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done long ago…

My eyes widen as a new terrifying thought emerges.

If he’s…dead…how long has it been?

Dad’s mysterious “trips” and time away from the manor start to make more sense when put in this new light. All of his interactions have been to me directly or through messages. Until tonight, he was never in the same room with Wade. I never even got to introduce the two of them.

I swallow hard, unable to shake this horrible ring of truth.

Oh my god, if my dad’s dead…if he’s been dead—how did I not know?

You’re a postmortem medium, Autumn. You see dead people.

My heart constricts and my face crumples.

Stupid voice inside my head. What does she know?

But it’s true. Ghosts look as real to me as any other person. Who knows just how many ghosts I’ve seen and interacted with, thinking they were alive. It’s no wonder I didn’t believe in them. Hell, until Abigail walked through my dad’s bedroom door, I didn’t even truly believe she was one—regardless of her dated clothing and hairstyle.

Wade continues to stroke my hair or my arm, refusing to let sleep consume him. We have that in common. Nighttime slowly changes into the inklings of morning as we both lie there, staring out the window. My mind, as much as I try to ignore it, continues to spiral into dissent as it does its own thing—trying to fathom how any of this could be happening.

The memory of following Abigail into Dad’s bedroom sweeps past the screen of my mind and again, I stop to consider. Any time I have been in his room, it’s never looked slept in—or lived in. Not really. Thick dust blanketed the flat surfaces and the room felt almost shuttered in.

Why?

Surely James would have noticed as well? I mean, he even washes my sheets, for crying out loud.

Suddenly, I sit up in bed, making Wade jump in surprise.

“What is it? What’s wrong?” he says, instantly alarmed. His eyes scan the room quickly, as if he’ll somehow be able to see anything.

“Why would James lie to me?” I say, unable to hide my irritation.

Anger swirls into clarity and I hold onto it, letting it burn brighter. It sears away some of the emotions I don’t want to deal with, helping me to think more clearly.

I seethe with a deep loathing for a man who’s done his best to seem kind and understanding. But it’s all been a lie. He’s been keeping things from me—from everyone. The only question is…why?

“How dare he?” I say through gritted teeth.

Wade lifts an eyebrow, gazing at me inquisitively. “Autumn, talk to me. What are you talking about?”

My face tightens and flushes with agitation. “James—this is all his fault.”

“Hold up, what’s his fault?” Wade says, his silver irises flashing in the dawn’s rising light. “You haven’t explained what the hell is going on. Did you have a bad dream? Or—?”

I turn to him, his face full of confusion and concern. I open my mouth to say the words, but I can’t seem to spit them out.

Shaking my head, I say, “I don’t know what the hell happened. I just know I need to talk to James. He has to be in on this.”

Wade sighs, running a hand across his face. “Autumn, you’re not making any damn sense. Maybe we should bring you into the hospital. I’m concerned about your head injury.” He raises a hand, reaching out to touch the spot where the tree branch hit, but I swipe his hand away.

“I’m not crazy,” I say, indignantly.

“That’s not what I—”

I throw back the blankets of the bed and stand up. “My dad’s dead and it’s all James’ fault. He—”

Wade jumps out of bed after me. “Whoa, whoa, whoa. Hold up there. What did you just say?”

“You heard me,” I spit back.

His eyes survey me carefully, and he takes a tentative step forward. “How do you know your dad is dead?”

“Because…” I swallow hard, unable to believe I’m saying any of this out loud, “he’s the one who’s been haunting the manor.”

“He—wait. What?” Wade says, pulling up short and shaking his head as if it will dislodge something that makes sense. He stares at me with the most confused expression I’ve ever seen on his face. I definitely know the feeling.

My gaze falls to the space between us and I let out a sigh. “He…came to me last night. I don’t know why, but he was watching us sleep. When I saw him, he started spouting off things,” I say, running my hands through my hair and taking a step back. Pacing back and forth, I try to push back the memories, but they’re embedded in my mind now. “The more I think about it, the more I think he’s been gone a while. Maybe this whole time.”

“Holy shit.” Wade steps forward, reaching out for my arm. “That’s intense. What did he say, Dru?”

I look up, fighting back the tears that are threatening to emerge. “He said I need to leave the manor. That he’s been trying to protect me, but they will find me… and…” I cut off, fighting back the sob caught in my throat, “and you’re like a beacon. Whatever the hell that means.”

Wade’s face crumples. “What in the hell do I have to do with this?”

I shake my head, crying out, “I don’t know. I don’t understand any of this. It’s all completely fucked and I’m just—”

“Okay, okay…” Wade interjects, reaching out and pulling me into his arms. “We’ll figure this out together. There has to be an explanation for all of this. Maybe you were just dreaming?”

I shake my head, fighting the tears blurring my vision. “I keep trying to convince myself of that.”

His scrutiny is intense, and he finally whispers, “But it wasn’t, was it?”

There’s no way I can bring myself to say it out loud, so I simply shake my head.

“Dammit, Dru. I’m so sorry,” he says, pulling me to him.

I lean my head against his chest, wishing I could take back the past twenty-four

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