Headlights(123)

The house is silent as I hold Marianne’s and Noel’s lives in my hands, as I prepare to put them in the trunk, in their own box within it. The third owners of Whileago Manor, to rest here with the others, per their wishes. I try to feel it. What it would be like to love a place so much, to want your legacy to continue inside it. To want to rest with those who came before you and didn’t know anything about you or your life.

And … I do it. What Noel always wanted me to do. I reach in, and I finally do it. I open the other boxes in the trunk. The former owners of Whileago Manor. The history of the house. I learn about them, their lives. Their legacies that live on here, and in families elsewhere.

When I finally close the trunk and look up, I’m not alone in the room.

And they aren’t shadows. They aren’t Marianne and Noel either.

But two couples. The ones whose lives I just learned about here. A kid, twelve years old, standing with one of them. A young girl with the other couple, and a woman who is her grandmother. The former owners of Whileago Manor. The ones who wanted their memories kept here, whose remaining families I could reach out to, see if they’d want to see any of what’s in here.

The shadows that terrified me my entire life. Standing before me now.

Not shadows. Ghosts.

They’re just people. Echoes of people.

Denver, Colorado. Whileago Manor.

Noel’s voice sounds in my ears as I push myself up to stand and limp through the house, looking for him and Marianne.

Some places just pull harder on you than the rest.

I haven’t seen them. They’re not here. But maybe, maybe.

I slowly limp back to my room and get back in bed.

I reach out, for Hannah. For my parents.

I reach until I can’t anymore.





2



Jack’s funeral procession winds through the city ahead of the service. There’s snow on the ground, winter in full force, but today the sun is out, reflecting off the white. Josie and Tillman take up the front in Jack’s government car, American flags waving from the windows. I drive Emily and the kids in Jack’s old Charger from the garage. Brianna holds his Santa hat in her lap in the back seat. We take our motorcade from the FBI office to the church and cemetery across town. It was announced on the news, and some have come out to stand and pay their respects as we pass. After years of these atrocities, the city can rest easy for a bit. And they know they have Jack to thank.

Emily cries when she sees them all.

“He would have loved the attention,” she says.

I smile, a little, and watch as a figure fades in and out, among the crowd. Popping up in new places as we go. Just a faint light, just a flicker. Just to watch us roll by.

The light catching on his aviator glasses.



* * *



Back at the office after, I take my badge inside to drop it off before I head to the wake.

Inside, it’s quiet. I throw a few things together at my desk. A notebook. Some pens. I slide the nameplate into the trash can. I already put in my resignation from the hospital, the second I could. We’re hoping there’s enough with Father Sky to convince judges that the killers weren’t responsible for their actions, and with Oliver Wright unable to still work to keep them in jail, hopefully their convictions will be overturned. It doesn’t do anything for Jake Evers and Pete Noland who killed themselves. It does nothing for all the years the others still in jail have lost of their lives. The trauma they’ll now always carry. It does nothing for the victims whose lives were lost. For any of their families.

Tillman’s the shoo-in now for Jack’s position—special agent in charge—and they’ve already put him temporarily in it. He’s the best man for the job, and I gave my endorsement. He found Josie at the Happy Inn, got her to the paramedics. She was cut up all over by Father Sky, but Tillman got to her before there was too much blood loss. Which was good because it turns out she’s expecting. She told me in our one brief conversation since.

I’m happy for them.

I pull my badge out of my pocket and inspect it. I was about to hand it in a month ago, back in Salt Lake. Crazy how much can change in a month. In an hour.

Again, I send out the signal.

Hannah.

Static.

Pain, in my chest. Everywhere. Where is she?

I hold out my badge.

Nat Tillman wanders over to my desk.

“Stansfield,” he says.

“Tillman,” I say, and I hand the badge over to him. He takes it. “I’ve heard congratulations are in order.”

“Josie told you?”

I nod.

He laughs, wrings his hands together. “I’m a little nervous. But I’m excited. It’s uh … pretty scary. Being someone’s dad?”

“Somethin’ tells me you’re gonna be a good one.”

“Dude, stop it, you’re gonna make me cry.”

“You just gotta teach ’em to keep lookin’ up.”

He gives me a surprised look, then shoots me with a finger gun. “Finally gettin’ something through that hard head of yours.”

I smile, run my hand over my face.

“Anything?” Tillman says, his tone serious.

I shake my head. He’s asking if I’ve heard from Hannah. If I’ve found her. Hannah who disappeared from the Happy Inn that night. When the cops got there, they found Theo Wharton, Jack, Tillman, Josie, and me. Hannah nowhere in sight. The radio frequency just … static. I can’t find her. I can’t reach her or the Witchwalker.