The Dead and the Dark(2)

BRANDON: We’ll survive. We’ve been through worse.



Logan scoffed and shoved another balled-up turtleneck into her suitcase. We’ve been through worse. She seriously doubted it. She’d seen every episode of this show, from the haunted windmill to the satanic rock museum to the toilet that doubled as a portal to hell, and this was the corniest one yet. ParaSpectors never shied from melodrama, but as the show crawled into its sixth season, these cheesy tear-jerker moments seemed to come every other episode. Logan wasn’t sure if it was the network’s idea or just her fathers’ penchant for drama.

She pulled two packed suitcases from the pyramid of bags at her feet and walked them into the hallway. Other than Brandon and Alejo muttering back and forth on the TV, the house was quiet. Logan sulked back into her bedroom and stood at the second-story bay window. White morning sun glinted off the surface of the swimming pool. Beyond her backyard, sprawling geometric houses rolled down the valley one after the other. She pressed her fingertips to the window and closed her eyes.

She really didn’t want to leave LA.

Behind her, boots crunched the loose popcorn kernels littering her carpet. Alejo Ortiz—the Alejo Ortiz of ghost-hunting fame—leaned against her bedroom door. Between his half-up black hair and lanky frame, he looked like he’d been plucked right from Logan’s TV. He surveyed her luggage, holding his phone walkie-talkie style. The real Alejo held himself differently than the one on TV. He was quieter, less dramatic, always slouched like he was trying to hear a little clearer.

“The lady of the house is in good shape,” Alejo said into his phone. He swept the popcorn kernels out of the doorway with the edge of his boot and raised a brow at Logan like the mess was their little secret. “We’ve got a few more suitcases to load up, then we can hit the road.”

“Nice.” Brandon’s tinny voice crackled on the other end of the line. “No bodies under the mattress?”

Alejo chuckled. “The dirty clothes put up a fight, but we showed them who’s boss.”

Logan rolled her eyes and kept packing. The cheesy FaceTime chats had been a daily fixture for the last six months. Every year, when ParaSpectors wrapped shooting for the season, Brandon and Alejo flew straight home while the production team set off to scout newer, “spookier” locations. But this year, Brandon had different plans.

“How’s Snakebite treating you?” Alejo asked.

“Same as always. It’s like nothing’s changed in thirteen years.” Brandon cleared his throat. “Except the snow. That’s finally cleared up, though.”

Snakebite, the rural Oregon ranching town where Logan’s fathers grew up, was the kind of place with no pictures on Google. It was a blip on the map, a tiny scratch of farmland torn into a sea of yellow hills. According to Brandon, it was the perfect place to film the next ParaSpectors season premiere. But what started as a week of location scouting turned into a month. The network threw the ParaSpectors wrap party for season six and Brandon wasn’t there. Alejo celebrated his forty-second birthday alone. Logan graduated from high school and Brandon watched from a spotty FaceTime call. A month turned into six and Logan wondered if Brandon planned to ever come home.

She was no expert on location scouting, but she was pretty sure it didn’t take six months for a single episode.

Something was off.

And then, last week, Alejo had announced that if Snakebite was keeping Brandon away, they would just take themselves to Snakebite. LA wasn’t home by any means—they’d only been in this house for a few years—but she’d lived here longer than she’d lived anywhere else. Just as she’d gotten used to the city, it was being snatched away.

It sucked.

Logan put a hand on her hip. “If you’re gonna stand here, can you help me move some of these?”

“Sure thing,” Alejo said. “Hold your dad.”

He passed his phone to Logan and grabbed a suitcase in each hand. Logan gave Brandon a brief glance; his short crop of dark hair was a bit more unruly than usual, but his thick-rimmed glasses and perpetual semi-frown were unchanged. He looked just as half dead as she remembered. He flashed a tense smile. “Hey, you.”

“Hi.”

“Enjoying summer vacation?”

Logan blinked. “It’s not really vacation. I graduated. It’s kinda just … summer.”

“Right.”

Logan stared at Brandon and Brandon stared back. She grasped for something else to say but came up blank. With anyone else, conversation came as easy as breathing, but with Brandon it was always harder. She glanced at the hallway, then back at Brandon. “I should help Dad.”

She tossed the phone on her naked mattress and grabbed another handful of bags.

Brandon cleared his throat. “The drive will be worth it. I forgot how scenic it is up here. Lots of space.”

“I’m super looking forward to seventeen hours of bluegrass on the way up,” Logan groaned.

“Hey,” Alejo snapped from the hallway. “Don’t diss my music. And it’s nineteen hours to Snakebite. We have time for show tunes, too.”

“Even better.”

Logan pictured Snakebite: big trucks, one-story houses, twangy country music thundering from every direction. She was sure her family was going to increase the queer population by 300 percent. It would be just like the hundreds of other small towns she’d been to growing up. Until she was fourteen, their little family hadn’t actually “lived” anywhere. They’d been creatures of the road, setting up camp in town after town while Brandon and Alejo busted ghosts and channeled the dead for small change. And while Brandon and Alejo peddled their services, Logan was by herself. From one motel room to the next, she was always alone.