But she didn’t know what she meant. Trying to have feelings for Tristan had been this slow-rolling thing like waves on the lake in summertime. It was happy and it was calm and she thought she could spend her whole life building up to it. They would be okay; they would last long enough for it to be real.
This other thing was too fast. It gripped her and wouldn’t let go. It crushed her under its weight and didn’t wait for her to catch her breath. It shoved her to the bottom of the lake and didn’t care if she made it up for air. It was like she was always running out of time.
“You know how I said I wanted to break up because I didn’t feel like you did?” Ashley swallowed. “I feel it now. I didn’t know how scary it was. I’m so sorry.”
Tristan’s fists clenched. Ashley wished she could see his face. The Tristan she knew always wore his whole heart in his expression, but this Tristan was only a shadow. His face was nothing but a trick of light, impossible to see clearly. He recoiled, sharp and sudden, slamming against the bedroom door. The ceiling light flickered and the curtains flapped against the window. Ashley clambered back in her bed until she bumped into her headboard. After a moment, Tristan calmed. He was fighting to stay solid, to stay with her, to stay here.
Ashley sucked in a breath.
“Do you wanna come back?” she asked.
Tristan flickered. Maybe it was an answer; if so, Ashley couldn’t understand it. It was almost dizzying sometimes, the way Tristan filled up the room. It wasn’t just sensory anymore—every memory of him sat at the surface like a coat of moss on the wood floor. Things she didn’t even realize she remembered, things she’d pushed to the back of her mind, things she’d tried to forget. “I’m glad I get to see you again.”
Tristan wavered. He reached for her, his movements stilted and jagged.
The sound of the TV broke through the quiet. When Ashley blinked, Tristan was gone. Her hand lingered in the empty air. Brandon’s and Logan’s voices droned on and the rest of the room was empty.
Ashley turned back to the TV.
Brandon and Logan had made their way down into the tunnels now. Brandon was several feet ahead of Logan, scanning the graffiti-laden walls with a device Ashley didn’t recognize.
Logan called to Brandon, fiddling with another device.
When the camera caught Brandon, everything was wrong.
Ashley narrowed her eyes at the screen. It was only a flicker of static at the edges of the TV. The infrared space was distorted, just warped enough to notice. Ashley nudged her TV, but the static remained. At Brandon’s feet, something black pooled like oil. He stood completely still, eyes wide, and Ashley recognized his expression.
He’d looked at her like this in the cabin.
He was afraid.
“Dad?” Logan asked. She tried to hide it, but fear snuck into her voice. Her small fist was clamped around the ThermoGeist.
Ashley wondered if Logan could see the shadows at Brandon’s feet. If she could feel the way the tunnel seemed to contract now, a throat swallowing them whole. Logan had told her about the moment in Tulsa, but she hadn’t mentioned this.
And then Brandon spoke.
“Stay back,” he said.
Brandon wasn’t alone. Something else spoke, too. The second voice was deeper than Brandon’s, empty and cold. It roiled like thunder. It was indecipherable and wrong. The voice didn’t say the same words as Brandon; Ashley couldn’t make out if it was saying words at all. Something about it pried beneath her skin.
The darkness at Brandon’s feet spread until it was everywhere. Until only Logan and Brandon were left on the screen, distorted and melted and wrong. The picture continued to decay, and Ashley couldn’t look away.
“Dad?” Logan said again.