The Passengers (Book #2)

ℭ𝔬𝔲𝔩𝔡 𝔗𝔥𝔦𝔰 𝔅𝔢 ℜ𝔢𝔞𝔩?

I sit on my bed frowning at the dog collar and chewing on my nail. What does this thing mean? Why would the drowned man give it to me? It seriously makes no sense. I can't help but think about Aegi saying "possibly" when I asked her if I was going to be the one to die.

My phone buzzes on my night stand and I jump.

Wendy: Takeout was a disaster. Food poisoning happened. Are you okay?

Hyeri: You're welcome to come over. But fair warning that we're paying homage to the toilet bowl.

I check the time: 10:26 p.m. Damn, I was really hoping seeing them would calm my nerves.

Me: Don't worry. The drowned man story can wait. Just get some rest and feel better.

Seulgi: Text us if you change your mind. Sleep is unlikely.

I drop my phone in my blankets. Crap. That means I'm going to have to look for those family records alone. Or I could ask Joohyuk? No. Definitely no.

I slide off my bed and grab the flashlight out of my nightstand drawer. I make my way quietly into the hall, listening for my dad. There are no lights on besides the small lanterns. He's probably still downstairs in his office. And if he's downstairs, then sneaking into the study isn't the best idea. I guess I could start in the attic?

I tip toe down the hallway where my dad's room is and press the flashlight on. Mostly, the rooms at the back of the house are unused or have become a place to store extra furniture. But behind one of these doors is a staircase. I discovered it when I first moved in and made the rounds.

I stop at a door with a broken sliding handle. "Bingo."

The signature musty smell that inhabits attics waft out. I grab the wooden railing and slide the door behind me.

The room is bigger than the secret study and much less refined. There are boxes stacked in piles and loose floorboards. Nails stick out of the slanted walls at all angles like a torture device from the Dark Ages. Please, please don't let me trip. The thing that's noticeably absent, though, besides good light, is spiderwebs. Shouldn't they be all over this room? I swear, if Joohyuk was cleaning the attic instead of spending time with me, he'll have officially achieved a new low.

I shine the flashlight at the stacks of cardboard boxes. Most of them, have labels like BAE CHINA and CANDLEHOLDERS. Nothing so far that looks like it might contain old family documents. Against the far wall is an open wooden crate with about ten cloth-wrapped squares in it.  Paintings? Hmmm. Waving the flashlight around me to be sure I wasn't wrong about those spiders, I walk to the crate and look inside. Yup, definitely paintings. All neatly packaged and tied up . . . except the one on the end.

I pull at the cloth, and it comes off in my hands. I almost drop the flashlight. It's the painting. The one from the hall with the woman that changed.

A chill runs down my spine. Did my dad move this up here? Maybe I didn't hide how creeped out I was about it? But still, wouldn't he have said something? I look quickly over my shoulder at the musty room. Nothing's there but shadows.

"So was I right? Are you Hanna?" I ask the painting as I examine it.

I tip the frame forward and shine my light at the brown paper backing, looking for one of those notes cards my grandmother sometimes used to catalog things. But I find a small plain envelope instead, taped to the bottom corner, and poke it tentatively with one finger. Nothing happens. I put my hand on it and leave it there for a second.

Seems safe. I carefully dislodge it, brace my flashlight under my arm, and open it, only to discover an older envelope inside. It's written in halmeoni's cursive and reads:

My heart beats faster. Aren't letters like these supposed to be in museums? Could this be real? I carefully pull out the folded paper.

A board creaks behind me, and I turn around to find a black cat staring at me. It's pear-shaped and squints at my bright flashlight. Is this a joke? I head for the stairs, full speed, letter in hand.

I take the steep wooden steps so quickly my heel misses one, and I slide down three of them on my butt. I land unceremoniously with a clunk in the hallway, holding the letter away from my body so I don't cease it. The pain sharpens everything into focus.

I slide the door behind me and instantly feel guilty for leaving the cat.

"Suzy?" appa calls from what sounds like the bottom of the main staircase. "What was that noise?"

"Nothing. I just tripped! Don't worry!" I yell back, staring at the attic door.

Of all the ridiculous . . . I'll just run up, scoop up the cat, and come right back down. I grab the handle, and something moves by my feet. The cat walks right through the door and into the hallway, its fat belly swinging between its legs.

"Oh, you've got to be kidding me."