All Lost Things

Book 3 of the Killian Kendall Mysteries

By Josh Aterovis
Copyright 2026

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Chapter 5

"What?" I gasped.

"Did you see the news?"

"No. What's going on?"

"Oh God, it's terrible. They're blaming Caleb. I don't know where he is, and they're asking me."

"Blaming Caleb for what? And who's blaming him?"

"The police! They think he did it, but I know he didn't."

"Asher, calm down! What do the police think Caleb did?"

"They think he killed his father."

"They what?"

"They think he killed his father. It was all over the news this morning."

"Killed him how?"

"They're not saying. Maybe in a fire, because, at first, they were just reporting that someone had died in a house fire. I recognized Caleb's yard from the footage they showed and I got worried, so I stayed home from work. Later, the report changed, saying the police suspected foul play in the death, but that's all they've said. Some cops showed up at Dad's office looking for me, and he sent them to our house. They kept asking me if I knew where Caleb was. I told them as far as I knew he was still in the group home. After they left, I called the group home and someone told me Caleb ran away yesterday. No one knows where he is."

"Slow down and back up. Did the police say they were looking for Caleb as a suspect?"

"No, but why else would they be looking for him?"

"Maybe they want to notify him of his father's death."

"Oh. I hadn't thought of that."

Another, much darker thought occurred to me. "How do you know he wasn't the one who died in the fire?" A deafening silence ensued. "Asher?"

"Oh my God!"

"Are you okay?"

"That... I hadn't even considered that. Oh my God..."

"They could simply be looking for him because he ran away from the group home. Their search may not be directly connected to the fire. Even if it is, it doesn't mean he's a suspect."

"No. Something's wrong. I just know it."

"I think you're jumping to conclusions. You have no idea who the dead body is. It could just be some random person you don't know at all."

"Caleb and his dad lived there alone. Who else would it be?"

"I don't know, Asher. I don't know Caleb, let alone his father. I certainly don't know who goes to their house. Why did you call me? What do you expect me to do?"

"I...I'm not sure. I didn't know who else to call."

I rubbed my forehead. I was starting to get a headache. "I think you should just chill out. This is probably a big misunderstanding. Somebody died in a fire. It's sad, but it may not have anything to do with Caleb. I have to go. I have work to do."

Another long silence stretched out. "Yeah, okay," he said finally, his voice very small. "Sorry to bother you."

I sighed. "You're not bothering me. It's just...I'm at work, you know? I can't talk on the phone all day."

"Yeah. Right. Sorry. Bye."

"Asher—" But he'd already hung up. I hung up, too, with another heavy sigh. That hadn't gone well at all.

I didn't recall Seth's urgent message from my dream until later that evening. He'd warned that something was going to happen the night before—something that would impact me and was somehow tied to Asher. A chill ran down my spine. Had I brushed off something more important than I realized? I quickly pushed the thought aside, chalking it up to an overactive imagination.

Playing it safe, I turned on the TV in time to catch the late new. The top story was about the fire. The anchorperson, a carefully coifed, fresh-faced young woman in a tailored tweed jacket, spoke while video from the scene of the fire rolled.

"A devastating fire has reduced a rural home to rubble in what authorities are now calling a suspicious blaze."

The house had pretty much burned to the ground. A few jagged, blackened sections of the first floor walls remained standing, but the still smoldering heap of debris was largely unrecognizable as a building. The video showed a uniformed firefighter sifting through the rubble. Police tape surrounded the area, and a few officers conferred in the background. I also noticed a barn in one shot. It seemed to have escaped the blaze untouched.

While these scenes were flashing across the screen, the reporter was saying, ""Officials have confirmed that the fire is believed to be the result of arson, and investigators suspect foul play in the death of a body discovered in the debris. The property is owned by a man identified as Ira Cohen, though the name of the victim has not yet been released. Authorities say details remain limited, but they will continue to provide updates as more information becomes available."

I turned off the TV and tried to lose myself in a book. Although it was by one of my favorite authors, it couldn't keep my thoughts from drifting to Asher's call and the news broadcast. It was looking as if Asher had been right, at least about Caleb's father being dead. I hoped he wasn't right about the rest of it. I didn't particularly like Caleb, but I didn't wish him ill.

After a while, I gave up on the book and just watched mindless television until my eyes grew too heavy to keep open. I went to bed and fell into a restless sleep filled with images of fire — tortured memories of the fire I'd narrowly survived myself, and jumbled images of the blazing interior of a house I'd never seen before. I snapped out of the nightmare with a jolt, sweaty and panting, to find my room filling with the soft light of morning. I glanced over at the clock and saw it was a little after six a.m. I tried to go back to sleep but it was no use. I was wide awake.

Eventually, I surrendered and got up. I dragged myself downstairs, where I was surprised and a little disappointed to find Steve in the kitchen sipping a cup of coffee. I wasn't really in the mood to make conversation.

Steve seemed equally shocked to see me at that time of the morning. "What are you doing up this early?"

"Couldn't sleep." I rubbed my eyes tiredly. "You always get up this early?"

"Most days. I enjoy the quiet time, before the rest of the world wakes up."

I dropped into a chair across from him and laid my head on my crossed arms.

"So how come you couldn't sleep? Bad dreams again?"

"Yeah, but not like before."

For months following Seth's murder and the attempt on my life, I was plagued by relentless nightmares nearly every night. But with time — and a lot of therapy — they eventually became less frequent and, finally, stopped completely.

"How long has this been going on?"

"Not long. A few months maybe, off and on."

"And you didn't say anything?"

"It's nothing. Everybody has bad dreams now and then."

Steve gave me a careful inspection, then stood up and poured me some hot coffee. "Maybe you should go see Dr. Shimura again," he suggested gently as he set the steaming mug in front of me.

"It's not like that. Really. I promise." I stirred some sugar and milk into my coffee. "You know I'd make an appointment in a second if it was. As I said, this is different. I just need to get my mind off of things, that's all."

"You sure?"

I nodded and sipped my coffee. I was starting to develop a taste for the bitter drink. I didn't think I'd ever like it, but I was beginning to see the appeal.

"Well, since you're up anyway, why don't you come with me?"

I looked at him over the rim of my mug. "Where are you going?"

"I'm going to view the house I'm thinking about buying, the one I told you about."

"Oh, right. I might not be very good company."

"So what's new?"

"Ha ha. Very funny."

"I'll take that as a yes. You can sleep on the way there. It's about an hour away."

"Where is this house?"

"Chicone"

"I've never even heard of it."

"It's very small, barely even a town. These days, it's pretty much just a handful of homes, a general store, and a post office. The house sits right on Chicone Creek, which was named after the tribe that used to live in the area. I think it's an Algonquin name. Most of the rivers in this area were named for the indigenous tribes that were located on them."

"So the river was named for the tribe, and the town was named for the river?"

"Correct."

"Sounds...rural. Will we— I mean, will you be moving there?"

"I don't know. I don't even know if I want the place yet. If I do, we'll have to work out all the details at that point." He grinned. "You know, cross that bridge when we come to it."

I frowned. A little planning ahead never hurt anybody.

"I'm going to go for my morning jog. I'll need to shower when I get back. I'm supposed to meet the real estate agent at the house at ten sharp, so be ready at eight-thirty."

"Will do."

He drained his coffee, rinsed the mug out in the sink, and left for his jog, ruffling my hair on his way out.

I must have fallen asleep at the table, because the next thing I knew I woke in a puddle of drool to the sound of Adam banging pots around on the stove.

"What time is it?" I asked, blinking away the sleep from my eyes.

"Quarter after eight. Why?"

"Oh shit!" I shot up from the table, sending my chair tumbling in the process. I righted the chair then ran out of the kitchen, leaving Adam staring after me as if I'd lost my mind.

I showered and dressed in record time and was waiting by the car when Steve came out of the house at precisely eight-thirty.

"I would have waited for you, you know," he said with a grin.

"Didn't wanna make you late."

I did sleep on the way to the house, waking up when the car came to a stop and the engine died. I was confused at first until I remembered where I was and why I was there. My mouth dropped open as I got my first look at the property Steve was considering.

"Holy crap!" Awe filled my voice. "This is the house you're thinking about buying?"

We sat parked in the circular driveway in front of an imposing estate that looked like it had been lifted straight from the glossy pages of Home and Country magazine. To call it a house would've been laughable, like calling the Atlantic Ocean a pond. This was, without question, a mansion. It rose three full stories, not including the quaint, glass-enclosed cupola that crowned the roof like a decorative flourish. The wide two-story wraparound porch seemed to embrace the entire structure, its railings lined with white spindles. Ornate gingerbread trim adorned the eaves and gables, curling and looping in elaborate patterns that gave the entire façade a storybook charm — like a Victorian dollhouse built on a grand scale.

The grounds were equally spectacular as well. The jade green lawn, liberally dotted with elegant old trees, sloped gently down to the banks of a peaceful looking creek, presumably the Chicone.

"It's a possibility," Steve said calmly. "It makes a nice first impression, doesn't it?"

"You can afford this mansion?"

"Like I said, I inherited quite a bit. Not that there would be much left afterwards."

"But this place must cost at least a million bucks!"

"That would be a bargain," he said dryly.

"You mean I've been living with a millionaire all this time and didn't even know it?"

"Guess so," he said with a grin.

"Does Adam know?"

He laughed. "Of course Adam knows."

"Why didn't anyone ever tell me?"

"You never asked."

Our discussion ended as a black Jaguar pulled up behind us.

"That must be Victoria," Steve said. "I've only talked to her on the phone. She's the listing agent for the property."

As we stepped out of our car, a woman unfolded herself from the driver's seat of the Jag and greeted us with a dazzling, practiced smile. Her skin was deeply tanned, making her bright white teeth stand out in contrast beneath a perfectly styled helmet of blonde hair. She was slim, dressed in a tailored tweed skirt and a crisp white blouse that gaped open just a bit too far, intentionally showcasing a stretch of leathery, sun-weathered cleavage.

"I'm Victoria Lecates," she said brightly, extending her hand. "You must be Steve. It's so nice to meet you. And this is?"

Steve shook her hand. "Yes, lovely to meet you, Victoria. This is my partner's son, Killian."

I took my turn shaking Victoria's hand and returned her smile.

Introductions out of the way, she swept her arm around in an all-encompassing gesture. "So, what do you think?"

"It looks nice from the outside." Steve sounded cautious.

"Trust me, it looks just as good on the inside!"

Victoria was undeniably perky, an energy I struggled with on a good day. Running on as little sleep as I was, I wasn't convinced I could tolerate it at all.

"Come on," she continued, flashing a smile so wide I could have sworn I saw her wisdom teeth. "I'll show you the house first, then I'll give a quick tour of the grounds." She spun around and bounded onto the porch with the enthusiasm of a high school cheerleader. All she lacked was the uniform and pom poms.

We followed her up the broad stairs onto the veranda. The front door was massive: deep-set paneled dark wood with an oval leaded glass insert. On either side of the door were narrow sidelights of the same leaded glass. Above the door was a transom of stained glass.

Victoria launched into her prepared introduction. "The main part of the house was begun around 1848 or '49 and completed by 1851. It's believed to have been built onto a much older dwelling that could date as far back as the mid to late 18^th century. It's quite an architectural and historical treasure."

She swung the door open to reveal a beautiful foyer. The hardwood floors gleamed with a patina that only a century and a half of use and care could create. On the right side, a wide staircase with an intricately carved balustrade rose gracefully to the second floor. A broad hallway was directly ahead, and doors opened off on each side. We stepped inside, and I immediately smelled the musty yet pleasant scent that all old houses seem to have.

We had barely cleared the door before it swung closed with a loud bang, seemingly of its own accord. We all jumped, and Victoria's perky expression faltered a little. Was it just me, or did she seem a little nervous?

"These old houses can be a bit drafty," she said with forced cheeriness.

I looked over at Steve, who had a slight smile playing around his lips. What was going on?

Victoria recovered and picked up where she had left off. "The house's original owner was Elijah Marnien. He was a successful ship captain who married late in life to a much younger woman named Amalie. The Captain had this house built just for her. Isn't that dreamy? He named the plantation Munquisock, which is the Nanticoke word for blackberries and was reportedly the natives' name for the area. There are still blackberries growing wild on the property."

I could have sworn she said it was named Monkey Sock. I found out the correct spelling later.

She continued her tour guide spiel. "The Captain and Amalie moved into the house long before it was really finished. They stayed in the sections that were livable and moved into the new rooms as they were completed. We know all this from letters Amalie sent to her sister, which were later collected into a book and printed as a bit of local history."

"Is the book still available?" I asked.

"Oh, it's long out of print, now. They may have a copy at the library. I only know what I've been told," she replied breezily, before continuing her well-rehearsed speech. "The Captain was often away at sea, leaving Amalie to spend long stretches of time alone in the house she loved so much. In the spring of 1857, he set sail once more, as he had so many times before. When he didn't return on schedule and word of violent storms reached shore, Amalie fell into despair, convinced her beloved Captain had been lost at sea. Tragically, by the time the Captain did make it home, he found his beloved wife had died — some say of a broken heart. He lived on in the house for a few lonely years before passing away himself. Isn't it just the most heartbreakingly romantic—"

The sound of a door slamming upstairs cut Victoria off in midsentence. We all looked up at the ceiling.

"Is someone else here?" I asked.

"Of course not." She said quickly. "Old houses, am I right? Anyway, after the Captain passed away, the property passed through a succession of owners. It sat empty for an extended period right after the turn of the century. A doctor named Johnson from Baltimore bought it in the Roaring Twenties, and it became quite the swinging joint for a while.

"Over time, most of the surrounding property was sold off for farmland. When the Captain bought the land, it encompassed more than five hundred acres. By the time Doctor Johnson died in 1950, he had whittled it down to its present manageable size of five acres. His son left the house vacant for a number of years, and it fell into disrepair. It was meticulously restored sometime in the '60s and again in the early '90s. As you'll see, the kitchen has had a full remodel just last year. I think you'll agree that the house is in amazing shape considering its age. And that's the history lesson! Come on, let me show you around."

She led us on a tour of the house, which was just as impressive inside as it was out. It sat on an east-west elevation, facing east. The foyer and hallway split the first floor down the center. The entire south side was a single enormous space, originally intended as a ballroom. Two grand fireplaces balanced the room, and a row of wavy-glassed windows let in plenty of light while providing an exquisite view of the back property and creek. A parlor and a library, each with its own fireplace, took up the north side.

At the rear of the house, the oldest section had been transformed into a sleek, modern chef's kitchen. Like the other rooms, it featured a fireplace, but unlike the others, this one was built solely for function, not style. Massive and commanding, blackened with the smoke of many fires, it spanned most of one wall and had once served as the primary source for cooking and baking. Gleaming stainless steel appliances and stark white now stood in striking contrast to the rough-hewn brickwork. Despite its contemporary upgrades, the space retained its historic charm, with dark wooden ceiling beams and smooth, timeworn brick flooring. The overall effect was warm and inviting, a comforting blend of past and present.

The second floor consisted of five bedrooms — three smaller rooms across the front, and two larger ones at the back. We didn't go into every room, but the ones we did look in were quite nice. The Captain had built the house for entertainment, expecting guests on a regular basis, so even the smaller rooms were open and airy with high ceilings and beautiful woodwork. The third floor, originally quarters for the live-in servants, could easily be converted into four more bedrooms.

On the third floor, Victoria paused by a smaller, paneled door set between two bedrooms. "This leads up to the cupola. Would you like to go up?" She sounded as if she was hoping we'd say no, but Steve jumped at her offer.

She opened the door and hesitated. "I really don't like going up there." She gave a nervous giggle. "There are no lights, and the stairs are so narrow. To be honest, it gives me the creeps."

"We can go up without you, if you'd rather," Steve offered.

"Oh, no. I'm just being silly." She took a deep breath and started up, Steve and I on her heels.

Victoria made an attempt to pick up where she'd left off in her sales patter, but she sounded a little breathless. "The Captain built the cupola to allow his wife to watch for his return. Back then, the forest hadn't grown up, and you could see the bay from here. She'd watch for his ship..."

Her voice trailed off as a sudden wave of unease swept over me. My skin prickled with a strange, crawling sensation, and a faint dizziness made the staircase tilt slightly. I instinctively reached for the wall to steady myself, but just as quickly as it came, the feeling vanished, leaving me wondering if I was even more tired than I thought.

The view from the tiny room at the top quickly made me forget the disorienting sensation on the stairs. Windows with dozens of small, square panes surrounded the space, and, though several were cracked, the scene beyond was still breathtaking. A simple bench had been constructed all the way around, and I could easily imagine myself sitting there for hours just watching the world pass by.

Steve interrupted my idyllic fantasy with a question that brought me crashing back to earth. "So," he asked, "tell me about the ghosts."

"The what?" I asked, as Victoria's eyes grew wide and her ever-present smile faltered.

"What have you heard?" she demanded.

Steve's eyebrows jumped up. "So it is haunted?"

"I... No, of course not!" For the first time since we'd arrived, Victoria was visibly flustered.

Steve was undeterred. "I saw some stories online but I wasn't sure if there was any truth to them."

"Every old house is rumored to be haunted," she insisted. "It's all nonsense—"

The door at the bottom of the staircase slammed shut at that moment, cutting her off and causing her to shriek.

"Nonsense, huh?" Steve asked with a smirk.

Victoria attempted a frown, though the effort was mostly lost on her Botox-smooth face. "Are you some kind of ghost hunter? This isn't a haunted house tour."

"No, not at all," Steve said quickly, flashing a disarming smile. "I'm genuinely interested in the house. Any paranormal activity would just be an added bonus."

She visibly eased, though tension still lingered in her posture. "Sorry. It's just that this place has been on and off the market for years. We've lowered the price again and again. The current owners have poured a fortune into renovations, but every time we get close to a sale, buyers back out. People get spooked—literally. The rumors about the house being haunted don't help. I just assumed you'd heard the gossip from the locals. They love to spread those stories."

"I haven't heard anything yet, but I'd love to," Steve said eagerly.

I shot him a skeptical look. Was he serious?

"What?" he asked, a little defensively. "I'm into this kind of thing."

"You actually believe in ghosts?" I arched an eyebrow.

"I believe I'm not arrogant enough to think I've got the universe all figured out," he said. "There's so much out there we can't explain with logic or science alone. There's an entire supernatural dimension we barely understand. Maybe there are ghosts — as in, the spirits of the dead — or maybe they're lingering emotional echoes, like imprints left behind by powerful memories."

Victoria held up a hand. "Just to confirm, you're still interested in the house?"

"Yes. And I'd like to know everything you know about the ghost. Ghosts? Is there more than one?"

She shook her head, visibly relieved, and maybe just a little confused. "I'm definitely not an expert. Honestly, I usually try to steer clear of the subject altogether." She took a steadying breath. "But as far as I know, there's only one ghost. Most people think it's Amalie, the wife of the sea captain who originally built the house. Locals still refer to the place as Amalie's House, and, over the years, quite a few people have claimed to see her."

"In any particular place?"

"Actually, a lot of the sightings have been right here in this cupola. The door leading up here opens and closes frequently. The townsfolk say Amalie is still waiting for the Captain to come home."

"You'd think she would have caught on by now," I said dryly.

"And is this the only place she's been seen?"

"No, one of the most documented encounters was by the wife of the man who bought the house in the mid-70s. They were the first to really update the house. From the moment they moved in, though, they heard strange noises: doors opening and closing, footsteps — the usual. She claimed that she woke up one night to see a woman standing at the foot of her bed. She screamed, and the woman vanished into thin air."

"She actually saw a manifestation?"

"So she said. Her husband never witnessed anything himself, but that didn't keep the local papers from blowing the story out of proportion. And then word spread. It was right around the time the Amityville Horror craze hit, and the public couldn't get enough of that kind of thing. For a while, the house was quite the attraction. They even had a famous psychic come to the house to give a reading. She said she felt the presence of a very sad woman, the usual vague psychic stuff."

"So what happened then?"

"Eventually, the commotion died down, and they were left with a house that nobody actually wanted to live in. It's an exciting story, but who wants to live with a ghost? There were a succession of owners, but few stayed for long, aside from one couple who seemed to get a kick out of sharing their house with a supposed ghost. They lasted thirty-five years."

"Has the ghost ever been violent?"

"Not to my knowledge."

"Do you know which room the woman says she saw the ghost in?"

"It's the primary bedroom on the second floor, I believe. It's been used as a storage room by the past few owners. No one wants to actually sleep in there."

"Can I see it?"

"Of course. Let's go back down, and I'll show you."

Most of the house stood nearly empty, with only a few stray pieces of furniture scattered about — a lone chair here, a small table there. The room Victoria led us to, however, was a different story entirely. It was packed to the brim with furniture and forgotten relics spanning generations. Brass bird cages, ornate headboards, carved picture frames, and a chair with a broken seat were just a few of the items piled high, many partially hidden beneath layers of accumulated odds and ends. Judging by the thick dust and general neglect, the room hadn't been touched in quite some time.

Steve's eyes lit up. "I just want to jump in and start sorting through everything like an archeologist...but I'll restrain myself."

"All of this would convey with the house," Victoria commented a little too casually. "You can go through it at your leisure after you become the owner."

"I haven't made any decisions yet," Steve said hastily, but he wasn't fooling anyone. "Is there anything else we haven't seen?"

"Well, there is a basement..." She sounded even more reluctant about that than she had about the cupola.

"Let me guess," he said with a teasing smile. "You don't like the basement either."

She wrinkled her nose and laughed. "I know. What kind of real estate agent am I, right? It's just that it's very dark down there, and I forgot my flashlight. There are no windows and only a single burnt out bulb. I asked someone to replace it, but no one's gotten around to it yet."

"I have a flashlight on my phone," Steve offered. "You don't even have to come down with me. I just want to take a look at it before I make any decision."

"Oh, it's in solid shape! I'm just not a basement kind of girl." She gave me a wink.

I almost said, "Neither am I," but I held my tongue.

We went downstairs, and Steve headed down to inspect the cellar. I opted to stay with Victoria. I figured if you've seen one basement, you've seen them all.

Steve wasn't down there long. After he rejoined us, Victoria led us around the grounds. During his travels, the Captain had picked up trees from all over the world. He had been determined to make his gardens the envy of the socialites of the day. As a result, the yard was full of rare and exotic specimens. Some were over a hundred and seventy years old, but many were descendants of those original plants. There were familiar species, like the enormous and dignified old magnolias and the graceful and melancholy weeping willows. Others were unfamiliar, such as an African elephant pine. The front and side yards were fairly well kept, considering no one had lived in the house for years, but part of the backyard was tangled with dense undergrowth. Chicone Creek emerged from this junglelike copse and ran a picturesque course through the side yard.

Our tour concluded back at the front of the house. In the late morning warmth, the spicy smell of boxwood filled the air. I couldn't imagine a more bucolic scene. The eerie feeling I had experienced inside the house seemed miles away.

"Well, that's pretty much it." Victoria clapped her hands together, and once again I suspected she was a former cheerleader. Her chirpy cheeriness had returned almost as soon as we'd stepped outside. "The property you saw is actually only a portion of the total acreage. It extends a ways into the forested area behind the house and across the creek. A lot of it is overgrown, but you could clear out the brush to make a wonderful recreational area with trails."

"It's a beautiful setting, no question," Steve commented. "I appreciate you meeting us out here to show us around."

"Hey, it's my job." She flashed him a sparkly smile. "And my pleasure." There was more than a hint of flirtation in her voice. Apparently, she hadn't tumbled to the fact that Steve was gay, though he had introduced me as his partner's son. Maybe she thought he meant business partner. Or maybe flirty was just her default setting.

"I'll get in touch with you if I have any more questions," Steve responded politely.

Her smile dipped a few watts at the obvious dismissal, but she recovered quickly, "Great. You have my number, right?"

"Sure do."

We stood awkwardly for another minute before she finally said goodbye. We watched while she climbed back into her car and drove away. She wasn't even out of sight before Steve whirled around, hands on hips and wearing a huge smile.

"What do you think?"

"What? Of the Bates Motel?"

"Oh, come on. It's not that bad. Look at this place! It's a once-in-a-lifetime find. And it's haunted! Do you know what that means?"

"That we've officially become characters in a horror movie — the ones the audience yells at to just leave already?"

"No, it means I can haggle on the price. I should be able to get them to bring it down considerably. I bet no one else is even interested. Although I have to admit, after seeing this place, it's already selling at an incredible price. The property alone must be worth what they're asking. And the house is in incredible shape."

"You're using the word incredible an awful lot."

"That's because it's just...incredible. This is exactly what I've always dreamed of, and as an added bonus, it has its own ghost."

"You know most people wouldn't consider that a bonus. You don't really believe this ghost thing or is it just, like...good marketing?"

"Killian, you of all people should know that there are things beyond our understanding."

I frowned. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"You're the one who told us all about Judy and her psychic powers of perception. Why is it such a big jump to believing in ghosts?"

"She's not psychic...exactly. I'm not even sure I buy that. Are we really having this conversation?"

"Think about it, Killian! How often do you get the chance to communicate with someone who's been dead for over a century?"

"Not that often, I would imagine."

"I've wanted to do this ever since I was a kid and read my first book by Poe. I'm buying this house. I can't tell you how excited I am."

He didn't have to. Enthusiasm practically beamed from him like a lighthouse beacon. I was having trouble reconciling the always calm and rational Steve, the voice of reason for our family, with this animated man standing before me babbling about talking to dead people.

He started for the car. "Let's go home. I want to tell Adam all about it and contact Victoria to see how much they'll come down on the price. Maybe we can be in here before the summer is over."

Steve talked nonstop about ghosts and famous haunted houses all the way home. I wondered how I had lived with this guy for over a year and missed his odd obsession. The more I thought about it, though, the more clues I realized I had missed. His favorite movie was The Sixth Sense, he had something of an obsession with Edgar Allan Poe, and Halloween was his favorite holiday.

My crash course in the paranormal ended when we pulled into our driveway. I followed Steve to the kitchen where we found Adam stirring what looked like the makings of a pastry crust in a large mixing bowl. I knew right away that something was bothering him. He only baked when he was upset.

Steve immediately launched into an excited room-by-room description of the haunted house.

Adam cut him off quickly. "Killian, Asher's upstairs in your room. He's been here all morning. I think he's upset."

My mouth fell open. "Asher?"

"Yes. He insisted on waiting for you."

I hadn't seen Asher since graduation. What was he doing at my house, waiting for me in my bedroom? I ran upstairs and opened my door to find Asher sitting on the edge of my bed, staring at his phone and looking quite uncomfortable. Kane was sitting with his back to him, wearing headphones and playing a game on his Switch. I got the impression that they hadn't said much to each other.

"You're back!" Asher said as he stood up.

Kane glanced over his shoulder, then paused his game when he saw me. "I'll let you guys talk," he said, also standing. He glared at Asher as he passed.

I gave my ex a questioning look. It was weird seeing him in my bedroom again. "So, uh, why are you here?"

"I'm sorry. I just didn't know what else to do. They arrested Caleb."

I blinked. "Huh?"

"The police arrested Caleb. His picture has been all over the news. Someone on the boardwalk recognized him and called the cops."

"Right..."

"Killian, they think he killed his dad. It's horrible!"

"Look, no offense, but what does this have to do with me? Why are you here?"

Asher looked hurt, and, for a second, I felt bad. Then I remembered that he was the one who'd decided to go to another college without informing me, and my moment of sympathy passed.

"I...I need help."

"What am I supposed to do?"

"You work for a private investigator. You have to prove that Caleb is innocent."

"First off, I'm a secretary. It's not like I'm running around with a magnifying glass looking for clues. Second, and more importantly, how do you know Caleb is innocent? He did run away, after all."

"I know Caleb. He'd never hurt anyone, let alone kill them."

"Not even his abusive father?"

"No!"

"So why did he run away?"

"Because he hated the group home? Because he was afraid? I don't know. I haven't talked to him since everything went wrong. Just...please, Killian, you have to help. You've solved murders before."

"Don't you find that the slightest bit hypocritical?"

"What do you mean?"

"Last year, you barely spoke to me for weeks after Aidan asked me to help Will. Just a few weeks ago, you were furious because I just wanted to work for a private investigator. Now you're asking me to take on a potentially dangerous job. I guess it's okay because you want it now, but not when I wanted it?"

"Look, you're probably right. I shouldn't be asking you, and maybe I'm a dick—"

"Maybe?"

"Fine, then I'm a dick. But I don't know where else to go. Please, Killian."

I sighed and rubbed my face. "Legally, I can't take a case. I'm not licensed."

"What about your boss?" Asher's voice had a hopeful tone. He knew he was wearing me down.

"I can't imagine he'd agree to anything like this. How would you pay him? This is his job. He isn't going to just drop his other cases to help a stranger."

"Caleb should be getting insurance money from his dad's death and the house burning down. He can pay him."

"You haven't even talked to Caleb about this yet. How do you know he even wants to hire a PI?"

"You think he wants to go to jail for murder?"

I had to concede that point.

"Look," he continued. "I know this is weird, and I don't have any right to ask you for help. I wouldn't be here if I had any other options. I'm scared, Kill. Please, please help me."

I sighed. "Fine. I'll talk to Novak, but I'm not promising anything."

"Thank you! Thank you so much!"

"Don't thank me yet. Novak could very well say no. In fact, he almost certainly will." I paused, imagining Novak's face when I brought this up. I'd need more information if he was going to take me seriously. "Tell me everything you know."

"I mean, not much, honestly. They picked Caleb up last night on the boardwalk. It was all over the news this morning, along with a new statement from the police."

"A statement?"

"Yeah, now they're saying he chopped his father up with an ax and set the house on fire to cover it up. But that's crazy..."

He kept talking, but a surge of dizziness swept over me like a tidal wave, and I sat heavily on my bed. "W-what did you say?"

Fragments of my nightmares slammed back into focus, and I felt bile rise in the back of my throat.

...a blood-covered ax dripping in my hands...

"The news said the body was dismembered before the fire was set. That's all I know."

...the split second of fear in his eyes before the ax struck for the first time...

"Killian, are you all right?"

...the feeling of pure hatred coursing through my veins...

"Killian?"

A hand gripped my arm and gave it a firm shake, snapping me back to the present. Asher hovered over me, a concerned expression on his face.

"Are you okay? For a minute there, you looked as if you were going to faint or something."

"I...I'm fine."

"Are you sure?"

"Yeah. I'm fine." I stood up. "I didn't sleep well last night, that's all. I've been having dizzy spells all day."

I could tell Asher didn't know whether or not to believe me, but thankfully he dropped it.

"So you'll look into this? You'll help me prove Caleb is innocent?"

I looked him in the eye. "Tell me one thing. Why does this mean so much to you?"

His eyes shifted away. "He's a friend."

"Is that all he is?"

"Would it matter?"

I sighed. "I guess not. Not anymore."

Asher risked a quick look in my direction. "I never cheated on you, I swear."

"It doesn't really matter one way or the other at this point."

"Killian, I—"

"You know what? I'm really tired. I think I need a nap. I'll talk to Novak on Monday and let you know what he says. Okay?"

Asher bit his lip and nodded. "Yeah. Okay. Thank you."

I sat back down on the bed and watched as Asher let himself out.

What was I thinking? I'd agreed to get involved in the murder investigation of my ex's new boyfriend.

Well, technically, I'd only agreed to talk to my boss about it. I was pretty sure he'd say no, but still, I had to be crazy to even consider it.

Then there were my dreams. Was it just a coincidence that I'd been dreaming about an ax murder and Caleb was accused of killing his father with an ax? I didn't really believe in coincidences, but the alternative — that I'd somehow foreseen the murder in my dreams — disturbed me even more.

I couldn't forget my weird dream about Seth, either. He'd warned me something was about to happen that would affect me, and it would be connected to Asher. A chill ran down my spine as I recalled I'd had the dream of Seth the night Caleb's father was killed.

What did it all mean?

My head was starting to pound. I didn't want to think about dreams anymore.

I slipped into the bathroom and took several pain relievers, then crawled into bed. It was only noon, but I figured I'd earned a nice long nap.

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