Page 87 of I'll Be Waiting

If the court found Patrice not guilty because of her mental condition, that meant she did it… she just hadn’t been in her right mind.

I pause, fingers over the keyboard. Then I look at the house. I can hear voices, muffled. Just ordinary conversation.

I take a deep breath and type in the words I’ve been dreading.

Patrice Jones. Heather Mueller. Anton Novak. Murder.

I get back a string of results with “Anton Novak” crossed off the search terms. Seeing that, I exhale. What did I expect? That he’d been questioned and I never realized it?

My gaze skims over the list of search results. Then it stops on one with Anton removed… but not Novak.

I stare at the preview of that result. It’s from aHaunted Albertablog. When I see that, a shiver runs up my spine, but I push it down. Yes, I’m sure Patrice gets mentioned in local ghost tours, not by name, but as the story of a girl who murdered her friend after conducting a séance.

The post begins by regurgitating the story of Heather’s murder. The focus, given the blog title, is on the séance and my testimony that Patrice thought we’d contacted the spirit of Roddy Silva.

The post then switches to telling the story of Roddy Silva, and here I slow down to read. Back when Patrice first told this story, I hadn’t been sure it was even true. After it became part of Patrice’s murder trial, I’d heard enough to know it was very real.

Before slitting his own throat, Roddy Silva had killed his girlfriend in the same way that Heather had been killed. Samantha had indeed been found in a tree. Patrice’s aunt Lori had been with the search party that found her, and Lori had never recovered, being committed to an institution, much as her niece would be two decades later.

The blog takes extra care drawing those parallels. It also dug deeper into the Roddy Silva story. That began as Patrice said, with kids having a bonfire, some of them goofing around with a séance, and then Roddy walked into the forest, with Samantha following.

It is only then that I see why my search picked it up.

Surprisingly, the Silva family continued to live in Edmonton afterward. For this story, we tracked down his younger sister, Mary Novak (née Silva), who refused to give a statement regarding her brother’s crime.

I stare at that name. Mary Silva. Mary Novak.

Anton’s mother’s name is Mary.

I shake it off. Mary is a common name, and Novak isn’tuncommon. Still, I scroll through the rest of the article, looking for more, for proof that this is a coincidence. A photo appears. A high-school photo of Roddy Silva, and I find myself staring into his eyes.

Into Anton’s eyes.

“Nicola?”

I jump so high I nearly topple the deck chair. Shania stands in front of me, frowning. I slap the laptop shut.

“Yes?” I say, a little sharply.

“Jin’s back with dinner,” she says. Then she eyes me uncertainly. “Is everything okay?”

When I give a curt nod, her eyes shutter.

“Sorry,” I say. “I was just…” I rub my temples. “There’s a lot going on, and I’m not handling it well.”

“Not handling what well?” She frowns. “You’re doing awesome. There’s been some weird stuff, but Anton really seems to be trying to make contact and… Nic?”

“Hmm?”

“What’s wrong?”

“Wrong?”

She peers at me. “I mentioned Anton, and you flinched.” She pauses, as if working it through. “Do you think the ghost isn’t him?”

“No, it’s just… something else.”

Her jaw moves, as if she’s chewing the inside of her cheek. “I’m not going to pry, Nic, but you know I’m here, right? For anything you need to discuss?” She eases back, looking self-conscious. “I’m here. That’s all I’m saying.”

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