Marta isn't superstitious by nature, but she's pretty sure her house is haunted. When people were still tramping through it, she had reason to believe that they were the ones making the odd noises at all hours of the day, but now…. Now it's just her and Mama. Alice is out with some boy or another, catching a late movie and Mama's been in bed since eight.
There are creaking footsteps overhead, pacing back and forth and not bothering to be stealthy. Someone is up there, but they'll be gone by the time she gets up the stairs to check it out, Harlan's study empty just like it's been since his death. She'll check and then go back to her room and the footsteps will start all over again. She reiterates, her house is haunted. Her house is haunted as fuck.
But she's not superstitious. Nope. Also, burning sage just made her sneeze her head off, so she's not trying that again. Alice had suggested using an Ouija board one night, but Mama had blown a gasket and Marta's seen enough scary movies to know that Latinas messing around with the supernatural usually ends in untold horrors and at least one apocalypse.
So, she learns to cope with the noises. She has enough chores to do during the mornings and early afternoon to keep her busy, late afternoons are spent outside enjoying the sunshine and gardening, and the evenings are usually filled by Alice and Mama fighting about the shows they can't agree on. After Mama goes to bed and Alice disappears, Marta tries to drown the noises out with a healthy dose of Metallica blasting through her headphones. She'll probably be deaf in two years, but then she won't have to hear those footsteps or the reruns of CSI that her sister loves. Win-win, really.
It's during month four when she truly gets fed up with it all. She's outside and it's summer, her eyes tracking the lightning bugs in the darkness. A few rooms are lit up in the house and she's just about to head in herself when she notices something odd.
The light's on in the study.
The burst of frustration in her chest comes as something as a shock after the usual fear. She's a fraidy cat, she'll admit that to anyone, but she's not weak. With determination strengthening her spine, Marta goes over to the trellis and begins to climb. She's not crying like last time, nor does the trellis break under her sandals, holding firm as she continues up to the trick window on the third floor.
The window swings open on well-oiled hinges, not making a sound as she climbs through. She's not panicking, marching straight ahead to the closed door. She does hesitate when her fingers wrap around the cold knob.
The last time she'd done this, she'd seen her best friend cut his own throat. What will she see when she opens the door this time? Will it be Harlan, transparent and wavering like a hologram in bad lighting? Will he be angry with her for avoiding this room for so long? For not honoring his study like she knows she should have? Has he missed her?
With tears gathering in her eyes, she opens the door and steps inside.
The person waiting for her on the other side is worse than any ghost. They're tall and imposing, but they're also dressed in a threadbare sweater with sleep-mussed hair and the dopey expression of the half-asleep. She recognizes the look from when she'd been taking her nursing classes, practically a zombie by the time she'd earned her license.
"What the hell are you doing here, Ransom?" The question comes out harsh even to her own ears, but she's not the one guilty of breaking and entering (or murder and giving a false statement to the police). Ransom runs his fingers through his hair, shaggier now and limp without any product.
"Sleeping," he snaps. "What the fuck does it look like I'm doing?"
Benoit arrives two hours later, laughing his ass all the way to the police station because his little Watson had decked Ransom hard enough to knock him out cold.