“We need a few minutes to take down our equipment,” Shane said. We were in no rush. The debunker in me thought that Pate had probably overheard the wind. When the four of us had first entered the execution chamber, I had noticed small cracks in the concrete bricks. When I’d put my hand over one of them I’d felt a trickle of cool air. It wouldn’t take much for a freaked-out imagination to interpret the whistle of wind as a voice. Besides, Pate had heard only two words, and simple ones at that. If he’d heard a sentence, I might reconsider the possibility that irate inmates were demanding his immediate departure.
Pate was still red and sweaty. “I never experienced nothin’ in this place before,” he said, his voice shaky. “I heard the stories but that’s all they were. And then your family—” he pointed a chubby finger at me “—they come in here last year and now there’s voices telling me to get out.”
Noah stepped in front of Pate. “You might want to reconsider pointing at her like that.” His voice was low and deadly serious, almost a growl. I’d never heard him sound like that, as if he was ready to punch someone.
“Okay, okay.” Shane put his hand on Noah’s shoulder. “Sorry, Mr. Pate. I know you’ve had a bad experience. We’ll hurry up and be out of here in five minutes.”
Noah stared hard until Pate looked away. “Five minutes,” he mumbled. “I’ll wait outside.” He lumbered off, his heavy footsteps echoing through the hallway.
We automatically began the task of taking everything down. I knew Shane was upset by Noah’s outburst—he considered it unprofessional to display a temper to anyone outside of the team—but he said nothing.
As Noah took down the tripod in the execution chamber, I asked him what was wrong. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you so angry,” I said.
“I’ve had enough of that guy.” He shook his head. “Let’s get this done and get out of here.”
We worked quickly to finish the job. It wasn’t fast enough, though, because Pate began bellowing at us from inside the front door. “Hurry up or I’m locking y’all inside!”
Shane handed me a case of cable and the small monitor. “Why don’t you head out so he knows we’re making progress?”
“Sure.” I lugged the equipment down the dark halls. The prison didn’t scare me, but there was something undeniably creepy about the walls, which were moldy and covered with satanic-themed graffiti. I was happy to reach the front doors and step outside into the bright August afternoon. From the outside, the prison resembled an ancient mansion, complete with stone walls and narrow turrets. A barbed-wire fence enclosed the back of the property, but in the front, a graceful wrought-iron gate greeted visitors. The delicate curves of the iron provided an ironic contrast to what lay behind them.
Pate leaned against a wall and watched me as I slid open the van door and carefully placed the monitor and cables inside. I took my time, hoping Pate would get bored or that Shane and Noah would join me. Neither happened. Instead, Pate ambled over and peered inside the van.
“Fancy,” he remarked. It was clear by his tone that “fancy” was not a compliment.
“The others will be here in a minute.” I touched my bracelet and tried to push back the discomfort I felt at having Pate stand so close to me. He was still breathing hard and obviously did not use mouthwash. Or deodorant.
“Never shoulda let you people in here,” Pate said. I kept my eyes down and pretended I was securing the monitor. “Everything was just fine. Never heard no voices before. But you roused ‘em up, didn’t you? You and all that fancy equipment.”
He moved closer to me and I stepped to the side. “Nothing was roused up, sir.” I kept my voice quiet and tried not to further agitate him.
“Don’t you tell me lies, girl.” I felt his finger jab me in the shoulder and I winced. Where were Noah and Shane? I was two seconds away from kicking this guy in the crotch.
“Mr. Pate, I’m very sorry you thought you heard something in there,” I began.
“I don’t think, girl. I know. Just like I know you got something to do with all this. Your family’s cursed, and a curse attracts the spirits.”
A drop of spittle landed on my cheek when he said “spirits.” I felt my rage grow like a heat inside my chest and gripped the van’s bumper.
“And another thing.” He poked me again. Before he could say anything else, Noah was there, shoving Pate with both hands.
“Don’t touch her!” he yelled.
Pate stumbled backward and landed on the pavement. Shane ran out of the building, his cameras left behind on the front steps. The wide wooden door of the prison was open, but it slowly began to close. As Shane pulled Noah off Pate, who was kicking his legs wildly as he lay on the ground, the door slammed shut, creating a cracking sound that reverberated in the air. Noah and Shane froze and looked at me. Pate scrambled to get on his feet.
The noise hung in the air, an echo that wouldn’t die. I became dizzy and had trouble breathing. I tried to say Noah’s name, but I couldn’t. Black dots swam in front of my eyes, the world around me began to go dark, and the last thing I remembered before passing out was the sensation of falling—and of Noah catching me before I hit the ground.
two
For our final dinner together before Annalise returned to college, I displayed my culinary talents by throwing a bunch of stuff into a bowl. It had been almost a full week since the visit to Pate’s prison, a week I had tried to fill by spending time with my sister, texting Avery at college and struggling to find moments for Noah and me.
“Is that parsley?” Annalise wrinkled her nose. “You’re putting parsley in the salad?”
“It’s green, isn’t it?” I tossed in chopped walnuts, apple wedges and sliced carrots. If it had been sitting in the crisper drawer of the fridge, it was now part of my experimental dish.
A timer went off, and Annalise opened the oven to inspect her lasagna. “A couple more minutes, I think.”
“I’m impressed, you know.” I opened a bag of store-bought rolls. “I never knew you could cook.”
“Mills and I took a couple’s cooking class together last semester.”
I liked my sister’s boyfriend. He’d been so kind to me after Mom’s injury, often staying up with me as I’d sat next to her hospital bed. We had talked a lot over the past few months, and he was starting to feel like family.
Annalise frowned as I arranged the rolls on a plate and shoved them into the microwave. “Maybe we should pop those in the oven,” she suggested.
“No time.” I pointed to the clock. “Everyone will be here soon.”
Our guest list for the evening included Shane, Trisha and Noah. It occurred to me that out of the group, Dad would be the only one who had no idea that I had been having panic attacks.
Four months had passed since I’d witnessed the attack on my parents. Four months, one week and three days. And during that time I’d experienced six panic attacks, each one brought on by the sound of something cracking, each one jamming my mind with the agonizing echo of a metal fire poker smashing my mother’s skull.
The first one had occurred when I was at home by myself. The second time, I’d been grocery shopping with Noah. A little kid had bumped into a display of canned vegetables, and the sound of the cans crashing had caused me to double over. Noah had practically carried me to the car, leaving our shopping cart behind as he’d whispered, “Please be okay, please be okay.”
I understood the cause of the panic attacks, but I had no idea how to stop them. Annalise thought it was a classic case of post-traumatic stress syndrome.