Excerpt 1
Molly

“Molly! Wake up!”

Molly groaned and rolled over to check the red numbers on her bedside clock. She wanted to jump back into the dream she’d been having before the voice rudely awakened her. In that dream, her thoughts lingered on her neighbor, Duncan, the one with the scar etched across his ear. Something in the scene comforted her; she wished to slip back into that warm haze and forget all the chaos that surrounded her.

“It’s five am, Zane. I’m not making you breakfast this early.” Her older brother, Zane, tended to work odd hours as a firefighter, but Molly spent three days climbing out of the grip of the flu going around the high school where she taught theater. She had no desire to indulge her brother’s cravings.

“Molly Gravenhurst. Please wake up. We need to talk,” the new voice pleaded.

The voice of her grandmother, Dawn, reached her foggy brain. Her dead grandmother.

Molly jerked up in bed and focused on the two ghosts that stood at the end. The appearance of her grandmother didn’t surprise her. What her grandmother called her “second sight” made her capable of communication with earthbound spirits. Genuine shock and abject horror slammed into her when she saw her brother, Zane. The night before, he’d been alive and kicking.

“No,” Molly whispered in utter terror. A simple, horrifying truth struck her. If her brother were a ghost, then he was dead.

Molly could see ghosts, a gift she possessed since toddlerhood. Three years ago, when her grandmother died, she and Zane inherited her house and the care of their grandmother’s ghost. While he lived, Grandma Dawn’s ghost remained invisible to Zane. Now, a ghost himself, he could finally see her.

“I know this is a shock, Molly, but Zane needs you to pull yourself together.” Grandma Dawn’s tone snapped Molly out of her silence.

“Wha-wha-what happened, Zane?” Molly fisted her blanket while she tried to gather herself.

“Jillian dropped me off at Paddy’s. He wanted to continue the Halloween party back at his house. After Paddy and I walked into the garage, everything is blank. I appeared in the kitchen here, where I found Grandma.” Zane spoke with clinical precision, not an ounce of emotion. She understood the pain of death since she dealt with the pain ghosts experienced every day.

“Where’s Jillian?” Molly grabbed her cell phone from her bedside table. “I need to call her.”

“She’s asleep on the sofa.” Zane’s voice cracked at the end of his statement. “I just peeked for a second. I can’t go …I don’t …”

Grandma Dawn took Zane’s hand in hers in a gesture of comfort and compassion.

Molly struggled with what to do next. She’d barely adjusted to her grandmother’s death. How could she live without her brother’s hugs, his teasing slaps, or witnessing his love and devotion for Jillian?

“What do I need to do?” Grandma Dawn died in her sleep. She found her in the primary bedroom of the very house she lived in. Where was Zane’s body? If it were at Paddy’s house, Paddy would have called her by now? He was Zane’s best friend. He’d had her number since the day she got it thirteen years ago.

Before Zane or Grandma Dawn had a chance to answer, Jillian burst into Molly’s attic space.

“You’re awake. Thank God.” She burst into the room and threw herself onto Molly’s bed, her blonde hair pulled back into a crooked ponytail. “Zane hasn’t come home yet. It’s still pouring outside. Visibility is shit. What if he got in an accident? What if he and Paddy are in a ditch? What if he tried to walk home and got hit by a car? I’ve called him five times and texted him six times. He hasn’t responded.”

Jillian’s frantic questions made sense, but she couldn’t confirm anything because she didn’t know whether any of those possibilities were correct. Neither did either of the ghosts.

“Let’s think.” Molly pushed away the knowledge of her brother’s death and gathered her thoughts. “You all went to that big Halloween party downtown, right?”

“Yeah. Paddy invited a bunch of us over to his house, but I told Zane I needed sleep. My sinuses have been getting worse. I think I caught whatever you have.” Congestion clogged Jillian’s voice, and tears or illness left her eyes red and bloodshot. Molly’s heart sank. The same symptoms had stalked her for the past several days.

“You dropped him off at Paddy and Lucky’s house, then?”

Jillian nodded. “It started to rain a few minutes before I got here. Now it’s pouring.”

“Let’s call Paddy first. Who else came to the party?” Molly scrolled through her numbers in her contacts to find Paddy’s number.

“Barb Sterling and her husband, Rhett.” Jillian dialed the number on speaker. “Then Marty and Ellen Culver. Maybe Grant Hannah. I think Paddy’s little brothers and a bunch of their friends were in town and staying with him for a while.” Voicemail answered after five rings. “It’s Jillian and Molly. Zane isn’t home. Is he with you, or do you have any idea where he went? Call me.”

“I’ve got Barb’s number.” Molly dialed and placed it on speaker.

“Molly?” Barb answered with a yawn. “What’s going on? It’s the butt crack of dawn.”

“Zane never came home from Paddy’s last night. Did he stay over? We can’t contact Zane or Paddy.”

“Wait a minute.” The sound of sheets and blankets shifting came through the speaker. “Jillian’s car pulled up outside Paddy’s house, but neither of them came in. I tried calling and texting Zane after her car left, but I never got an answer. We left here around two.”

“We need to look for him. I dropped him off and came back to his house,” Jillian’s voice carried extreme anxiety, burgeoning into mania.

“Jillian?” Barb yawned again on her end.

“What’s going on?” Molly heard a sleepy Rhett ask on the other end of the line.

“Jillian said she dropped Zane off at Paddy’s. I never saw him, did you?” Barb asked her husband.

“No. I thought it was weird you said you saw Jillian’s car, but they didn’t come in. But I started singing karaoke with Marty and lost track of everything.” Molly imagined the sound of strangled cats coming from Marty. None of Zane’s friends had a lick of musical or theatrical talent as she did.

Every wasted second ratcheted up Molly’s anxiety. They were no closer to answers. She looked to Zane for any suggestions while Jillian threw out scenarios left and right. Zane shrugged as he watched his girlfriend torment herself with grim what-ifs.

Barb decided she would come pick up Jillian, and they would search around town. Molly agreed to stay home in case Zane made his way back.

Molly knew for an absolute fact that November 1st would be the worst day of her life.

 

Excerpt 2
Duncan

Duncan Fielding had a great vantage point to watch the Gravenhurst house. His binoculars sat on his windowsill; his telescope pointed across the street. The object of his obsession stood in her attic window. She’d been in the same spot for over an hour. Her lips moved occasionally, but he never saw anyone else in the window.

What is she doing?

Maybe today would be the day Duncan stopped making excuses and checked on her.

For the past year, ever since he and Damian bought a house on her block, Molly had become a fixture in his life. It started with casual hellos across their yards. Then, conversations whenever their paths crossed. Before long, his phone lit up with video game jokes she knew would make him laugh, and he fired back with memes about her favorite musicals.

He smiled despite himself. Molly never missed a chance to send him fan edits from the streaming channel he and Damian ran. Last summer, he rescued her stubborn lawnmower. A few months later, she shouted congratulations from across the street after spotting him on his porch, changing a lightbulb, and hearing about the game he and Damian had developed.

The memories warmed him, but they also sharpened the ache in his chest.

They were friends. Good neighbors. Yet every text, every laugh, every conversation only made him want more. Even now, Molly vanished from his sight, leaving him to wonder if she was sick, hurting, or desperately needed someone to knock.

Every morning, he woke with his body reminding him exactly how badly he wanted Molly. Just as persistent was the familiar hope that today would be different. Today, he’d finally find the courage to make a move.

The hope never lasted long.

He’d carried a torch for her since high school. More than ten years of stolen glances, imagined conversations, and second-guessed opportunities stretched behind him. Ten years of wanting more than friendship and settling for whatever scraps of her attention she freely offered.

For a while, Damian listened to it all. Then his brother grew tired of hearing Molly’s name attached to every story, every plan, every regret. Eventually, Duncan stopped talking about her altogether. The feelings never faded. He simply locked them away and carried them alone.

Flashing lights caught Duncan’s attention. A police cruiser pulled into Molly’s driveway. Duncan looked through his telescope and noticed a Stoney Point Police cruiser. Why is a Stoney Point cop coming to Molly’s house in Clarkstown?

He turned his telescope to Molly’s front door. The rain made it hard to distinguish much, but his heart jumped into his throat when Molly collapsed into one of the cop’s arms.

Duncan’s chest tightened. Something was wrong. Terribly wrong.

The image of Molly crying flashed through his mind, and a surge of panic shoved him into motion. He yanked open drawers, snatched the first clothes he found, and dragged them on with fumbling hands. He did a quick check in his mirror. His unruly dark brown hair stuck up at odd angles, and his tired hazel eyes, with purple bags beneath them, revealed extreme exhaustion. His six-foot-four frame craved rest, but his scorching need to get to Molly wouldn’t subside. If she’d gotten bad news, she shouldn’t have to face it alone.

His heart hammered against his ribs.

A sock landed on one foot. A different one landed on the other. He jammed his feet into his boots without bothering to check if they matched. Nothing mattered except getting to Molly.

He bolted from the room.

Please be okay.

The thought echoed through his head as he raced down the stairs and out the front door. As he crossed the street and entered her yard, Molly walked with the officers to their cruiser.

“What’s going on? Are you all right?” Duncan pressed, out of breath.

Molly shook her head as tears rolled down her pale cheeks.

Molly’s tiny frame shrank even smaller. At only five-foot-three and maybe 110 pounds, she always appeared physically vulnerable. That morning, her long, dark hair hung limp and wet down her back. Her golden-brown eyes glistened behind swollen, red-rimmed lids. Tear tracks streaked her cheeks, and fresh tears gathered faster than she could blink them away.

Pain twisted through his chest.

In all the years he’d known her, he’d never seen Molly like that. Not frustrated. Not upset. Shattered.

“It’s her brother. We’re taking her to Good Sam,” the male officer offered.

“I’ll talk to you when I come home,” Molly uttered.

“Of course. Anything you need, Molly, just call. I mean it. Anything.” Duncan couldn’t believe his assertiveness. Grief rarely touched Duncan’s life, but he’d watched it tear through people he loved. Friends went numb, family members broke down, and entire worlds crumbled under the weight of a single phone call.

As he looked at Molly, he recognized the same devastation.

Whatever waited for her on the other side of that moment, she wouldn’t face it alone. He would be there for her in any way he could. No matter how ugly or painful things became, he wasn’t going anywhere.

Molly grabbed Duncan’s hand and squeezed it. “I’ll explain later.”

With that, Molly got in the cruiser and left with the police. She looked back for a few seconds as Duncan stood in her driveway, drenched to the bone. With the cruiser out of sight, Duncan ran back to his house to turn on his police scanner to figure out what the hell happened to Zane Gravenhurst.

Duncan spent hours watching and waiting. He roamed the halls while Damian played games and chatted with his online girlfriend under an anonymous account.

By eleven o’clock, cars were parked at the Gravenhurst home. Zane’s girlfriend, Jillian, with her dad and Molly’s parents, arrived and entered the house. About ten minutes later, Molly arrived with Jillian’s mother.

Duncan kept his phone in his hand while he gazed at the house with his telescope. Molly’s dad, Drake, paced the floors. Within a half hour, Jillian left with a few bags in her car, which her father drove. A few minutes later, Duncan spied Molly in a tight embrace with Jillian’s mother on the porch. Molly went inside, where her father made wild gestures and yelled at her.

By this time, Duncan had righted his socks and got ready to go to Molly before her call came in. He took one last look, then noticed one car arrive, then another, and another. On and on until ten cars lined up and down our street.

At that moment, Duncan’s phone lit up with a call from Molly.

“Hey,” he answered with tentative sympathy.

“Can you come over? Damian, too, if he wants.” Her voice sounded raw and wrong.

“I can.” Duncan debated whether to end the call or ask the question. His need for an answer won out. “What happened to Zane?”

“Zane’s dead. I think he was murdered.”