Page 95 of The Haunting of Paynes Hollow
“I have no fucking idea.”
More silent staring as my thoughts and stomach roil. Finally, I say, my voice low, “I should leave, shouldn’t I? After what we saw, I should give up. I don’t know what’s happening, but it’s getting worse every night, and I’m not going to last a month.”
“Physically?” He shoves his hands into his pockets. “I think you’ll be okay.”
My stomach tightens. While the horseman hadn’t paid any attention to me, I keep thinking of Austin coming out of the water, the hate in his eyes.
Ben continues, “But even if you’re not a target, you survive at what cost? First your aunt and then last night, while someone’s trying to make you think you’re responsible for everything…”
“So I should give up. Leave.”
He turns to me. “What’s stopping you? I don’t think it’s the money. You need it badly. I get that. Not millions, but you can’t opt for less and leave early. That’s why you came, but is it why you’re staying?”
I wrap my arms around my chest and look out at the sun-dappled waves before saying, “No.”
“Is it to beat your grandfather? Win his game?”
“I came for the money. When things started going wrong, I didn’t want to be scared off by a couple of dead animals. Then Gail…” My voice catches, and it’s a hoarse whisper when I say, “I wanted her to leave. Iinsistedshe leave. But even then, I didn’t really think she was in danger. I should have pushed harder.” My arms tighten. “No, I should have left myself. She’d have come with me.”
“When something like that happens, we always think back on the things we wished we’d done differently. But we only feel guilty because things went wrong. Otherwise, we’d never have thought twice about it. Like not keeping an eye on my little brother when my parents told me he was grounded. How many times had I done that and nothing happened? I never once felt guilty.”
He hunches his shoulders in. “Not to interject myself in this. I’mjust saying I get it. As the person who screwed up, no amount of justification is going to make me feel better, so I know that saying this isn’t your fault won’t help as much as it should, but…” He meets my gaze. “It’s not your fault.”
When I don’t answer, he says, “If Gail had a near miss and you begged her to stay anyway, yeah, you’d have a reason to feel guilty. Not with this.”
“But now that Gail and that camper have been killed, and I’m still not leaving? Letting you and Josie stay here?”
“Josie will be gone by nightfall. I’m staying even if you leave.”
“Why?”
“That was my question to you. Why are you staying, Sam? Not for the money. Not even to prove something to your dead grandfather. So why?”
Long silence, as we both look out over the water.
“Because I have to know,” I murmur finally. “I feel as if this is connected to me. If my leaving would stop anyone else from dying, I’d go. But I need to know what’s happening and maybe, once I do, I’ll make an informed decision to leave. Otherwise, in a year or two, when my mother’s in some crappy home and I’m in an even crappier apartment, working sixty hours a week at a crappy job, I’ll be convinced I made a mistake. That I let my cousin or uncle scare me off. My aunt suffered some horrible tragedy, maybe connected to the staging, and I dishonored her memory by quitting before I knew what happened.”
“Yes.”
That’s all he says, and then we stand there, looking out, until I say, “Willyouleave if you’re in danger?”
“If you come with me.”
I nod. “Okay.”
He looks over. “You mean that?”
“I don’t have a death wish, Ben. If I think you’re in danger, I’ll go if it means you’ll go. But will you do me one favor? Stop wandering off. Yes, it’s daytime and you’re entitled to your privacy, but what if we’re wrong about everything? What if something happens to you because I didn’t have the guts to ask you to stay close?”
“I didn’t ‘wander off ’ today, Sam. I went looking for that guy’s camping stuff. Then I realized I probably shouldn’t be out there alone, so I came back. But I take your point. No one should be here alone.” He looks back at the cabin. “Even Josie shouldn’t be in the cottage alone. But that loops us back to the book question.”
“It does.”
“I’m going to tell her to leave.”
He strides off, and I hurry along after him.
“You can’t do that,” I say.
