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“Got it. Thank you so much, seriously.”
“You’re welcome. I’m doing this for Iphigenia, too. That woman deserves some peace for once in her life. Joseph does, too. Your children deserve to grow up in a happy home.”
“I appreciate it.”
Chapter 20
Joseph
WhenIwakeupon the morning of the Winter Solstice, part of me expects to feel relieved. Instead, I feel a level of anticipation analogous to the first day of school or the night before a big investor’s meeting.
Today is going to be a big day. I flop onto my stomach and groan into my pillow as my alarm beeps. Hopefully, by the time this is all over, I’ll be able to fall asleep in my bed instead of tossing and turning, tangling the stiff, mildew-scented hotel sheets.
Thanks to the hotel pool, I’ve grown accustomed to falling asleep to the hum of the ice machine outside our door and the smell of chlorine that clings to the industrial carpet.
“Hey,” Eleanor mumbles sleepily. She snuggles deeper into my side. I tossed my arm around her waist and cradled her bump, feeling our babies kick.
“Are you ready for today?” I ask.
Eleanor shrugs, and her hair tickles my nose. “I don’t know if this is something you can feel prepared for.”
“Well, how are you feeling about it?”
“Good, I guess? I mean, if this works, Joseph, it’s gonna feel like a new house.”
“I know!” I say, kissing her neck.
“But the other part of me is like, if this doesn’t work, then what? Are we just supposed to live the rest of our lives with Beatrix skittering around like an annoying, potentially lethal raccoon trapped in an attic?”
I laugh as Eleanor turns on the lamp on the bedside table and leans up onto her elbows.
“I mean, that’s certainly one way to put it. But we could leave.” The suggestion hangs heavy in the air. It’s almost too obvious, but then a pang of guilt overwhelms me. My Mother’s getting older. Who would take care of her? And do I want to be the kind of man who got chased out of his home by a ghost?
Eleanor gets up onto her elbows, “Where would we go?”
“I’m subletting my penthouse in New York. We could raise the kids there. My Mother has friends in New York, too. Her best friend lives Upstate. Eleanor, we don’t have to do this.” My voice breaks.
Eleanor shakes her head resolutely, “I’m not leaving. We’ve worked too hard. I’m not letting Beatrix control our lives any longer. I’m not afraid of her.” Eleanor fixes me with a steely gaze, and I’m in awe of her determination.“If that’s what you want,” I start.
“It is.” Her phone buzzes on the bedside table. She flips it over and swipes up, “It’s Dante. He sent me another link to an EVP reader.”
The last thing I ever expected to participate in was a group chat about the intricacies of ghost hunting and paranormal activity. Dante’s been sending us links to articles about different kinds of ghosts, links to ghost-hunting equipment, and YouTube videos of rituals we can perform.
“Yeah,” Eleanor says, “By the way, he wants to meet us for Breakfast.” Dante’s been crashing at the Beachfront Inn for the novelty of it. He calls it a working staycation.
Eleanor and I get ready for our day. I wonder what the dress code for a seance is. Stevie Nicks chic? Baphomet business casual?
I grab the last clean button-down from my suitcase and a fresh pair of jeans before making myself a cup of shitty hotel coffee to sip on while I wait for Eleanor to get out of the shower. I watch the news and check my email.
Getting out of Idylewylde Hall has been nice to go about my day without feeling like I’m being watched. I realize that most people get this sense of comfort and peace from their childhood home, the coziness of a paper cup of coffee, and the quiet hum of the local news. I was just the kid who got stuck growing up in a haunted house.
The shower turns off in the next room, and Eleanor emerges with a towel wrapped around her hair and torso.
“It’s all yours. Is there any decaf?” She nods toward the tiny plastic coffee maker in the gray Formica kitchenette.
“I think so?” I say.
Eleanor grins, “Perfect, I’ll go ahead and make myself a cup. Then we can go.” She crosses the room to the coffee maker and stops to peck me on the lips along the way. I sweep my tongue across hers and grip the back of her neck, accidentally unraveling the towel she piled her hair into.
