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A soft jingling sound interrupted his thoughts.
She appeared in the doorway a moment later, her bracelets catching the light as she leaned casually against the frame. She was dressed in jeans and a loose sweater, her hair pulled back into a messy bun.
“There you are,” she said, her voice bright. Her gaze flicked to the tablet in his hand. “Walking through?”
“Checking in,” Sully muttered, focusing on the lists in front of him.
Amy stepped inside, and the sound of her bracelets made him wince before he could stop himself. She caught it.
“Okay,” she said, crossing her arms. “What is it with you and me? You wince every time I walk into a room.”
Sully sighed, setting the tablet aside. “It’s not you.”
“Obviously it’s something.” She smirked. “Come on, Sully. You’re grumpy with everyone, but you don’t flinch around them. Out with it.”
He hesitated and ran a hand through his hair. “Your bracelets,” he said finally. “They remind me of my ex-wife.”
Amy blinked.
“She… jingled like that,” Sully added, his voice low.
“Oh.”
Sully shrugged and leaned back against the door frame. “Drove me crazy after a while.”
Amy’s expression softened, and for a moment, neither of them spoke.
“Anyway, ancient history,” he said gruffly. He picked up his tablet again. “I’ve got some good news. The hospital wing’s ready for paint. If you’ve picked a color, we can get started.”
Her eyes lit. “Paint? Oh—oh! That’s great!”
Before he could react, she flung her arms around him, bracelets jingling. Sully stiffened, but before he could say anything, she stepped back, already bubbling with ideas about color palettes.
He watched her go, a faint smile tugging at his mouth despite himself. Then he remembered the upstairs door.
“Oh—hey, Amy,” he called after her. “Have you been up on the widow’s walk lately?”
She turned, brow furrowing. “No, why?”
“Door was open again this morning. Second time this week.”
Her curiosity dimmed to a crease of concern. He swore she colored a bit at the question. “That’s strange. I haven’t been up there since the seance.”
“Yeah.” He nodded slowly. “Strange.”
She gave him a look, as though she might say something, but she let it drop, already swept back into talk of colors and finishing schedules.
Sully stood there a moment longer. He’d locked that door. He was sure of it.
Amy surfaced from another restless sleep, tangled in damp sheets, heart drumming too fast. The shadows in the room swayed faintly with the movement of the curtains.
The clock read 2:17 a.m.
Again.
She shoved back the covers, her bare feet brushing grit. Dirt—fine, sandy, unmistakable. She pulled her knees up and saw it clearly in the reflected glow of the night-light: smudges of soil and blades of wet grass stuck to her skin.
Her stomach turned. For a moment, the jumble of memory pressed in. The sharp wind off the sea, the railing cold under her palm, the heavy hush of night. It wasn’t real, though. Couldn’t be.
