Page 42 of Grave Matter

“Sydney. What happened? Are you okay?”

She steps out and reaches for my head, patting it over, as if I hit it again.

“Someone’s in my room,” I tell her. “I heard someone outside my door. I went to investigate down the hall, but I guess it was a trick or something because they went in my room and locked my door. I can’t get in, and the key is in there.”

She frowns. “Someone is playing a prank on you?”

I fucking hope it’s a prank, I think.

“One of the bad apples you talked about.” I look down at the flashlight. “Is the power out everywhere?”

“Generator is down,” she says. “Just for a couple of hours.”

“Why?”

“Routine,” she says, grabbing my hand. “Here, you must be freezing. Come inside, I’ll light some candles.”

She pulls me inside and shuts the door, then leads me across a dark room to a couch, putting a blanket on my legs. “Get warm and wait here. I’m going to go wake up David and get the spare key, and then we can all go over together.”

She goes over to a candle on the coffee table, grabs a pack of matches, and lights it. Then she slips on her coat and shearling boots. “I’ll be right back.”

She leaves, the flashlight shining in the trees outside the window before it disappears.

I look around Everly’s living room. It’s at least a lot warmer here than it was in the lodge. In the flickering candlelight, scented like oranges and cloves, a Christmas smell, I make out modern furnishings and fancy art on the walls. It may be a small cabin like the others, but I have no doubt everything in here costs thousands of dollars.

“Hello.”

I jump in my seat, letting out a yelp.

A man steps into the room, gathering his flannel robe around him.

Not just any man, but Michael Peterson, Everly’s husband. It takes me a moment to recognize him. I haven’t seen him around since that first day.

“I’m so sorry, I didn’t know we had a guest,” he says, his voice monotone. “Where is Everly?”

“I was locked out of my room. She went to get David.” I offer my hand. “I’m Sydney.”

“Sydney,” he says slowly, like he’s savoring the word, even though his eyes are cold as always, his prominent brow creating the deepest shadows. He comes over to me and stands right in front of me, towering. “Yes, I recall Everly talking about you.”

He doesn’t shake my hand.

I awkwardly take it back, my cheeks hot. “Good things, I hope.”

“Yes, yes, very good things.” He takes a seat in the leather armchair across from me. “Tell me, Sydney, how are you?”

“Other than having to bug Dr. Johnstone in the middle of the night, and her husband, because I was locked out of my room? I’m fine.”

“Oh, don’t worry about me,” he says. “I rarely sleep. The mind, you know.” He taps the side of it. “It doesn’t stop.”

“I hear you on that.”

He gives me a small smile, but it only makes me uneasy. He leans forward on his elbows and stares at me. Doesn’t say anything else, just stares.

And me, well, I’ve never met a silence I can’t bluster my way through.

“Really lovely home you have here,” I say, looking around, though I’m not really seeing anything. He’s still staring at me, and it’s starting to make me nervous. When is Everly coming back?

“How long have you lived here for?” I ask for the sake of asking. “Do you have like a normal house somewhere else? I imagine you do.”

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