Page 92 of Juliet's Echo

Spending some of the spring season in Havenbrook and turning into a Ghostbuster wasn't on my agenda, but I was a man who did what had to be done.

Simone’s fate was proof of that.

“Sir?”

The airline representative’s voice chimed through the receiver. I’d forgotten she was still on the phone.

“The bell,” I repeated. “Have him ring it.”

Then I ended the call.

My luggage sat beside the front door, and I could almost smell the burnt leather scent from the candles filling the living room. Freedom was so close I could taste it.

“Leaving so soon, cousin?”

Psalm and all his rudeness startled me.

I’m going to mail that boy a bell for Christmas so people can hear his ass coming.

“Not soon enough, young tike.”

“This might be the first thing we’ve agreed on your whole stay,” he said with a wink. “Well, I’m headed out. Safe travels.”

The front door slammed behind him, and the sound instantly triggered old memories.

After killing Simone, my mother used to slam the basement door extra hard whenever she locked me inside. The force of it ensured every lock connected properly from the outside.

My father wanted me gone. Sent to prison. Locked away. He said I was sick.

But my mother hid me.

She hid me, and she hid the truth.

Eventually, she arranged for me to relocate to Florida under a different name. What I’d done cost her almost everything financially. Paying to secretly transport Simone’s body to the hospital. Paying staff and nurses not to report her condition. Paying whatever shady legal team was willing to accept the money. I’m sure every last one of them retired early.

Then came the fabricated court case and the lie fed to the Everettes—that I’d been sentenced to a long-term medical facility. Because of their superior legal representation, the Everettes eventually accepted the story and moved on.

At least publicly.

I heard Echo looked for me for a long time afterward.

My mother lost her marriage in the process. I loss my father.

The only person we didn't lose was Aunt Selene.

And that's only because Aunt Selene never learned the truth.

She believed the story my mother told her—that my parents’ divorce triggered several mental health conditions and that moving away, changing my name, and living in Florida were all part of my healing process.

A laugh escaped me.

Then another.

Soon, I was laughing so hard my stomach hurt.

“You win again, Simone.”

The empty house remained silent, but that didn't stop me from carrying on with the conversation.