“God,” he could hear his kid mutter. “Why are you suddenly such a jerk?”
The dispatcher was different this time. She sounded clearer, more alert than the first. “Nine one one, what’s your emergency?”
“Hi,” he said through gritted teeth. “My name is Lucas Graham, I called a few minutes ago. One oh one Montlake Road. Where are you guys?”
He heard the clackity-clack of a computer keyboard, and then the dispatcher spoke up again. “Are you calling from the same location, sir?”
“Yes.”
“Is it a cell phone?”
“Yes.” He was trying not to yell. “Same location, same phone.”
More tapping, a long pause, then: “I’m not showing any record of you calling dispatch regarding this location.”
“What?” Lucas glared at the carpet. “How incompetent can you . . . look, I just hung up with you guys.”
“What’s the situation, sir?”
He clenched his jaw, hating her nonchalant tone. He knew dispatchers were trained to sound cool under pressure, but he was angry at her for it nevertheless. He was angry at everything, everyone.
“There’s been a break-in,” he explained once more, feigning patience, his tone edged with contempt. “My car has been stolen. It’s a white Nissan Maxima with New York plates. Is someone coming out here or not?”
“I’ll send out an officer to take a statement and draw up a report.”
“The first dispatcher already did that.”
Clickity-clack. Silence. Then: “Yes, sir.”
“What?”
“Yes,” she repeated. “An officer will be there soon.”
Lucas shook his head, confused. “Another one, or just—okay, never mind. I just wanted to add to my original call, so I can aid you people in understanding what the hell is going on. Someone broke into my house and then came back inside and undid what they did.”
“What they did, Mr. Graham?” He could hear her confusion growing just like his. “Sir,” she said. “Has there been an accident?”
He almost laughed. This was ridiculous. “No. A break-in and a stolen car.”
“And they . . . undid something?”
“They undid the vandalism.”
“The vandalism is gone, sir?”
Jeanie stared at her dad, listening to only one side of the conversation. Lucas shoved his fingers through his hair and exhaled a rough sigh. “Yes, just . . . send someone over as soon as possible, all right? There may still be someone on the property. Actually, I’m almost positive there is.”
“Then you should leave the property, sir.”
“And go where?”
“I suggest you at least get in your car and lock the doors, turn on the headlights, and keep your cell phone charged.”
“Are you not hearing me? They stole my car.”
“Are you alone, sir?”
“No, I’m with my daughter.”
“Is she a minor?”
“She’s twelve. I don’t see what that has to—”
“Sir?” She cut him off. “In the interest of your daughter’s safety, you should head to your nearest neighbor’s residence and wait for dispatch to arrive.”
That’s it. Enough.
He let fly.
“My nearest neighbor lives over a mile away,” he snapped. “I live in a house that draws these . . . these freaks to it, see? It’s the house Jeffrey Halcomb lived in . . .” He didn’t know why he was going into detail, only that he couldn’t help himself, that he’d held it in too long. It didn’t matter that Jeanie was staring at him with her big green eyes or if she got scared because they were leaving. His life was over. All that was left was to pack up his shit and go. “Halcomb is dead.” He spit the words out like something foul. “He killed himself in prison today and I think they know, and now they’re here for us, do you understand? They’re here because of the house and I don’t know what the fuck to do.”
Jeanie stiffened beside him, but he didn’t look at her. He couldn’t. He didn’t want to see the look on her face. He was afraid that, upon seeing it, his inexplicable anger would combust inside his chest. Anger, not sympathy for his kid. Why am I so goddamn pissed off? This isn’t me. This isn’t the way I am . . .
“Sir,” the dispatcher said, as if calling him that would somehow soothe his nerves. “I understand that you’re upset, but I need you to remain calm, okay? An officer will be there soon, but we want you and your daughter to stay safe. Please leave the house and find a safe place to wait for us to arrive.”
Lucas opened his mouth to argue, to say something that would possibly hurry whatever cop was on the way up. But he fell silent when he saw Jeanie standing in the open front door, staring into the front yard.
There, just beyond her shoulder, was the Maxima. Parked exactly where it was supposed to be.
48
* * *
VIVI FELT LIKE she was about to explode. She kept out of the way while her dad—who was acting seriously weird—gestured with his hands and explained to the arriving officer exactly what he had seen. She believed him—boy, did she believe him—but she wasn’t about to let him know. On top of the fact that she wasn’t thrilled to be interacting with him, she was supposed to keep what she knew to herself. A secret, just like Echo had said.
He’ll ruin everything.
She tried to imagine the furniture stacked the way he had described, an impossible feat, like the towers of rocks people piled on beaches and mountaintops. But rather than their furniture, she kept picturing what didn’t belong to them at all—an ugly plaid-patterned couch, a crappy old armchair, a TV stuck in an odd-looking wooden chest. And on top of the pile was a knotted tapestry, its dangling beads tap-tap-tapping in the dark, blown by a nonexistent breeze.
And then there was Jeff. The moment her dad had announced his death to the dispatcher, Vivi had been desperate to sprint up the stairs and lock herself inside her room. Her father derailed her impromptu Ouija session by busting into her room unannounced. But before she had heard him stomping up the stairs, she had whispered to Jeff’s dearly departed: