The Dead and the Dark(54)

Brandon watched her warily.

“I know you said you’re investigating the weather and sightings and stuff, but … I was talking to Gracia a few weeks ago. She said this weird stuff didn’t start until you got here. And you haven’t been taking any notes or pictures. None of the crew has come out. I took you guys’ gear, like, three weeks ago, and—”

“You what?” Brandon asked.

Logan was quiet.

“What do you mean, you took our gear?” Alejo asked.

“I…” Logan narrowed her eyes. “No, the point is that you guys didn’t even notice it was gone. We’re supposed to be here investigating, but you don’t realize you’re missing all your gear?”

“The point is that our gear is expensive,” Alejo said. “And off-limits.”

Brandon leaned forward. “What did you use it for?”

Logan looked between them. Alejo was upset, but Brandon was afraid. His hand was flat against the table, eyes wide behind his glasses. Because it wasn’t about the gear; it was about what she’d found. Logan’s heart raced. She felt fire in her cheeks.

“Logan,” Brandon said, hard and cold. “What did you use the gear for?”

“That’s what I wanna ask about. The cabin across the lake—”

Brandon exhaled.

“I know it was yours. And there’s this grave I saw. It had our name on it.” Logan looked at her hands. “I thought, if you guys could just start at the beginning. If you could just tell me what’s going on here.”

Brandon sank into his seat and shook his head. Alejo looked at him, then at Logan, and it was the first time she’d ever seen him speechless, unable to mediate. She wondered how the three of them looked, alone in this diner. Country ballads softly filled the silence between them, almost mocking.

After a moment, Brandon shifted out of the booth. His face was unreadable. He looked anywhere but at Logan. “I’m gonna go take a walk. I’ll be back.”

He made his way out of the diner into the swollen summer air. Guitar plucked from the jukebox and Logan thought she might be sick. It was Tulsa all over again—hate curdled in Brandon’s voice, cloying and hot. Logan looked at Alejo, waited for him to explain, but he only stared at the diner door after Brandon, lips in a hard, thin line.

He gathered himself. “Did you put the gear back?”

“It’s in my room,” Logan sighed.

“Okay.” He placed his hands palms-down on the diner table and slowly inhaled. “Everything’s gonna be okay. I told you, if you want to know anything, you can just ask. You don’t have to…”

“Does he have something to do with what’s happening?” Logan asked. “Kids are dying. I just wanna know why.”

“Your dad has done nothing wrong. Neither of us have. I … can’t get into it right now, but I promise your dad is not responsible for this. It’ll be easier to explain when we’re out of here,” Alejo said. “Until then, how about we make a deal. No more cabin, no more ghost hunting, no more taking things from our room. And when this is all over, me and your dad will explain everything.”

“So I can’t just ask, then?”

“Soon,” Alejo said. “I promise.”

“When?”

“When it’s over,” Alejo said again.

Logan leaned back in her seat. This was how it was going to be—she didn’t deserve the truth. She could get close enough to taste it, but she could never have the real thing. She cleared her throat. “I guess it’s a deal.”





22


How To Breathe Underwater


Ashley parked the Ford haphazardly across three of the slim parking spots at the Bates Motel and climbed out of the truck. On most summer nights, she heard the distant moan of cars far down the highway, but tonight it was only the flickering bulbs of the Bates’s fluorescent sign and the crackling of the Ford as it cooled down. Even at night, the heat was blistering and moist. The parking lot smelled like fuel and mildew.

She made her way to room seven. In the window, Logan’s string lights glowed warm and gold through the blinds. Ashley knocked twice, and the door thumped as Logan pressed her eye to the peephole.

“Just me,” Ashley said, waving.

The door opened. Logan’s hair was pinned up in a messy bun. She wore an all-black sweater and skirt combo with black ankle socks. For the first time since Ashley had met her, Logan wasn’t wearing any makeup. She almost glowed in the low light.

“How are you wearing a sweater?” Ashley asked.

“Beauty is pain.” Logan leaned against her doorframe. “What’re you doing here? Did you miss me?”

“I told my mom I’m staying at Bug’s,” Ashley said, ignoring Logan’s comment. She wrapped her arms around herself. “She’d be pissed if she knew I was here. No offense.”

“A secret meeting.”

Past Logan’s shoulders, Ashley caught a glimpse of the motel room. It was nicer than she’d imagined—Logan used string lights in lieu of the murky fluorescent bulb in the ceiling, and she’d carefully arranged canvas paintings of landscapes and skylines around the room like windows to better worlds. Ashley motioned to the door. “Can I come in?”