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Fuck you, Port Canyon. I’ll never be your prisoner.
Chapter1
Fallon
PRESENT DAY
Pulling up to my grandmother's house in a car that once belonged to her now dead son, my dad, seems wrong. Especially since I’ve never met her. It took him ages to find the grand prix white 1985 Porsche 911 and fully restore it, but he was determined to get the 1985 model.
The year his brother died, combined with his favorite car. In a way, I think it helped him keep his brother’s memory alive. To be close to him in those moments when he felt so far away. Maybe, I don’t know. It’s what makes the most sense.
Now both her sons are dead. And here I am, pulling up with memories of them on hand.
This isn’t a surprise visit. She knows I’m coming. Her number was in my dad’s cell phone, and I have nowhere else to go. My mom’s somewhere, but no one actually knows where. She left us when I was still in diapers. I’ve seen her on and off over the years, but we have never been close. My parents had a hard time conceiving me. By the time I was finally born, she was halfway out the door. Fucking traitor. She’s nothing more than someone who birthed me for my dad.
They said it was a brain aneurysm. He was awake one minute. Dead in the shower the next. Our weekly house cleaner found him.
We lived in a nice middle-class neighborhood in northern California. Dad had a good job. I never went without. I always had food to eat and the latest toy. Any activity I wanted to try, he would sign me up. He fucking loved me so much. And now all that’s left of him are ashes, which are safely buckled next to me, boxes with photo albums and a few clothes that smell like him, and this car.
The bank took the house.
After going through all his stuff, they gave me two weeks to clean it out before putting it on the foreclosure block. I found overdue notices for the mortgage and bills that had been sent to collectors. Turns out that he still loved my mom all these years later because I also found a notebook listing all the times he wired her money. Dad was giving her cash whenever and for whatever she needed. Cash he didn’t have. I had no idea. Was she more important to him than staying with me?
I know no one could have predicted this. But it doesn’t stop a person from wondering what, if, or why? So many unanswered questions are left for the ones who survive.
There’s nothing that can be done now, he’s gone.
So here I am, in my dead dad’s vintage Porsche in my grandmother's driveway in Port fucking Canyon, Washington.
It’s a big difference from California. The sun barely shines here, no matter what season. The people I’ve seen while driving through town are pale and creepy.
I already hate it here. Tears well in my eyes. There’s nowhere else to go. College is out of the question. Can’t afford it and I have no idea what I want to be when I grow up. I’m only twenty. Still confused about adulting, but since dad died, it’s even more so.
What is my purpose?
There’s no way anyone’s going to find it here. This feels like a place people come to die, not live.
Looking up from my grip on the leather steering wheel, I decide it’s time to go in and face what is coming. Maybe my soul will die here too and there will be no need to figure out what’s next.
Looking around the property through the windshield, I see Grandma Joanie, who is shorter than I imagined, maybe five feet to my five three, so that’s who I get my height from. She’s wearing a cream summer dress that has a swooping neckline and cinches at the waist with short sleeves. It’s long and goes all the way down to her feet, which look like they are clad in fuzzy pink slippers. Her body is curvy, fingers full of rings and wrists covered in bracelets. A black diamond or some sort of crystal, a cross necklace hangs around her neck. Her hair is white, short just above the ears and full of natural curls. Joanie is standing on the wraparound porch. Fuck. How long has she been out here? Watching me? Why hasn’t she come over? Creepy old lady, just like the rest of the godforsaken place. Fuck.
Looking behind her, I take in the massive gothic mansion I’ll be calling home. Black and white roses line the cobblestone pathway leading from the driveway to the house. Everything is black. From the wood of the stairs, to the wraparound porch and iron railings. There are at least three stories of black brick that match the shingles covering the gabled roof. The porch is covered the entire way around the house. I have to crane my neck back to see the entirety of the tall tower in the middle of the house; it surpasses the rest of the home’s peaks and seems to touch the sky from all the way down here. There is a glass door on the second floor terrace and a small window at the top with a pointed arch above. I think it even has a cross at the top of the pointed arch. My new home reminds me of a castle. Small windows line the top floor with the same arches encasing them, and large three-story bay windows trimmed in black, balance the sides of the front door. The double front door matches the height of the sentinel windows and is the same shade of black, with a gold door knocker, peephole and knob standing in stark contrast to the darkness.
I had to drive through mile-high iron gates to get here, and the same skull with a filigree emblem that was on the gate is on the enormous door. The long, paved driveway twisted and turned through acres of surrounding forest on the way to the secluded monstrosity. She has to be loaded. It’s the only explanation. How else can she afford this place? It’s like a mansion. An old, creepy, dark mansion.
Which makes me wonder. Why wouldn’t dad ask her for help? Maybe the same reason I’ve never met her? Which I also don’t know the answer to, but the excuses aren’t something I’m interested in.
Joanie is still watching me. She hasn’t moved from her spot on the porch. Not even a wave or a smile from her.
Rolling my eyes, I drop my head against the headrest of my seat and decide it’s time to get this over with.
You can do it. Come on, Fallon, just make the best out of a terrible situation. It’s this or you live in this car.
Maybe I should have picked the car.
Dammit. It's too late now. She’s seen me. I’m here.
Time to get this family reunion over with.
