The Haunted

Epilogue

They sold the house. They left New Mexico. They moved to California, where the weather was mild, the cities were large and the ocean was close. Where Julian had been born and raised and had always wanted to live.

The horror was over, James knew, but it had not ended. Not for them. They had to live with the consequences on a daily basis, and while it was not something they ever discussed, maybe not even a conscious decision that had been made, they did not return to Jardine. And when Grandma or Aunt Diane, Uncle Rob and the cousins wanted to see them, those relatives had to come out to the coast, where his mom took everyone on sightseeing trips to the beach and Disneyland and Knott’s Berry Farm and Universal Studios.

But the family did not fall apart. Megan did not become promiscuous, and neither she nor James turned to drugs. They both did well in school and graduated near the top of their classes, and if they were a little more subdued than most of their peers, a little more introverted and introspective, it did not impact their lives either socially or academically. They actually ended up being closer than most siblings, certainly much closer than they had been before.

When James was a senior in high school, he and Megan and his mom made a pilgrimage to Jardine. Enough time had passed, and while he wasn’t sure which one of them had come up with the idea, all of them were curious to go back.

They drove, taking turns, making it into a three-day road trip, stopping off and spending one night in Tucson, one night in Ruidoso, seeing sights along the way. It was as though they were preparing themselves, psyching themselves up for the return, and James, for one, was grateful for the extra time.

Jardine had grown, and he didn’t remember it as well as he thought he did. The streets seemed unfamiliar, and even the old downtown, where his mom had had her office, was not as he recalled. In his mind, one of the buildings had been on the opposite side of the street, and the city hall at the end of the block had not been there at all, even though, clearly, it had.

His mom was driving, and she went around the edge of the park (smaller than he remembered) and pulled onto Rainey Street.

James recognized their house immediately. Like everything else, it looked different in person than it did in his memory, but though it had been painted another color and now had a wraparound porch, the old tree was still in front, restored to its former glory, and there was a tire swing hanging from one of the lower branches, just like in the old days.

They parked on the street and got out of the car, none of them saying a word, and he looked up at what used to be the window of his bedroom, recalling how he and Robbie had stood there and spied on the passersby. He wondered what had happened to Robbie and whether his friend still lived in town.

His gaze moved to the right, to the garage. What had happened to the salvaged items they’d left in the loft when they’d moved, those furnishings and knickknacks he and Robbie had scavenged for their headquarters? Probably the people who’d bought the house from them had thrown everything away, thinking it junk.

It was junk, James supposed.

To everyone except two twelve-year-old boys planning to start a detective agency.

He was filled with an almost overpowering sadness as he thought about the time his dad had helped them bring the broken exercise bike up the wooden ladder through the trapdoor.

He looked around. Memories of his dad were all over the house and yard. He’d known that already, of course. It was one of the reasons they were here. But he hadn’t expected it to feel so immediate or so emotional.

He remembered the time Megan had told him that his dad was ashamed of him because he didn’t like sports. In his mind, he could hear his dad’s voice, telling him, “You are who you are. And whatever you like or don’t like is fine with me. Everyone’s different.” It had been the perfect thing to say, and he recalled how his father had smiled and said, “If I didn’t know by now that you hate PE and like playing video games, I’d be a real moron.”

He had not thought about his dad’s voice in years, was not sure he would have been able to call it to mind before this moment, but now it was as clear to him as if he’d heard it yesterday. In his mind, he could see every detail of that scene: the way his dad had been sitting at his desk, the clothes he’d been wearing, the light in the room, the smell of the house. He was transported back all those years, and the feeling was at once wonderful and awful.

“You’re my son,” his dad had said. “I love you no matter what.”

James wiped the tears from his eyes.

His mom grabbed one hand, Megan the other, and, grateful, he squeezed both.

“Should we go up to the door?” Megan asked. “Tell them we used to live here and see if they’ll let us look around?”

“No,” their mom said, “this is fine,” and her voice was calmer than James would have expected, as calm as he had ever heard it. Content, he thought, and that was not a description that usually applied to his mother. Coming back here, seeing the house, had done something for her, and he was glad that they had made the trip.

“We’d better get going,” his mom said a few moments later, after they’d had time to take it all in. “Your grandma’s waiting for us.”

“Okay,” Megan said.

They got back into the car. James was the last one in, and he looked out the window at their old home as his mom started down Rainey, watching it recede until they turned onto another street. He knew that, in the years to come, he would return to this place, where so much had happened.

And he would think about the time when he was a boy.

And remember his dad.