isnotgold:
“I never miss a step,” Rowan said coolly, fixing her with a confident gaze that suggested he was referring to more than just skincare. The banter between them went on for about as long as it could before she finally got down to business. He listened intently as she described herself, imagining what life must be like coming back to this place after such a long absence. Had it moved on without her, he wondered, or had it remained trapped amberlike in the past, much like its residents? He suspected the truth lay somewhere in between.
“That seems to be the case for a lot of people,” he said, crossing his arms and leaning against the bed gingerly. “Every other person I meet is either stuck here and wants to escape or escaped and then got re-stuck.” He couldn’t help but think of his own circumstances—his car breaking down as he tried to leave, then losing his wallet right after the car got fixed. That siren song that had called him here in the first place, one whose tune still lingered in the back of mind, burned between his ears yet somehow still indiscernible.
And now this. The fire. Rowan had explained it away in his head a hundred times over. It was a trick of the wind, he’d say as he tried to fall asleep. A wrong place, wrong time kind of deal. Yet even with all his justifications, a coil of doubt slid serpentine beneath his skin, writhing and whispering as he tried to make his peace. It’s unnatural, it said, intentional. You were targeted.
Targeted by what, though? That made him sound like a lunatic. He thought back to his conversation with Peter and immediately wished he hadn’t. As much as his paranoia wanted to assign some sinister meaning or agenda to what had happened, they had just been unlucky, no matter what Peter implied, whatever… voice he may have heard.
Well, it wasn’t the first time he’d shared his bed with crazy, and it certainly wouldn’t be the last.
Rowan broke his gaze away from Nadia’s, fearing what she might see in it. He looked out the window instead, the fire playing over and over in his head as she spoke. It wasn’t that he’d heard anything, necessarily, but he’d felt it. A presence. It was one he hadn’t felt in months—one he’d been naïve enough to believe would go away. He couldn’t think the name, had blocked it out a hundred times over, yet still that face remained.
He screwed his eyes shut for but a moment, willing the vision away, and then turned back to Nadia.
“You mean besides Peter and I screaming bloody murder? No. I was kind of focused on, you know, being on fire,” he snapped. She’d struck a nerve, and she was sharp enough to know it. Still, being caught in a lie wasn’t a reason for him to air his private business to her.
“That’s a pretty specific question. I’m guessing the other people you’ve interviewed have heard or… seen things.”
She thinks about his comment, almost offhand. She thinks and she makes a mental note to really process that later. Something tells her there’s more truth to his statement than he even realizes. Everyone she’d known that had left Sallybrook was back, and maybe she’d fallen victim to the same pattern. That offer seemed too good to be true when the details were ironed out, but she’d taken them anyways.
“I guess you’re right,” She stops for a moment, collecting her thoughts. “I... I hadn’t thought that through as much as I should have, it’ll warrant investigation.” Anything that could be remotely related to the Haunt seemed to warrant Nadia’s interest these days. “But take that with a grain of salt, I say that for like, half of the weird rumors i hear in town. If it’s not missing children it’s something else, you know?”
That little bit of truth that was supposed to make the question bite less didn’t hurt as much as it would have a year before, with little stings would lead to binges and crying on her apartment floor.
Something flashes on Rowan’s face, and he looks away. A clear cut sign of lying, Nadia’s detective brain screamed. She paused, and took in the weird shifty nature of the boy, and smiled. She wanted to be as comforting of a presence as possible. Nadia was playing at being the Good Cop lately, asking questions that weren’t as probing and being polite. Everything that had happened to lead here had made her that way.
“That’s - I’m sorry.” She starts and stops, “I didn’t mean to upset you or anything, Peter told me basically nothing, so I’m hoping to hear from anyone else.” She pauses, and looks out the window. The city spreads out, and Nadia can almost make out the route she’d take home as a child.
“I’ve heard from some witnesses, and some people. Nothing but rumors, though, and weird things. A kid was returned that night, too. It makes things... different. Means the cops are tight lipped on the leads. Which means my source doesn’t want to talk, and so I’ve resulted to coffee house gossip that old women heard from a friend of a friend. It’s... tiring, honestly.”
