Page 18 of Remain (one-of-a-kind)

Oscar was already seated at the picnic table when I showed up with breakfast burritos and coffee.

“What’s going on?” he asked as I slid his meal toward him. “Your text sounded odd.”

“Let’s eat first,” I said.

He squinted at me but eventually contented himself with devouring his food while I picked at mine. We chatted about Lorena and the kids until he stuffed the burrito foil back into the bag.

“You’re up,” he said.

Bracing myself—I knew I’d sound insane—I recounted the events of the past twenty-four hours.

When I was finished, I handed him my phone.

I watched him turn the phone sideways to better scrutinize the photos and video, then visibly startle at the sound of Wren’s head smashing into the metal faucet. When it was over, he looked at me.

“I didn’t see her.”

“I know,” I said.

“A skeptic would say that someone could have rigged something that remotely opens a door or turns the faucet on and off. Hell, a Hollywood special effects guy could probably do those things in his sleep.”

I nodded, already having anticipated Oscar’s response.

“Before I came here, I took apart the faucet with tools I keep in the car,” I said.

“I also inspected the doorknob and the latching mechanism. There was nothing out of the ordinary, and I can tell you the latch isn’t stripped.

And nothing explains those sickening sounds on the video. ”

“In other words, you’re telling me it’s a ghost,” he said, his words measured.

“Yesterday, you were the one who told me not to discount the possibility.”

“I was referring to those weird visual flutters. A creepy woman in the bathroom or a lady doing yoga in the parlor is a little different. Gimme a minute, okay? I need to think.”

He rose from the table, carrying his coffee cup as he wandered toward the bluff. After lingering there for a few minutes, he turned and headed back my way. When he sat, he puffed his cheeks in and out.

“This,” he said, “is a lot.”

“I know.”

He sighed before interlacing his fingers. “If you’re right about all this, it also explains Reece and Louise. They clearly weren’t gaslighting you.”

“So you believe me?”

“I’m edging toward it,” he said. “But let’s tackle this like a real-world problem, not just some logic-defying supernatural mystery, okay?

Now that something unexpected has happened, what do you do?

” He fixed me with a serious expression.

“To me, there’s only one sensible course of action: if I were you, I’d head straight back to the house, pack my bag, and leave.

That’s what most people would do if they were staying in a haunted house. ”

“I’m not sure I want to do that,” I answered, shifting uncomfortably on the bench.

“Yeah,” he said with a rueful smile. “I figured that, or we’d be having a different discussion this morning. Because, let me guess, you want to help her, right?”

I remembered my last conversation with my sister. “I think Sylvia would want me to. She said she always wanted to help the ones who were in pain but didn’t know how.”

“Which begs the obvious question: How do you help a ghost? What are you supposed to do?”

“I’m hoping Wren can tell me.”

“Which one? The daytime one or the nighttime one?”

“Maybe both,” I said. “I feel like they represent different versions of her.”

“How does that work?”

I’d been pondering that most of the night.

“If my sister was right, the daytime version of Wren is closer to the person she used to be—her entire soul, so to speak—and the nighttime version is the thing she’s becoming…

like, what’s left of her soul when all the goodness and humanity have leached away.

” I squinted at Oscar, thinking again how crazy all of this sounded.

“And unless you can help her, the friendly one will eventually fade away completely, and the crazy, scary one will be all that’s left?”

“I feel like that’s what my sister believed.”

“How long do you have? Or I guess I should say, how long does she have?”

“Your guess is as good as mine. Again, I’m hoping she’ll be able to tell me.”

“That’s a lot of guessing and hoping,” he said, drumming his fingers on the table. “We should start at the beginning. What do you know about her so far?”

“Just what I’ve told you,” I answered. I went over everything again, including my suspicion that Daytime Wren didn’t seem to realize she was a ghost, and didn’t seem to be aware of her traumatized nighttime self either. “That’s it. I know it’s not much.”

“Can she go outside or is she stuck in the house? Can you touch her or will your hand pass through her like through a hologram? Can she move objects in the real world?”

“I don’t know. And I’m not sure those are the important questions anyway.”

“What are you going to do?”

“I think,” I said, following my instincts, “the first step is to earn her trust.”

· · ·

As usual, it was difficult to find a parking spot downtown, and we ended up on the same cross street I’d parked on previously, Oscar pulling in behind me.

“On the way over,” Oscar remarked as we strolled in the direction of Pleasant Street, “I was thinking about that Sherlock Holmes quote, the one that says that if you eliminate the impossible, whatever remains, no matter how improbable, must be the truth. Have you heard that?” When I nodded, he went on.

“The problem with this situation is that all the possibilities are impossible. It’s just that one of them seems less impossible than the others, even if impossible is supposed to be a static term. ”

“That’s a fair way to sum it up.”

“I’m still not sure I understand what we’re trying to do right now.”

“She said games are better for two people,” I offered. “If she shows up again, I figure we can play while we get to know each other. And in time, she might trust me enough to reveal how I can help her.”

“Why don’t you just tell her that she’s a ghost and ask her?”

“I don’t know what that would do to her,” I said, glancing over at him. “It could add even more trauma and the daytime version might vanish completely.”

Oscar walked a few steps in silence. “Okay,” he said. “Then why a game? Why don’t you do something else she enjoys? Like yoga?”

“Because,” I answered with a shrug, “if I tried to do her kind of yoga, I’d be in too much pain to even think.”

“Now that,” Oscar said, “I definitely believe.”

· · ·

The store was called Bird’s Toys and Games, the name in gold stenciling on the front door, and was located a few doors down from the diner.

The front section was piled high with videogames and electronic consoles, everything from Final Fantasy to EA Sports College to the Legend of Zelda, and, of course, Call of Duty.

But the back half of the store was jammed with classic toys and games in a way that reminded me of neighborhood toy stores in the New York City of my youth.

There was a single set of wide shelves running down the middle, shelving on the walls that reached almost to the ceiling, several tables of varying heights and sizes, and a handful of mismatched chairs.

Stacks of stuffed animals, puzzles, cards, magic kits, and games covered every surface and shelf, with little apparent rhyme or reason.

More haphazard piles sprouted from the floor, making the store feel like a hoarder’s living room, but I liked it.

It was the kind of place a kid would find exciting because every visit felt like a hunt for hidden treasure.

As I watched Oscar disappear down one side of the center aisle, I wished again that my sister was around.

She would have loved this place, but more than that, I wanted to ask her if she had any ideas about what I should do, or if she’d ever seen two versions of the same entity.

Mainly, I wondered whether she’d ever felt drawn to any of them in the same way that I was drawn to Wren.

Because that was the thing…

I couldn’t stop thinking about her. The more I’d come to accept the reality that she was a ghost, the more I felt as though not only did Wren need my help, but also I’d somehow beckoned her to help me.

Aiding Wren in moving on before it was too late struck me as the most meaningful thing a person could ever do.

I had no doubt that Sylvia would have found something romantic in the idea of two wounded souls finding, and somehow saving, each other.

“I don’t even know what I’m supposed to be looking for,” Oscar called from the back of the store, interrupting my thoughts. “If you’re not sure she can move things in the real world, how are you supposed to play a game?”

“Just keep looking,” I said. “You’ll know it when you see it.”

I left him to it, pondering other questions as I wandered down the other side of the aisle.

What was Wren’s story? Who was she? I wondered about her childhood and the friends she’d had; I wondered if she was a homebody or liked to spend her weekends going to bars and clubs in Boston.

I wondered who she’d called when she had a rough day, or even what she liked and disliked.

Did she prefer movies or concerts? Tacos or pizza?

Deserts or rainforests? There was so much I didn’t know, including whether I would ever see her again, an idea I didn’t want to contemplate.

“Good morning,” I heard a voice say behind me. “Can I help you two find something?”

I glanced over my shoulder and saw a sandy-haired man a few years younger than me, sauntering in my direction.

“Maybe,” I said, turning around. “I assume you work here?”

“Actually, I own the place,” he said. “I know it probably strikes you as a bit disorganized, but believe it or not, I have a pretty good idea of how to find anything and everything.” He gestured expansively at the chaos surrounding us.

“I can’t tell you how many people post videos about the store after they visit, which is a godsend as far as advertising goes. ”

There was something slightly glib and overconfident about him, although maybe I was being unfair. He was a fast talker, and being more reserved myself, I tended to be a little suspicious of voluble salespeople.

“I’m not sure what I’m looking for exactly.”

By then, Oscar had returned to my side. “Do you have any games with pieces you don’t have to move or dice you don’t have to roll?” he asked.

“Like card games?” The man’s eyes lit up. “We have some deluxe editions, really cool, edgy ones for adults—”

“Not cards,” Oscar said.

The man brought a finger to his chin in what felt like an exaggerated show of concentration. “That’s tough. Most board games have dice or pieces.” He scanned the shelves and piles surrounding us. Then his face brightened. “I know! What about a classic like Charades?”

I considered the idea, and when I glanced at Oscar, he shrugged as if to ask, Why not?

“Let’s do it,” I said.

The owner extracted a box from the bottom of a precarious tower before leading us to the register to ring up the purchase.

He put the game in a plain brown paper bag and handed it to me then pulled out a business card.

He flipped it over and scribbled something as he said, “This is my cell number if you’re ever looking for something specific.

And the next time you come in, you’ll be entitled to the ‘regulars’ discount! ”

I tucked the card into my wallet as Oscar and I left the store.

“Do you know how crazy this is?” Oscar said. “You just bought a game to play with a ghost.”

“I know.”

“Lorena still thinks Wren is real.”

“I know that, too.”

“We probably shouldn’t tell her about this.”

I walked a few steps without saying anything. “Why are you going along with all this?”

Oscar stopped walking and turned to face me. “Because I remember the way you talked about Wren after you first met her.”

“And?”

“You were happy,” he said, reaching out to squeeze my shoulder, “and I haven’t seen you like that in a long, long time.”

· · ·

Oscar insisted on following me back to the house, and after we arrived, he gazed at it.

“This place looks a lot more haunted than it did the last time I saw it.”

“Can you tell me anything about the litigation? Or the house?”

“It’s about money,” he said with a shrug.

“I guess the trust wasn’t completely clear as to who’s supposed to receive the property, and now, even the town and the conservation land trust are claiming partial ownership.

There are a bunch of litigants and lawyers involved, so I backed off.

As for the house, all I know is that it was once a bed-and-breakfast, but the real value is in the land.

Whoever gets it will likely tear the house down and either subdivide the property or offer a rare estate-size lot for a new build. ”

I nodded, leading Oscar into the house and watching as he inspected the parlor before stopping in front of one of the windows. I set the package on the gaming table. Oscar unlatched a window and pulled it open, examining the torn strip of tape left behind.

When I raised an eyebrow, he shrugged. “Just making sure.”

In the dining room he checked the windows, too, both of us eventually realizing that they’d been painted shut and couldn’t be opened at all. On the stairwell, the threads were no longer attached, and I guessed that Louise had come by while I was out to change the towels and sheets.

Upstairs, after pointing out the hallway bath, I went to my room and discovered that I’d been correct about the sheets and towels.

The sight of my dirty laundry reminded me that I should probably find a cleaner where I could drop them off.

By the time I rejoined Oscar, he was turning the faucet on and off in the bathroom and listening to the sounds of the pipes.

“It definitely doesn’t sound like that smashing noise.”

“No, it doesn’t.”

“It’s creepy in here, though.”

“It’s just a bathroom.”

“No,” he disagreed. “When it comes to Nighttime Wren, I would guess that this is her prison.”

“Why would you say that?”

“It’s just a feeling,” he said. “But I’d be willing to bet that this was where she died.”