Alejo lingered, eyes fixed on Brandon’s headlights until they disappeared around the bend of the highway. “Well then, let’s follow your ghost.”
They climbed into the Land Rover and drove into Snakebite proper. Tristan’s ghost was hard to make out in the dark, but between the two of them, they tracked him from street to street. He paused in front of a squat, green house behind the Chokecherry, spinning like he had in Pioneer Cemetery.
Ashley recognized this house.
Alejo shook his head. “This is Frank Paris’s house, right? Why would he take us here?”
“I don’t know.”
Ashley unbuckled and took off. She and Alejo followed Tristan to the front door, hesitating on the porch. Inside, Ashley heard the muffled sound of the TV and murmured voices talking alongside it. Ashley met Alejo’s eyes, then tentatively knocked.
The door opened and Ashley found herself face-to-face with John Paris. The same John Paris who had tried to drown Logan. Anger boiled up in her, but she suppressed it. Tristan shifted behind John, making his way deeper into the house.
“Ashley,” John said. “And…？”
Alejo donned a surprisingly easy smile and gave John a curt wave. “Alejo Ortiz. We haven’t met. You’re Frank’s son?”
John narrowed his eyes. “What’re you doing here?”
“Can I come in?” Ashley asked.
John looked over his shoulder, then opened the door and motioned her inside. She nodded at Alejo, promising him that she’d be okay on her own, then stepped into the Parises’ living room. An action movie crashed on the TV. On the couch, Fran was curled up under a blanket, scrolling idly through her phone. She looked up and caught sight of Ashley, and her expression soured.
“Ash?” Fran asked. “What’re you…？”
“I just need a second,” Ashley said. Tristan lingered at a door off the living room. “Uh, what’s through there?”
“What’s this about?” John asked.
Panic bubbled up in Ashley’s chest. Tristan continued to spin near the door. “I just need to go in there. I promise I’ll leave after that.”
“No.”
“John, please,” Ashley tried.
“No. Shouldn’t you be with your girlfriend?” John asked. He donned an overconfident sneer. “I’m gonna need you to get out of my house.”
Ashley turned toward Fran, because it wasn’t John Paris she was appealing to. Fran looked back down at her phone, but she was listening. “I would be with her if you hadn’t just tried to kill her.”
At the word kill, Fran looked at John.
“What’s she talking about?”
“She’s fine,” John scoffed. “Ash is just overreacting.”
“I’m not overreacting,” Ashley snapped. “You held her head underwater for fifteen minutes. You’re lucky she’s alive.”
“Is that true?” Fran asked again. Her eyes were wide, expression something like a scared animal’s. John looked at Fran, but said nothing, and she knew. Her mouth quivered, but she didn’t speak. She looked at Ashley and her unspoken words were clear.
I’m sorry.
John clicked off the TV. “Get out of my house, Ash.”
Tristan looked at Ashley, then at John, then at the door. Something was on the other side, and whatever it was, he needed her to see it. It was the thing he’d wanted all along. She was only steps from understanding why he’d been haunting her for months, and John Paris was not going to snatch it away.