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Four weeks of moving around the city, even though we’re still in Orlando, as Trine tries to make sense of the events of the past few days. I’m still trying to process everything and I’m definitely less affected than she is.
Things are…tenuous. There’s an odd peace between the four of us, mostly for her sake. No one wants to fight in case she gets upset and she already seems so fragile. I don’t think she’d appreciate that we’re walking on eggshells around her right now, but we can talk about that later.
After Aura and Ash’s funeral, which was absolutely brutal, I don't think Trine has said more than a few words to any of us. I’m certain she hasn’t cracked a smile. She didn’t even cry during the service, and when I’ve asked her if I can pray for her, she just shrugs her shoulders and says yes, but then she looks right through me again.
When the police came to tell her that the reason for the explosion was a gas leak, and the lawyer told her she was going to inherit everything in her mom’s estate, all Trine did was look through them.
We try not to watch the news. Everyone’s interested in the fish rain and the explosions in her mom’s town. We already have plenty to deal with without bringing that up.
The only thing she seems to even want to talk about are the demons. So our first point of call is to go back to Tom Souter. Maybe, with Malon by our side, we can stave off this war for just a little longer.
I don’t necessarily like working with a demon, but I would do anything to help Trine at this point. On a grander scale, that’s certainly my hope. Sometimes, uneasy alliances need to be made to make sure that order is restored. Mostly, though, I just really want Trine to talk again. I miss her voice. I miss her laughter, the way her curly hair would bounce every time she threw her head back after she made a joke.
We’ve talked about it between us, of course; even Malon seems concerned. Trine doesn’t appear to sleep much, and there are deep dark shadows under her eyes that seem to be getting worse with every passing day.
We do our best not to leave her alone. We don’t let Malon hang out around her by himself because we don’t trust him yet, but her bandmates know where she is, and when we have to go out for research or to investigate other cases–and they certainly seem to be popping up everywhere in this godforsaken city–they keep her company.
From what Bryony told us, she doesn’t talk much to them either.
Malon is out at the gym or something. I don’t ask him about his whereabouts and he doesn’t like being in the same room as me, and Misha and Rei are at the store getting food. The house is large; with a pool in the back and five rooms. Trine sleeps in the one furthest away from the pool so we can watch her, which I’m pretty sure she doesn’t appreciate.
It’s three o’clock in the afternoon. She’s wearing a bikini and a long black kimono coverup. This is the first time she’s left her room all day, but at least she’s eating. We’ve left food out for her and she nibbles at it, even if she doesn’t finish it.
I’m putting dishes away when she walks up to the coffee machine. “Hi,” she says. “I thought you’d be out.”
“No,” I reply. “I had to do some housework.”
“You had to?”
“Clean freak,” I reply.
“You don’t have to watch me all the time. I’m not going to break if you look away from me for a split second.”
“It’s for our own benefit,” I tell her. “I think we’d worry too much about you if we did look away. We’re all…”
“Scarred?” she offers when I trail off. She opens the coffee machine, sliding the drawer underneath it open. “I thought there was hazelnut coffee.”
“There was, but…”
“I’m so fucking sick of staying in these fucking airbnbs,” she says, her voice a low, furious whisper. “I’m so fucking done with not knowing where anything is, not being able to sleep in my own bed, not knowing if they even have the coffee I like, or…you know what, it doesn’t matter. None of this matters. I…”
“Hey, it’s okay,” I say. “Stay here and talk to me.”
She meets my gaze. “What can I possibly say, Luke?” she asks. “I don’t know how to make any of this better. I don’t know how to help with something that feels wrong, that feels rotten. What kind of cold comfort is my mom not going to hell, which is apparently real, if the last words she heard from me was how bad of a mother she was?”
“I know your relationship was complicated, but Aura loved you.”
She slams the coffee machine shut, the idea of making it all but abandoned. “I know that. You think I don’t know that?” she asks. “She literally died to save my life. I don’t think she would’ve done that if she didn’t love me. But…”
“What?” I ask.
She looks up at me. Her eyes are brimming with tears. “It’s all I see every time I close my eyes, Luke,” she takes a deep, shaky breath. “That fucking explosion. My mom was just living her life before I brought all of this to her door. She’d been hiding from all of this for so long.”
I put my hand on her shoulder, squeezing tightly. “Trine, she wouldn’t have called us if she didn’t want to help you,” I say.
“It was honestly easier to be possessed,” she says. “The fucking horrible dreams, waking up feeling like I was drowning, the whole derealization thing…I don’t know. I kind of want to be exorcised of my memories right now.”
“You’re still possessed.”
