Ashley nodded. She carefully ran her finger along the arm of her chair. “Did you guys used to hang out at the cabin when you were my age?”
Tammy blinked. “The cabin?”
“Yeah. There’s this cabin on the other side of the lake. It looks like it’s been there forever.” Ashley traced the floral design on the side of her mug. “Just wondering if you guys ever used to hang out there.”
Tammy was quiet.
“Me and the others hang out there sometimes.”
“I know of it.”
Ashley’s eyes widened. “Okay, cool. I was just wondering if you’d ever seen anyone there, or…”
“Or?”
“Or if you know who owns it?”
“My friends and I never ‘hung out’ there because it didn’t exist when I was your age,” Tammy said. “The cabin wasn’t built until I was … twenty-four? Maybe twenty-five?”
“Wait, really?” Ashley sat up straight. “It looks ancient.”
“I don’t know what to tell you about that. But I’d really rather you kids not mess around out there.”
“Why?”
“Because I said so.”
Ashley ran fingers through the end of her ponytail. “Someone must’ve built it, though. Whose is it?”
Tammy took a long drink of coffee, eyes trained on the lake. For a moment, Ashley thought she wouldn’t answer. The cabin would be just another secret Ashley didn’t deserve. But Tammy set down her mug and shook her head. “The cabin is mine.”
* * *
At the Bates, morning came without ceremony.
It wasn’t like the cascading pink light of LA’s slow-rolling dawns. In Snakebite, it was dark and then it was light. If Logan blinked, she was sure to miss it. When she put her coffee in the microwave, it was dark as midnight. When she stepped outside for a breath of fresh air only moments later, it was a cream-colored morning.
It probably didn’t mean anything, but given everything she’d seen lately, it made her nervous.
Logan sat in the parking lot alone most mornings, microwave-nuked coffee in hand. The sunrise made it easier to think, but this morning she struggled to focus. She’d dreamed about being buried again, and the nightmare lingered like a second skin. It was different from the first time. This time, she’d clawed her way out of her tomb. She’d pulled herself from the earth, crawled to her stomach, and looked out into the tar-thick night.
She crawled out of her grave and ended up here.
In Snakebite.
At that stupid lake.
The door to room eight opened and Brandon stepped out into the sweltering morning. He was dressed in jeans that slouched at his ankles, and a backpack full of ghost-hunting equipment. His sweatshirt read BARTON LUMBER. He stopped in front of the Neon, apparently surprised to see Logan on the curb.
“Nice sweatshirt,” Logan said. “I thought the Bartons were evil.”
“When in Snakebite…” Brandon said, looking down at the logo. His grimace was small but impossible to miss. “You’re up early.”
“I’m up early every morning.”
“Oh.” Brandon stood there a moment longer. He tapped his foot on the pavement, searching for something to say.
Logan remained silent. Given what Ashley had seen at the cabin, she had no idea what to say to him. Then again, she never knew what to say to him. Even if he had nothing to do with Tristan’s disappearance, even if the paint on his door was a joke, he was hiding something.