me and Lucas at the dance, sharing that particular brush with Erik seemed like something that could only tangle things further. So, instead, I launched into a play-by-play of last night’s events, starting with Charlie waking up in the middle of the night and ending with the chandelier.

As far as answers went, I had no solid suggestions to offer him. Just the pieces to a scattered puzzle. A mangled, nonsensical mess that Lucas let me dump at his feet.

To his credit, he drove with an impassive expression while I laid out everything, including Erik’s battle with the other masked figures, and how he’d fought to free me from them. I explained about the two sides of the house, too, and how Erik had ejected me from his own shortly before the chandelier had come down.

“Why didn’t you tell me any of this before?” he asked, predictably. “The dreams, for instance. Erik. Did he tell you not to?”

“No,” I said, fidgeting. “I just spent so much time wondering if they really were dreams or not. And besides that . . . I didn’t want you to think Charlotte was right about me.”

He got quiet after that, driving a while longer, then taking another turn toward our destination. Finally, just when I thought Lucas wouldn’t say anything else, he spoke again.

“You care about him.”

I glanced his way, but he kept his eyes on the road. Oddly, there’d been no jealousy in his voice. There had been something else, though. Something like worry mixed with mistrust.