Page 56 of Fear Me Not

Something about their eyes makes me shiver. Perhaps it’s just the style of photography from back then, but none of the faces are smiling, and the look in their eyes is flat and empty.

But this is what I’d wanted, to learn more about the history of Windridge Hall, and Blake has inadvertently handed it right to me.

“What else do we know about them?” I ask, trying to sound casual.

“They were an old logging family. Not that they did any of the logging themselves, of course. But it’s what paid for this place.”

I eye Blake. “If the Wi-Fi was working, we could look into them deeper. Find out what their story is. Maybe it has something to do with what’s happening here—the weirdness of the hotel. I know the things I’ve felt and seen here are real, and so do you. It’s why you brought me here, isn’t it, as some layer of protection against them? You’re worried that if you and your sons are left here alone the whole winter, without any distractions, the ghosts will win.”

It feels crazy saying it out loud. Before I came here, I’d have said there was no such thing as ghosts, but how can I deny what I’ve seen and felt? There had been a woman standing on the road that day I’d tried to run. She’d stopped me from leaving; I know she had. And if she didn’t want me to leave, there must be reason behind it.

He shakes his head. “I don’t see how finding out the history of this place will help.”

“We might be able to find out the reason these things are happening. Have you even tried?”

“Have I looked into the history of this place? Yes, of course. The Buchanans built it in the 1920s, and the family remained here until the early seventies when it was sold and turned into a resort. Obviously, more effort was made back then to keep the routes open, but in the end, the access turned out to be too prohibitive to making a profit, so it shut down. It remained empty for years until I came across it at an auction.”

“Was it really the cost that shut this place down, or was there another reason people weren’t booking rooms?”

He shoots me a look and frustration tinges his tone. “I don’t know what to tell you, Pen. I’d done a little research into this place before I bought it, but funnily enough, nothing I came across mentioned it being haunted, unless I just wasn’t looking in the right place. As far as I can tell, the Buchanans were a respectable logging family. They had four daughters and a son, as you now know. He was the one who sold this place to be turned into a hotel. I guess he got too old to manage a property of this size. I have no idea if he had any children of his own, but my guess is they’d have preferred to inherit the money rather than this old place.”

I think about the woman on the road who caused the crash, the sense that she had been trying to stop me from leaving.

“What happened to the daughters?”

“I have no idea, but back then women rarely were even allowed to have their own bank account. Any inheritance most likely went to the son.”

“Even though he wasn’t the eldest?” I can see this clearly from the photograph where all the children are lined up.

“I believe so, yes. They would have wanted to keep the property in the family name.”

“Well, maybe it doesn’t have anything to do with them. Maybe the energy in this place has something to do with when it was a fully functioning hotel? Perhaps something happened to one of the guests?”

A muscle ticks in his jaw. “I don’t want to welcome them in, Aspen. If we open ourselves to them, who the fuck knows what might happen.”

“If we understand what they want, maybe they’ll leave us alone.”

He knits his lips together, his nostrils flaring. “We just need to get through winter. When the days get lighter again, everything will go back to normal.”

I scoff at that. “Normal? What the hell is normal about Windridge Hall?”

“I don’t want you stirring shit up.”

“Well, tough. You chose to bring me here.”

“Yeah, I did.” He frowns at me. “I gave you a home when you had nothing. Okay, maybe not everything I did was in your best interest, but you know what, Aspen, there are other people in the world besides you. I get that you’ve had a rough life, and I honestly did want to make things better for you, but I won’t have you putting my sons’ lives in danger because you decide you want to stir the pot in a situation none of us understand.”

His sharp words give me reason to pause. Blake being angry with me isn’t something I like. I’ve kind of enjoyed having the moral high ground for the past few weeks. For once, it’s felt as though I’d had the power, the control. It’s something I haven’t had much of in my life. I’ve wanted him to grovel and plead so I can tell him I’ll never forgive him, and hurt him as much as he’s hurt me. Just the fact that I’ve had the ability to hurt him has meant something, because it means he cares. He really and truly cares about me, despite the heinous lie he told. It’s impossible to hurt someone who doesn’t give a shit about you. You can throw anything you want at them, and they’ll just shrug and move on. Apathy is worse than hate.

Hate means they still give a fuck.

I suddenly envision the next few months where Blake has withdrawn his care for me. Months where he’s the one who ignores me and shrugs me off. Sure, I’d still have Dov and Levi, but the possibility terrifies me. I hate him for what he did to me, but that doesn’t mean I’ve switched off my feelings for him.

I’m the one who’s begging now. “So let’s understand it. That’s exactly what I’m trying to do here. Come on, Blake. I didn’t take you for a coward.”

His beautiful green eyes darken for a split second, the lids twitching as they narrow. “I’m no coward.”

“No? You choose to bring innocent women here rather than investigate what’s actually happening and put a stop to it? Is that the action of a brave man?”