The Dead and the Dark

by Courtney Gould

“And I can bring Logan.”

  Fran narrowed her eyes.

  “I think you’d like her,” Ashley mused. “You’re both kind of … I don’t know, she reminds me of you. Kind of. If you hate her, I won’t invite her again.”

  Fran considered. “Okay, fine. But only because you’re going through it.”

  Ashley beamed. “Good night, Fran.”

  “Good night, Ashley.”

  Fran disappeared into John’s house and Ashley was left alone in the night. Her phone pinged in her pocket. She unsheathed it and studied the new message alert.

  UNKNOWN: lol thanks for paying for dinner btw

  Ashley thumped her head back against her seat.

  AB: Sorry I forgot.

  After a few seconds, another message popped up.

  UNKNOWN: You have reached your limit for messages from this number. You will need to purchase one (1) dinner before receiving any further correspondence.

  Despite herself, Ashley laughed. It wasn’t much, but it was a start. She and Logan weren’t going to be friends, but they were going to get to the bottom of this. They were going to get Tristan back. She was going to stop seeing things she wasn’t supposed to. Everything was going to go back to the way it was.

  Ashley started the Ford and drove into the dark.

  13

  A United Front Of Losers

  Logan stood in the center of the Bates Motel parking lot with a to-go box of wings, mozzarella sticks, and chili-cheese fries—all things she’d had to pay for, since Princess Put-it-on-my-tab ditched her. It would be easiest to just duck back into her room, but that meant another night of staring at Twitter by herself. It meant turning the TV all the way up to drown out the screaming in her brain. Because everything was very suddenly too much: ghosts were maybe real, Brandon maybe had something to do with Tristan Granger’s disappearance, and she was maybe the only person who could clear his name.

  At least, she was the only person who wanted to.

  Instead of swiping into her room for the night, Logan clutched her to-go box to her chest and made her way to room one. It was the room she’d seen Elexis duck into the other night. After Ashley and her friends, Logan was desperate to talk to someone her age who was also not evil.

  She knocked once. There was shuffling inside the motel room, then the door opened a crack. The beanie-clad boy from the night before peered out like his motel room was a front for a den of criminals.

  “Hi,” she said. “I’m Logan, in case you forgot.”

  Elexis blinked at her.

  “I hear we’re family. We met the other night.”

  Elexis’s eyes widened. “Yeah, I know. I didn’t write that. I was just—”

  “I know you didn’t write it.” Logan shook the to-go box, rattling the mozzarella sticks against the cardboard. “Elexis, right? Are you busy? I come bearing gifts.”

  “Oh,” Elexis breathed. He eyed the to-go box in her hands and his brow furrowed. Reluctantly, he opened the door the rest of the way and motioned Logan inside.

  The inside of Elexis’s motel room was worlds different from her own. The floral-patterned wallpaper was almost completely covered with video game posters. He’d gotten rid of one of the full-size beds and replaced it with a gnarled brown futon. The other bed was pushed into the corner of the room, over-burdened with pillows of all shapes and sizes. The focal point of the room was a TV stand that acted as a shrine to his PS4. The TV was paused on what looked like some kind of cowboy shooter game.

  At least someone was having fun.

  A boy Logan didn’t recognize sat on the futon wearing an Iron Man T-shirt. He fiddled with loose bits of electronics, looking up at the sound of the door closing. His wide brown eyes were both scared and curious.

  “Do you guys like mozzarella sticks?” Logan asked. She set the to-go box on the futon and delicately opened it. “They’re probably cold now, but…”

  “You’re…” the Iron Man boy said.

  “Logan. What’s your name?”

  “Nick.” He dug into the mozzarella sticks. “We didn’t write that thing on your dads’ door.”

  “I know you didn’t,” Logan said.

  Nick and Elexis shared a nervous glance.

  “Did they write something else?” Elexis asked. He paced across the room and stood in front of the TV like he meant to hide the game he’d been playing. “I can tell you who did it. I saw John Paris’s truck here the other night. Or, I heard it. It woke me up. And then I woke you up.”

  “Not surprising. I just ran into him at the bar and he seemed lovely,” Logan said. She waved a hand. “I was actually coming over to see if you guys wanted to hang out. Family’s gotta stick together.”

  “I’m not related to you,” Nick said.

  “There’s not a lot of kids our age around here.” Logan pulled apart a mozzarella stick. “And my dinner date kinda ditched me.”

  “You had a date already?” Nick asked. “You just got here.”

  “Figure of speech.”

  “She was hanging out with Ashley Barton,” Elexis interjected. “I saw you guys leaving town this morning.”

  “Correct.” Logan smiled. “I was briefly hanging out with Ashley Barton.”

  “Why?”

  “We’re hunting ghosts.”

  Elexis and Nick both eyed her. After a moment, they laughed. Logan laughed, too, because sometimes it was easier to just tell the truth and let people make up their own minds about it. If Elexis and Nick thought she was joking, she wouldn’t correct them. Convincing a couple of teenage boys that the impossible existed wasn’t on her usual list of fun party activities. She barely believed it herself.

  “What’re you working on?” Logan asked, angling to get a better look at the contraption in Nick’s hands.

  “Making a computer,” Nick said. “Are you and Ashley friends?”

  “No. It’s strictly professional.”

  After a long moment, Nick sighed and put down his bits of plastic and wiring. “You’re so lucky. I wish I was friends with Ashley Barton.”

  “Well, she’s single now.” Logan shrugged. “You could probably make a move.”

  Elexis gasped. “That’s not funny.”

  Logan sank onto the edge of Elexis’s mattress and put her hands on her knees. “Sorry. Question, though—did you guys … like Tristan Granger? Gracia seemed like she hated him.”

  “Oh, that’s just Nana,” Elexis said. “She hates him because him and his friends used to pick on me. But they kinda picked on everyone. And it wasn’t really Tristan.”

  “Yeah, Tristan never said anything to me,” Nick chimed in. “Him and Ashley were always nice.”

  “But they let their friends pick on you?”

  Elexis and Nick were quiet.

  “Why’d you tell me about the thing on my dads’ door?”

  “I don’t know,” Elexis said. “Just felt like I should.”

  “Huh. Well, thanks.” Logan slouched. “A lot of people here seem to really hate us. But not you guys. Why?”

  Elexis shrugged. “Because I don’t think your dad did anything?”

  “Why?”

  “He just … doesn’t seem like he would.” Elexis narrowed his eyes at his video game, quickly killing off a slew of masked bandits. “Besides, if I ratted out family my nana would kill me.”

  Logan blinked; she hadn’t expected such relief. She gathered herself and smiled. “That’s how us gays get you. You get distracted by the fancy button-ups and next thing you know, you’re getting tossed in the dumpster out back.”

  Nick choked. “You’re a lot weirder than you look.”

  Logan smiled. It was like she’d passed some kind of test—Elexis went back to his game while Nick dug into computer parts, explaining each one to Logan as he went. Logan listened and nodded, plucking snacks from her to-go box and, for the first time since she got to Snakebite, it felt like she could breathe. If Snakebite was war, Elexis’s room was a single patch of sanctuary. The boys weren
’t the ultra-queer crowd of loose acquaintances she’d had back in LA, but Snakebite was a different world. In Snakebite, people were either allies or enemies. She wasn’t sure what Ashley was, but Nick and Elexis were at least vaguely on her side.

  She’d finally found allies.

  14

  Grief Like Seeds

  “The girls didn’t wanna join us?” Tammy asked from the kitchen, slipping a piece of sourdough into the toaster oven. Her bright blond curls were tucked up in a fitness headband, makeup done to perfection. She’d clearly expected guests. “I made enough for the whole gang.”

  “They were busy,” Ashley lied. “It’s okay. I’m glad it’s just you and me.”

  Historically, Sunday morning brunches on the lake had the magic ability to fix any kind of sadness. This was the way she’d gotten over a failed math test and the first time the Ford broke down and the time Fran temporarily decided she didn’t want to be friends anymore. It was a long shot to believe that brunch could solve the problem of her boyfriend’s disappearance, but it was worth a try. At the very least, it was a chance to figure out what the cabin was all about.

  While Tammy fixed a plate of toast and jelly, Ashley set the table on the back deck with silverware, mugs, and a fresh pot of coffee. The sky was still rosy with morning, the wind off the lake crisp and cool, but the sun was fat and low on the horizon, glaring at them through the heat. It was too early for it to be this hot outside, but that’s how it had been ever since Tristan disappeared. Either too hot or too cold, always at the extreme. Tammy settled in with her coffee and a self-help book for “girl bosses.” Ashley left her hibiscus tea to steep and leaned her head back against the chair, inspecting the tangled juniper limbs overhead. This was easy. Ashley inhaled and exhaled and it felt like the first time she’d done it in weeks.

  “What’s going on with you?” Tammy asked. She tucked a loose strand of Ashley’s hair behind her ear. “You seem stressed.”

  Ashley cupped her hands around her mug for warmth. “Same as always. I’m fine.”

  “Tristan?”

  Ashley looked out at the water.

  “If he’s out there, he’ll come back,” Tammy said. “You’ve got it all under control. That’s how us Barton girls are. Calm under fire.”

  Ashley nodded.

  “Not to make this about me, but I can tell you from experience, sometimes boys leave because they think they’re gonna find themselves somewhere else.” Tammy took a long drink of coffee. “Sometimes they come back different. If God wants to take them out of your life, he’ll take them. Things always fall into place. Don’t drive yourself crazy over it.”

  Ashley wished it was as easy as her mother made it sound. But this wasn’t like her dad—Tristan wasn’t off in some other city with a new family. He hadn’t run off to avoid a life here. In fact, Tristan had been ready to make Snakebite his forever. Every time she closed her eyes, she saw him in the woods. She saw him choking, bruised, dying.

  She saw him in her room. She remembered their last conversation, standing across the room from each other, and her chest ached. She wished she could undo that last moment, unspool it all and try again.

  She needed to change the subject.

  “It’s not just Tristan stuff. I feel kinda bad about how we’re all treating that new family,” Ashley said. She stared intently into the stitching on the arm of her chair, ignoring the way her mother turned to look at her. Tammy’s eyes raked over her, cool as ice. It was the signature intensity that had always served Barton women well.

  “Oh, the Ortizes.”

  “Yeah. Ortiz-Woodley, actually,” Ashley clarified. “I think they hyphenate it.”

  Tammy made a soft hmm. She glanced down at her book. “You think I’m being mean? If you knew them better, you’d understand.”

  “How do you know them?”

  Tammy said nothing. Ashley didn’t know much about the Ortiz-Woodleys, but Logan herself didn’t seem to know much about them, either. Everyone else in Snakebite had some kind of ancient vendetta against the two men—and by extension, Logan—but no one was willing to explain it. It was an old thing, dormant and quiet and unmoving.

  “You know, I read an article a while back about people like the daughter,” Tammy continued as though she hadn’t been asked a question. She leaned back in her chair and looked out over the gray lake. “Studies say they usually turn out just fine, actually. Totally normal. I thought the lack of balance at home would make it hard for them to grow up right. But the article said they’re like those plants that grow in the dark. Resilient.”

  She said resilient with a punch in her voice, like Logan was a soldier marching against her oppressively gay fathers.

  “I don’t know,” Ashley said. “She seems fine. I’ve barely met her dads.”

  Tammy shook her head. She cupped her mug of coffee and faced the wind off the lake with her eyes closed. She got like this sometimes when she was pulled into a memory so strong it briefly replaced reality. It was the face she made when she talked about Ashley’s father. It was the face she made when she talked about learning ranch work from Grandma Addie. And now it was the face she made when she thought of the Ortiz-Woodleys.

  “You’re better off,” Tammy said. “I don’t believe in curses, but those two are a curse. They were when they lived here before, they are now, they always will be. I swear, everything they touch just falls apart. I wouldn’t be surprised if more of you kids went missing before they leave.”

  “Mom…” Ashley breathed.

  “I wish I was being dramatic.” She inhaled, sharp and sudden. “If I were you, I’d stay away from that family altogether. Even if the daughter’s normal, it’s not worth it. They’re poison. I don’t know why we keep letting them back in.”

  “You told her dad you’d be nice.”

  “I said I’d be nice to the girl,” Tammy clarified, purposefully not saying Logan’s name. “And Alejo knows me well enough to know that ignoring them is me being nice.”

  Ashley nodded. She wanted to ask how he knew her well enough, but she didn’t press. She stared into the swirling surface of her tea and the hibiscus scent made her eyes water. Maybe her mother was right. The moment the Ortiz-Woodleys arrived, Snakebite had become a bitter, guarded thing. Ever since they’d arrived, the shadows had teeth. Even brunch felt tainted.

  “Did they do something?” Ashley asked.

  Tammy didn’t look at her. “Yes. Sort of.”

  The lake rippled in the sunlight. The sky was wide and bright, but today it felt like a lie. An illusion of Snakebite from a time when it was simpler.

  “I don’t want you to worry.” Tammy smiled. She took Ashley’s hand and squeezed. “Snakebite’s tougher than you’d think. They’ll leave, or we’ll spit them out all over again.”

  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.