Ryan stood at the back of the darkened office gulping at the air. It stuttered in and out of his lungs. His fingers clenched the metal desk to steady himself as his body trembled with the effort to contain the rage boiling within him.
When he heard Sullivan's lowered voice on the other side of the door, asking him again if he was okay, he seized the nearest object and hurled it across the room. The satisfying crash as it shattered against the floor released some of his pent-up fury and enacted the result he wanted; Sullivan's footsteps retreated, leaving Ryan alone.
Gasping for air, he sunk into the desk chair, the weight of panic pressing down on his chest, while memories of Warren's attack ignited fresh waves of anger. He clenched his fists, the urge to destroy something, anything, became almost overwhelming. He glared at the stacks of ghost books and little ghost figurines on Aunt Hattie's desk, and then he saw the ghost box sitting by one of her notebooks. He swung his arm across the desk, sending all Aunt Hattie's things crashing to the floor.
It had always been the dead who mattered to Aunt Hattie, Ryan thought bitterly. He'd been the only real ghost living in this house. She looked right through him like he wasn't there.
He slammed a fist on the desk and squeezed his eyes shut, willing himself to stop destroying anything else before he couldn't stop.
Slowly, agonizingly, Ryan fought to regain control.
As the minutes stretched into eternity, Ryan's racing thoughts finally began to settle. The jagged edges of his rage softened, and his breathing returned to normal. What was left was a dull ache of exhaustion making his body feel weighted to the sofa. He pushed himself upright, his hands still trembling as he surveyed the wreckage of Aunt Hattie's sanctuary.
He didn't belong in this office. He didn't belong on this farm. He didn't really belong anywhere.
He was leaving.
He tugged his backpack from a box the movers had packed haphazardly when Sullivan had commandeered his room. He shoved a change of clothes inside. Then he moved around his aunt's boxes until he found the one labeled "Camping". He pulled out a rolled sleeping bag, then rummaged through the box stuffing items into his backpack he thought he could use. He slung the backpack over his shoulders, tucked the sleeping bag under one arm, and headed for the window, but he paused. He turned to look back at the door.
He could feel bits of his aunt's broken ghost figures crushing under his sneakers as he walked across the room to retrieve the key, wincing slightly at the destruction he'd caused. She would never have approved of him leaving like this, and he could almost hear her telling him he had to stop being so reckless and think things through. But she wasn't here anymore, and being reckless was the only plan he had.
He yanked the key out of the locked door and pocketed it. At least he could keep the Brambles out of this space, so they couldn't entirely strip Aunt Hattie's memory from this farm. Neither of them would fit very well through the narrow office window, and he doubted they'd have much interest in poking around her ghost-hunting journals.
Climbing out the window, Ryan stood next to the old hemlock and felt the damp chill of the summer night on his arms. The fields around the farm were alive with the chirping of crickets and cicadas and peeping of frogs. The night always made Ryan feel more alive, but that was when he was sneaking out of the house without his aunt knowing. There was no mischief behind his exit from the farm tonight. He was leaving because he had no other choice.
He made his way around the house and across the driveway, seeing a bit of light from the farmhouse illuminating his way. The farm was dark except for his room where Sullivan stood in the window looking outside. Their eyes met for a moment and Ryan offered him a rude gesture, then turned his back to him and walked down the long dirt driveway shielded by old pines.
As he neared the end of the long drive, he heard something moving and saw a small, brown horse step out from the shadows and knicker softly at him.
"No," Ryan said flatly. "You need to go back to Mr. Patch's."
Harvey was the Houdini of horses. He had a knack for escaping from stalls, barns, and corals. You could not keep him penned in anywhere when he didn't want to be. Ryan often had to track him down and bring him back to the farm for Mr. Patch.
Ryan walked past Harvey briskly. "Go home!" He called over his shoulder. "You know the way"
He'd not made it far when he heard the soft clomp of Harvey's hooves trailing him at a slow pace.
Ryan spun around and Harvey paused and watched him. "You cannot come with me!" Ryan yelled and waved his arms "Go home!"
Ryan took up a trot, but then so did Harvey and closed the distance between them. Soon he was only feet behind Ryan.
"Fine." Ryan hissed, "Come. But I am not going anyplace you want to be."
Ryan's feet crunched down the dirt road with Harvey's hooves clomping in unison just behind him.
Harvey followed Ryan down Corlisston Road, but paused when Ryan made the detour onto 'Go Away Road'.
"What? Not coming into the woods?" Ryan asked exasperated. "Yeah, I kind of guessed you wouldn't, but who listens to me? Well, that's where I am going, so now you need to go home."
Ryan would not change his plans to drag Harvey back to the Patch farm.
Harvey moved in front of Ryan and nudged him away from the entrance to 'Go Away Road.'
"Stop it," Ryan said impatiently, and he slipped past Harvey and made his way into the shadows of the dark road heading to Old Man Cooper's car wash. It was colder than the street, damp and filled with shadows, but Ryan was not afraid of the woods that surrounded Wrenoakey. He'd spent years wandering around in them.
His steps dragged as he made his way up the final stretch of the dark, uneven, muddy road. He could not imagine how he'd made this walk in his sleep so many times. Or why? But since he knew he'd likely end up here anyway, he'd decided to camp at the car wash tonight. At least he'd have shelter, and since most people in town thought this place cursed, he'd be left alone.
He stopped short as he stepped onto Old Man Cooper's field and saw a small campfire. He felt a rising irritation that Mary Devlin had set up camp there for some reason, but it was a teen boy with a mop of messy blonde hair who stood up and looked toward him. The boy lifted a hand in greeting as Ryan quickly surveyed the darkened clearing for signs of anyone else.
When he saw no one else, he slowly approached the fire where the boy stood.
"Hey," Ryan said, as he drew close enough to see the boy more clearly. He looked a little younger than Ryan. He was about the same height as Ryan, but more lanky. He had a long, angular face that was dirty, but his vibrant green eyes shone from beneath his mop of blond hair that was knotted and hung jaggedly around his shoulders. He was wearing faded jeans, grimy boots, and a plaid flannel shirt that was torn in places. He offered Ryan a timid smile. "Is this your farm?" he asked, then sputtered, "I'm sorry. I got lost. I am trying to figure out how to get back?"
"Back where?" Ryan asked, very curious about how this kid ended up out here. He had to be someone new in town.
"Back through there," the boy said, gesturing at the car wash.
Ryan's eyebrow raised. He didn't know what this kid was going on about, but he wanted to be alone with his thoughts, and this new intruder had ruined those plans.
"I'm Tristan Rune," the boy offered as he sat back down by the fire.
"I'm Ryan," Ryan said, trying to decide if he should hike back down the path and go sleep at Mr. Patch's barn. He remained standing with his backpack on and his sleeping bag under one arm.
"None of these woods look right to me," Tristan said almost to himself. "They don't smell right."
Ryan was eyeing the boy curiously and a silence passed between them. Ryan didn't want to ask him why the woods didn't smell right. He didn't care. He just wanted him to leave.
"You can get to the road right across that field," Ryan offered, hoping the kid just didn't know how to get out of the woods. "It's a straight shot to Corlisstion Road. You can probably find your way home from there, right?"
Tristan didn't seem to hear him. He had stood up and pulled out a lighter from his pocket, holding it up for Ryan to see for a moment. It was large, thin, and shaped like a bearded elf with a tall pointed hat. It was made of a dark silver metal. Tristan pulled the hat back and ran his thumb over the striking wheel, but it only offered a weak spark.
Ryan felt tired and irritable and just wanted this goofy kid and his goofy lighter to leave.
"Won't your parents be worried about you," Ryan asked, a bit of surliness in his voice. "The road is right over there." Again, Ryan gestured across the field to the opening in the woods.
Tristan sighed, pushing his mop of blonde hair a bit to one side, looking discouraged.
He continued to flick the lighter with his thumb, but it only offered a spark but no flame.
"You know how they told us in school never to light those gnomalumin lanterns if we ever came across one?" Tristan looked woefully at Ryan for a moment. "Well, I did! I just wanted to see what would happen. You know? I mean, we've had that lantern forever, but we never had the lighter."
Ryan stayed silent. His eyebrows shot up as this boy spoke, and he was becoming more and more convinced that Tristan had some kind of mental problem.
Why did this kid have to be his problem tonight? Didn't he have enough to deal with?
"Have you got a phone on you?" Ryan suddenly asked.
He was only asking because he was ready to leave this kid with his crazy lighter and head to Mr. Patch's where he could at least get some sleep in his hayloft. If the kid had a phone, he'd probably be okay.
Tristan paused and looked at him curiously. "Why would I have a phone on me?"
"I don't know," Ryan said, his voice unable to mask his irritation. "I've got to go. I can take you to the road if you want, so you find your way home."
Ryan didn't want to be helpful. He wanted to just sit in the car wash and think, and make some kind of new reckless plan to get out of Wrenoakey. This kid had thrown a wrench into that, but he still couldn't just leave the kid here.
"It just won't light," Tristan said despondently. "I am going to be in so much trouble."
Ryan took in a long breath and then said. "It's alright. Maybe it will work tomorrow. Let's just head to the road now."
Tristan nodded slowly, gathered his backpack, and put out the campfire. Ryan was already heading across the field but slowed his steps so Tristan could catch up.