Page 187 of Ewan

The lights become dimmer, and the land plots larger before we roll closer to one of the biggest, darkest houses visible from the road.

Not for a second do I believe it’s our destination, although there aren’t any other houses left.

Unless a secondary road can take us to a different area, this is it. This must be the place we’re going to.

It’s so damn strange that I flick my eyes to the man next to me. He seems unfazed by my stare or how spooky the place is.

“What is this?” I ask.

“This is my house.”

His answer is dry as if he’s talking about something unpleasant. Looking at the house, I can see why, but still, this is his place.

I move my focus to the building.

It’s a historic house that looks like a museum.

One of those iconic houses you pay a fee to visit. A piece of history with period wallpapers, creaking stairs, and old furniture. A mausoleum.

“You’re not living here…” I murmur incredulously.

He pulls our ride to a stop in the well-maintained round driveway. At least there’s that. And then he shifts his eyes to me.

“You can’t be living here,” I say, the place we spent time in Florida coming to mind.

That was his brother’s house. He didn’t live there. Okay. I get that.

But, this is his house?

I, honestly, don’t think he lives here. Maybe he stops by occasionally

Maybe he wants me to scream for help.

“I don’t think so…” I murmur.

My voice trails off.

“You don’t like it?”

Irony drips through his voice.

“I don’t imagine anyone living here.”

My words suddenly make him pensive.

He moves his eyes to the place in front of us.

The only light glowing over the dark walls is the moonlight streaming through the clouds.

It’s a two-story house with an impressive entrance and a few steps leading to the massive doors.

The place hasn’t been decorated for the holidays, and nothing about it is welcoming.

It’s dead and has no soul, and after spending these days with him in Florida, it’s so not him.

I can see why he ran away from it, but why would he bring me here?

“This is…”

---