Chapter Twenty-Six

We’re halfway to my bedroom door when someone pounds on the other side. David and I both jump back.

“Chessie?” Grandma asks. “Are you okay? I heard you scream.”

David looks back at me with a get rid of her stare.

“I’m fine, Grandma,” I say in what I hope sounds like a normal voice. “I was just video chatting with my friend about…boys.”

David rolls his eyes and I shrug my shoulders. What else was I supposed to say to her?

There’s a long pause before Grandma finally replies. “Okay, well, I’m downstairs if you need me.”

“Okay, thanks.”

We stand, unmoving, unwilling to even risk a squeaky floorboard, before I finally open the door an inch and peer out. I lead David down the stairs. Grandma’s in the kitchen. The pots and pans are clinking and the water’s running. I swat away a momentary sense of guilt over having left my plate upstairs. There are bigger issues at hand.

Once outside, David and I pick up the pace and head to the sidewalk.

“Let’s go to my house and get my truck,” he says.

From around the corner, a little white fluffy dog appears. Shit. A few feet behind it walks Samantha. She smiles at both of us. “Spending the night together already?” She feigns shock. “What would Grandma think of that?”

I glare at her and my body flushes with heat. I’m sick of her and her stupid hair and her awful attitude-filled smirk. “Shut the hell up, Samantha.”

Her eyes narrow. “Go back to Chicago, Francesca.”

She stares me down, and I wish more than ever that I wasn’t so damn short. I wait for another snotty remark or a threat, but instead she turns to David with a sudden smile. “You look cute in the morning. Messy hair suits you.”

David grabs my hand and pulls me past her. She continues talking as we walk away, and I ignore her. I’m not that same girl who she messed with five years ago—and I have far more important things in my life to deal with.

David and I cross the next two streets, and we’re almost to the park now.

“Are you going to tell me what Hell’s Pot is?” I ask.

“It’s a place I never thought I’d have to go back to.”

“And…”

“It was an old blacksmith-barn-turned-bar back in the early 1900s. A real seedy place, and not many people in town would ever go to it. Most of its clientele were the…less than savory type.”

“Is that why you’re convinced that Tommy took those girls? Because he was the seedy kind of customer who would go there?”

“No, I know it’s Tommy because only he and I ever called it Hell’s Pot. Its actual name was The Whiskey Pot. But the whiskey tasted like hell there, so we nicknamed it Hell’s Pot.”

It’s funny to even think of David drinking whiskey. At least not the David of today. But then again, he may be in an almost-eighteen-year-old body, but he’s lived more than a hundred years. He’s seen decades of things…politics, wars, progress, setbacks. He’s far from being an immature boy. Yet something in his eyes hints that he hasn’t lost his youthfulness. The young David—the original David—is inside him. He’s still a kid, despite all the years.

“Do you remember where Hell’s Pot is?” I ask.

“Yep. I can even remember what it smelled like.” His nose crinkles. “Wish I didn’t though.”

“The girls have to be there,” I say, tugging on his hand. “Let’s go! Hurry up.”

For the first time in what feels like a lifetime, my spirits lift. We have an actual location. We’re going to find the girls and David is going to save them and stay here with me.

“I have a plan,” he says. “When we get to Hell’s Pot—”

We turn the next corner and come face-to-face with Mateo. Relief crosses his face.

“Good god, I have been looking for you all over,” he says, then notices our entwined hands. “Your dad said you haven’t been home all night.”

David doesn’t reply. A silent affirmation.

Mateo looks at me. “Where’d you say you’re going? Hell’s Pot? What’s that?”

“Nothing,” I say too quickly. It’s a dumb answer. Nothing always means something. It’s one of the most obvious lies.

Mateo hesitates before speaking, as though hopeful that we’ll let him in on our secret. When we don’t reply, he says, “I was up early this morning, couldn’t sleep, thinking about that damn color blue and I had a thought. If we think it might be one of the Stillinger girls talking about that bedroom, we should go to the bedroom and try to contact them.” He pauses for a comment from either David or me, but we don’t say anything. What could we say? There’s no time for séances, and blue has nothing to do with the bedroom. Another little girl is missing, and we finally know how to find them. If we don’t succeed, there will be no more David to go ghost hunting with. “Séances work better if there’s someone specific to call out to,” Mateo adds.

I look up at David, encouraging him to say something nice to his friend, but also hoping he can get rid of him.

David exhales. “Um, yeah, that sounds like a good idea. But we can’t right now we’re, ah…” He glances at me. “We’re on a date.”

My cheeks blush.

Mateo chuckles a little and backs up with hands raised. “Sorry, I didn’t realize, but that’s cool.” He steps out of the way. “Is that what Hell’s Pot is? Some new restaurant? Hot wings or something? Man, we need some new places to eat around here. I wonder if there’s—”

“Mateo,” David says firmly. “We really gotta go. I’ll call you later.”

The look on his face when he says this is painful. Maybe he really will get a chance to call Mateo later, or maybe there won’t be enough time and his best friend will be staring down at him in a casket soon. The thought nearly crushes my heart. I cling tight to David’s hand in both support and in urging him to hurry up. Time is not on our side.

Mateo nods in understanding and David and I move past him.

“Have fun,” Mateo says with a slight laugh. “Remember, bad decisions are fun decisions.”

My feet stop. An ice-cold shot of fear hits me.

I turn to face Mateo and the corner of his mouth hooks up into a crooked grin.

“What’d you say?” I ask, barely able to get the words out.

But Mateo doesn’t have a chance to reply before David drops my hand, spins around, and punches him clean across the cheek.

Mateo is splayed out on the grass, hand to his cheek, moaning, eyes barely open. David leans down, grabs him by the shirt, yanks him up a few inches and punches him again, harder this time. Mateo collapses down. Knocked out cold.

David curls his fingers around my wrist and looks at me with wide eyes. “Run!”

He yanks on my hand and drags me along with him as we race down the block to his house. On the front porch sits his dad. He looks more pissed than he had when David skipped out on work.

“We need to talk,” his dad says.

David doesn’t stop running. “I don’t have time, Dad.”

“Like hell, boy. You’re not eighteen till tomorrow, so when I say we need to talk, you say ‘yes sir.’ And we’re gonna start with you explaining where you’ve been all night.”

David still doesn’t stop, and we run toward the open garage where David’s green pickup is waiting.

His dad shouts. “Get your ass over here right now!”

“Get in!” David yells to me. I dive into the passenger seat, and he launches himself into the driver’s seat. He starts the truck up and barely has his foot on the brake when he shoves it into reverse. His dad jumps out of the way as the vehicle flies backward down the driveway. He’s still yelling at his son.

But David pays him no mind, and as soon we’re on the street, the tires squeal to stop, and then we race down the street. I can barely catch my breath, from both the running and the adrenaline rush of leaving his dad screaming at us, and Mateo passed out on someone’s lawn.

I look straight at David. “Holy shit. Bad decisions are fun decisions. Is Mateo really…?”

His jaw muscles clench. “Yes.”

“My god. How can that be? He’s your best friend!”

“Like I said, Tommy could be anyone.”

“Evil can show up anywhere. Mateo himself told me that. God I’m such an idiot for not realizing he was messing with me! And now, he knows that we’re headed to Hell’s Pot. He knows we know where the girls are.”

“Yep,” David says. “Which means we have even less time.”

We drive out of town, to the Nodaway River. After a few miles, David takes a left and we cross a narrow, rickety bridge over the water. It’s wide here and the river is flowing at a pretty good rate over some rocks. Past the bridge, David parks alongside the road.

“Are we here?” There aren’t any buildings in sight.

David nods out the driver’s side window. “There used to be a little road right there, but it’s all grown in. We’re gonna have to walk it.”

“Walk?” I exhale as many nerves as I can.

David extends his hand to me. “C’mon, trust me.”

There’s no evidence of the old road, but I place my hand in his. “Okay, let’s go.”

He leads me into the trees, and the sun’s warmth gives way to shadows and cooler temps. My mind grapples with the idea that he’s been here before—over a hundred years ago. Walked this very route. And at the end of this so-called road was bad whiskey. But even bad whiskey would be better than what we’re hoping to find today—missing children. Hopefully still alive.

“Mateo’s going to come out here after us.”

“Probably,” David says. “But if he does, we’ll just have to deal with him. There’s nothing else we can do. There’s no time to sit and concoct a better plan.”

David’s answer does not make me feel better. I take my phone from my pocket. “Great, no service.” No phones. No calling for help. I’m stuck in the middle of nowhere, in the company of a boy on the verge of death, and a madman is on our trail. Not exactly how I had pictured my summer going.

We walk what must be a mile or more through bumpy, weed-filled woods before David finally stops. I’m grateful for the pause. My legs sting, scratched to hell by long weeds and small trees.

“Is it much farther?” I ask.

“No.” He points to a cluster of trees just off the road. “It’s right through here. There used to be a clearing leading to the building, but I guess there’s not anymore.”

“When was the last time you were here?”

“1912. By the time I remembered it in my second life, it had been shuttered. Which was fine by me. I didn’t want to have anything to do with it, or with any memories of Tommy.”

I follow David down a ditch, where weeds and sticks crack under our feet. Tree branches full of big, green leaves block our view. He’s right in front of me and tries to keep branches from snapping back at me as he pushes his way through the vegetation, but it doesn’t work. They lash at me like little brown and green whips. A thin branch flicks my face, making me flinch and yelp. I put my hand to my cheek and draw back blood.

“Chessie?” David says. He’s ahead of me but lost in the thick of trees.

“I’m coming,” I say and push forward.

He startles at my cut face. “We’re almost there.”

The ground slopes back up, and we climb out of the ditch. The trees thin, revealing an old building, brown and green from rot and moss. I wonder what color it was in its heyday.

“This is Hell’s Pot?” I ask.

David is stopped, hands on hips, defiantly staring back at his past. “This is it.”

“Looks a little different than in 1912 I bet, huh?”

David scoffs. “No, it was a piece of shit back then, too.”

“Well, at least you don’t have to drink awful whiskey this time.” I try to laugh, as though this is some sort of enjoyable adventure. As though I could delude either of us that we’re merely on a fun hiking date.

David’s hand flies up. “Shhh.” He moves a few steps forward and I follow. “Did you hear that?”

I hear nothing.

Not at first anyway, but as I concentrate on the ambient noise of the woods around us—the rustling of trees and soft whisper of wind—something distinct hits my ears. Higher pitched and more sporadic.

“Crying,” I whisper.

“That’s what I heard, too.” He puts a hand out. “Stay behind me.”

We make our way to the building. The stench of mildew and moss grows stronger with every step. The front door is in the middle of the building, and there are two windows on either side. All the windows are busted out, and the building stares back at us with blackness, not unlike The Axe Murder House. The roof sags in the middle, looking like it will cave in with the next big rainfall. David peers into the closest broken window.

“I can’t see much. We’ll have to go in.”

My stomach churns with fear. He tries the door handle, and nothing moves. He jams a shoulder into the door. It doesn’t open, but there’s a splintering of wood. He rams into it one more time, and when the door opens, he stumbles inside.

“David?” I call out quietly when he doesn’t reappear.

“It’s okay, come in,” he says.

Inside, the smell of rot is even stronger, and I gag on my next breath. There are old chairs and tables scattered everywhere, covered in thick dust. Everything is damp. There’s a bar at the back of the room with a few wooden stools still sitting in front of it.

David is stone still, looking around, no doubt with a flood of rowdy memories flickering through his mind. Who did he used to talk to here, besides Tommy? Where did he sit? Did he have a usual spot? What must it have sounded like? How much gross whiskey did he drink?

I touch his forearm, and he looks down at me. “You okay?” I ask.

“Yeah, it’s just weird being here. That’s all.”

A soft cry makes us both jump.

“The back room,” he says.

We weave our way through a maze of chairs and tables to the doorway next to the bar. David motions for me to get behind him. He peeks in.

“Holy shit,” he says.

“What?”

He moves so I can take a look. I crane my neck and look around the corner into the back room. It’s dark and dingy, with the only light coming from a hole in the soggy ceiling. But directly under that hole, as though in a spotlight, is a metal cage. Inside the cage lie three little bodies.

Including one in a blue dress.