Banish

by Nicola Marsh

  The hits were instant and numerous. Noah had done a lot of good in the community and it seemed like every week his name was in the local newspaper.

  I scrolled down the list and onto the next page, through the countless newspaper mentions. Disappointed, I continued to scan the list and on the end of the third page, a different newspaper caught my eye.

  The Allentown Announcer.

  Noah told me he’d been born and bred in Broad River; he’d never mentioned Pennsylvania. I clicked on the link and waited.

  The article headline popped up first: “Sibling Awarded Custody”.

  Curious, I waited for the article to load. But the picture opened first and that’s when the world as I knew it detonated.

  Noah had a half-sister.

  And a half-brother.

  Seth.

  In the photo, Noah had an arm draped around their shoulders but none of them looked happy. There were dark rings under their eyes, an unnatural pallor to their skin and down-turned, pinched mouths. They ducked their heads, avoiding the camera that had captured a snapshot of their collective misery.

  I stared at that photo a long time, my gaze torn between Noah and Seth, resentment piercing my confusion.

  Guys I’d liked.

  Guys I’d laughed with and shared secrets with and hung out with.

  Guys I hadn’t known at all.

  Swallowing my bitterness at being duped, twice, I finally read the article.

  It didn’t make it any easier, seeing the facts laid out: Noah had been awarded custody of his half-siblings after their mother relinquished parental rights. A landmark case in the state of Pennsylvania.

  He’d always been driven, working harder and longer. Now I knew why. What I didn’t know was why Noah had kept his siblings a secret. And how he’d managed to spend so much time with me when he had responsibilities at home.

  Once the shock had settled, reality hit me like a punch to the head.

  The necklace. The voodoo doll.

  Seth could have done it.

  If Noah hadn’t mentioned his family to me, had he mentioned me to his family? Had Seth known about me? Did he blame me for Noah’s death, like the rest of Broadwater? Is that what this bizarre stalking was about?

  I didn’t like that theory, because it meant Seth had deliberately sought me out in New York and had calculatedly planted those props to make me think I’d gone crazy.

  No, there had to be some other explanation. But the harder I thought, the more things became jumbled until my head ached. I’d been willing to attribute Seth’s presence at Noah’s funeral as a coincidence, but now I knew there had to be far more at play here.

  Seth being Noah’s half-brother changed everything. I had to figure out how and why before I confronted him. How Tabitha fitted into all this, I had no idea, but I’d come this far.

  Tomorrow, when I visited Broad River, I’d have my answers.

  Then I’d head back to New York City and kick Seth’s lying ass.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  I SLUNK OUT of bed as the first slivers of dawn peeped through the curtains. I hadn’t slept beyond the occasional doze that left me gritty-eyed and yawning. Thankfully, I rarely dreamed and last night had been no exception. Bet Mom would be disappointed. She probably hoped I’d seen a host of spooky otherworld stuff when I closed my eyes.

  A shard of guilt pierced my resolve as I dressed in record time, slipped my cell and purse into the pocket of my hoodie, and crept out. The bonus of Mom’s redecoration was the non-creaky floors but I sidestepped the old giveaway boards just in case.

  I had to do this alone. Waiting for her to wake, making the trip to Broad River together, would give credence to her soul retriever proclamations and I didn’t want to do that. I had enough to deal with, like finding out what game Seth was playing and why.

  She’d given me an idea though, with her “finding ­closure at Noah’s place”. I would ask around town, discover the whereabouts of Noah’s home—damn, I wish I’d pushed to visit his place when we’d been dating—and start ­investigating there. With a little luck, his half-sister might still live there and I could probe her for information. Hopefully I’d find some clue to why Seth might be behind my mad week.

  Hoping Mom had maintained her old habit of sleeping until nine, I eased the back door open, wriggled through the crack and closed it softly behind me. I dragged in a breath, savouring the crispness of a chill Broadwater morning. I hadn’t missed much else about home.

  My gaze inadvertently focused on the centre of the lawn, where Mom’s makeshift altar had stood last night. All trace of it had been removed, the slightly flattened grass the only reminder of her ritual. While I knew Mom had the best intentions in wanting to protect me, I’d do better armed with proof of what Seth had done rather than having a nebulous moon goddess watching over me.

  I needed that proof.

  Today.

  The day Sammy had been killed according to that music video.

  It made sense, why Seth had used Sammy as the fake murder victim. They must have crossed paths at the funeral, Sammy waxing lyrical about being Noah’s slighted ex-girlfriend. Maybe they’d become friends, kept in touch? Sammy would be only too happy to be involved in anything maligning me after Noah’s death, despite the fact we’d developed a wary friendship that last semester.

  The other possibility, that the music video had been some kind of countdown to Sammy’s death…

  I couldn’t contemplate the guy I knew killing anyone but my feet picked up speed as I headed for the bus stop, grateful the early morning bus was waiting with its engine idling, ready to go. Incredibly, I’d never visited our sister town. Before Noah, I hadn’t had any interest in seeing it and while we were dating, he’d determinedly kept our relationship in Broadwater.

  Now I knew why, what with his secret family to support and all.

  I spent the first ten minutes staring blindly out the window, avoiding the driver’s curious glances at his sole passenger in the rear-vision mirror. The guy looked vaguely familiar and I remembered my eighth grade homeroom teacher had been married to a bus driver. Yeah, Mr Trotter, that was his name, and I belatedly realised he could save me a lot of footwork when I arrived in Broad River.

  When he caught my eye the next time I tried a tentative smile, which he was only too happy to return.

  “Heading to Broad River, Miss?”

  “Yeah. Never been there, thought I’d check it out.”

  “Awful early to be up and about?” he asked, his bushy eyebrows almost meeting in the middle. “Not running away, are you?”

  “No.”

  Like I’d tell him if I was. And a backwater town like Broad River would be the last place I’d go. I craved big city anonymity, not small town scrutiny.

  “Visiting a friend?”

  Nosy old beggar, but I could use this to my advantage.

  “My ex-boyfriend was Noah Nash.”

  His expression immediately closed off but I continued. “I’ve been away since he died and I want to visit his house, place flowers there in memory of him.”

  His face softened. “Can’t fault you there.” He shook his head. “Nasty business that.”

  And getting nastier, if Noah’s sibling was using his death to torture me.

  “I’m not supposed to make unscheduled stops but seems a shame for you to head all the way into town then trek back when I can drop you off near the place.”

  “Thanks, that’d be great.”

  The guy had just saved me hours of asking questions and directions.

  “We’re almost there…” He frowned. “If I don’t drop you in town, you can’t get flowers.”

  Damn. I glanced out the window, hoping the barren grasslands would miraculously manufacture a field of daisies I could pilfer but my good luck didn’t extend that far.

  “Just drop me in town, I’ll grab some flowers and hike back.”

  His frown deepened before a grin creased his craggy face. “I’m making a re
turn run to Broadwater in an hour. If you’re on board then, I could drop you back near the house.”

  “Perfect, thanks.”

  About five minutes later, he pointed to a dirt track leading off the main road. “The house you’re after is down there.”

  “Great.” I craned my neck, unable to see anything beyond the line of pine trees next to the road. Defeated, I sank back into my seat, fidgeting for another fifteen minutes until we reached town.

  “Thanks, see you soon,” I said, stepping off the bus onto a dusty, pocked tar road.

  “I leave promptly on the hour, Miss.”

  “I’ll be here,” I said, glancing around for a place I could grab a coffee.

  Lack of food and sleep were catching up with me and I needed to have my wits about me when I visited Noah’s place.

  Broadwater had been dead at dawn; Broad River still hadn’t woken up half an hour later. On first impressions, this town had none of Broadwater’s understated flair. Whereas Broadwater maintained shopfronts with bright blues, yellows and creams to blend with the lakeside landscape, Broad River favoured dull browns and muddy greens, a reflection of the trickle of water meandering along its outskirts that passed as a river. Its air of dishevelment was accentuated by a dirty main street in need of a sweep, a town square in need of a mow and a grade school in need of a new sign: the present BRO D IVER MENTARY hanging askew.

  From what I could see, I wasn’t surprised Noah wanted to spend more time in Broadwater, but I did wonder why he’d lived here in the first place. Had he always had a home here? Had the Nashes been established here when he gained custody of his siblings, or did he choose this place because of its distance from Allentown? Did he stay in touch with his mom after she’d relinquished her parental rights? And what had happened to make her do that in the first place?

  So many questions I would never have the answers to, but soon I hoped to have others revealed when I visited his house.

  The lone coffee shop in town had a closed sign, so I perched on a wooden bench out front and grabbed my cell. I needed to send a message.

  My thumb tapped the screen while I mentally composed it, choosing my words carefully, needing Mom to know where I was headed in case of…What? What I’d find? What might happen if one ounce of her outrageous theories was correct?

  She would freak when she discovered I’d left without her and the least I owed her was a message. I didn’t want her to worry. By the sounds of it, she’d been doing enough of that over the last five years, watching for signs I’d “manifest”.

  SORRY MOM, HAD 2 DO THIS ON MY OWN.

  GOING 2 NOAH’S HOUSE IN BROAD RIVER.

  NEED 2 WORK THRU THIS LOGICALLY.

  I’LL B FINE.

  There, now she knew. I felt better letting her know my whereabouts and also reinforcing I needed time alone to solve this mystery using clear logic and facts, not vague, nebulous, spiritual nonsense she would keep proposing if she’d tagged along.

  I heard the rattle of a doorlock being flipped behind me and I leaped to my feet, in dire need of caffeine. Even a cola would do at this stage.

  A wizened woman no taller than my shoulder opened the door and frowned. Guess hospitality was as ragged as the town’s appearance.

  She peered at me through narrowed eyes. “You’re up early.”

  It sounded like an accusation and I put on my best smile before I keeled over from thirst.

  “Yeah, I like to get a head start on the day.”

  Her frown deepened as she sized me up. “Well then, guess you better come in and get something to eat.”

  “A coffee would be great.”

  I heard her mumble something about “anorexic youngsters” as she waddled off to the kitchen and I took a seat at a window table. The lace curtains smelled mouldy and were in tatters along the edges so I edged my chair away, thankful the table appeared clean despite the years of cutlery gouges.

  I glanced at my cell every few seconds, knowing it was too soon to get a return message but increasingly anxious in case Mom woke early. It remained silent and, relieved, I slipped it back into my pocket, my nose twitching as the heady aroma of freshly brewed coffee wafted out of the kitchen.

  Thirty minutes later, I’d consumed three cups of surprisingly good coffee and a stack of pancakes with maple syrup. According to Helena, the proprietor, I looked too skinny and she hovered until I ate the lot.

  She also made small talk, the usual stuff, until I asked where I could buy a bunch of flowers and she discovered why I was in town.

  “Awful business,” she muttered, shaking her head and making the sign of the cross. “Young man like that, killing himself. A tragedy.” She tut-tutted. “Must’ve been hard on his siblings too.”

  I pretended not to listen too intently, when in fact I was dying to ask a million questions. “Sadly, I never met Noah’s siblings.”

  She stared at me, as if she found me lacking for not meeting my boyfriend’s family. “I felt sorry for the girl. But that boy…”

  The skin on the back of my neck prickled. She was talking about Seth.

  “Always had the devil in him.” Her lips thinned. “You can see it in the eyes and his were cold as a snake.”

  The tingle morphed into a shiver as I put down my fork, wary my hand would shake and give away my interest. “What happened to them?”

  “Went back to live with their mother, I think.”

  The girl, maybe. The guy? I knew exactly where he’d been living.

  So much for hoping to probe Seth’s sister for information. Not that her absence would stop me. I’d check out the house, see if I could find any clues to Seth’s possible motivation for trying to freak me out…with my dead ex’s stuff.

  Checking my watch, I still had ten minutes to be back on that bus. “Thanks for breakfast. How much do I owe you?”

  “Seven dollars, love.”

  She seemed sad to see me go. Considering I was her only customer in a slumbering town that showed no sign of waking, she probably was.

  “I need to buy flowers somewhere?” I reminded her.

  “No-one’s open yet but me.” She snapped her fingers. “Wait here, I’ll cut you a bunch of dahlias from my hothouse out back.”

  “Thanks.”

  She scuttled away and I stuck my head out the door, glad to see the bus hadn’t moved and Mr Trotter was in the front seat, pouring a steaming drink I assumed was coffee from a flask.

  “Here you go.” She bustled back in and thrust a giant bunch of dahlias, stems bound by newspaper, into my hands.

  “How much?”

  “On the house.”

  “Thanks, you’ve been really helpful.”

  She beamed at me, but as I opened the door, she said, “You going to be okay all alone out at that house?”

  Her concern was touching but the last thing I needed was someone mirroring my inner coward, the one that insisted heading to Noah’s place alone could be a tad foolish.

  “Sure, I’ll be fine.”

  “You’re not afraid of…of ghosts?” She hesitated. “The way he died…?”

  “No such thing,” I said, pushing the door open so hard the bell overhead rang continuously for a few seconds. I was eager to escape before she added more to the surrealistic nonsense plaguing my every step. “Thanks once again.”

  When I boarded the bus Mr Trotter greeted me like an old friend. I insisted he finish a flaky Danish he pulled from a cooler bag, giving me a few minutes to mull over what Helena had divulged.

  She’d obviously seen Noah’s sister and Seth around town, which meant they’d had nothing to hide. But it raised yet another question: after Noah died, why didn’t Seth accompany his sister to live with their mom? Logically, a tragedy like a family suicide would draw siblings together, yet Seth had moved to New York City to live with his aunt.

  Then again, I couldn’t blame him for wanting to escape a sorrow-filled past. I’d done it myself.

  Had that story he’d told me about his dad trave
lling for work been bogus? Had he invented it to hide his real motives? There had been no mention of a father in that newspaper article, only a mother relinquishing her parental rights. Why? What had happened in Seth’s past?

  Vowing not to jump to any conclusions until I’d checked out the Nashes’ house, I rested my feet on the seat and clutched my knees to my chest, relieved when the bus took off five minutes later.

  I didn’t believe in ghosts of the past but I sure as hell believed in the truth of the present.

  At Noah’s house, I hoped I’d find the latter.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  THE BUS SLOWED and eased onto the gravel opposite the road leading to Noah’s house. Mr Trotter glanced at me in the rear-vision mirror as he hit a button, the hydraulic doors opening with a shuddering creak. “You’re doing a good thing, kid.”

  Debatable. I clutched my dahlias, stepped off the bus and waved to him. “Thanks for dropping me off.”

  “No problems.” He waited until I’d crossed the road before tooting the horn, the bus belching diesel fumes as it pulled away, leaving me with a case of the guilts.

  Mr Trotter thought I’d come to pay my respects to Noah when in fact I planned on nosing my way around his house, digging up whatever I could find to prove Seth was behind my week of madness.

  I checked the roadside mailbox, not surprised to find it empty, and set off along the dirt road. Noah must have come this way every day, driving his beat-up Mustang. What had he been thinking that last day when he fronted up late for our picnic? Had something happened here, at home? Something he couldn’t tell me because I didn’t know he had a family?

  The heaviness of our final confrontation weighed on my heart as I trudged up the road, kicking up dust. Ten minutes later—although it felt like thirty—I rounded a bend and saw the house. More of a shack really, made from logs, with a corrugated-iron roof.

  A sad, forlorn air clung to it like the creeper vine scaling the east wall, the thick forest surrounding the house on three sides dwarfing it and accentuating its small dimensions. Feeling like the intruder I was, I climbed the front steps and laid the bouquet at the front door.