Page 15 of Hidden Fears
“I will.”
I won’t. I’d rather dig my car out of the ditch with my own nails than accept defeat and hear everyone’s opinion that my baby is weird and unreliable. It’s gotten me this far, hasn’t it?
We go inside—carefully stepping over missing pieces of stairs—and talk over the details of what he envisions, and I write everything down. When Leila comes back, she’s supposed to tell me if he missed anything, but he said they’ve been talking about it for a long time, so he’s pretty sure he got everything.
In my eyes, the picture is wrong. Even though the house is charming. Like truly charming. Originally built in the late seventeen hundreds and with the right wing extended about eighty years—give or take—later, according to the building style and materials, the place is truly historic. With no decent plumbing, or electricity, or anything really. The last occupants lived here forty years ago, and even two years without proper upkeep can put a strain on any building, let alone one like this.
As we walk to the second floor, Archie nearly bumps his head on the ceiling—those first buildings were built to stay here forever with solid structures, strong spirits, and awfully low ceilings. He definitely needs to bend his head just so he doesn’t bruise his forehead. I quirk a brow at his struggle, but he just shrugs with a lopsided smile.
I mentally roll my eyes at his stubbornness because taking the roof off and raising the second-floor ceiling doesn’t scare him. It scares me though. It truly does. I wonder how the local law will look at us changing the appearance of a historic home like this.
As Archie continues talking about their ideas, my forehead beads with sweat, and I attempt to remember if any previous vendors have similar materials that might work here and wonder if they’d even be willing to work with me. And how I can raise the ceiling without ruining the structure and the charm. And how I can make central AC and heating here a reality. Or how I can make anything happen, really.
But it’s a challenge, and I love it. And Archie and Leila love the place. He keeps referring to it as ‘home,’ and I’ve totally given up on the idea of convincing him to build something new. It’s their home, and I’m sure as hell I’ll be able to restore it for them. However long it takes.
If I find vendors. And contractors. And electricians. And plumbers. And someone who works with wood carving because I can’t replace this original woodwork with a clear conscience. It’s inhumane.
Thirty minutes later, Archie drives off, leaving me with his keys, a black credit card, and a house falling apart at my feet.
ChapterEight
KENNETH
I lean my head against the back of the car seat, enjoying these last few minutes of peace before someone calls to ask for another favor. The heavens just poured down on the Maine soil, and all the unpaved side roads have turned to mud. Locals are usually able to get themselves out of it if they’re dumb enough to get stuck in the first place, but newfound tourists, PTSD patients, relatives, and everyone else in between are not that accustomed to the local weather, so I expect a shitstorm to hit pretty soon.
This reminds me that I need to hire someone who can help around the office. Picking up calls and dealing with paperwork isn’t too hard, but it’s a lot stacked on top of everything Jennica and I have to deal with at the moment.
I grab my coffee from the console when the radio comes alive.
“Boss.”
“Yes, Jennica,” I reply with a sigh, imagining the amount of coffee I’ll need to get through today.
“We’ve got a call about a woman stuck on the road,”she says, the radio crackling.
Here we go.
“Where?”
“It’s on the—”The radio goes silent and comes back alive a few seconds later.“It’s on the road to the old Ghost House.”She sounds as confused as I feel.
“What?”
“Yeah. It’s there.”
“Is it Leila?” I ask, surprised that someone would go to that ruined building my sister and her fiancé bought recently. Unless it’s a squatter.
“Don’t you think I’d know if it was Leila?”she scoffs, her voice abrasive.
“Alright.” I don’t respond to her jab because it’s rhetorical. “I’ll go check it out.”
Taking a sip of my coffee, I look at the time. It’s way past three. Jennica will be leaving soon, but my hours never stop. People knock on my door at ungodly hours. I’m sure they do the same to her—Jennica is one of the most patient people I’ve ever met, but even she has a breaking point.
She’s right, we need extra help. Especially now. When Jake was at the station, he was fast and efficient, and I could rely on him. I thought we had it all figured out, and he’d eventually take my place because the kid’s got some natural talent for problem-solving and leadership. I still believe it, even after all the stunts he’s pulled. It’d be hard to prove it to anyone else, though.
What the fuck happened to him?
“Boss,”comes the radio again.
