Page 74 of The Haunting of Paynes Hollow
“Someone’s trying to scare me off the property.”
“Uh, yeah.” He eases back. “That’s what I’ve been saying to anyone who will listen. Someone very clearly wants you—” He stops. “You think it’s me? Didn’t we resolve this last night? If you stay, I get a big payout. Therefore I can’t be the one trying to make you leave.”
I shake my head. “Money isn’t everything. You blame me. For what happened to Austin. You think I had something to do with it.”
He watches me long enough to make me squirm. Then he shoves his hands in his pockets.
“I don’t blame you, Sam. If I’ve given that impression, I apologize. I could have happily gone my entire life without seeing you again.” His hands rise. “Not because you had anything to do with Austin’s death, but because you’re a reminder, okay? If Austin hadn’t liked you and kept coming here…”
He trails off and exhales. “That wasn’t your fault.”
The back of my neck prickles.
But what if it was my fault?
What if my father—
No. He wouldn’t.
But he did, didn’t he? He killed Austin after I told him—
“Sam?”
I wrap my arms around myself. “I didn’t do anything to Austin.”
Another exhale. “I know. Look, I’m a mess, okay? Everyone knows it, and I don’t even bother pretending otherwise. What happened back then…” He sucks in breath. “He wasn’t supposed to come here.”
I don’t answer.
Ben rubs the back of his neck and shifts his weight. “I don’t know what happened between you two. You had a fight or something? Doesn’t matter. But Austin wasn’t supposed to go to your place. He was grounded, and I was in charge of him while our parents went out for the evening, and I was a stupid sixteen-year-old who didn’t want to look after his little brother, so I wasn’t paying attention.”
I try to follow what he’s saying. My memories of that week are jumbled, the timelines wobbly.
Everything had started the day before the annual town-founders bonfire. I’d refused to go, which exploded into a family drama, my grandfather shouting that everyone expected us there and Dad shouting for him to back the hell off me.
I’d run into the forest, and Dad came after me, and I broke down and confessed that Austin had given me until the bonfire to agree to be his girlfriend, and if I didn’t, he said he was going to “accidentally” swing a burning marshmallow into my face. I told him everything. The threats, the dead animals, the pictures, all of it. Dad said he’d handle it, and then Austin was dead and—
But that’s not how it happened. Ben’s confession fills in a piece I’d forgotten. Dad had gone to speak to the Vandergriffs. Then he said I didn’t need to worry about Austin coming by anymore.
He’d spoken to the Vandergriffs and told them enough for them to ground Austin, and to forbid him from ever coming here again.
Ben was supposed to watch him, but he didn’t, and Austin came that night and…
Dad killed him?
That makes no sense.
It’s never made sense. That was the problem.
Could I see my father as a child killer? Of course not, but people don’t exactly walk around with “murderer” tattooed on their forehead.When they’re caught, everyone says they can’t believe it. So while I can’t picture my father as a man driven by inner demons, it is the explanation that makes the most sense.
Tell myself that I didn’t really know him. He was evil. End of story.
But what about the other explanation? The one I’ve been suppressing for fourteen years? That thiswasmy fault. I told my father about Austin, and he confronted him, and something went wrong and Austin ended up dead, my father frantically burying the body.
That explanation makes everything in me shrink, trying to hide under a blanket of guilt and recriminations.
If that’s what happened, it was my fault. My fault for not handling things better. Forget the logic that says I didn’t kill Austin and I actuallydidhandle it properly, by telling my father.
