By her twentieth birthday, there are a few things Valarie Ricci knows for certain.
She knows that her waitressing job barely covers the costs of living out of a beat up old van. She knows she's stuck in the dead end hometown her high school friends...
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The inside of the house was as cold and empty as ever, like some kind of forgotten monument. An oppressive blanket of silence covered the huge marble foyer. The space somehow managed to feel both endless and suffocating all at once.
She wasn't surprised to find Mr. Bell waiting for them by the door–a mouse couldn't shit on his property without him knowing. He was older and greyer than she remembered, but no less intimidating. The man still seemed to be about eight feet tall, and the thick gathering of hair above his upper lip and wrinkle-free golf shirt he wore wasn't helping matters.
Both he and Alice had perfected the art of the cold, blank stare. His blue eyes roamed between Valarie, Alice, and Ithaca, who had tracked in some mud onto the white floors. When Alice wore that expression, Valarie could take it as a sign she was inwardly panicking. She didn't have the slightest clue how to read it on Mr. Bell.
So, not knowing what else to do, she flashed him with her best smile. "Long time no see." Why were adults so terrifying? Shit, Valarie was an adult, and she still couldn't stop herself from running through every guilty thought she'd ever had.
The only sign that Mr. Bell had even heard her speak was the knitting together of his eyebrows. His gaze locked onto his daughter. "Alice? What's going on? Is everything okay?" He had a calm, monotone cadence, as if he were reading about the concept of concern from a textbook.
Alice froze up. The softness completely disappeared from her face when she addressed him. "Yes, I–Fine. Everything's fine." They looked like two mannequins awkwardly placed together in a store front. Her eyes jumped to Valarie and then back to him. "Actually, no. Not really. I'm here to grab some things from my room because we're going on a trip, um, to Toronto. And when I get back..." She took a deep breath, her hands balling into fists at her side. "I want us to have a funeral for Grace. A proper one."
The instant the words left Alice's mouth Mr. Bell looked past her. Instead, his blue-salt eyes drilled into Valarie as he asked, "Has she been drinking?" It was like a switch had been flipped. The worry in his voice was so real, so immediate that her brain struggled to form a response, and all Valarie could see was a man who'd lost his daughter.
She could only shake her head and hope she wasn't lying.
Mr. Bell looked back at Alice. "You're leaving?" The worry had mutated into genuine fear.
"I am not drunk. Dad, I promise." Alice didn't waver. "I'm doing this. I need to do this." She omitted the not-so-minor detail about being haunted. Valarie couldn't imagine why. "I'll be gone for a week. I'm leaving, but I'm coming back. I promise you that I'm coming back, and–and I'll call every day. Valarie is going with me."
"I don't understand." He placed a hand to his chest, where the outline of a cross was visible beneath his shirt. "Why? What is this exactly? How...?"
