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Regardless, both of our jobs allow us ample amounts of freedom in our day-to-day life. We’re luckier than most.

“I really appreciate that. I’ll see you soon,” I say before hanging up.

I sigh and look over at the diaries sitting on the island in front of me. I haven’t finished reading the first book yet, and I’m nervous about continuing. With every passing word, I want to reject Gigi.

Almost as much as I want to be her.

Chapter 4

The Manipulator

“Y our grandma was a freak,” Daya announces before proceeding to hold up old, dusty lingerie. I balk, perturbed by the sight in front of me. My idiot friend is holding the sides of the lacy underwear and flapping her tongue provocatively. Or what’s supposed to be provocative.

I’m far more disturbed than anything right about now.

“Please, stop.”

She rolls her eyes to the back of her head dramatically, mimicking an orgasm, which ends up looking more like an exorcism to me.

“You’re being entirely inappropriate right now. What if my Nana can see you?”

That sets her straight. The panties drop, and so does her expression.

“You think she’s a ghost?” she asks, her wide eyes searching the house like an apparition of Nana is about to play peek-a-boo with her. I roll my eyes. Nana probably would if she could, too.

“Nana loved this house. I wouldn’t be surprised if she stayed.” I shrug my shoulders nonchalantly. “I’ve seen apparitions, and a lot of unexplainable shit happen.”

“You really know how to sober a bitch up, you know that?” she complains, throwing the lingerie in the trash bin a tad aggressively. I smile, pleased by her assessment. Whatever gets her to stop waving my grandmother’s crusty underwear in my face.

“I’ll go make us another drink,” I placate, heaving up a massive trash bag and hefting it over my

shoulder. I’m not proud of the huff of breath that shoots from my lungs or the immediate sweat I break out into.

I really need to stop drinking and work out more.

I’ll make it a new year’s resolution. It’s pretty much a given that I’ll try for a week and give up, promising to try again next year. It happens every time.

“Make it extra strong. I’m going to need it now that I feel like there are demons watching me.” I roll my eyes again.

“Just do a little striptease. That’ll scare ‘em away,” I deadpan. A whoosh of air next to my ear sends my hair dancing, and a second later, a roll of duct tape hits the wall in front of me. I leave the room cackling, the sound of Daya’s cursing following me out of the room.

She knows damn well that she’s beautiful, which is why I tend to tease her about being the opposite. Someone’s gotta humble the sexy bitch every once in a while. She’ll get too big for this Earth if I don’t.

I dump the trash bag by the front door and make my way into the kitchen. I grab pineapple juice from the fridge and turn towards the island to start making more drinks.

I draw short. My lungs constrict and ice flows into my veins, my blood flaking into ice chips.

On the island sits an empty whiskey glass with another single red rose next to it. Only a drop of my grandfather’s whiskey remains.

The glass wasn’t here before. Neither Daya nor I have left the second floor for the past hour, both waist-deep in old people things.

I circle the duo, as if they’re a slumbering python and could snap and bite me at any moment.

My heart thunders in my ears as I tentatively reach out and grab the glass, inspecting it as if it’s a Magic 8 Ball and going to reveal the person who drank out of it.

Clearly, no one is in this kitchen with me. I can see the front door from where I’m standing. Yet, my eyes comb through the entire expanse of the kitchen and living room, looking for the person who snuck into my house, grabbed a glass and a bottle of whiskey, and proceeded to have a drink. While my best friend and I were upstairs, none the wiser to the danger lurking below us.

I hadn’t heard anyone come in. Not a single sound.