《Over My Cold Read Body》 Chapter One Cam wrapped fishing line around her index finger. She slid its small spool onto a dowel attached to a towering oak bookshelf. Like all the other pieces in the room, this was the kind of furniture that looked as though it had met your ancestors and shared their disappointment in you. Cam unraveled enough fishing line to cross the windowless den in which she¡¯d staged two-hundred and forty-seven educational seances. Number two-hundred and forty-eight wouldn¡¯t take place for another three days. She wanted to run a test. An antique wardrobe against the right wall contained a small and simple mechanism with another spindle attached, this one empty. Cam brought the fishing line here and wound it securely around the spindle. She closed the wardrobe and stepped lightly around the room, checking the scene from several angles. She paid special mind to the view from the round pedestal table and its six oak pressback chairs. Satisfied, Cam returned to the bookshelf and cut a length of line sufficient to thread through a subtle notch in one of the thinner books. She tucked the little spool away in the pocket she¡¯d sewn onto her oversized sweater. The door opened behind her. Cam started, ¡°I think I like the new¡­¡± but saw a short white man with wavy blonde hair standing stiffly straight where she expected to find her lanky, slouching friend. Hand raised in apology, the newcomer said, ¡°I thought this was the exit.¡± ¡°Happens all the time. You must be Oliver,¡± she greeted him. Cam spoke at a low volume, her raspy voice ever steady and warm. Her crooked smile fought to imply a predilection for mischief against her arrestingly kind eyes. Oliver put on a professional air. ¡°Nice to meet you.¡± ¡°Likewise. I¡¯m Cam. I run most of the sessions.¡± ¡°Well, don¡¯t let me interrupt your work,¡± he said, withdrawing. ¡°Not at all- please,¡± Cam offered him entrance into the room with a light wave of her hand. ¡°Want to see what we do? If you have a minute.¡± A look of genuine excitement broke through whatever nerves remained after his job interview. ¡°Can I?¡± Producing a lighter from the back pocket of her denim shorts, Cam said, ¡°Get the lights.¡± She set to work on the half dozen candles spread evenly around the room as Oliver fumbled with the light switch and closed the door. ¡°Y¡¯all really have the vibe down here.¡± ¡°When your eyes adjust, join me at the table,¡± Cam said, seating herself on the far end. Oliver¡¯s foot caught the edge of the vintage red rug spread under the table, and he stumbled to his chair with a self-deprecating chuckle. Cam reached out to light the final three candles held in silver candelabra between them. ¡°You must go through a lot of candles,¡± Oliver said. Cam confirmed with a friendly hum, her eyes locked on his. ¡°People love the showmanship. We do have to be careful of flowing sleeves, though.¡± She gestured as she spoke, waving an arm well above the flames. ¡°Have you ever had someone¡­?¡± He looked equal parts thrilled and concerned. ¡°Only me,¡± Cam replied. They shared a laugh, but before Oliver could press for details, she said, ¡°The spirits tell me they expected you at another time. Did something happen?¡± ¡°Another time?¡± ¡°Yes, but it¡¯s unclear. Were you planning to come earlier or later?¡± He shifted in his seat. ¡°I put off applying a couple of times. Just life stuff got in the way. Do you ask everyone that question?¡± ¡°Most everyone! Hardly anything goes exactly to plan. People change their minds, hesitate, get caught in traffic. Of course, if a client has rescheduled or is running late, I take that question out of the lineup. Not very mysterious under those circumstances. And if they did come here at exactly the time they always intended, it¡¯s just a fun seed to plant. We can always find a way to make it grow later in the session.¡± ¡°You must be very good at improv,¡± Oliver observed. ¡°Thank D&D. Now. Why don¡¯t you tell me about John?¡± ¡°John?¡± Even in the dim and flickering light, his eyes telegraphed an arc of confusion turned to surprise turned to calculation. ¡°Right. Because everyone knows someone named John.¡± ¡°You get it,¡± Cam encouraged him. ¡°Most Americans will at least know of someone named John.¡± ¡°But what do you say if I tell you I don¡¯t know any?¡± ¡°Then I say, ah, but you do. You just don¡¯t know their significance yet. You will soon.¡± Cam settled into her chair, relaxing, and watched for Oliver to relax as well. ¡°Striking gold is always a treat, but it¡¯s even more fun when I don¡¯t. I encourage the client to think about it. Maybe their dad loved The Beatles, or they went into political science because of Jon Stewart. Whatever they bring up, they¡¯re the one who chose it as potentially significant, and I can get a lot out of mileage out of that.¡± If you come across this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it. ¡°Were those real examples?¡± ¡°They were! It¡¯s important to keep in mind, too, that I have it easy here. I¡¯m not trying to convince our clients of anything. I just show them how it happens to other people. Like you, they tend to know better. We work together to understand what makes these tricks effective.¡± Oliver leaned back and let his shoulders slacken. Her eyes crinkling in delight, Cam said, ¡°Really though, tell me about John.¡± ¡°My uncle,¡± Oliver replied at length. ¡°A more complicated man than people think. What would you say in response to that?¡± At the sound of two sharp knocks, Oliver looked to Cam¡¯s hands, spread innocently on the table palms-down. ¡°Old building,¡± she offered with the slightest turn in her smile. ¡°Heh. Is someone hiding in that cabinet?¡± ¡°No, but we have done that before. Good guess! Go on about your uncle.¡± ¡°He was complicated, sure. I don¡¯t know. Isn¡¯t everyone?¡± He sounded uncertain. ¡°Yes, definitely. That¡¯s one of the foundational elements of cold reading. Observations that, with a little squinting, could apply to pretty much anyone. People who want to believe will latch on to these vague statements as proof that the psychic knows more than they should be able to. Some will even misremember the psychic as saying something far more specific than they actually did. They¡¯ll substitute what they heard with what they know to be true because, like I said, they want to believe.¡± ¡°That¡¯s wild. How did you learn all this?¡± ¡°Child of a cult,¡± she said, winking. Oliver didn¡¯t seem to know what to make of the statement. ¡°Fascinating stuff, isn¡¯t it? So, as you said, I could have been talking about anyone, not just your uncle. Though I will say I have found southern men to be more complicated than most.¡± Cam watched his confused amusement fade into concentration. She assumed he was considering his tell¡ª not his resume, which didn¡¯t list any jobs or education in the south, nor his accent, squarely General American. Before he could pin down the charming y¡¯all he had slipped into their conversation earlier, a book flew from the shelf and sent Oliver leaping from the table with a yelp. Cam clapped. ¡°It worked!¡± ¡°Please tell me that wasn¡¯t pulled by a string,¡± he groaned, all in good humor. ¡°Please, tell me I didn¡¯t just fall for a string.¡± ¡°You¡¯ve got a great instinct for this. Austin set up the mechanism,¡± Cam said with pride. ¡°We¡¯ll have to move the table over, though. Came a little too close for comfort with the candles.¡± The door opened and Cam¡¯s aforementioned pale, lanky friend looked in. ¡°All right?¡± ¡°We¡¯re fine, Birch. Oliver was helping me test the new equipment. Have you met?¡± The two exchanged familiar nods as Birch said, ¡°You¡¯re not putting him to work already?¡± ¡°I just wanted to see some of the show.¡± Oliver gave Birch his professional smile. ¡°I should get going, though. It was great to meet you.¡± Offering their own polite farewell, Birch stepped aside to let Oliver exit, then turned on the lights. ¡°You didn¡¯t scare him, right?¡± ¡°Not at all,¡± Cam reassured them. She found their concern for Oliver touching. ¡°Your hair¡¯s gotten so long,¡± she added. ¡°It¡¯s magnificent.¡± Birch ran a hand through their thick black hair, following its flow down to their shoulder. ¡°You¡¯re sweet. You¡¯ve been rocking that color, by the way.¡± Cam agreed with a bright, ¡°Yes!¡± She patted her brunette bob, pleased with herself. She kept her hair buzzed nearly to the skin and took great joy in swapping out wigs every few weeks. ¡°I usually like to go bright and bold, but it matches my eyes.¡± ¡°I was going to say!¡± ¡°Is Cam starting another compliment train?¡± Cheap trick engineer Austin came into the room. ¡°Can I join?¡± Their one-man marketing department, Seo Jun, followed him inside, rounding out the team¡ª for the moment. ¡°What did you think of Oliver?¡± Cam asked Austin. ¡°Seemed fine.¡± ¡°You should hire him.¡± She rested her chin in her hand. ¡°He¡¯s a believer.¡± Seo Jun said, ¡°I didn¡¯t think professional skeptics hired believers.¡± ¡°We¡¯re only debunking the fake psychics, not the real ones.¡± Through a lifetime of practice, Cam had perfected the art of striking a tone that could either be joking or completely serious. The part of her that wanted to believe and the part of her that couldn¡¯t worked in tandem, presenting a perfect facade of both simultaneously. She realized with a disappointed click of her tongue, ¡°I didn''t get to explain the knocks.¡± Cam stretched out her leg and cracked her toe knuckle, producing the same sharp rapping from before. It was one of her favorite stories: how the Fox sisters had helped to spark an entire Spiritualist movement in the mid-1800s with the power of popping knuckles. ¡°Alas.¡± Birch caught sight of the fallen book. ¡°That looks a little close to the candles.¡± Cam signified her agreement with a hum, and together they set about moving the chairs further from the bookshelf. Seo Jun snuffed out the remaining candles and then helped them carry the table. Meanwhile, Austin opened the antique wardrobe. ¡°Did the rig make any noise when you activated it?¡± ¡°Couldn¡¯t hear a thing. Want to see?¡± ¡°Go ahead.¡± Cam slipped her foot under the table and pressed a discreet button installed at its base. The book flew another two feet toward the wardrobe. ¡°Very cool,¡± Seo Jun said. ¡°You sure you didn¡¯t scare him?¡± ¡°He loved it, Birch. And I didn¡¯t even pull out the advanced tricks.¡± With a look of preemptive apology, Seo Jun said, ¡°I don¡¯t think you realize how scary you are.¡± ¡°Just because people get scared doesn¡¯t mean I¡¯m scary.¡± ¡°I don¡¯t follow that at all,¡± Austin cut in, ¡°but never mind. The phone¡¯s ringing.¡± ¡°Got it,¡± Cam volunteered, hurrying out of the room to the main office. Chapter Two Con Tact, a loose organization of pariahs from the local paranormal society that had stumbled into becoming a business two years ago, occupied two rooms: an office and a parlor. It sat on the bottom floor of a three-family home that they shared with a dentist¡¯s office. Said dentist, Dr. Aileen Minra, owned the building. She let Con Tact rent those two rooms at a quarter of market price. In another life, as the soft-spoken Dr. Minra put it, her four-year-old son had mysteriously disappeared from the playground. He was missing for two excruciating days. A woman calling herself a clairvoyant convinced Dr. Minra that the boy could be safely recovered from an abandoned factory some eighteen miles from their home. The fruitless search ended with the conwoman spitting out teeth and Dr. Minra swearing never to fall for such a ruse again. Her son was safely recovered hours later. Twenty-odd years later, when her new patient Birch managed to explain through a mouthful of cleaning instruments that they wanted to teach people how to spot and avoid fraudulent psychics, Dr. Minra offered them half her office on the spot. In that very spot sat Cam, her little particle board desk pushed up against the window alongside Birch¡¯s. Austin¡¯s desk faced the entryway, its peeling veneer obscured by quartz crystals of various colors. Seo Jun kept himself happily tucked away in the corner. Old Houdini advertisements found on Pinterest and printed at Staples hung from thumbtacks on every wall. Their low pile blue carpeting needed a wash, so they¡¯d spread a tan and red area rug from Birch¡¯s Mom¡¯s basement over the worst of it. Such cost saving measures allowed the four of them to go much further with the money earned from seances, lectures, conventions, podcast appearances, and endearingly strange bachelorette parties than they¡¯d ever expected. Enough even to take on a fifth employee, if only part-time, with the hope of expanding into publishing. Cam wanted to write a middle grade adventure series following the escapades of a 19th century orphan girl who used her knowledge of magic tricks to expose fraudulent mediums. Birch wanted to start a blog detailing the history of Spiritualism in the United States, slowly build an audience, and spin that into a nonfiction book deal. Austin said neither seemed likely to come to fruition; Seo Jun was diligently crafting marketing strategies for both, with no comment of his own on their respective chances. This was the underlying truth of Con Tact: each of them, Austin, Seo Jun, and Birch alike, knew that it could all come crashing down at any moment- they joked about it regularly- but everyone worked as though such a possibility were the furthest thing from their minds. Cam loved them for it. Still, full awareness of their precarious position seemed to flash across Birch¡¯s face as they came into the room and caught Cam¡¯s end of the call that had just come in. ¡°The dead can¡¯t hurt you, but you¡¯ll want to prepare yourself for the experience in order to get the most out of it,¡± she said. ¡°There are certain steps you can take. Do you have something to write with? ¡°Give me a sec?¡± ¡°Yes, I can wait.¡± Birch cocked their head. Cam took a promotional sticky note from under her blue celestite skull, wrote DENNIS, and showed it to Birch. ¡°Okay,¡± Dennis said. ¡°Still there?¡± ¡°Still here,¡± Cam resumed. ¡°All right. There are three things you¡¯ll want to achieve in the days before our session. The first is expansion. Learn something new, change your mind about something, experience something you never have before, that kind of thing.¡± Austin had wandered over to the window and leaned against its edge, exchanging glances with Birch, as Seo Jun took a seat at his desk. ¡°Got it,¡± Dennis replied with a chuckle. ¡°Good,¡± Cam said. ¡°The second is balance. After expanding your mind, you¡¯ll want to reset, recenter yourself. Think meditation or meditative activities. Got that?¡± ¡°Sure.¡± ¡°Ok. Now, the third is the most important. Transgression.¡± Seo Jun looked up. ¡°Do something that goes against your nature. If you¡¯re shy, go up and talk to a stranger. If you hate the outdoors, go camping. That sort of thing.¡± Austin turned to Seo Jun, then back to her, mouthing, ¡°What?¡± Cam finished up her call with an abrupt string of generic niceties before Dennis could say much more. ¡°What the fuck was that?¡± Seo Jun asked. ¡°An old friend,¡± Birch answered. Cam gave them a sweet smile. ¡°He deserves a good scare.¡± What exactly that would entail, she didn¡¯t know yet, but she was enjoying laying down the foundation. Seo Jun said, ¡°Okay, so, you do know how scary you are.¡± Austin chuckled and moved to his desk. ¡°Where did you get all that expansion and transgression stuff?¡± ¡°Some Reddit post, I think.¡± ¡°Classic.¡± As the others returned to their work, Birch asked, ¡°Woods tonight?¡± Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings. ¡°Woods tonight,¡± Cam confirmed. ¡°I¡¯m picking up snacks after work. Can¡¯t wait to commune with the trees.¡± ¡°Do the trees talk to you?¡± Austin asked without a pause in his typing. ¡°Trees talk to everyone,¡± Seo Jun said. ¡°He gets it.¡± Cam opened the middle drawer of her desk, took out a bottle of lighter fluid, shook it, and tossed it into the trash can behind Birch. ¡°One of these days, I¡¯ll learn how to forage, and then you¡¯ll never see me again.¡± ¡°Why don¡¯t you head out a little early?¡± Birch suggested. ¡°You think?¡± ¡°Sure. You finished the show room. No more performances today. Why hang around another hour?¡± Cam addressed the wider office. ¡°Anyone need anything from me?¡± ¡°Get,¡± Austin said. Seo Jun dismissed her with a wave. ¡°Thanks!¡± She grabbed her keys and checked her pocket for its phone bulge. ¡°I¡¯ll come in early next week.¡± ¡°Don¡¯t worry about it,¡± Birch insisted. ¡°Go have fun.¡± ¡°Send pics,¡± Seo Jun said. ¡°Enjoy the trees. And stay safe,¡± Austin called after her as she left the office. Cam decided to leave by the back door, and nearly collided with Dr. Minra, who was having a cigarette next to their shared recycling bin. ¡°You¡¯re leaving early. Camping again?¡± Dr. Minra crossed her arms, cigarette resting dangerously close to her elbow. Leaning into the familiarity of a conversation she¡¯d had many times, Cam stuffed her hands into her sweater pocket. ¡°I am.¡± ¡°It¡¯s not safe going alone.¡± ¡°It¡¯s a very safe area, I promise. My mom used to take me there all the time when I was a little kid.¡± At Dr. Minra¡¯s frown, Cam tried adding a funny detail. ¡°We roasted marshmallows on pens from her office because she¡¯d always forget the skewers, and she thought the sticks around us were dirty. Imagine. Those pens were definitely filthy. And the plastic- that was probably the most dangerous part of the whole thing.¡± ¡°You only have to be unlucky once,¡± Dr. Minra said. ¡°I¡¯m bringing my pocket knife.¡± This did nothing to change her disapproval. ¡°I¡¯ll have my phone.¡± Still no improvement. ¡°I¡¯m learning pyrotechnics.¡± Dr. Minra finally cracked a smile. ¡°Don¡¯t burn the forest down.¡± With a scrunched up smile, Cam took her leave. It looked like rain, though the forecast didn¡¯t call for it. Cam made a mental note to grab her raincoat. Maybe she¡¯d even be lucky enough to catch a storm, the perfect background for whiling away the evening in her waterproof single-person tent with a pile of blankets, snacks, books, and a hot water bottle. Her solar-powered lamp had spent the day charging on the windowsill. Her favorite socks were clean and already packed. And yes, she had remembered to tuck her pocket knife into her shorts. Cam popped into a corner store and wiggled her fingers at the cashier. ¡°Hey Spencer!¡± ¡°Hey! New hair? I love it.¡± She framed her face with her hands, eyes askance, and said, ¡°Why, thank you. I picked it up a couple weeks ago.¡± Cam skimmed the aisles, shoving mixed nuts, powdered donuts, potato chips, and a bag of yogurt covered pretzels into the crook of her arm. She dumped her supplies on the counter while still looking around. ¡°Find everything?¡± Spencer asked. ¡°You sell lighter fluid?¡± ¡°I got you.¡± Spencer loped over to the cigarettes behind the other side of the counter and fished a bottle from one of the lower shelves. ¡°Lifesaver.¡± Cam reached for her wallet. ¡°Oh. Shit.¡± ¡°What¡¯s up?¡± ¡°Uh¡­ I think¡­¡± She had many pockets, and checked them all repeatedly. Her wallet must have been at home with her camping supplies. ¡°You forget your money?¡± Spencer¡¯s voice rose with excitement. It wasn¡¯t the first time Cam had done this. ¡°Can you spot me?¡± she asked, embarrassed. ¡°Dinner¡¯s on me,¡± he agreed. ¡°Thank you so, so, so much. I¡¯ll pay you as soon as I¡¯m back from camping, and I¡¯ll have something really special cooked up. I promise.¡± Cam had always repaid Spencer¡¯s kindnesses- be they borrowed money, expired chips he was supposed to throw away, or a quick hit from his joint- with magic tricks. ¡°Can¡¯t wait,¡± he said, bagging her items as he paid for them out of his own pocket. ¡°I¡¯m hoping for pyrotechnics.¡± ¡°And you shall have them.¡± Cam collected her bag and took Spencer¡¯s hand to kiss his knuckles. ¡°You¡¯re the best.¡± ¡°Hey, stay safe out there!¡± He called after her as she hurried from the store. A seven minute wait in the subway, a thirteen minute ride on the train, and an eleven minute walk brought Cam to her front door. More clouds gathered in the east- a good sign for a pluviophile. She slipped her headphones into her pocket with the music still playing, wiped her shoes on the mat, and dropped her snacks by the hat rack as she went inside. Like the Con Tact office, her studio apartment was a collection of hand-me-downs and scavenged goods, except Cam had not bothered to find matching furniture to fill her four hundred square feet. She¡¯d inherited a coffee-stained bearskin rug- reportedly but not credibly real- from the cafe where she¡¯d met Birch. The antique chest that served as her coffee table had been rescued from an aunt¡¯s basement. Her deep-set sofa came from the curb of an apartment building nearby, its left side bearing cat scratches. A collection of thrift shop cast iron pans hung above the gas range oven and below the single row of cabinets tucked into the front left corner. These, along with a generous two bay sink, three feet of counter space, and an off-white fridge, which sighed and groaned as if it were a human transformed into an appliance in the 1990s and left to its decline in the space ever since, made up the kitchen. In the back right corner, a burgundy hammock hung on a metal stand held over half a dozen blankets. As many sat folded underneath it. A modest dresser hauled from across the street on trash day stored most of Cam¡¯s clothes. Her bluetooth speaker sat on top, fully charged, chirping to indicate that it had connected with her phone, though her headphones were keeping it from playing her music. The rest of the available space was taken up by secondhand bookshelves filled with the spoils of years spent browsing library sales. The lemon oil scent of Cam¡¯s homemade potpourri usually dominated her apartment, but there was something else today- a musty smell that made her wonder if she¡¯d missed something when taking out the trash. She¡¯d handle it when she got back from the woods. Cam used the bathroom, a cramped and fastidiously clean greyscale kennel of a room, and considered showering as she washed her hands. The weather was too warm for the sweater she¡¯d been wearing all day, but Cam hadn¡¯t wanted to lose her giant pocket. There¡¯d be no one around to take offense at the smell. She would wait. Next, she considered the fireproof gloves and burn gel in her medicine cabinet. There wouldn¡¯t be much opportunity to practice in the rain. It could also wait until she got home. Tapping the ceramic pig next to her soap dish, she said, ¡°Watch the house for me, Hammond.¡± Cam grabbed her fully charged lantern from the window, doubled back to check she¡¯d turned out the bathroom light, and at last headed for the closet next to her sofa where she¡¯d stashed her camping gear. A man stood inside. Chapter Three Cam dropped her lantern and took a step back, hoping he was only a pile of clothes and camping gear lined up in the illusion of a human shape. But he wore a deer skull attached to a ski mask over his face, and she didn''t own anything like that. The intruder took a slow step toward her. A series of questions withered on the way from thought to speech: Who are you? How did you get in? What are you doing here? Cam blinked back tears as her hand drifted to her stomping heart. He reached into his pocket, and she asked herself who would be the one to find her body, if it was ever to be found. He pulled out a chef¡¯s knife from her own kitchen. It once belonged to Jim Carlos, three houses down on the left, who had hoped aloud that his purchase of ceramic knives wasn¡¯t too silly as he passed this old steel set along to Cam. Please, she thought, don¡¯t let Jim find out it was his knife. And Birch. Kind, gentle, wonderful Birch. They would be devastated when she died. Anger brought Cam to her senses. Her knife was still in her pocket, but he could end her before she even finished reaching for it. She needed to find skin. Get his DNA under her fingernails. In between her teeth, even. His work boots, canvas pants, leather trucker jacket, and leather gloves¡ª all black¡ª left his neck and wrists the only options. His neck seemed the easier target. Cam had never so much as pushed a person before. It looked as though she¡¯d have to make the first move, too. He¡¯d been motionlessly staring at her since he drew the knife. This was exactly what he wanted, wasn¡¯t it? He stood at least a foot over her, his build suggesting formidable strength. Her fighting back would probably be funny to him. He slowly cocked his head to the right, provoking her to act. Even as Cam eyed what little of his bare throat she could find, instinct took over, and she said: ¡°John.¡± Partway through tilting his head the other way, he paused. Cam slid without forethought or reason into her work persona, calm overcoming her, her every sense locked onto him. ¡°Tell me about John.¡± He gave no response. ¡°I didn¡¯t expect you at this time,¡± she went on. ¡°Did something happen?¡± She kept her eyes on the black sockets of the deer skull. Could he even see her? Perhaps he hadn¡¯t fully taken in her initial reaction of numb terror. ¡°Why don¡¯t you have a seat?¡± Cam stepped to the side, giving herself what little distance she could from him without giving away her fear, and held an arm out toward the couch. When he didn¡¯t move, she folded her hands together and looked at him with a kind of sympathetic concern. ¡°Dear, did you think you found the spare key? I left it there for you.¡± The window had been locked and intact. The door, too. Her spare key was the most likely explanation for how he could have gotten inside. Still, it was a bigger leap than she would dream of taking with a client. If she could only get a feel for what he was thinking. See his eyes, his mouth. But then, once she saw his face, it would all be over. He¡¯d kill her for certain. ¡°I¡¯m sorry,¡± Cam said. ¡°I thought you knew. What¡¯s happening today isn¡¯t what you think. You¡¯re here at the behest of something beyond the understanding of ordinary people. This is the most important day of your life.¡± She had to pause as panic took the form of rage, as she fought the urge to scream at him to just say or do something. Still he stood there, knife in hand. Cam told herself to stop thinking about what she didn¡¯t have¡ª his expression, voice, word choices, gestures¡ª and focus on what she did. His smell. It might have been the heavy jacket he wore, though she hoped it was nerves. He¡¯d been sweating. His breathing. He was taking long, slow, measured breaths. The mask likely impeded him to some extent. His posture. He looked unnatural in his fixed position. She guessed he was standing straighter than normal. The slight awkwardness about him unnerved her; it was grotesque to consider the possibility of being murdered by a man who lacked the confidence to carry himself comfortably. But she had a baseline to work from now. Cam broke the silence she¡¯d both needed and despised. ¡°It¡¯s the most important moment of my life, too. You might decide not to listen to a word I say. I honestly don¡¯t know if the forces that brought us together would interfere if you decided to use that knife, but I doubt they would. I think it¡¯s up to you to decide what happens next.¡± Cam nodded as though he had said something. She wasn¡¯t following any specific plan yet, only casting out lines and watching for signs of a catch. The main thing, as with every other asshole Cam had known, was to avoid any implication that he wasn¡¯t in complete control of the situation. ¡°I¡¯ve always believed in a combination of fate and free will, myself. Paths are laid out and presented to us, if we are receptive enough to perceive them, but we retain the right to choose whether or not to follow.¡± Stolen story; please report. She tapped one finger on the back of her hand. ¡°In a way, this is how you¡¯ve lived your life. You make your own choices, but sometimes, you go with the flow and see where things take you.¡± Something happened. Something changed. On the next inhale, he held his breath for a few seconds. ¡°I would like to invite you to take a moment and consider what I¡¯ve told you so far. Take your time. I¡¯m going to make myself comfortable¡ª¡° As she shifted her weight, he raised the knife by a few inches. Cam held up her palms and slipped out of one heeled sneaker. Running, if it came to that, would be easier without them. She waited for any sign of retaliation before kicking off her other shoe. In spite of the threat, she couldn¡¯t help feeling relieved that he¡¯d finally moved. Her hands automatically folded again. ¡°We¡¯re here for such a short time. Sometimes the possibilities contained within even a single moment are overwhelming. How can we know what to do at any given opportunity, when we don¡¯t even know what we can do?¡± Cam tapped her hand again. ¡°You have an advantage here, of course. You know there¡¯s something more to you than most people. Sometimes it seems like others can sense it, too. That knowledge alone opens doors to you that no one else can so much as perceive.¡± With minimal, imperceptible movement, Cam cracked the knuckle of her left big toe twice. His hand twitched. ¡°They want to open communication with you. Will you answer?¡± She had to strain to hear his breathing. Likely he was doing the same¡ª listening intently, quieting his breath to better hear. She cracked her toe twice more. The knife sank at his side. Cam considered her options. He was distracted now, far more vulnerable to attack. She could try to get the knife. Her odds of surviving a direct physical confrontation would never climb high enough for comfort, but how long could she keep this up? When a fresh wave of panic crested, Cam put to work a coping mechanism she¡¯d learned from Birch. She moved through each of her senses to observe, but not react to, what she was experiencing. Sight: a flicker of movement in the deer skull eye socket that might have been a blink. Smell: his sweat had faded to the background, though she had not gone noseblind to it yet. Touch: the weight of her phone still in her pocket. Sound: her refrigerator working its way up from a buzz to a groan. Taste: nothing now, and perhaps nothing ever again, unless she ended up with his blood in her mouth. Cam gave him a thoughtful look. ¡°While you¡¯re deciding, do you mind if I get something to eat?¡± She side-stepped toward the bag of food Spencer bought for her. Toward the front door. No response. Cam turned so that she faced him, put her hands in her sweater pocket, took another step back. And another. He took one step forward and raised the knife in one motion, then plunged it into the arm of her sofa. Jaw clenched, Cam raised her head defiantly. She let her rage slip into her expression. It was likely what he wanted, but she couldn¡¯t help herself. Cam switched her gaze over to her windowsill hammock. ¡°I don¡¯t know what to tell you,¡± Cam spoke to the empty space. ¡°He isn¡¯t listening.¡± She shook her head at unheard words. ¡°Give him more time. Better yet, give him a reason to believe me.¡± Out of the corner of her eye, she saw him pull the knife from the sofa. ¡°I already asked him about John. I don¡¯t think he knows the significance yet.¡± Having collected herself, Cam met eyes with the deer skull again. ¡°I never introduced myself properly. My name is Cameron, and my friends call me Cam. Like you, I¡¯ve always been different from other people. In my case, I have a certain sense for the unknown. I¡¯ve spent my whole life opening myself to what¡¯s beyond human understanding, and in turn, I have become receptive to the will of the universe. I¡¯ve given myself over to this will so completely that I did not hesitate to let you into my home.¡± She took a step toward him. ¡°Into my life.¡± With a steadying breath, she took one hand from her pocket and held it out to him. Her other hand gripped her phone. ¡°I have woven my life together with yours, and the two are inextricable now. You made that same choice when you came through my door, didn¡¯t you?¡± Cam paused as though considering this question herself rather than waiting for an answer. ¡°We¡¯re rational people. But we know that there¡¯s something a little more to this world than meets the eye.¡± Bobbing her outstretched hand in a renewed offer to him, Cam slipped the headphone jack from her phone in her pocket. The bluetooth speaker took over, and Kablevsky¡¯s Cello Concerto No. 1 startled him into looking behind himself; Cam took the split second opportunity to move her knife from her shorts to her sweater pocket. As he turned to her again, Cam cracked her toe knuckle twice more. It was just loud enough to hear over the music. With an air of frustration, he walked backwards to her dresser and grabbed the bluetooth speaker. Cam withdrew her hand, placing it into her pocket, feeling out the little pocketknife as much for comfort as to plan. Her spool of fishing line was still in there, too. She began to work a length of thread around the pocketknife, careful not to clack it against her phone. He found the power button, turned the speaker off, and dropped it. It rolled to the back paw of the bear skin rug. He was challenging her. Cam smiled sweetly. Whether he realized it or not, he was playing her game now. Ignoring her would have snuffed out the scheme altogether. In acknowledging Cam¡¯s claims¡ª and a rebuttal was just that, acknowledgement¡ª he¡¯d granted her space to reply. ¡°This is what the spirits love about you. It¡¯s why you were chosen. You aren¡¯t made of the same fearful, meek material as the rest of us. Or maybe you were, once. Maybe you took your human shape into your own hands and remade it into something else. Is it any surprise that you should be recognized and rewarded?¡± The line was secure around the pocketknife. She¡¯d unwound plenty of the spool- she hoped. Cam took the pocketknife out and dropped it on the ground between them. She said, ¡°Not that it would have done me any good. But as a show of faith, I disarm myself.¡± He stared her down for the entirety of a minute. Ninety beats of Cam¡¯s heart, eighteen breaths, and one prayer to a god she didn¡¯t believe in. At last, he made a move to pick up the pocketknife, and Cam tugged the line back. It leapt a few inches into the air and landed with a thunk that might as well have been a peel of thunder in the silence of the room. Cam said, ¡°It looks as though the forces that brought us together are even more invested in your participation than I had realized. You¡¯re a very special case, it would seem.¡± ¡°What the fuck is going on?¡± He straightened and stepped back, huffing; he appeared as surprised to have spoken as Cam was to have heard him speak. Chapter Four His voice sounded so horribly ordinary. It could have come from anywhere: the back of the line at the grocery store, a stalled train car, a busy intersection. But he was here, trying to sound gruff and failing by dint of having to try, in her living room. ¡°You¡¯ve been chosen,¡± Cam told him. ¡°But whether or not you accept is still up to you.¡± ¡°Cut the bullshit, bitch.¡± Cam hadn¡¯t truly expected any of this to work. At best, she¡¯d hoped to distract or confuse him long enough to think of something else. His fear astonished her. Least of all did she expect to feel exalted by it. Eyes on him, she slowly bent over to pick up the pocketknife, ready to either run or to kick him in the groin if he moved. ¡°You¡¯ve got a name for me. What shall I call you?¡± She tucked the pocketknife back in her pocket and immediately worked to slide the fishing line off it. ¡°Who else is here?¡± he demanded, gripping his own knife tight. ¡°Only us. Surely you checked when you came in? But please, have a look around. I¡¯ll wait.¡± He shook his head slowly, still an eerie sight in his deer skull mask, but he was no longer striving to stand himself up straight and lift his chin. He wasn¡¯t performing now. ¡°Who the fuck are you?¡± Taking a beat, she said, ¡°Exactly what I told you. I¡¯m a medium for the spirits, and in this matter, I am inconsequential. The messenger could have been anyone. The person the message is for, on the other hand, could only ever have been you. They want to talk to you. Will you-¡± ¡°Just get it over with,¡± he snapped. ¡°What is it, already?¡± Resisting the urge to grin, Cam explained, ¡°At present, I can only hear fleeting snippets. We have to establish contact.¡± He was halfway to believing her. A little further, and she might be able to build sympathy. A plan was beginning to take shape in her mind. Cam only needed enough time alone with her phone to text Birch, who could call the police on her behalf. Then there was the matter of the intruder potentially retaliating as soon as the authorities arrived, or of said officers shooting her instead of him, but her odds would be better than in a direct confrontation. What mattered now was getting him to see her as human enough to deserve using the bathroom. She would text Birch from there. Whatever came after, so be it. The intruder straightened himself. ¡°Go ahead, then,¡± he challenged her, his bravado a promising sign of suppressed fear. ¡°Lower light helps with focus. I¡¯ll close the curtain if you get the light.¡± ¡°You¡¯ll stay put,¡± he grunted, heading for the window. Glancing around her, Cam saw no good place to ditch the fishing line. If he caught her with it at this point, the entire charade was over. She slid it up her sleeve for the time being. He pulled the blackout curtain closed and approached her on his way to the light. Cam held her breath when he came to a stop directly in front of her and brought his masked face right to hers. He said: ¡°You¡¯re even more entertaining than I¡¯d hoped. Better make this worthwhile. I¡¯ve got all day, but you don¡¯t.¡± Curling her hands into fists in her pocket to curb the shaking, Cam reminded herself that she might very well be dead already if she hadn¡¯t changed the course of his plans. Every minute remaining to her was a defiance. He brushed past her and turned out the light. It was overcast enough outside that what little sunlight came in through the curtains hardly mattered. Timid rainfall tapped on the window. ¡°Now what?¡± ¡°There¡¯s a spirit board in the chest,¡± she said, stepping out of the way. As he moved to retrieve it, Cam asked, ¡°Have you ever used one before?¡± He shoved aside candles and broken cell phones Cam had been meaning to figure out how to recycle. ¡°It¡¯s just a ouija board, right,¡± he answered flatly as he pulled it out and set it on the chest along with its planchette. ¡°Mm. You got me. The average person is usually more impressed when I say spirit board as opposed to ouija board.¡± This was not really Cam¡¯s experience. Reactions varied from person to person- some responded to a perceived old-fashioned, mystical vibe in the name spirit board, while others carried a deep-seated fear of the more familiar term that nothing else could touch. She worried she¡¯d begun to lay it on a little thick in finding ways to call him special. She went on: ¡°My family and I used this one when I was a teenager. We would light my mother¡¯s scented candles to set the mood. All of our seances smelled like lilacs.¡± ¡°It¡¯s all bullshit.¡± He moved to sit on the floor at the opposite end of the chest from where Cam was standing. ¡°But go ahead.¡± Taking a seat, Cam cleared her throat and explained, ¡°I¡¯m using the board to open a line of communication. Once established, we won¡¯t need it to talk to the spirits, but we will need it to close the line when we¡¯re finished. Now, I would normally have us hold hands for this part, but we¡¯ll skip that step.¡± ¡°Do it.¡± He placed the knife parallel to the ouija board, sharp side facing Cam, and laid his hands palms-up on either side of the chest. The rain picked up outside. Cam stared at his hands, uncertain of her next move. He said, ¡°If we¡¯re not even going to do it right, we might as well skip to the fun part. Unless that¡¯s what you want.¡± She regretted saying anything about it. Seeing no other option, Cam reluctantly joined the tips of her small fingers with his. He grabbed her hands, engulfing them, and squeezed hard enough to make her gasp in pain. ¡°Go on,¡± he goaded her. Cam rode out another wave of panic with a long breath, in and out. ¡°Spirits,¡± she announced. ¡°We come to you, as bidden. We stand at the door and invite you.¡± Reading on this site? This novel is published elsewhere. Support the author by seeking out the original. He didn¡¯t quip this time. Cam had a feeling about him. She¡¯d attended many seances going back long before Con Tact. Some people came to them looking for a fun time, some with skepticism set in stone, some with earnest belief, and some- like her father, and like the man sitting across from her, she suspected- wanting to be convinced. Her toe knuckle, growing sore from overuse, managed another two knocks. She said, ¡°Yes. Come in.¡± Two more. ¡°You have to invite them in, too.¡± He gripped her hands tighter still and said, ¡°Come in.¡± It wouldn¡¯t take much more force to start breaking bones. If he weren¡¯t wearing gloves, he might have felt her palms sweating from the pain alone. ¡°Welcome, spirits. He¡¯s here. The man I have risked everything to help you reach. If you¡¯re with us, use this spirit board to make your presence known.¡± She nodded toward the board and told him, ¡°Now we take hold of the planchette.¡± He leaned in. ¡°Maybe I like holding hands.¡± ¡°Perhaps now you¡¯re ready to tell me about John.¡± ¡°I don¡¯t know any John.¡± He let go, disgruntled, and placed his fingers on the planchette. A horrible ache pulsed through Cam¡¯s hands. ¡°It will work best without the gloves.¡± As unlikely as it seemed that he would be so easily convinced to leave behind a fingerprint, she had to try. ¡°Cute,¡± he said. ¡°No.¡± ¡°Spirits,¡± she moved on. It was easier to keep her voice steady now. ¡°Are you with us?¡± Cam waited for him to make the first move. She¡¯d once spent an entire summer reading about and experimenting with the ideomotor effect- the theory that ouija boards, pendulums, dowsing rods and the like worked through unconscious movements of the human body. People could move whichever object they¡¯d chosen for otherworldly communication with no idea whatsoever they were doing it. Cam liked to think of it as a direct line to the subconscious. Her personal favorite tool had been a purple quartz pendant on a delicate sixteen-inch silver chain, sadly confiscated not long before she left home. The intruder¡¯s breathing pattern had grown steady again. He seemed genuinely focused on the board. Moving the planchette herself wasn¡¯t out of the question, but she hoped he and the ideomotor effect would do that for her. The planchette twitched. ¡°They¡¯re here,¡± Cam said breathlessly, hoping to channel her relief and excitement into a good performance. ¡°Spirits, tell us what your message concerns.¡± After a moment¡¯s hesitation, the planchette moved again. It stalked across the board, slow and stuttering, hovering for a moment over H before coming to a decisive stop on I. ¡°You¡¯re moving it.¡± The absurdity of his statement- the perfect reflection of playing this game with her tween friends- stunned her into silence. Cam had often ruminated on the fact that when she asked her parents for a ouija board as a twelfth birthday present, she would never have dreamed of using it to try and contact her dead mother two years later. Her current predicament was the only thing that could have possibly been further from her imagination. Cam lifted her hands. ¡°Spirits. Guide him.¡± With a sharp breath, he unconsciously moved the planchette down one row to land on V. ¡°What the fuck is this?¡± ¡°Focus. Relax. Once we know what the spirits wish to speak about, we can proceed.¡± The planchette¡¯s next journey took it across most of the length of the board. Cam didn¡¯t dare to check the time, but she guessed it took upwards of two minutes to reach its destination: A. He didn¡¯t say anything this time. The next and final letter sat directly below. Once the planchette stopped on N, the intruder tore his hands away from it as though it were burning hot, then swept the board and planchette off the chest with such force, they hit the wall. The knife spun a few inches closer to her. ¡°How the fuck did you know my name?¡± he shouted. He believed. He¡¯d wanted her to be telling the truth, for some unknown greatness to await him and him alone, and he had spelled out his own name with that hope. ¡°If you really thought that was me, you would kill me right now.¡± She watched the knife out of the corner of her eye. If he lunged for it, she had a chance of reaching it first. What difference this would make against his strength, it was hard to say. Ivan demanded, ¡°What is it? Magnets?¡± ¡°You set up the board yourself. You looked through the chest. There is no trickery here. You know this is true.¡± ¡°Fuck. Fuck,¡± he said again, but the anger had gone out of his voice. ¡°May I call you by your name?¡± He turned to stare at the board lying at an odd angle on the floor. ¡°You might as fucking well.¡± ¡°Ivan. This is the most important night of your life. Take your time. Gather yourself. The spirits have waited for you already, and they will wait with patience now. We don¡¯t have to resume until you¡¯re ready.¡± ¡°W-what did you say your name was?¡± She let herself smile this time. ¡°Cameron. Call me Cam.¡± ¡°You always been like this, Cam?¡± ¡°Pretty much. My mother died when I was fourteen. My father tried to comfort me by holding seances to contact her. He was a strange one,¡± she added, his memory melancholy and bitter on her tongue. ¡°Then he held them for himself. Found other people who believed. We were with them for a long time. I left ten years ago, but he stayed.¡± ¡°I got a dead mom, too.¡± It wasn¡¯t exactly sympathetic. Just a statement of fact, relevant to the conversation, with no real emotion attached. ¡°I¡¯m sorry to hear that.¡± In a fit of gallows humor, Cam thanked her own mother for having died. Common ground wasn¡¯t always so easy to come by. The thought crossed her mind that Ivan might have been the reason his mother died, but she had to set it down to carry on. Cam gave him a minute or so of silence. Then, carefully, she asked, ¡°Since we¡¯re regrouping, would you mind if I used the restroom?¡± Ivan waved her off. In a state of disbelief, Cam stood up and took slow, light steps toward her bathroom, ready for him to change his mind. The few seconds before she crossed the threshold and closed the door stretched impossibly thin, holding her captive in the anxious certainty that he would make a move. Her thumb on the lock felt like the center of the universe. She pressed, and with that, every ridiculous, reckless, unhinged thing Cam had done that day paid off. Even if he tried to break the door down (he certainly could), he wouldn¡¯t be fast enough to stop her. She had the text written and ready to send within seconds. Cam plucked the spool of fishing line out from her sleeve and set it on the bathroom sink. She was stalling. Righteous anger flushed her cheeks, filled her eyes with tears as her need to survive the next millisecond tapered and the reality of Ivan¡¯s original intentions for her finally broke through. How dare he? Whatever the justice system had in store for him could never repay the terror and the violation he had subjected her to. Cam would never feel safe in her apartment again. It was a miracle of self-medication and secondhand therapy from Birch that she¡¯d scraped together any sense of security at all after the adolescence she¡¯d had. Her long afternoons hunting bookstore basements to fill her shelves, her slow mornings in the hammock, the cast iron pans she had rescued and re-seasoned- what right did this man have to take the small comforts she¡¯d recovered away from her? She reminded herself with a fresh rush of rage that he¡¯d meant to take much, much more. Her finger hovered over the send button. It was too good for him. That aside, was she really going to hand his punishment over to people who hadn¡¯t had to find him hiding in wait for them in their own closet? His future judge, the jury, the lawyers, none of them had needed to swallow the absolute fact of their imminent death and carry on talking as though it meant nothing. And then what? He hadn¡¯t laid a finger on her, in the end. If he¡¯d killed others, and she had no doubt of that, would they find the evidence to prove it? So, a few years in prison for him, maybe? A lifetime of looking over her shoulder for Cam. He wouldn¡¯t get what he deserved. None of the others had. Cam left the message as a draft. Her lighter was still in her pocket. She flushed the toilet and removed her wig, hiding it under the sink. The unopened jar of burn gel still sat in her medicine cabinet. Turning on the tap, she took out the gel and applied a generous amount to her scalp. Cam used the back of a comb to taper the edges of the gel on all sides. The faucet hid the sound of her striking her lighter. She held it in front of her face, watching herself in the mirror, and shouted, ¡°Ivan!¡± ¡°What?¡± ¡°Get the board! We never closed the door between the living and the dead! You have to-¡± She cut herself off and pushed her soap dispenser onto the ground with a satisfying crash. As Ivan scrambled in the other room, she could just barely hear him saying, ¡°Shit.¡± Cameron lit her scalp on fire. Chapter Five ¡°I have the board,¡± Ivan yelled from the living room. ¡°What do I do?¡± With one final check that she really meant to go through with this, Cam opened the bathroom door and stepped out wearing a magnificent crown of flames. Ivan had the board in one hand, his other reaching for the planchette. He looked up at her and dropped it as he screamed, ¡°Fuck!¡± ¡°CHOSEN ONE,¡± Cam intoned. Her ¡°possessed¡± voice was mediocre- Seo Jun was the one you wanted for a possession bit- but she trusted the fire to make up for that. ¡°YOU WILL BE REBORN TONIGHT. A NEW AND GLORIOUS EXISTENCE AWAITS YOU. THIS VESSEL-¡± Cam touched her chest to indicate herself- ¡°WILL GUIDE YOU. LISTEN WELL.¡± He knelt by the chest, frozen in place, silent. ¡°WILL YOU ACCEPT THIS HONOR?¡± ¡°I¡­ Y-yes, I accept.¡± Ivan got himself to his feet and announced a little louder, ¡°I accept.¡± ¡°GOOD. WE WILL SEE YOU SOON.¡± Cam let her body go limp. She didn¡¯t have the training to fall without hurting herself, but took the poor landing in stride. A bruised elbow didn¡¯t mean much in the context of what she had already escaped. ¡°Are you¡­?¡± Ivan stuttered. ¡°Hey. You alive?¡± She shuddered and opened her eyes, whispering, ¡°What happened?¡± ¡°Your, uh. Your head,¡± he told her, pointing at his own. As though just noticing the dwindling fire on her scalp, Cam yelped, gripped her temples, and ran into the bathroom. She turned on the shower to douse the flame. Taking advantage of the chaos, she wiped the remaining gel from her head with a hand towel before Ivan could take notice of it. ¡°Your hair,¡± he said from the doorway. Cam turned to face him, feeling her scalp for any injuries or remaining gel. ¡°It¡¯s gone! How long was I on fire?¡± ¡°I don¡¯t know. A minute. Two. You should be fucked up- your whole head was on fire. You don¡¯t even look hurt.¡± Confident that she had removed enough evidence of the gel, Cam asked him, ¡°Will you turn on the light?¡± He did so. ¡°Holy shit. No burns?¡± Cam looked herself over in the mirror. ¡°That was no ordinary fire. What happened, Ivan?¡± ¡°You were talking weird. You hear yourself out there?¡± ¡°No. It was the spirits.They took advantage of the open door and spoke through me. What did they say to you?¡± ¡°Said you were supposed to guide me.¡± ¡°I have. I connected you with them. Did I do something wrong? Were they angry with me?¡± ¡°No, they said I would be reborn, and you would guide me,¡± he explained, something like excitement creeping into his voice. Cam sat on the edge of the bathtub. ¡°I see.¡± ¡°You know something about that?¡± ¡°They want you to ascend. To reach immortality. I know about it, yes.¡± Cam made what eye contact she could with the mask. ¡°My father taught me the ritual.¡± ¡°What kind of ritual we talking about?¡± ¡°You prepare your spirit for the transformation. There are three steps. Expansion, balance, and transgression. You start by learning or experiencing something you never have before, something that changes how you see the world or yourself.¡± The author''s content has been appropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon. ¡°Yeah, we can go ahead and check that one off.¡± Cam smirked. ¡°I suppose we can. Next, you reset. Meditate. Do yoga. Listen to classical music. Anything that brings you back to a centered place. You¡¯re practicing your transformation, understand? Practicing how to become someone different without losing your essential self.¡± Ivan leaned against the doorframe and crossed his arms. ¡°That what happens if it goes wrong? I lose myself?¡± ¡°You can.¡± He scratched his neck, reaching under his mask a little. ¡°You were right about me. Been a shit life. I overcame a lot.¡± With a knowing nod, Cam tried to determine from which of her generalizations he¡¯d drawn this specific fact. She¡¯d speculated earlier that he might once have been meek. Perhaps the thing he¡¯d overcome was his own sense of basic human decency. She inferred, ¡°You¡¯re strong enough for this.¡± ¡°Go on. What¡¯s after balance?¡± ¡°The final step is transgression.¡± Ivan let out a loud, short laugh, rocking in place. ¡°Shit, Cam. Pretty sure we can cross that one off, too.¡± At first, Cam assumed he was making fun of her. Then it hit her- his posture, his tone, the genuine mirth in his laugh. Ivan was being friendly. He thought they were friends. A quarter of an hour ago, he¡¯d been ready to end her life, and now he had the audacity to believe that the two of them were on good enough terms to joke about that. ¡°Well,¡± Cam said lightly, ¡°it¡¯s not quite like that. The kind of transgression we¡¯re talking about isn¡¯t against society or God or anything external. It¡¯s against yourself. In order to overcome your current state, you have to be willing to betray it in some way. To do something that goes against your very nature.¡± Ivan took this in with an uncomfortably long silence. ¡°Alright,¡± he said at last, straightening and grabbing the top of his ski mask. He pulled it off and ran a hand through his tousled black hair. ¡°Let¡¯s get started.¡± Cam stood. Seeing his ordinary face, angular and pale, his five o¡¯clock shadow, his arrogant half-smile, and his small, tired eyes, she wanted nothing more than to attack. Elbow him in the nose, claw his eyes, punch his throat until he was a swollen wet lump on her bathroom floor. Instead, she smiled. ¡°Balance, then. We¡¯re going for a walk.¡± ¡°A walk?¡± He stepped aside to let her out of the room. ¡°Will that do it?¡± ¡°Do you like the rain, Ivan?¡± Cam opened her closet to pull out a pair of hiking boots and ski pants. She pulled the pants on over her shorts to keep her legs dry. Joining her in the living room, he said, ¡°Doesn¡¯t bother me.¡± As she tied her shoes, she asked him- asked herself, really, ¡°Are we committing to this?¡± ¡°Already did.¡± ¡°Fully?¡± ¡°Seen some shit tonight. I¡¯m in. All the way.¡± Cam got up, took out her phone, and turned it off. Her movements could potentially be traced via her phone pinging cell towers if she kept it on. The extra minute it would take power it up again might be a matter of life or death, if it came down to that, but Cam agreed: ¡°I¡¯m in, too. Are those shoes any good?¡± She nodded at his boots. ¡°Sure.¡± ¡°It¡¯s a long walk.¡± Ivan raised an eyebrow, but he affirmed, ¡°They hold up. How long we talking?¡± ¡°We should get there¡­¡± Cam craned her neck to see the microwave clock, and Ivan followed her line of sight. ¡°Midnight, maybe.¡± She slipped on a long rain jacket. ¡°Okay. Real long walk. Eat something first, yeah?¡± He spoke in a purely practical tone, but Cam was once again taken aback. She grabbed the shopping bag of snacks she¡¯d bought earlier and shoved it into the backpack she¡¯s meant to take camping, which was already loaded with water bottles. ¡°Put this in there.¡± Ivan handed her his mask. She didn¡¯t like the thought of any stray hairs getting into her bag, leaving evidence behind, but couldn¡¯t think of a reason to refuse. ¡°Anything else?¡± ¡°We avoiding or attracting attention tonight?¡± ¡°Avoiding.¡± ¡°Hat, then.¡± Ivan stepped by her and plucked a grey beanie from a hook on the inside of the closet door. He¡¯d probably noticed it while lying in wait for her. She took the hat from him and put it on. ¡°Ditch the gloves.¡± ¡°Right.¡± Ivan slipped them off, tucked them into a pocket on the inside of his jacket, and patted himself down in search of anything else amiss. ¡°We need to close the door?¡± Confused, Cam eased the closet door shut with her foot, but realized before she said anything stupid that he was talking about the door between the living and the dead. ¡°No. We wouldn¡¯t usually leave it open, but it will make the ritual easier for us.¡± She waved him out the front door. Cam acknowledged the possibility of simply shutting and locking it behind him, but followed him outside without giving it any serious thought. Chapter Six Ivan looked around her porch as Cam locked up. He lifted the fake plant under her mailbox and shook it, rattling the spare key inside its hollow pot. ¡°You weren¡¯t lying about leaving a key for me,¡± he said with mild surprise and a hint of a smile. ¡°That¡¯s not how you got in?¡± ¡°Just picked the lock.¡± Ivan set the plant back in its place. ¡°You should upgrade. It wasn¡¯t hard.¡± The rain had let up for the moment, but the sky remained ominous. Cam reckoned the sunset was still two hours out. She wanted more darkness while they walked out in the open. But they would reach the cover of trees soon enough, and anyway, she had other matters to focus on. For one thing, it wouldn¡¯t take much to recognize her even without one of her wigs. She hunched forward a little, trying to adopt a slouched posture. For another, Ivan had a slow, unbothered gait her nervous energy threatened to outpace every time her attention shifted. The last thing she wanted was to have him walking behind her. Ideally, she¡¯d have him in front, where she could keep a constant eye on him. Study his movements and body language closely. But he didn¡¯t know where they were going. He wasn''t asking, either. Cam wondered if this was a sign of his total faith in her, or of an indifference. His plans for how the night would end might not have changed. There was every chance he¡¯d only decided to go along for the ride so far to make her believe she still had hope of surviving. To toy with her. After walking in silence for the better part of a half hour, they left the sidewalk, wading across tall grass and thick mud to reach the line of tall young pine trees that was the forest¡¯s edge. The same forest Cam had meant to camp in that weekend, the same one her mother had brought her to countless times, albeit on the opposite side. She laid a palm on the first tree she came across and inwardly gave thanks for their shelter and concealment. Cam stretched her back. She slid her bag off to take out a bag of mixed nuts and a water bottle. Her hand brushed the hard bone attached to Ivan¡¯s mask, and she suppressed a shudder. ¡°Want any?¡± ¡°Already ate,¡± he said. ¡°I¡¯d take some water.¡± ¡°Biggest compartment,¡± she said, handing him the backpack. Cam took a long drink, shoveled three fistfuls of mixed nuts into her mouth, washed it down with more water. ¡°What do you think of the woods?¡± He finished taking a drink. ¡°These woods, or any woods?¡± ¡°Any.¡± She took her bag back and picked up the pace, waving him to keep up. ¡°Never thought about it.¡± ¡°It¡¯s a place of tremendous spiritual energy. We would do well to observe and absorb it as much as we can. This is where we seek balance, Ivan. You¡¯re here to return to yourself after the revelations you¡¯ve had tonight. So then,¡± she said with an inviting smile, ¡°why don¡¯t you tell me who you are?¡± He shrugged at first, then met her eyes with a look of remembering to take things seriously. ¡°What do you want to know?¡± ¡°Let¡¯s start with how we got here. We can work backwards from there. How did you come to be inside my apartment this afternoon?¡± ¡°Saw you on the train. Monday afternoon- no, Tuesday. Followed you home.¡± Cam focused on her breathing as he went on, ¡°Wednesday and Thursday you left the same time, came home pretty much the same time. Easy. Friday, today, you left, I broke in and waited. Should¡¯ve known something was up the first thing you said when you found me.¡± She honestly couldn¡¯t remember. Cam was too disturbed by the image of him hiding in her apartment for the better part of six hours, waiting for her. He¡¯d just said he already ate. He¡¯d eaten her food. ¡°When you told me the spirits expected me to come earlier,¡± he clarified. Cam had actually said the spirits were expecting him at a different time, but Ivan had since rewritten it in his mind to match what he knew. She simply nodded. Ivan explained, ¡°I was gonna do this yesterday. Got roped into something before I could get in. So, what, yesterday you knew I was late? Or did you think it wasn¡¯t happening?¡± ¡°I thought I¡¯d done something wrong,¡± she improvised. ¡°Upset the spirits, made them change their mind.¡± ¡°Bad feeling,¡± Ivan guessed. ¡°You been expecting me a long time? When¡¯d you first know all this, I mean?¡± At length, Cam answered, ¡°I¡¯ve been preparing for this night for years. I didn¡¯t know exactly what would happen, and I didn¡¯t know anything about you. The spirits only give me what information I need when I need it. But I knew I was being called to something.¡± With a small nod, Ivan began to look around them, his expression unreadable. Her vagueness seemed to be losing him. It was time to start getting into specifics if Cam wanted to keep up a compelling performance. Letting his mind wander, giving him time to think over everything that had happened so far, could get her killed. ¡°I¡¯m going to tell you a story. Storytelling is an excellent way to seek balance.¡± Love what you''re reading? Discover and support the author on the platform they originally published on. ¡°I¡¯m listening,¡± he said unconvincingly. ¡°I told you before that my mother died when I was young.¡± Ivan turned back to her, his attention piqued. He wiped rainwater from his forehead and watched her with interest. ¡°My father, he didn¡¯t do very well alone. He¡¯d spent most of his life in a relationship of some kind. So it was only a few months after she passed when he brought home a boyfriend. And I was happy for him. Things were so different, remember? It would have been around 2006 or 2007. Not that it¡¯s easy now, but the homophobia was everywhere then. I was really proud of him for coming out as bi and living authentically. It hurt, too, so soon after Mom was gone, but I ignored how I felt and just wanted to be supportive.¡± To her surprise, Ivan was still listening. Cam went on, ¡°It started out great. Dennis, the boyfriend, he was charming. A little older, funnier, more confident than Dad. A stabilizing presence. Really nice to me. He didn¡¯t even judge me when he found me holding a seance to talk to my mom. Dad had stopped doing them with me, so I¡¯d been holding my own in secret, and I thought I was in so much trouble when Dennis caught me. I begged him not to tell my dad.¡± Cam paused as they passed through a particularly thick patch of trees, navigating the tangle of branches clawing at her coat sleeves. The rain picked up as the trees thinned out again. She readjusted her hat, waited for Ivan to catch up, noted how dark the sky had grown beyond the canopy. ¡°I wasn¡¯t in trouble,¡± she resumed telling her story and walking at the same time. ¡°Dennis encouraged me to tell my dad, helped me do it. Then he suggested that we all do a seance together. I was so happy. I¡¯d done everything I could to avoid talking about Mom because I thought I would hurt Dad¡¯s new relationship. Dad seemed like he was really touched by it, too. I think he¡¯d been worried about bringing her up for the same reason.¡± Ivan snapped his head in the direction of a sudden crash of leaves, unzipping his jacket. Preparing for a fight, she guessed. Cam told him, ¡°One squirrel always sounds like ten different animals fighting each other. It¡¯s amazing.¡± ¡°A squirrel?¡± he asked incredulously, laughing at himself. ¡°Thought a cougar was gonna jump out.¡± ¡°Doubtful.¡± Cam saw no reason to let him feel entirely comfortable. She added, ¡°Remember, too, that the veil between the living and the dead is thin around us. There is much that may stir here tonight.¡± He put his hands in his pockets and nodded. ¡°Our little ouija board sessions had been therapeutic for us, me and Dad,¡± Cam picked up where she left off. ¡°We didn¡¯t really expect Mom to answer. We would just say all the stuff we wished we could tell her and move the planchette around for each other, spelling out sweet things like ¡®I love you¡¯ and ¡®I¡¯m still with you¡¯. But our seance with Dennis was¡­ different.¡± An old logging trail came into view, and Cam brought them to it. In better weather, she might have avoided even this seldom-used spot, but the rain would discourage most people from walking through the woods tonight. ¡°Mom answered us,¡± Cam recounted. ¡°Really answered. She used her pet name for me and everything. Dad looked at me like I was in trouble, but he could see right away that I was genuinely scared. And I think it scared Dad even more. We said goodbye on the board and locked it away. ¡°But neither of us could leave it alone for long. We held another seance. When Mom answered again, Dad started crying like I¡¯d never seen before, not even at her funeral. Dennis comforted him through it. I felt bad for not crying, too. It made me realize that I didn¡¯t believe like he did. I wanted to, desperately, but something was wrong and I couldn¡¯t force myself to ignore it. Why now? We¡¯d reached out to her so many times before. Dennis was the only change. She¡¯d said a couple of things he shouldn¡¯t have known, and even more than I wanted to believe she was talking to us, I didn¡¯t want to believe Dennis would do something like that. I mean, to what end? To try to make us feel better? But it would be so, so much worse to believe in a fake version of her than to grieve the real one. I decided to test her.¡± Cam paused to roll her neck and shoulders. ¡°How are you doing? Do you feel a sense of balance returning to you?¡± ¡°Don¡¯t think so,¡± he said. ¡°What¡¯ll it feel like?¡± ¡°It¡¯s familiar in a very pleasant way, like coming back to a place that you love.¡± ¡°No,¡± he chuckled, ¡°can¡¯t say I feel that.¡± ¡°How are your feet?¡± ¡°Fine.¡± ¡°No blisters? Water in your boots?¡± It was a good excuse to look him over. His body language hadn¡¯t changed, he still held a glint of curiosity in his tired eyes, still kept pace with her. She didn¡¯t trust any of it. Ivan shook his head. ¡°Getting dark,¡± he observed. Taking out two flashlights from her bag, Cam warned him, ¡°It gets darker. More than you think out here.¡± Ivan immediately turned on the flashlight, though it wasn¡¯t doing much just yet. ¡°Stronger than you look,¡± he mumbled. ¡°What?¡± ¡°Heaviest fucking flashlight they sell,¡± he laughed. ¡°Carrying these around, and your bag¡¯s packed like we¡¯re living out here from now on. You¡¯re stronger than you look.¡± ¡°Thanks,¡± she said, vastly uncomfortable with his friendliness. As far as she knew, these were just the flashlights one used while camping. Was he trying something on her? Trying to charm her, at this juncture? ¡°So. I set out to put the spirit of my mother to the test.¡± ¡°Right.¡± ¡°But I couldn¡¯t make it obvious. I didn¡¯t think Dad would let me, if he knew. Besides, I hadn¡¯t decided yet whether I would even tell him if I found out it was all fake. That was too much to think about. I settled on a simple question. I would ask her if she knew what happened to the heart pendant Dad had given me for my birthday. See, I¡¯d broken the latch, and I felt so terrible that I begged her not to tell my Dad. Mom was going to get another chain for me. She died before she got around to it. But I would play it off like I¡¯d lost the necklace and wanted her to help me find it. My real mom would know that wasn¡¯t true. She¡¯d tell me where she¡¯d hidden it. I thought I was being pretty clever,¡± Cam said with a bitter half-smile. ¡°For a kid,¡± Ivan said. ¡°Maybe. Dennis saw right through me, though. Halfway through our next seance, I asked my question, and the planchette started behaving strangely. It went around the board in circles. I¡¯ll never forget the panic on my Dad¡¯s face when he asked what was happening. Dennis said we¡¯d lost the connection. Things got pretty dark after that. Dad would hardly speak. I felt responsible for hurting him, but at the same time, I knew for certain then that it had all been fake. And Dennis knew that I knew.¡± At the sound of footsteps ahead, Cam halted. Ivan stepped in front of her, taking a protective stance, and they watched a young woman round the bend along the path. Chapter Seven ¡°Hey, bro,¡± Ivan called out, his tone relaxed and affable. ¡°You lost?¡± He sounded for all the world like a sweet-natured stoner in the quiet corner of a party. ¡°No,¡± she answered with a nervous laugh. She couldn¡¯t have been older than eighteen. A timid teenager, but not unfriendly. ¡°Just out clearing my head.¡± ¡°Right on,¡± Ivan said. ¡°We passed some campers a mile back and they¡¯re waiting for their friend to show up. You seen anyone else out tonight, man?¡± ¡°No, nobody.¡± Cam wasn¡¯t sure what was happening; she kept her mouth shut and stayed behind Ivan, hoping the girl couldn¡¯t see her very well. ¡°Alright. Thanks, and¡­¡± he gently extended an open hand. ¡°You good? You alone out here?¡± Cam¡¯s pulse picked up. ¡°I¡¯m good. Thanks, bro.¡± She gave a teasing little smile when she imitated him. ¡°I walk here all the time.¡± ¡°Good,¡± Ivan said, taking something out of an inner pocket in his jacket. Cam stepped between the two, telling the girl sternly, ¡°Go home. It¡¯s not safe walking in a secluded place alone at night. You¡¯re old enough to know that.¡± Ivan put a hand on Cam¡¯s shoulder and whispered, ¡°This isn¡¯t smart.¡± She hissed back at him, ¡°I¡¯m your guide. Let me guide you.¡± He backed off. Taking a brave but shakey step forward, the young woman asked, ¡°Are¡­ are you good?¡± Cam put on the steadiest voice she could muster. ¡°I¡¯m fine,¡± she said evenly. ¡°I just don¡¯t want you to ever go through what I¡¯ve been through.¡± ¡°Oh. What-¡± ¡°Just get home safe, okay?¡± After looking Ivan and Cam over for a moment longer, she nodded and turned around to head back the way she came.The two of them stood in still silence until they could no longer hear her footsteps. Ivan sighed, shaking his head at Cam. ¡°Thought you wanted no witnesses.¡± ¡°I never said that,¡± she snapped. ¡°Didn¡¯t have to. Been walking right along the highway most the night. We could¡¯ve driven, easy. Only reason you¡¯d be dragging us through the sticks like this is you didn¡¯t want your car spotted, didn¡¯t want us spotted. Yeah?¡± Closing her eyes against the dizzying realization that he¡¯d been paying closer attention than she hoped, Cam said, ¡°There are more important things at stake.¡± She forced herself to take a better look at his hand, at the thing he¡¯d taken from inside his jacket. A hunting knife. The blade alone might have been five or even six inches long. Its handle looked to be made from a deer¡¯s antler. He really was going to kill that girl. ¡°You good?¡± Ivan asked, eyes unnervingly fixed on her. Cam couldn¡¯t be sure if she heard mocking in his tone, or if she imagined it. ¡°We¡¯re in the balance phase of the ritual,¡± she asserted, fighting to regain some sense of control. ¡°Taking a life at this time would have completely disrupted everything. You almost threw the entire ritual off the rails, and the spirits don¡¯t always give second chances. It just wasn¡¯t worth the risk. You have to trust me.¡± They weren¡¯t far now. Another hour, maybe, to reach the cabin. Cam couldn¡¯t let it all fall apart so close to the end. Putting his knife away, Ivan said, ¡°Message received. Back to balance.¡± They moved a little ways off the path and carried on. Cam wished she felt more certain he was still buying it. She asked herself what the hell she was even doing out here. That girl could have died- she very nearly did- and Cam knew it would have been her fault. She had thought she understood her situation. Seeing how quickly Ivan could go from friendly chatter to cold-blooded murder, it was all too clear she didn¡¯t. He could turn on her in a matter of seconds. Even if calling for help back in her apartment bathroom hadn¡¯t saved her life, at the very least she would have been the only one in danger. And she had been in danger. The entire time. All that relief when Ivan had put down the knife, and he¡¯d had another one in his jacket. Why take one of hers in the first place? Wrapping her arms around herself, Cam guessed that killing her with something that belonged to her must have been part of the whole thing for him. Ivan had rituals of his own. On second thought, she¡¯d never been the only one in danger. Ivan wouldn¡¯t have stopped after he was done with her. Cam wasn¡¯t just saving herself tonight; she was saving every woman he would have killed after her. ¡°Tell me about yourself, Ivan,¡± Cam broke their silence. ¡°This part of balancing?¡± ¡°It could be. If it helps you get centered. A little small talk on a pleasant evening- sure.¡± ¡°Not very pleasant.¡± He was back to teasing her, and it made her stomach churn. ¡°Depends on who you ask. I¡¯m in my element.¡± ¡°I like the dark,¡± Ivan allowed. ¡°Like it dry better.¡± It had indeed grown properly dark by then. ¡°Did you always prefer night to day?¡± ¡°Don¡¯t know. Never thought about it. No, yeah, I guess I always liked night time. It was peaceful, everyone else being asleep.¡± The tale has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident. A towering pine they¡¯d just passed swayed in the wind, creaking loudly. Ivan halted. ¡°What¡¯s wrong?¡± she asked. ¡°You hear that? Sounded like a door. There a house nearby?¡± ¡°The creaking sound?¡± Cam watched him look around, waited to see if he would figure out what he¡¯d heard. ¡°Yeah. Just like a door.¡± She told him, ¡°It was a door. You hear the spirits moving between our worlds. They¡¯re watching you with great interest, Ivan. Let¡¯s keep moving.¡± ¡°What made you change your mind?¡± Cam gripped her flashlight, uncertain what he meant and uneasy about it. ¡°Change my mind?¡± ¡°About spirits. You said you thought Doug was faking the seances.¡± ¡°Dennis,¡± she corrected him. ¡°And he was faking them.¡± ¡°So then how¡¯d you go from fake seances to real ones?¡± Cam ducked under a tipped oak resting at an angle against the other trees as she placed where she¡¯d left off in her story. ¡°Dad didn¡¯t want to stop after Mom went quiet. Dennis left it alone at first, and I thought the whole thing would blow over. Then he started telling Dad he knew some people who could help. Psychics. Mediums. But they wouldn¡¯t work for free.¡± ¡°Promising,¡± Ivan chuckled. ¡°It was a parade of con artists. It¡¯s hard to say even now, and he¡¯d never admit it, but I think Dad knew long before he ran out of money. The worst part came when one of the psychics contacted Dad directly to offer another session, and the price tag wasn¡¯t half what we¡¯d been paying. Dennis had been arranging everything up to then and taking most of the money for himself.¡± ¡°You get any of it back?¡± ¡°Dad was too proud. He broke things off with Dennis, who just disappeared.¡± As honest as she was being, Cam skipped the part where she¡¯d been more hurt by Dennis leaving without saying goodbye to her than any of the rest of it. She¡¯d still believed that some part of him had genuinely cared about their family. Self-disgust tinged her words as she went on, ¡°We never went back to normal. Dad still believed. He sought out others. Found a group of genuinely faithful. They were nothing like the frauds- they were dedicated, intense¡­ scary. And they dealt with darker things than human spirits.¡± ¡°Am I understanding this right? You joined a cult?¡± ¡°Joined or started. The lines were blurry. Dad kind of solidified the whole thing, took charge of it. And as I got older, his priorities changed. He turned his thoughts from what he¡¯d lost to what he wanted to protect. Me.¡± Taking a deep breath, Cam turned to face him. ¡°Ivan. The ritual we¡¯re performing tonight was meant for me. My father taught it to me because he couldn¡¯t bear the thought of losing anyone else. For my part, I tried for years to show him that it was all fake.¡± It was time to divert from the truth. He¡¯d asked her how she came to be performing real seances, and she¡¯d given him nothing but disbelief thus far. In reality, Cam had spent her last two years at home studying how to disprove paranormal phenomena. She¡¯d sharpened her logic, polished her arguments, practiced her speeches down to the breaths she would take while giving them. None of it mattered. The final straw came when Cam demonstrated the ideomotor effect, the unconscious movements that drove so much of their supposed contact with the other side, using her purple quartz pendant. Her father had simply snatched it from her and thrown it in the garbage disposal. She knew then that no proof would ever be enough. Cam painted a different picture for Ivan. ¡°You can¡¯t prove false what is true. The spirits made themselves known to me. They told me what I already knew: that I wasn¡¯t destined for the ritual, that they had other plans for me. My father couldn¡¯t accept this, so I ran away from him, his cohort, and their demon-worship.¡± They stepped carefully across a shallow stream with the help of a fallen maple tree, Cam wondering if she¡¯d laid it on too thick at the end there. She tried to focus on her footing; on the rare occasion she spoke about her past, it always left her shaking for a few minutes afterwards. At last, Ivan responded, ¡°Sounds like your dad really loved you.¡± She stretched her fingers wide, balled up her fists, stretched again. Cam was never quite sure it actually helped with the shaking, but it was something to do. What could she even say? Certainly, her father had felt something like love for her- a demented, selfish love that didn¡¯t care what its subject wanted or needed. And of course a man like Ivan wouldn¡¯t recognize the problem with that. A red fox saved her from having to answer. They must have stepped into its territory, causing it to let out a long, sharp scream of warning that echoed in the dark. Ivan bolted in front of her, knife out and at the ready, looking every which way for the source of the unnerving sound. She wanted to quip that he must have been used to it. Fox cries were often confused for a woman screaming. Instead, she put a hand softly on his shoulder and asked, ¡°You heard that?¡± ¡°Yeah? What do you mean? ¡®Course I heard that.¡± ¡°This is an excellent sign,¡± she said, leading him onward. ¡°That was a cry from beyond the veil. The fact that you were able to hear it speaks to your progress. How do you feel?¡± ¡°Was thinking about my dad.¡± He looked around them still, but kept his flashlight aimed ahead. ¡°Son of a bitch hated me. Mom died giving birth. Dad beat me stupid.¡± He spoke without emotion, a rote retelling that led Cam to wonder whether he was numb to it all, or simply lying in a bid to garner sympathy. Ivan went on: ¡°I understand the significance of John now.¡± Surprised to hear it come up again, Cam only said, ¡°Oh?¡± She¡¯d thought that particular play had failed. ¡°It¡¯s a different version of the name Ivan. A¡­¡± He snapped his fingers, trying to remember a word. ¡°A variant. Of Ivan. ¡®John¡¯ is the lives I could''ve had. If Mom lived, if Dad wasn''t a piece of shit, if I did things different. Other people I might''ve been. It¡¯s the idea that I could''ve been anything, and the choice I''ve got now to become something else. And I knew it, too, always knew it. Like you said. I¡¯m different, I¡¯m something more than other people.¡° He nodded to himself, satisfied with his musings. "Am I close?" "You''ve done it," Cam seized on the opportunity. ¡°This epiphany reflects a state of self-awareness and clarity. You''ve achieved balance, Ivan. All that remains of our preparations now is transgression." "Got something in mind? That where we''ve been walking all night?" "Yes. So, Ivan, how does a serial killer transgress?" He didn¡¯t answer, perhaps surprised to hear her say it out loud. Cam forged ahead, ¡°I¡¯m right, aren¡¯t I? Surely I wasn¡¯t going to be your first victim?¡± ¡°No,¡± he confirmed. ¡°Alright. Why me? You said you saw me on the train and followed me home. What was it about me?¡± ¡°Well, I got a thing for brunettes.¡± His chuckle made her skin crawl. ¡°Why ask? It was the spirits that brought us together.¡± Cam hardly had time to register frustration with herself for not taking greater care with her questions before full disgust overcame her. Her hair? Her fake hair that she¡¯d bought on a whim and planned to ditch in a week or two? That was the difference between life and death? ¡°I was wondering,¡± Cam said slowly, ¡°if there was anything that made me different from the other women you¡¯ve killed.¡± ¡°Can¡¯t think of anything.¡± ¡±This must be why the spirits chose me.¡± She left it at that, not wanting to push any further after confirming for herself what she¡¯d suspected: it was always women for him. As though there were any way out now, as though turning back hadn¡¯t fallen away as an option hours ago, Cam tended her hatred of Ivan like an engine she needed to keep herself running. There was simply no choice but to keep running, though. Chapter Eight Little passed between them for the remainder of their walk. Cam had set the pieces in place, and didn¡¯t want to risk accidentally knocking them over. Besides which, she hoped the quiet- or the vibrant lack thereof in a forest full of nocturnal life going about its business- played on Ivan¡¯s nerves, kept him alert to everything that wasn¡¯t her. Dividing his attention away from her, or at least convincing herself of as much, made it a little easier to walk beside him. When she needed to relieve herself, she put down as much distance between them as she could without losing sight of him, and kept her eyes on him unfailingly. The awkwardness of it had her giggling nervously under her breath. Her gallows humor returned, and she whispered, ¡°I bet you¡¯re just loving this, Foras.¡± Cam hadn¡¯t said the name of her father¡¯s demon out loud since leaving home. Walking back to Ivan, she asked herself: Why now? She''d spent the last ten years trying to forget she''d ever heard of a President of Hell. Given the odds of her survival had not strayed far from unlikely in several hours, Cam figured she was either hoping to defy Foras one last time, or grotesquely desperate enough to appeal to him. Perhaps she wanted both, and these two parts of her, which should have been at odds, worked together to get his vile name out of her mouth. ¡°Ready?¡± Ivan asked as she approached. Cam nodded, telling him, ¡°We¡¯re almost there.¡± And indeed, they went on no more than another five or ten minutes before the thinning trees revealed an a-frame cabin whose black roof and dark wood paneling could only be seen by a faint light coming from within. ¡°Good,¡± Cam said. ¡°He¡¯s awake.¡± ¡°Didn¡¯t expect a house,¡± Ivan admitted. ¡°No? What did you expect?¡± She held out a hand and nodded at his flashlight. Ivan handed it over. ¡°Alter, maybe.¡± ¡°The night is young.¡± She put both flashlights in her bag and took one more swig of water. In spite of seeing no cameras, she pulled her hat further down her head. ¡°Follow my lead.¡± Cam brought them to the front door and rang the bell. She heard shuffling inside, but no one answered; she gave three loud, insistent knocks. A figure darkened the door¡¯s side window as its voice rang out, ¡°It¡¯s the middle of the night.¡± ¡°Sorry,¡± Cam answered. ¡°Our car broke down.¡± She waited a beat before adding, ¡°You don¡¯t recognize me, do you?¡± The door swung open. A tall, broad man, all hair and pockmarks and toothy smile, looked down on them with delighted surprise. He straightened his t-shirt and pulled up his pajama pants as if to look more presentable. ¡°Cameron?¡± She nodded. ¡°Cam?¡± He confirmed again. ¡°Cammy? Yammy? Candied Yams? Is that really you?¡± ¡°It¡¯s me, Dennis,¡± she answered brightly this time, smiling up at him with all her might. ¡°It¡¯s been a minute.¡± ¡°Well come in, girl! What¡¯re you doing standing outside in the wet and muck like a mudskipper? Get in here, the both of ya!¡± ¡°Sorry to drop by so late.¡± ¡°What- sorry? Are you kidding? I¡¯m thrilled you¡¯re here.¡± She looked around the little cabin- a rental, pre-furnished, decorated with a charming if heavy-handed rustic flair. Much like her apartment, it was all one room, kitchen, den, couch and bed, save for the bathroom. This much Dennis had told her over the phone when he first called Con Tact a week ago. Since then, he¡¯d called three more times, giving her the address, asking her to visit, asking to visit her, calling that very afternoon when Cam had laid out her father¡¯s ritual for what she didn¡¯t realize would only be the first time that day. He hadn¡¯t mentioned all of the windows, but for one thing, why would he? And for another, who would be out there at this hour to look inside? ¡°Pleased to make your acquaintance,¡± Dennis said to Ivan. ¡°I¡¯m Dennis.¡± ¡°John,¡± Ivan introduced himself. He offered a hand, his gloves having reappeared at some point. ¡°Good of you to let us in, Sir.¡± ¡°Ha! Sir, he says!¡± Dennis smiled down on Ivan. The men had a certain charm in common, an utterly guileless demeanor, and whether the one worked on the other, she couldn¡¯t hope to guess. ¡°Is this one yours?¡± Dennis asked Cam. He walked a skillful line between teasing her and being happy for her. She¡¯d planned to claim that Ivan was a client of her business, but a boyfriend seemed far more believable. ¡°Uh huh.¡± ¡°Well, what brings you to my doorstep? Car trouble, you said?¡± ¡°Yeah. I wanted to show John my favorite camping spot. You remember the place? Where Mom used to take me?¡± This narrative has been purloined without the author''s approval. Report any appearances on Amazon. ¡°Of course. It¡¯s a great little spot.¡± Cam remembered how good it used to feel when Dennis was like this. How much he seemed to care. She said, ¡°The weather just kept getting worse. We finally decided to give up and go home, but then my car broke down. We were trying to do an off-grid thing, too, so of course neither of us had our phones. Then I remembered you were staying nearby.¡± ¡°I¡¯m just so happy you knew you could come to me for help, Cammy Yams. And happy you managed to find this place!¡± ¡°Oh, I knew it as soon as you gave me the address,¡± she lied. ¡°My friends and I rented this place out last summer. It¡¯s great, right?¡± Cam couldn¡¯t very well explain that she had dedicated to memory as much of the map surrounding the cabin as possible, that she had drawn many paths from her home to this spot, not the least of all because she hadn¡¯t even known why she was doing it. She¡¯d wanted to scare him, yes. How far that was meant to go, she¡¯d never pinpointed. ¡°Oh yeah,¡± Ivan broke in, ¡°you talked about this place. With the moose.¡± He nodded at a large oil painting of a moose hung over the fireplace. ¡°Pretty lucky for us that you were awake.¡± Cam turned back to Dennis and lowered her voice. ¡°Wait, is anyone else here? I don¡¯t want to wake-¡± ¡°Oh, no, I¡¯m all by my lonesome,¡± he assured her. ¡°Make as much noise as you like. But what can I do for you, Cam-a-lamb? Car repairs? A ride home? A place to crash?¡± ¡°For right now, I could really use something to drink.¡± ¡°You betcha.¡± He was already moving toward the kitchen as he listed off, ¡°Water? Tea? Hot cocoa, rum, erm, bad rum, but rum nonetheless¡­¡± This was Dennis. The kindest, most thoughtful man imaginable, ready to move mountains for you, able to make you feel so wonderfully important to him- until you were no longer useful. And here was Cam, lying through her teeth in a bid to appear none the wiser, and here Ivan, with his hand reaching into his jacket¡¯s inner pocket. He slid the knife out and tucked it into his belt for easier access. ¡°So what¡¯ll it be?¡± Dennis asked from the kitchen. ¡°Hot cocoa and rum,¡± she answered, buying time. ¡°You know, you haven¡¯t really told me what you¡¯re doing here.¡± ¡°That¡¯s my line! You planning to stand there dripping all night, or what? At least get out of those soaking wet clothes.¡± He was avoiding the question. Cam pressed, ¡°No, I mean why did you track down where I live and rent a cabin here?¡± ¡°But I did tell you, Yam. I wanted to reconnect.¡± He sighed, a classic Dennis maneuver for appearing to take a situation seriously. ¡°I get it. Of course you¡¯re asking. How I left things back then, it wasn¡¯t right. It¡¯s a miracle you¡¯re talking to me at all. I want to make things right, kiddo.¡± Ivan gave a little huff, the faintest cynical laugh, his sympathetic expression giving none of his skepticism away. A sincere smile was on Cam¡¯s lips before she could stop it. She pushed ahead, ¡°Where have you been this whole time?¡± ¡°Oh, you know, bouncing around. Picking up odd jobs. Trying to get my act together.¡± The microwave beeped and Dennis took a novelty mug shaped like a moose out of it. ¡°I¡¯m a programmer now. Did I tell you?¡± ¡°No, you didn¡¯t.¡± ¡°Took a course last summer.¡± He stirred chocolate powder into the steaming cup. ¡°Got a job with a tech startup in Boston. They¡¯re gonna hit it big soon. I¡¯m never going to have to worry about money again.¡± He gave a generous pour of rum and turned to face them. ¡°You won¡¯t, either. I¡¯m going to take care of you. It¡¯s the least I can do after everything I put you through.¡± ¡°That¡¯s interesting,¡± Cam observed. ¡°I looked you up when you suddenly popped back into my life.¡± She let the fake sweetness drain away from her voice. ¡°It didn¡¯t look like you had any job to me. It looked like you had a sea of ruined people in your wake. To me, Dennis, it looked just like you¡¯ve hurt every single person who¡¯s been stupid or unlucky enough to get close to you.¡± Dennis shook his head, laughing in an insulted way. ¡°Where¡¯d you get that from? Facebook? A lotta people aren¡¯t happy with the guy I used to be. Hey, I get it- I was a real slime ball back in the day. Now I guess people think they can get even by spreading a bunch of lies about me. That¡¯s something I have to live with. But look, I¡¯m different now. I¡¯m an honest man trying to carve out a little piece of happiness for himself, and maybe even right some wrongs along the way.¡± Dennis shrugged and walked into the living room, leaving the cocoa behind. ¡°It¡¯s that simple.¡± ¡°How far along are you in the ritual?¡± Cam asked him. Ivan, who had so far been observing the scene with no sign of how he felt about it, turned suddenly to Cam with surprise. ¡°What?¡± Dennis asked. ¡°Expansion, balance, transgression. How far did you get?¡± ¡°Aw, no, you don¡¯t really believe in that crap, do you? I thought you were pulling my leg. You were always the skeptic.¡± ¡°A lot happened after you left,¡± she told him. ¡°Do you know any of it? That my Dad joined a cult? Started worshiping a demon? I was still a little girl, lost and terrified. Did you know he and all the rest of them died by suicide five years ago? Do you even care? Whatever happens to people when you¡¯re done with them, does it matter at all to you?¡± Dennis put on a sympathetic face. ¡°I had no idea. Look, I¡¯m not trying to say I didn¡¯t play a part, but your Dad didn¡¯t do all that because of one bad relationship.¡± ¡°A bad relationship!¡± Cam laughed caustically. ¡°You broke him. He never recovered. But I did. I took the ruins of grief and fear I¡¯d been handed, and I turned it into a life.¡± She pulled her backpack off, opened it. ¡°And then you came.¡± Cam took out the deer skull mask, still directing her words at Dennis, but talking to Ivan, now. ¡°Came to take whatever you could from me with no regard whatsoever for the life I fought for. To walk away again without a thought for what you¡¯ve left behind, and to start it all over again with whoever¡¯s next.¡± ¡°Sweetheart,¡± Dennis whispered, putting a hand over his chest. ¡°Your dad needed help. I think you do, too.¡± ¡°What I need,¡± Cam shouted, throwing her backpack on the ground, ¡°is for none of the horrible shit I¡¯ve been through to ever happen to anyone else, ever, ever, but I can¡¯t have that. So I¡¯m taking what I can get.¡± Shoving the mask at Ivan, Cam considered that she was wrong. Maybe she was still broken. Maybe they all were, the three of them standing in that room, and their coming together could only ever end in blasphemy. ¡°It¡¯s always women, right?¡± Cam asked Ivan, turning to him. He nodded. She held a hand out to indicate Dennis. ¡°This is your transgression.¡± Ivan slipped the mask over his head as Dennis stuttered, ¡°What are you talking about?¡± He cried out when he saw Ivan take the knife from his belt. Cam clenched her jaw and prepared to fight the urge to look away. This was her choice. She needed to accept it, eyes open, for all it was. But the urge never came- not when Dennis turned to run, not when Ivan dove after him, not when she could hear Ivan¡¯s leather glove creak as he tightened his grip on the knife or when he used Dennis¡¯s own weight to tip him over or when he dropped down on top of Dennis and plunged the knife into his throat so hard, he struggled to pull it back out. The tip seemed to have caught in the floor. In the end, her lack of horror was more disturbing to Cam than the scene before her. Chapter Nine There was still work to be done. Ivan finally pried the knife free and began wiping it on the parts of Dennis¡¯s shirt not yet soaked in his blood. She told him, ¡°That is the tool of your transgression. We¡¯ll use it to complete the ritual. You¡¯ve done so well, Ivan.¡± ¡°I can feel it,¡± he said, voice muffled by his mask. ¡°Something¡¯s different.¡± As he moved to pull the mask off, Cam stopped him: ¡°Keep it on. We¡¯re so close now. You¡¯re ready. Let me see the knife.¡± Ivan started to dig through Dennis¡¯s pockets. ¡°What are you doing?¡± ¡°I keep souvenirs,¡± he explained. ¡°Something small, wouldn¡¯t be noticed.¡± He found a dime, looked it over, and put it in his front pocket as he stood. Cam¡¯s mouth went dry- she couldn¡¯t ask him for the knife again without raising suspicion- but Ivan handed it over unprompted. Now that she held it, she could see the handle wasn¡¯t made of real deer antler. It was plastic, and it pissed her off in a way she couldn¡¯t understand. Cam said, ¡°There¡¯s a tremendous psychic energy embedded in this weapon. Have you used it before?¡± ¡°First time.¡± ¡°You christened it with an act of great change,¡± she observed. ¡°This will be the perfect tool.¡± ¡°What¡¯s next?¡± ¡°We create an altar. We¡¯ll use his blood to draw the necessary seals.¡± ¡°You alright? Look like you¡¯re going to be sick.¡± Cam locked her eyes on his, daring him to try and doubt her. A sense of finality settled heavy over her. The feeling of exaltation she had gotten when Ivan first began to believe surged through her again, and she looked at him in that moment as an object fully, firmly in her possession. ¡°I¡¯m nervous,¡± Cam told him. ¡°We¡¯re undertaking something tremendous. But you and I are both capable of this.¡± He was quiet for too long. Her hand cramped around the knife¡¯s handle, the injection mold line digging into her palm; her vision swam, and a feverish disconnect from reality smeared her thoughts into a senseless blur. Ivan said, ¡°You¡¯re special, Cam. Never met anyone like you. We¡¯re meant for greatness, I believe that.¡± ¡°Yes. That¡¯s right. What you¡¯re going to do is take Dennis¡¯s blood and draw a circle on the floor big enough for you to stand in. There¡¯s space by the fireplace there.¡± Ivan dropped down by Dennis¡¯s side and stuck his fingers in the neck wound, rubbing them together as he pulled away to see how much blood his gloves had taken on. He asked, ¡°There a sponge in the kitchen?¡± ¡°Use his shirt,¡± she told him. ¡°Yeah. Good idea. Gimme the knife.¡± He held out a hand expectantly. Cam faltered, but only for a beat. ¡°We can¡¯t use this tool for anything else except the ritual. It will lose too much of the psychic energy you put into it.¡± ¡°Right, right,¡± he said, earnest and thoughtful. Taking Dennis¡¯s shirt in both hands, he worked to tear it off the dead man. Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings. Cam came up behind him slowly. Ivan was too engrossed in getting the shirt to notice her. She raised the knife with one hand, decided it best to use two, fixed her grip, adjusted her footing, steadied her breathing, and plunged the knife up to the handle just left of center into Ivan¡¯s back. He fell forward on top of Dennis. The air rushed out of him in a stifled groan. Rolling onto his side, he tried to reach around his ribs and then his shoulder, his fingers searching, but he couldn¡¯t stretch far enough to get at the weapon. Ivan shifted his head, likely trying to get a better look at her through his mask. For the first time in over seven hours, Cam was safe. That realization spilled out of her in uncontrollable laughter intercut with sharp, cathartic gasps of precious air, as though she hadn¡¯t taken a good breath all night. She sank down to her knees and held her head in her hands, stopping short just before her laughter turned to crying. There was no sense in adding her bodily fluids to the scene of the crime. ¡°I don¡¯t know how much you really believed,¡± she said to Ivan, ¡°but I hope it was one hundred percent. I hope you feel betrayed and idiotic, ashamed that you let this happen to you.¡± Ivan gargled, making efforts to speak, but unable. ¡°I¡¯m not special, and neither are you. You¡¯re selfish and egotistical in the most ordinary ways. Feeding into that was simple. You want to know something else?¡± She lifted her head to stare into the eye of the deer skull. ¡°That ritual wasn¡¯t even to prepare a person for transformation. It was to prepare a sacrifice. My father tried for months to get me to do it. Sacrifice one of his cult members to the demon Foras. Great President of Hell, who grants knowledge of herbs and precious stones, who maketh men to live long. How insane is that? The irony isn¡¯t lost on me, by the way, that the ritual did technically extend my life tonight. You still alive?¡± He¡¯d grown silent and still. ¡°Who knows, Ivan. Maybe there is some kind of afterlife. Maybe my father is there now, watching me, and maybe he can finally, finally fucking see that none of it was ever real. Maybe he can even rest in peace now.¡± She wrapped both hands around the knife handle and wrenched it free. Another rattling groan indicated he hadn¡¯t died yet, and she took advantage of that fact. ¡°I just figured out why your knife pissed me off so much. It¡¯s embarrassing. I mean, look at it.¡± She held it up to the skull¡¯s eye socket. ¡°I can¡¯t believe someone pathetic enough to own this mall ninja shit tried to take my life. You know how insulting that is?¡± She used his shirt to rub the handle down thoroughly before placing it in his hand, a small gesture to assert that Ivan had brought all of this upon himself. A sobering effect came on as her adrenaline surge finished running its course. She needed to move. Every second¡¯s delay might mean getting caught. The lighter fluid she¡¯d picked up still sat in the same bag as the snacks. Cam dug it out with one hand and patted her pockets for her lighter with the other. She doused the bodies of Ivan and Dennis with the entire bottle, save for a small trail leading to the front door. Something tugged at her mind. Something forgotten or overlooked. Should she put the dime Ivan took from Dennis back in its place? No, that wouldn¡¯t make any difference. After an inventory check- she had both flashlights, hadn¡¯t dropped any food wrappers, pocket knife, or phone- Cam pulled her backpack on and bent down to light the fire. It wavered and stuttered on its path. One foot out the door, Cam wondered if it would even reach the bodies, but it picked up speed as though understanding its purpose. Ivan and Dennis ignited with a brilliant flash and less sound than she¡¯d expected. Neither of them so much as twitched. The dime still bothered her. Halfway through telling herself to stop getting stuck on a pointless detail, she rushed to Ivan¡¯s body. He took souvenirs. He¡¯d spent the entire day in her apartment, had every opportunity to take one from her. Undeterred by the fire, Cam shoved him onto his back and searched the pocket she¡¯d seen him put the dime into such a short time ago. Her spool. The little plastic sewing spool she¡¯d loaded with fishing line, the one she¡¯d ditched by the sink earlier that night. Ivan must have taken it in the few moments she¡¯d left him alone in the bathroom. She fell backwards and scrambled away from the growing flames, unnerved by nearly missing what might have turned into an important piece of evidence. Who else kept fishing line on a sewing thread spindle? If only to snap herself out of it, Cam said out loud, ¡°It would have melted, anyway.¡± She pocketed the spool and quickly checked her hands for burns, finding none. ¡°Go, you idiot.¡± Cam returned to the forest. Chapter Ten A two hour hike brought her to her original destination for the weekend: the patch of old growth forest where her mother had taken her camping as a little girl. Cam built a stick shelter among the oaks. She ate as many powdered donuts as she could fit in her mouth at once, then hung her food high off a distant branch to keep any passing hungry bears from finding her. She found a space blanket tucked away in the bottom of her supplies, set the backpack up as her pillow, and laid herself down in her shelter to rest. Cradled by the dark, the dwindling rainfall, frogs calling across a nearby pond, and rustling of nocturnal predators on their last patrols before it was safe for the crepusculars to emerge, Cam replayed the events of the last twenty four hours until she fell asleep. The lack of police officers surrounding her when she woke genuinely surprised her, as did her absence of bruises. She¡¯d landed hard when pretending to faint. But nothing ached- not her arm, not her back after sleeping on the hard ground, not even her overworked feet. All she could feel was the wonder and gratitude of having woken up. By the sun¡¯s position, Cam guessed it was nearly noon. She watched her surroundings expectantly while seeking out what dry wood she could find tucked away from last night¡¯s rain under thick tree cover and heavy bush. It wasn¡¯t until well after she had the fire going that Cam began to wonder if no one was coming for her after all. Her sense of calamity ebbed, and the life she had fought so desperately to save needed returning to. Cam stuffed her rain jacket and ski pants in with the rest of her camping supplies. She took her time walking home, picking porcelain berries and chewing wild mint leaves along the way, not arriving at her apartment until a little after eight in the evening. She stayed in her doorway for a long time. The closet door stood open. No one waited for her inside. The ouija board and planchette lay on the floor, stuffing peaked out from the stabbed arm of her sofa, her chef¡¯s knife sat on the antique chest, and the smell of old sweat hung in the air. Cameron set about fixing each of these with the care of tending to a loved one. Incense, an iron-on patch of a UFO for the sofa, a vinegar cleaning solution for scrubbing down every surface she could reach. She needed the space to feel like hers again. On Sunday, she changed the locks and added a deadbolt to her door. Something shook loose in her brain when she clicked the lock in place, and her appetite returned in full. Cam had her first real meal of the weekend: macaroni and cheese with roasted broccoli and tomatoes. She made enough for lunch the next day, ate all of it, and promptly fell asleep in her window-side hammock. Dreams of pushing her hands into funeral pyres played on repeat. She woke at four in the morning and checked every inch of her apartment, testing her new locks, making certain every window was closed. Cam sat on her sofa and opened the antique chest. She¡¯d placed the ouija board back inside. Just as she had clung to it while fleeing her father¡¯s house, she kept it now- the last remaining gift from her mother. An idea struck that Cam felt silly indulging. Nonetheless, she took the board out and placed both hands on its planchette. Cam spelled out the words thank you, Mom. One final hurdle remained. If she could get through returning to work, reestablishing her routine, Cam believed she might stand some chance of moving on. She fished her brunette wig out from under the bathroom sink, combed burn gel through its strands, and set it in place on her head. It looked greasy, uncanny. Cam didn¡¯t care. Each of her fellow commuters had a sinister aspect to them that morning, and Cam watched them carefully as she rode. She didn¡¯t expect the feeling to subside any time soon. On her walk to the Con Tact office, she stopped by the convenience store and tapped on its window. Spencer glanced up. He grinned, moving to leave the counter, but Cam halted him with an uplifted palm. She raised her lighter to her head and set her wig ablaze. She didn¡¯t dare leave it on for longer than a few seconds worth of spectacle, the burn gel having been made for skin, not synthetic hair. Spencer gaped, pointing at her with greatly exaggerated awe, and Cam took a dramatic bow that let the wig slip off her head. He raised his hands over his head in applause while Cam stamped out the fire. She ran her hand over her scalp, unharmed. With a wink and a wave goodbye, she tossed the wig into a nearby trash can and continued on her way. The performance had been a cathartic one. A hint of levity entered her thoughts, and Cam opened the Con Tact office door with the beginnings of a smile. A figure sat in the dark there. ¡°No!¡± she cried out, slamming the door shut. Her thoughts crashed together: call the police, run inside and kill him, too, calm down, calm down, run away, calm down. This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there. ¡°It¡¯s Birch,¡± they shouted from inside, not for the first time. Cam shook her head. Three seconds into the work day, and she¡¯d already failed to get through it. ¡°Sorry,¡± she said, opening the door again. ¡°Sorry.¡± ¡°No, it¡¯s my fault, I¡¯m the one sitting here in the dark like a total creep.¡± ¡°What are you doing here so early?¡± She stepped inside and locked the door behind her. ¡°My neighbor had a party last night. He¡¯s still having a party. I thought I could take a nap before anyone got in. Jeez, I should have known you¡¯d be here, though. You heard about Dennis?¡± Cam slowly nodded, unsure what kind of expression to make, hoping that a blank stare would be appropriate. ¡°I saw a headline. I wasn¡¯t okay to read more.¡± Birch seemed to accept this. ¡°What can I even say. How much do you know? Do you want to know?¡± ¡°Tell me,¡± she prompted them, taking a seat at her desk. ¡°He died Friday night. Him and some other guy, and there was a fire, but that¡¯s not what did it. Well, they¡¯re not sure what happened, exactly. They¡¯ve got a kid saying there was some weird middle-aged couple in the woods that night. Not much to go on.¡± In the dark- moreover, in the eyes of a teenager- Cam apparently looked much older than she would have guessed. Ivan had nearly murdered the girl over this, a vague misidentification. Birch said, ¡°My buddy¡¯s uncle works at the station, and he said they¡¯re looking at a robbery gone wrong, but they don¡¯t know Dennis yet. I won¡¯t be surprised if he finally pissed off the wrong person.¡± ¡°Neither will I,¡± Cam said with too little emotion. ¡°You should take the day off.¡± ¡°No, I need to keep busy.¡± Birch grimaced, but nodded. ¡°Just don¡¯t push yourself, okay? I know this must be bringing up a lot of stuff for you. It¡¯s so weird that he just called here.¡± ¡°It¡¯s surreal.¡± ¡°Yeah. You said you were going to give him a scare.¡± Birch looked at her with compassion, searching her eyes. Whatever they suspected, they weren¡¯t judging her for it. ¡°It feels pretty stupid now,¡± she told them honestly. ¡°I set up the whole ritual thing. You heard me on the phone. I was going to fake a haunting at his place. He told me where he was staying. Thank god I didn¡¯t do it this weekend, right?¡± ¡°Yeah.¡± They sounded supportive, but not convinced. ¡°Well, look, the cops are probably going to want to talk to you. Anyone who knew him, I mean,¡± they added. ¡°Probably.¡± ¡°And maybe it would be better if I had gone camping with you this weekend,¡± Birch said carefully. ¡°If they do ask you questions, that is. I was home alone the whole time. Didn¡¯t see a soul. No one would know otherwise. Just, in case things seem a little hairy, from an outside perspective, with you two having a history and him just getting back into town and all.¡± An innocent Cam would tease Birch right now, she knew. ¡°You¡¯re too sweet.¡± ¡°I¡¯ll tell the others when they get in that I ended up joining you,¡± they persisted. ¡°Oh, why not. Maybe I could use someone in my corner.¡± She put her chin in her hand and said, ¡°I don¡¯t deserve you, Birch.¡± ¡°There¡¯s a lot of things you didn¡¯t deserve.¡± ¡°You might look at it that way. I was thinking about him a lot this weekend. My dad.¡± Finally taking a seat as well, Birch said, ¡°That makes sense.¡± ¡°Sometimes I wonder if he would have lived if I had stayed with him. If I could have convinced him to let go of it all with a little more time.¡± ¡°I think¡­ honestly, I think if you had stayed, you¡¯d be dead with the rest of them.¡± ¡°I probably would. It will never make sense to me, not if I live to be a thousand years old.¡± Cam gave a sad smile. ¡°But I think I understand him a little better than before.¡± ¡°People do all kinds of unimaginable things for their beliefs.¡± ¡°I¡¯m not sure people really have beliefs,¡± she said with some reluctance. Cam didn¡¯t know if the thought should be shared. But Birch waited, ready to listen, and so she went on, ¡°We have habits, we have fears, we have loyalties. We have wants and pains. I think we push all of that together in the shape of a belief system, but the seams come apart the moment any pressure is applied, and it breaks back down to these base instincts. Am I making any sense to you, Birch?¡± ¡°I¡¯d have to chew on that one,¡± they answered honestly. ¡°Maybe you and I should go camping for real. Get high and hash all this out.¡± Half listening, Cam laughed. ¡°Just say when.¡± One of her fishing line spools sat on her desk next to the blue calcite skull. She looked over her hands, remembered moving them over Ivan¡¯s burning body. Strange, she thought, that it hadn¡¯t hurt. Strange that nothing seemed to hurt. Shouldn¡¯t her wig have gotten hot when she lit it on fire? ¡°Doing okay?¡± Birch shook her out of it. ¡°Just quietly losing my mind.¡± ¡°If you¡¯re really going through with working today, and you need something to focus on, want to deep clean the seance room before today¡¯s first session?¡± Grateful for the distraction, Cam said, ¡°I¡¯m on it. You should take that nap.¡± ¡°You sure?¡± ¡°Sleep.¡± She was already on her way to the supply closet. Cam took an armload of furniture polish, all-purpose cleaner, and lavender oil air freshener to the seance room. The familiarity comforted her. This place, at least, had not been tainted. She set her bottles by the doorway and took her usual seat at the table. Cam wanted to soak in what sense of normalcy she could. It eluded her. Moving with hesitation, her better judgment slowing Cam down but not stopping her, she took her pocket knife out and opened it. It just seemed so very strange to her that she wasn¡¯t hurt. Not sore, not even tired. And after all, she¡¯d made far worse choices over the last few days than to push the blade into her soft forearm. Cam dropped the pocket knife and moved her hand over her mouth as the slit in her arm closed itself before her eyes.