 
### Pitter, Patter, Murder

Published by Melissa Dill at Smashwords

Copyright 2019 Melissa Dill

### Smashwords Edition, License Notes

Thank you for downloading this ebook. You are welcome to share it with your friends. This book may be reproduced, copied and distributed for non-commercial purposes, provided the book remains in its complete original form. If you enjoyed this book, please return to your favorite ebook retailer to discover other works by this author. Thank you for your support.
Table of Contents

Prologue

Pitter, Patter, Splash

Barbecue Weather

Suede in the Rain

All Hail Breaks Loose

Cold Enough for Hot Tea

Springtime for Deer

Rain of Books

Winter Cold

Sunlight

Dusk

Ocean Sky

Deceptive Drizzle

Poached Egg Sun

Red Skies At Night

Hear the Rain

Skyward

The Fog of Memory

Epilogue

Other books by Melissa Dill

Connect with Melissa Dill
Prologue

"Mommy, where is September?" Autumn Tremblay was four, her tow-colored pigtails bouncing as she walked.

" _When_ is September," the sun made her mother, Darla's shadow split in two, one shadow dark and long, the other a faint ghost.

Thinking she had asked the question wrong, Autumn repeated, "When is September?"

"It is after August and before October. It's when children go back to school. It's the beginning of Fall."

"Mommy, Mommy, Mommy," Autumn pulled on her mother's hand, slowing their approach to the preschool, "Where is my sister?"

"Oh," Darla's eyes widened with make-believe, "Is that her name?"

Autumn sat down abruptly; the sidewalk rough on her pudgy behind.

"C'mon Autumn, you're going to be late for school."

Autumn took a deep breath, letting it out in a wail. She had done this enough to know it got results, not always the results she wanted, but still. Things happened if she screamed loud enough and long enough.

They stayed there, Autumn howling on the sidewalk until Darla gave in, "I guess I'll see if Mrs. Zhang will watch you. I'm already late for work. If I lose my job . . ."

Autumn stood, her cotton dress sticking to the backs of her legs. They walked back the way they had come, squinting into the sun. Their shadows, confused by the change in direction, struggled to keep up with them. Mrs. Zhang's house sat on the corner lot, paint flaking off the shingles. Instead of a lawn, she had rows upon rows of dahlias. Autumn stopped in front of a pink flower, her chubby fingers grasping the stem.

"Autumn! Don't pick the flowers," Darla took her other hand, "Hurry up the path, please."

Autumn dragged her feet until she spotted the doorbell. Pulling her hand out of Darla's, she sprinted down the walkway. Reaching the door, Autumn pressed and depressed the doorbell repeatedly.

"Autumn-" Darla broke off as the door opened.

Mrs. Zhang looked at the little girl as if she alone stood on the stoop, "Hello, Pretty Girl. Do you want to come in Nainai's house?"

"Do you have candy?" Autumn peeked past her, only able to make out the shadow of a credenza.

"Autumn!" Darla shook her head, "Mrs. Zhang, I hate to impose on you again, but she was throwing a fit and refusing to go to preschool."

"Such a nice girl, you want to stay with me?" Mrs. Zhang continued to ignore Darla, "Nice, quiet girls get sweet things for their tummies."

Autumn completed the saying for her, "Bad girls get birdseed."

"Birdseed?" Darla was digging through her purse, "Here's twenty. I owe you more, I just haven't got to the bank."

Mrs. Zhang took the bill, then waved the little girl inside, "Candy money."

As soon as Autumn crossed the threshold, the scent of oranges hit her. She wandered into the living room, her eyes searching for the one thing she wanted to see. It sat high on a shelf, its animals frozen in mid-canter, a pink and blue canopy above their heads. Mrs. Zhang lifted it off the shelf without being asked. Tears leaked out of Autumn's eyes as Mrs. Zhang set the carousel on the coffee table and wound the mechanism. "I want September," Autumn whimpered.

"Sometimes if we wish hard enough, the horses will come to life and help us," Mrs. Zhang flipped the switch and the animals started forward with a jerk; a unicorn, a zebra, a giraffe. She patted Autumn's hand, her skin papery and warm, "Close your eyes and make a wish."

Autumn narrowed her eyes until she was peeking out of her lashes. Mrs. Zhang had her eyes closed, her silver hair spilling over half her face. Autumn screwed her eyes shut and wished as loud as she could, "I want September to be with me."
Pitter, Patter, Splash

The apartment was within walking distance of Trout Lake, off a stretch of road that rambled by cafes and restaurants. The inside was full of moving boxes, stacked in a dizzying wall against the fireplace. In front of the boxes stood a young woman, her blonde hair pulled back into a messy ponytail.

She lifted a box from the top of the pile and placed it on the floor. As she tried to get a fingernail under the edge of the tape, a Siamese cat sauntered into the room, her chocolate tail curving into an umbrella handle. She stared at her human, her blue eyes crossing. "Okay," the woman flipped open the flaps, "Let's do this." The cat crouched, the skin on her back twitching. "Oh look, it's dish - eek!" The cat leaped, swatting the woman's cheek with one of her clawless front paws. "Bad kitty!" she dove for the water bottle on the coffee table, firing her weapon with a _swisk-swisk-swisk_. The cat darted out of the room. Sticking her free hand in the box, the woman pulled out a ceramic merry-go-round.

"No," she whispered, "Not again."

She didn't really want to touch it, but she also didn't want it in her new home. She picked it up, boldly clutching the unicorn with a monkey on its back. Stomping out the front door, she marched past her new neighbor. His face had a bland perfection to it; symmetrical features, a mouth that was neither lipless nor pouty, and a nose that could grace a Greek statue. He was clean shaven, his blonde hair close-cropped, his eyes the only thing that made him seem living, and not carved from marble and smoothed with wax.

Running down the stairs, she darted out into the rain. The dumpsters sat in a corner of the parking lot, fenced in with chain link as if they might otherwise escape. She lifted the latch and slid inside the enclosure, lifting the lid of the brown trash container. Water ran in rivulets off the back and down the sides of the dumpster. She dropped the carousel inside, hearing a musical _ping_ , the third note of a children's song about death and weather. Shivering, she exited, slamming the gate and hurrying back towards the stair.

She slowed as she entered the shared balcony, watching the rain sheet off the apartment overhang, flooding the empty planter boxes and splattering the first-floor walkway. Her neighbor was still outside, tying washers on either end a string. Behind him, a pot set on the top of a camping stove, steam rising out the top of it.

"What are you doing?" she stopped, keys in hand, peering into the pot.

"Making candles," he held up the string in the middle, dipping the ends in the pot.

"How do you do that?"

He pulled the string out of the pot, then dipped it in an orange gallon bucket. "Basically, just a lot of dipping," he smiled drawing her attention to his eyes. They were vivid in their blueness, focused more on the forming candles than on the surroundings.

"Are you making them as Christmas presents? What kind of wax are you using? Are they scented?" she took a breath. If he was going to answer any of her questions, she needed to slow down.

He dipped the string back in the pot of wax, "Yeah, I'm mailing them to friends and family. Everybody needs a good beeswax candle, right?"

"What kind of wick are you using?"

"Square braid cotton," he removed the string again, arranging it so that it hung over a dowel. "You're the new neighbor down the hall? I'm Christian, I live here," he offered his hand.

"Autumn," she squeezed his hand, waiting for the inevitable season joke.

Instead, he proffered a string, washers tied on each end, "Do you want to try?"

"Absolutely," Autumn pushed back a lock of damp blonde hair, "Wax first?"

"Wax and water, wax and water," he put one hand on the frame of his apartment door, "I'm going to make dinner real quick. Be right back."

"Okay," she dipped the wick in the wax, easing it in until she felt the washers hit bottom. He was using her as free labor while he took a break. Autumn grinned to herself. She had no idea what she was doing, and the results were bound to be awful. "Beats unpacking," she mumbled, pulling the wick out of the wax, "or trying to get rid of cursed objects." She put the wick into the water, wondering if she had somehow accidentally put her giveaways in a moving box. Maybe everything else was in there; her worn teddy bear, a pair of old tennis shoes, her favorite cardigan with a hole under the right arm, and a battered pink lunch box full of broken crayons.

Christian appeared in the doorway with a corndog, "How's it going?"

"Uh," Autumn looked down at the candle that had formed on the string. It wasn't as bad as she thought it would be; a few bumps here and there, and a little crooked. The lump at the bottom made it look perverse, but Christian's had that too.

"Not bad for a first try," he took the candles from her, holding the corndog in his mouth while he hung them over the dowel. He took a bite, chewed, then swallowed, "Come by tomorrow and I'll let you have the ones you made."

"Thanks for letting me try," even if she tried to repress it, Autumn couldn't stop smiling. She glowed down the hall, the plink of raindrops almost seeming to form a melody. It wasn't until she got to her door, that she realized it wasn't the rain. The sound was coming from inside.

Little Jane can't hear the rain,

Pitter, patter, splash,

A lock of hair will be her bow,

Bones her purse's clasp.

Autumn threw open the door, ready to smash the carousel to bits. The apartment stood silent; the box she had opened missing. Looking at the wall of boxes, Autumn took a belly breath and held it. She was losing her mind.
Barbecue Weather

Most of the time, Autumn was a boring person. She subscribed to magazines she didn't read, cut them into little squares, and glued them back together again. It was art, but not anything great. Most of it wasn't even good, but that wasn't the point. When she was holding a sticky paintbrush, everything around her melted away and there was only the patterns and colors of an endless array of squares. No ghosts, no haunted carousels, and no creepy music.

So, when she passed Christian's door the next day, Autumn intended to keep walking; she would have, had he not been brushing his teeth while barbecuing a steak, his usually perfect hair in a messy tousle. "Nice weather for barbecue," she couldn't hide her amusement.

"Mmmm," he held up a flat palm, then ducked into his unit, leaving the door ajar. Autumn sidled up to the door, peeking in the crack. His apartment was the mirror image of hers, the kitchen spilling off to the right instead of the left. A faux leather couch faced a wall-mounted tv. A picture of boats hung on the adjacent wall. It all was what she expected, except for the bookshelf full of leather-bound books. She pushed the door in further, her eyes glued to the shelf. There were all hues; blues, reds, yellows, browns and the sizes ranged from pocket to sketchbook. She couldn't be positive without opening the covers, but Autumn was pretty sure she was looking at journals or blank books. "Ta-dah," Christian's voice made her jump, "here's your finished candles." The tapers had a warm yellow tone, the bottom lump sliced off clean.

"Oh," she took her hand off the door, "Thanks."

He followed her gaze to the bookshelf, "I make books. Here," he dug in his pocket, pulling out a business card, "this is my website."

"Wow, they look really nice," she took the card, then continued down the hall.

As Autumn unlocked her door, Christian called out after her, "If they're too narrow, use aluminum foil."

"What is he talking about?" she dropped her keys on the counter, shedding her coat and purse in a heap. The coat hooks were somewhere in the wall of boxes. Everything was in the wall of boxes. She danced around them, trying to find one marked "kitchen." Picking a box at random, Autumn lugged it into the middle of the room. _Cat_ was scrawled across the top of it. "O Persephone," she ripped the tape off the top, "I found your bed." It was stuffed in the top of the box, toys jingling underneath it. The cat bowls were wrapped in newsprint at the bottom, wedged next to a bent scratch pad. Unwrapping the bowls, Autumn went into the kitchen. "Persephone!" she filled the water bowl, replacing a makeshift disposable bowl with the ceramic one. "Where is she?" Autumn opened the cabinet under the microwave, pulling out a bag of kibble. She had already shut the cabinet before it registered; the carousel was in there. Placing the bag on the floor, she opened the cabinet again. _Plink_. She slammed the door, backing against the counter, "What do you want from me?"

There was the _crick-crick-crick_ of the music box winding, then the song began, mid-verse.

-hair will be her bow,

Bones her purse's clasp.

Little Jane can't hear the rain,

"Leave me alone!" Autumn kicked the cabinet with a thunk, "Leave me the f-". Her phone rang, its electronic beeping competing with the mechanical pinging of the music box. She scrambled out of the kitchen, digging her phone out of her purse.

"Hello."

"Hey Autumn, this is Jen from Girl's Nest," there was a thumping sound in the background like someone had slammed into her office window with both hands, "Sorry to bother you, but we need someone to come in."

The door to the cat food cabinet shuddered. "Yeah, I can come in. I'll head there now," Autumn gathered her belongings and ran out the door with her coat folded over her arm. Christian had his back turned as she passed him; a meat thermometer stuck in his steak.

Her car was still warm, steam rising off its grey hood. She unlocked the door, settling on the creaky seat. "C'mon, Millie," she encouraged, turning the key. The car coughed to life, disgruntled that it was being called back into service. Autumn turned the heater on full blast, watching the windows fog and then clear. Backing out of the spot, she turned Millie around and flipped on her blinker.

The drive to Girl's Nest took an hour in traffic. Tonight, it only took twenty minutes before she was pulling up to the turn-of-the-century house, its gabled roof giving it a stately air. It seemed peaceful from the street, lights glowing in the main windows, the smaller rooms dark and somnolent. It wasn't until Autumn stepped across the threshold, that she could hear the disturbance; it was Grace, and she was bouncing from wall to wall like a human ping-pong ball. As Autumn tucked her belongings in the office, the thumping and obscenities paused, "Who's that?" When Autumn didn't answer, Grace upped the volume. "I SAID! Who's THAT?"

Autumn padded across the frayed industrial carpet into the common area, "Hi Grace."

Grace let loose a string of curses, "You were just here. Don't you have a life?"

"Yes, Grace, but the chance to be here is too good to pass up."

"Don't come at me all sideways like that," Grace glared at Autumn with dark eyes, her mouth pursed in a frown.

Autumn yawned, sitting on the sagging couch, "Why aren't you in bed?"

"I'm not a baby," Grace continued to glare, her arms crossed, "I don't need to go to bed at ten o'clock."

"You don't have to sleep, you could read, draw, write a letter, or heaven forbid, do homework."

Grace ran a hand over her brown curls, "What about you, why don't you want to be home?"

"I would be home right now if it wasn't for you," Autumn lied.

"Nah, you'd be out partying," Grace looked Autumn up-and-down, "You don't go out like that, do you?"

"What's wrong with jeans and a sweatshirt?" Autumn grinned, "Hey Grace, you like horror stories?"

Grace leaned against the back of an overstuffed chair, "I don't like that freaky stuff."

"Oh, never mind then."

"What?"

"I don't want to scare you."

"Is this place haunted? I bet it's haunted. Man, I hate this place," Grace looped a leg over the arm of the chair.

"No, I've never seen anything weird here," Autumn rubbed her eyes, "Let me rephrase that; I've never seen anything _supernatural_ here." She leaned forward, watching Grace slide onto the arm of the chair. Once Grace was somewhat seated, Autumn continued, "Let's say you had a toy that you threw away and it somehow came back, and maybe it moved on its own."

"Burn it with fire!"

"Okay, that's one idea. What else could you try?"

Grace slid into the center of the chair, "Give it to someone else. That's kinda mean though. Give it to someone you hate, like my foster mom."

"What'd she do?" Autumn tried to sound disinterested.

Grace sat up, "M.Y.O.B." She stood, then stomped over to her room. Throwing the door open, she gave Autumn a middle-fingered salute before slamming the door behind her.

Autumn stretched her hands over her head, then half-rolled out of the couch. Peeking through the office window, she could catch Jen's outline silhouetted by the computer. Autumn popped her head into the office, "Want to take the first sleep shift?"

"Grace is down?" Jen looked up from her case notes, the light from the monitor reflecting off her glasses, "You have the magic touch with her."

"Yes, I can magically make teenage girls hate me," Autumn flipped on the light switch, "She called me out of my name, insulted my clothes, and flipped me off."

Jen laughed, "Yeah, okay. Wake me up if they all come out of their rooms and riot."

Once Jen left, Autumn scrolled through Grace's file. She had been in the same foster home since she was five. Girl's Nest was supposed to be a break for her foster mom and a chance for Grace to stabilize on her new medicine. The latest note suggested that her foster mom didn't want her back. Autumn closed the case notes, picking up the local newspaper. There was no way she could solve Grace's problems. She couldn't even handle her own. Autumn paged through the ads, slowing as she hit the psychics. "FREE READING," caught her eye mid-column, "Call Madame Yolanda for telephone spiritual advice."

Autumn looked out the window into the common area. Everything was still, a strip of light shining through the bottom of Grace's door. Lifting the phone off the cradle, she dialed the listed number.

"Madame Yolanda," the woman had a breathless voice.

"Hi, uh, I think I have a um . . . possessed object," Autumn fumbled.

"What's your name?"

"Autumn."

"Last name?"

"Uh, why do you need that?" Autumn twisted the cord around her index finger.

"I can't help you if you don't give me anything to go off of."

"Tremblay," Autumn conceded.

"Reach in your pocket."

Autumn stuck her hand in her pocket and pulled out a business card.

"What does it say?" Madame Yolanda prompted.

"Christian Tremblay," Autumn gawked at the card.

"Your brother."

"No," Autumn snorted. The surname wasn't _that_ uncommon.

"He has something to do with this. There is the smell of flowers," her voice changed, deepening as it grew stronger, "You're in danger of a spiritual nature. Sandrine can't help you, but I can."

"What is a Sandrine?"

"What's a what?" the girly voice was back.

"Whatever you just said."

"That wasn't me, that was a spirit that refuses to cross over. I guess you could say I'm possessed too," Madame Yolanda giggled hoarsely, "He gets me in trouble a lot."

"You, uh, _he_ said he'd help me."

"Ummmmmm, okay. Let's start with the object. What is it?"

"A ceramic merry-go-round."

"Cute! I mean, terrifying."

Autumn blew air into the receiver, "Look, Madame Yolanda, if you had this thing playing music on its own and following you around, you'd be afraid of it too."

"Does it levitate?"

"No. Thank God."

She was quiet for a moment, and Autumn almost thought the call had dropped. Before Autumn could ask if Madame Yolanda was still there, she started talking again, "Do you know where Depot 56 is?"

"The coffee place? Yeah, it's kind of crowded there."

"Meet me there tomorrow at noon. Bring your merry-go-round," she hung up with a click.
Suede in the Rain

Depot 56 stretched its glass ceiling in an arc over Autumn's head. Customers vied for seats or stood leaning against the wall, painted to resemble a train platform. Every few minutes a projected image of a steamer chuffed its way across it, distorting around the standees sipping their coffees. The counter boasted a line that ran out the door, and the constant hiss of the espresso machine and hubbub of voices simulated the chaos of a loading platform.

Autumn stood in the doorway, merry-go-round clutched in her hands, wondering what Madame Yolanda looked like. After a few minutes of scanning the room, she gave up and backed out into the rain. Standing under the glass overhang, she watched people straggling inside in twos and threes. _Plink_. Shifting her hold on the carousel, she dug her phone out with her other hand.

"Excuse me," the voice next to her was breathless, familiar, " _Oh_ , you _gotta_ be _kidding_ me." Madame Yolanda had short dark hair, a purple streak sweeping her eyes. She blew it out of her face as she struggled to squeeze into the cafe. Autumn didn't know what she thought a psychic would look like, but this surely was not it; blue jeans, orange poncho, suede boots. Even though Autumn couldn't see the future, she I knew what would happen to those suede boots in the rain.

"Yolanda," Autumn called, "Yolanda!"

Madame Yolanda looked in Autumn's direction, but it wasn't as though she looked at her. If anything, Madame Yolanda looked in Autumn and through her, her gaze finally settling on the carousel cradled in Autumn's hands. "May I?" Yolanda walked towards Autumn, her hands outstretched.

"Sure," Autumn passed it to her, watching her grab the horses and flip it upside-down.

"It's not antique, I'd say maybe 1980's or 90's. No maker's mark," Madame Yolanda flipped it back over holding it out on upraised palms. Thinking she meant to return it, Autumn grabbed the top of the porcelain canopy. "Woah!" Madame Yolanda's voice deepened, "That's a lot of energy." She moved one hand around the carousel, "This is all orangey pink, and right here," she made a circle around where Autumn's hand grasped the canopy, "is red and almost warm. Wow." She looked over Autumn's shoulder at the coffee shop, "Come in, I'll buy you a drink."

Autumn followed Madame Yolanda into the cafe, squeezing into the corner by the door. Madame Yolanda looked at the long line and shook her head. "You chose this place," Autumn reminded her.

"No, my sister chose this place. I'm Charon," Madame Yolanda held out her hand.

"Ohhhh, you're the spirit that Yolanda channels, right," Autumn looked down at the carousel, "Can you really help me?"

Madame Yolanda shuffled forwards a few inches with the line, "Maybe. Do you know where the merry-go-round came from?"

"A neighbor who used to babysit me left it to me in her will. It sounds weird, but I guess when I was little I really liked it."

"When did you notice it was psychogenically active?"

"As soon as I got it, it started playing by itself. I thought that was creepy, so I gave it to a friend. She gave it back, saying it gave her nightmares. I've given it away multiple times, thrown it away, left it on the roof of my car and drove on the freeway . . . that wasn't smart. I threw it out the window, down a case of stairs, left it in a church. Nothing works."

They were now in sight of the menu, and Madame Yolanda or Charon, or whatever-her-name-was scanned the list of offerings, "I think I feel like an egg sandwich." She looked at Autumn, "Are you single?"

Thinking she had misheard, Autumn squinted at the menu, "I might have a chocolate chip cookie."

"Do you live by yourself?"

"No, I have a cat."

"Oh, I bet she hates your carousel. S, the letter S. Think about that for a second," Madame Yolanda turned towards the counter, ordering an egg sandwich, a cup of tea, and a chocolate chip cookie. She handed Autumn the cookie, and they wandered over towards the train wall. "Who do you know whose name starts with S?"

"No one," Autumn stuck the merry-go-round on the ground between her feet, "Everyone."

Madame Yolanda laughed, "Good answer. Did you grow up here?"

"Sort of. I'm from Richmond."

"Who died?" the train chugged across the wall, and Madame Yolanda squinted as the light hit her eyes.

Autumn covered hers in preparation, "My dad died. Do you think that's what this is about?"

"Maybe," Madame Yolanda nodded, "I want you to write down everything you can remember about him and his passing. See if anything comes up. Don't call that psychic hotline number again, okay? Call the number Sandrine gives you."

"Wait, who is that? You've said that name before."

"What name?" Madame Yolanda looked down at the sandwich she was holding, "Aw, I wanted to get a Russian Tea Cake."

"Sandrine."

Madame Yolanda looked around the room, her eyes focusing on the soaring ceiling, "That's my real name. I should just give you my cell phone number."

Autumn took out her phone and handed it to the medium, watching her type in her information. "What do you think I should do about the carousel?"

"I can take it," she handed Autumn her phone, "We have a lock box for things like that. The lock is sealed with holy water and I put a line of silica around it. I know everyone thinks it's supposed to be salt, but you would be amazed at what silica can do."

"Thanks," Autumn looked at her phone, making sure the number was saved, "I'll call you if I remember anything spooky."
All Hail Breaks Loose

The rain was falling hard on the roof of Girls Nest, tapping away at the peaks and gables, clinking as it hit the vent to the stove. Autumn was sitting at the desk in the main room, reading the former shift's log. In front of her, Madison, a new girl, was braiding Grace's hair, rubber bands, combs, and hair product arranged around them. "My sister Madison and I do each other's hair all the time," Madison parted Grace's hair.

"Wait, you have a sister with the same name as you?" Grace twisted around and Madison smacked the top of her head.

"Yeah, we're half-sisters, born the same year."

Autumn hid her incredulous expression behind the log book.

"How do people tell you apart?" Grace started sorting the rubber bands by color.

Madison combed a lock of Grace's hair and fed it into the braid, "We're not twins, Dummy, we just have the same name."

"I wish I had a twin," Autumn initialed the top of the page to show she had read it.

"Don't nobody need two of you," Grace wrapped a red rubber band around her finger.

"But then I could be here all the time!"

Grace lowered her voice as if she hoped Autumn wouldn't hear, "Both my parents are dead."

"You're lucky. I wish my parents were dead," Madison stuck a clip in Grace's hair.

"No, no, you don't," Autumn stood, stretching, "because then they would haunt you. Now you can move out, but if they're ghosts, you'll never get rid of them." Autumn's phone buzzed and she slid it out of her pocket.

"Remember anything?" read the text.

"Busy at work," Autumn typed, "Text later."

Before she could slide it back in her pocket, the phone buzzed again, "This is Charon. I might not be around later."

Autumn huffed at her phone, then rapped on the office door, "Hey Jen, taking a break. Grace and Madison are in the living room, Ella and Juana are in their rooms doing homework." Jen waved her off through the window, and Autumn ducked out the front door.

Tiny white pellets were sprinkled across the ground like salt, and she bent to pick one up. "Hail," it was hard between her fingers with a coldness that almost burned. She dialed her phone, cradling it between her ear and shoulder while she stuffed her hands in her pants pockets.

"Autumn, you called," her voice was stentorian.

"Charon?" Autumn hazarded.

"Yeah, have you remembered anything?"

Autumn shivered as the wind stirred around her, "Sorry, I don't really remember much of anything. My dad died when I was really young." How young, she couldn't remember. Her childhood was a blur up until the crispness of thirteen; the way the melamine desk/chair combos bit into the backs of her legs, the slap of embarrassment when anyone spoke her name, and the tick of the institutional clock hands inching towards the moment the bell would ring. Every minute of thirteen seemed like yesterday.

"Orange, either the color or the fruit. Think about that for a moment," Sandrine interrupted her thoughts.

Autumn couldn't help it, she started giggling, "Are you hungry?"

"Depends. Are you buying?"

"I have to work tonight until late tonight, actually, I should go back inside now," Autumn looked at the door behind her, imagining Grace tearing pages out of the log book while Madison barricaded the office door.

"You work tomorrow?"

"No." It was Thursday, one of Autumn's days off.

"You should come over. Sandrine will give you the address," her voice became breathy, uncertain, "What was I saying?"

"You were going to text me your address."

"Oh, um, yeah."

"I gotta go, but see you tomorrow," Autumn hung up before Sandrine could fumble her way through a goodbye.

Autumn eased the door open, the beeping of the alarm the only sound. Grace, her hair pulled back in a messy plait, glared at her, "It's so boring here that my brain is going to melt."

"What happened to Madison?" Autumn keyed in the alarm code.

"She's doing homework," Grace flopped sideways on the couch, ending her sentence with a groan.

Wandering into the kitchen, Autumn glanced at the menu taped to the fridge, "And you don't . . . I don't know, have homework?" She blinked at the menu, "Orange chicken?"

Grace cursed at her from across the room, ending with, "Call me a chicken."

Autumn ignored her, scanning the ingredient list for something that started with the letter S. "Soy sauce," she mumbled, "What if I'm being haunted by a chef?" Autumn smiled to herself, pulling chicken breasts out of the freezer. Above her, there was a _tap_ followed by a _tap-tap-rap-tap_. She craned her neck as if she could see up through the top floor, past Ella and Juana's room, past the staff overnight room, storage room, bathroom, straight up into the joists of the attic.

The _rap-tap-tap_ of hail was punctuated by a thud that rattled the dishes in the cabinet. Without thinking, Autumn ran out the front door. A carpet of white pellets spread out across the grass, an unfamiliar steel box laying on its side where the hail was the thickest. "Where did that come from?" she crunched her way over to it, bending over to examine it. It was hinged at the top, a hasp holding the lid shut. A padlock hung from the hasp; its shackle bent at an angle its maker never intended.

The lid rattled, and Autumn backed away, watching the lock jump in the hasp until it slid out-of-place. There was a _crik-crik-crik_ , and then the chiming tune began.

-can't hear the rain,

Pitter, patter, splash,

The lid flipped open and the carousel rose from the box. "It does levitate," Autumn mumbled to herself. No sooner had it had begun, the carousel stopped, sliding back into the box with a muffled _ping_. It was then that she noticed Grace. She was standing beside Autumn, arms tucked inside her t-shirt to fend off the cold, eyes glued to the steel box. "Grace," Autumn tried to catch her gaze, "Grace? Grace!" Grace jerked to life, running back towards Girls Nest. Instead of heading for the door, she veered around the building, grass crunching under her canvas shoes. Autumn let out some choice epithets, then jogged after her. Grace reached the sidewalk, and without a pause, crossed the avenue.

"Autumn? Are you out here?" it was Jen's voice.

Autumn plodded back around the front of the house, her breathing ragged in her chest, "Here."

"Did you feel the earthquake?" Jen held the door open, Juana peering out from behind her.

"Earthquake?"

"Yeah, I thought about going under my desk, but it was really fast."

"I don't think that was an earthquake," Autumn turned, pointing at an empty spot on the ground. "Where?" the box was gone, only a patch of unfrozen cement remaining.

"Yeah, it was," Juana shuffled in her stocking feet, "I heard it on the radio."

Autumn walked over to the blank spot, standing in the middle of it, "Grace took off."

"She'll come back," Jen reassured, "She always does."

"I hope so."
Cold Enough for Hot Tea

By the time Autumn finished her shift, the sky had become invisible beyond the halos of lamp posts and headlights. The earlier hail had turned to ice, and as she climbed the stairs, Autumn clung to the banister, her feet sliding on each tread. When she reached the top, she could see Christian sitting on a camping chair. A bruise circled his right eye; red, purple and yellow tones streaking across the tenderest part of his face.

"But what does the other guy look like?" Autumn joked.

He shook his head, "It's a long story."

"I have lots of time, and I would love to hear someone else's problems instead of thinking about mine," Autumn's breath hung in the air, a ghost of her words.

"Ok," Christian stood, "I'll be over in five."

Knowing the mess that awaited her, Autumn hurried to her door, turning the key in the lock with a scrape. Scraps of paper freckled the carpet, magazines scattered across the living room. She scooped up an armful and marched them into the bedroom. She was in the middle of stuffing them in the closet when she saw it.

The steel box lurked in the back of the closet, a fine layer of dust across the top. Mesmerized, she flipped open the lid and lifted the carousel out and into her lap. "Autumn?" Christian's voice made her jump.

"Here," sliding the closet door shut, Autumn walked back into the living room.

If he thought her appearing with a ceramic merry-go-round was weird, Christian didn't say it. Instead, he sat on the sofa, his boots planted on the messy carpet.

"Can I get you some tea?" Autumn deposited the possessed carousel on the coffee table in front of him.

"Yeah, okay."

She filled the kettle with water and set it on the stove. While it heated, she perched in a secondhand Dutch modern armchair. "So, you want to tell me about this?" Autumn drew a circle around her own eye.

"My dad said something that he had no right to say," Christian stared at the merry-go-round.

"You had a fight with him? A physical fight?"

Christian nodded. "My mom committed suicide five years ago," his eyes emptied as he spoke, his face flattening into an expressionless mask, "It's not right to blame her."

"No, it's not."

"It's all just so confusing," he rubbed his eyes, winced, "I don't know if I should believe him, or not."

"You wouldn't blame someone for dying of cancer," Autumn leaned forward, trying to make eye contact, "And that's what suicide is like. It's the end result of a disease, a disease in the brain."

"No, that's not it though. He said she killed a little girl," Christian looked at her, the hurt manifesting in his hands. He held them to his chest, clenched into fists.

Autumn had never been so glad to hear a tea kettle whistle. She had no idea what to say, so she took her time choosing mugs from the cabinet. Christian, she decided, should get the one with the bear skipping rope, while she herself would drink out of a mug shaped like a cat's head. Tossing cheap envelopes of orange pekoe into the mugs, she filled them with hot water. Stalling, she opened a box of sandwich cookies, crinkling the plastic and sliding out the tray. With nothing else left to do, Autumn placed a mug and the plastic tray of cookies in front of him. "Want one?" she asked with affected cheer.

_Ping_. The carousel responded. Autumn gave it the side eye, daring it to levitate above Christian's head.

Christian stared at a cookie, his face expressionless, "This has a really nice pattern to it, sort of a floral motif, and the way it's formed is reminiscent of leather work." He pulled a leather notepad and golf pencil out of his pocket and started scribbling.

"Ooooo," Autumn leaned over to see his sketch, "Are you going to put that on a journal cover? How do you do that? Do you use a stencil or is each one different?"

"I usually draw each one individually, but some people use stencils. You should come over sometime and I'll teach you how to leather work," Christian took a bite of the cookie, chewed, then swallowed. "You must think I'm really messed up."

"Nah, if I told you half of what my life is like, you wouldn't even believe me."

"Like what?" he picked up his teacup.

"Do you believe in ghosts?"

Christian shrugged, tea sloshing out of his cup, "Metaphorically? Yeah, I mean the past is like pages in a book. You can't just rip them out after you read them. Or maybe you can."

"Uh, well, I kind of meant that literally," Autumn picked at a spot of dried glue on the coffee table.

"Maybe that's what ghosts are," Christian flipped the pages of his notebook, "if I took these pages from here," he grasped the first quarter of the pages, "and put them here," he slid his hand in at the three-quarters mark, "it would seem supernatural, but really it's just the past out of context."

"You sound like my psychic," Autumn studied him. Christian came off as absent-minded, almost ditzy, but his insight was dead on. Maybe she had misjudged him. "What happened to your cup of tea?"

"Eh?" Christian looked around himself, puzzled. Autumn got on all fours and peered under the coffee table, while Christian checked the couch cushions. The only thing they found was splatter marks from his earlier gesticulations. The cup itself seemed to have vanished.

Autumn sat up, "Oh well, it'll turn up I guess."

"Sorry," Christian stood, "I should probably go before your merry-go-round disappears."

"I wish," she gave the porcelain zebra a meaningful look.

Christian headed for the door, turning back towards her as he reached it, "Thanks, Autumn."

"Thanks for dropping by," Autumn picked up the tray of cookies and wandered into the kitchen. Rinsing out her cat mug, she opened the cupboard. The jump-roping bear mug sat upside-down inside. It was dry and cool to the touch as if it hadn't recently been used. "The past out of context," she repeated numbly.

_Crik-crik-crik-crik_. The carousel was winding itself. Autumn walked into the living room, her arms spread wide, "Tell me! Whatever it is, just tell me!"

splash,

A lock of hair will be her bow,

Bones her purse's clasp.

The merry-go-round teetered, then rose, horses spinning like a propeller on a helicopter.

" _Tell_ me!" she had seen this in a horror movie before; face your fears and they lose their power.

But this was not a movie and the carousel flew straight at Autumn, hitting her square in the chest. She fell backward, the corner of the coffee table biting into the small of her back. Even though she didn't feel it, she must have hit her head because her consciousness slipped away and then, she was dreaming.

In her dream, her father was a blur as he lifted her in the air over his head. He seemed like a giant, tossing her up in the air while she giggled.

A beeping sound woke her, and Autumn sat up, confused. Light filtered through the bedroom curtains, dust motes twirling in the air. She picked up her phone and turned off the alarm, then shuffled to the bathroom. Sitting on the side of the sink, next to her toothbrush, was a tepid cup of tea. A bear posed on the side, mid-skip, his jump rope raised above his head.
Springtime for Deer

Millie did not like the way the road twisted as it went up. She coughed as Autumn gave her gas, groaned as she changed gears. "C'mon, girl, you can do this," Autumn encouraged. Three-quarters of the way up, Millie stopped making any noise whatsoever. For a moment she coasted, then Autumn stomped on the breaks as the car started to ease backward. There was no shoulder, so Autumn flipped on her hazards and dialed her phone.

"Hey," Sandrine rasped.

"I'm almost to your house, but I'm having car problems," Autumn jumped out of the car, circling it to stand in a drainage ditch.

"Where are you?"

"Donn Drive," Autumn looked up as someone honked. Millie's hazard lights were so dim, Autumn could barely see them, "I gotta call a tow truck. I'll let you know what they say."

"I'll be there in five. Don't leave without me," there was the jingle of Sandrine's keys in the background.

Autumn stabbed the disconnect button with her index finger and unlocked the trunk. The emergency kit was snuggled up to the ceramic carousel. It pinged at her as she unzipped the kit. Ignoring it, Autumn retrieved a flare and struck it against the road. It burst into flame and she dialed roadside assistance while holding it. With her luck, if she set the flare on the ground, it would roll down the hill and into a puddle.

Autumn had just finished giving roadside assistance her information when a sporty black import pulled up next to her. The window rolled down. "I can't believe you're standing here waving a flare," Sandrine unlocked her doors with a click, "Climb in before someone hits you."

"Can you park behind me and put your hazards on? Mine aren't working," Autumn poked her head into the car. A piece of fabric brushed her head, and she looked up. There were tear marks across the passenger side ceiling. "You have a knife fight in here?" Autumn opened the door.

"Oh, no," Sandrine giggled, "I have a client who has deer horns."

"Deer horns? You mean like bony protrusions from the skull? Shouldn't they see a doctor?" Autumn sat, running her hand over the rips in the nylon.

"No, I mean deer horns," Sandrine jerked the car into reverse and cranked the wheel, "and they're invisible."

"So he, or she is crazy."

Sandrine shifted into Park with a jolt, "No, they're real horns, they just only exist in the spiritual plane."

"Antlers," Autumn corrected.

"You sound like Charon. Although, he would start lecturing me about the difference between horns and antlers, and he would totally buy into the idea that this guy is part deer. I don't even completely believe it, and he tore up Zoe's ceiling," Sandrine clicked on her hazard lights.

"Well, I mean antlers do fall off eventually," Autumn shrugged, "so maybe that will happen to your client."

"Maybe," Sandrine glanced in her rear-view mirror, "Your tow-truck is here."

Autumn got out of the car in time to see a barrel-chested man hopping down from the tow-truck, "This your car?" He nudged Millie with the toe of his shoe.

"Yeah," Autumn pulled her roadside assistance card out of her wallet and passed it to him.

"Bet it's your alternator."

"Uh, I mean, I had that replaced two years ago. Can that happen again that soon?

"If it's installed wrong, then yeah," the tow-truck driver wrote down Autumn's information on a multi-part form. Ripping off the yellow portion, he handed it to her with my card, "You have a ride, eh?"

"Yeah, Thanks. Just let me get my . . . stuff out of the trunk," Autumn unlocked the trunk, lifting the carousel by its center pole. Standing to the side, she watched as Millie was rigged up to the truck. It wasn't until Milie was towed away, that Autumn turned back towards Sandrine's car.

Sandrine was leaning out the window, her chin cupped in her hand, eyes fixed on the carousel "I was going to tell you when you got to my house, but it looks like you already know."

"You have a lot of explaining to do," Autumn joked.

"I don't know how it happened. One minute the box was there, and then . . . well, there was a storm. The power went out, so my electro-whatever field wasn't working."

"Your what?"

"I don't know. It's something Charon rigged up with the silica and a low wattage? Voltage? Low-voltage fence, you know, like the collars dogs wear?" Sandrine leaned back inside the car, still mumbling to herself.

Autumn opened the car door and sat down on the passenger side, "It fell out of the sky. In a steel box, I might add. It hit the roof of my workplace."

"It must have a really important message for you," Sandrine drove down the hill, then turned right, "Your father is trying to speak to you."

The road changed from cement to dirt. Loose rocks clunked as they hit the insides of the wheel wells. They pulled up to a single wide trailer, tucked in between the trees as if it had sprouted there. A fine layer of green coated the grey exterior, and Autumn's distaste mingled with anxiety.

"Are you coming?" Sandrine, already out of the car, ducked her head back in.

Autumn hesitated, then followed Sandrine up to a small wooden porch. The wood was fresh, treated to resemble cedar, "Maybe I'll stay out here."

"Oooo-kay," Sandrine unlocked the door and flipped on the lights. Through the open door, Autumn could see a couch and a coffee table.

"I used to have sheets like that," Autumn pointed to the couch. Unicorns frolicked on the cushions. The arms and base of the couch were upholstered in a rainbow chenille. The coffee table was a slab of granite that rested on wrought iron legs. A band of saint medallions encircled the stone. Autumn stepped inside, crouching by the table. "Mary, Untier of Knots," she ran her finger over the tiny letters on a medallion.

"There were problems in your parents' marriage, but your childhood had moments of happiness," Sandrine sat on the unicorn couch, "I see a half, a half of something." She giggled, "I don't know what that means, but I have half a pie in my kitchen right now. You want some?"

"Sure," Autumn watched Sandrine duck behind an orange flowered curtain. Straightening up, she took in the rest of the room; a chair, wall-mounted TV, built-in shelves with knick-knacks and photographs. She paused in front of a picture of Sandrine and freckled-faced man. They both grinned, a snow-capped mountain rising behind them. "Is this Charon?" Autumn called through the curtain.

Sandrine popped through the center like a puppet on a stage, "No." She snorted, "That's just Zoe. I probably have a picture of Charon somewhere, hold on." She disappeared, curtains swishing back into place. Not even a minute later she returned with two pieces of pie and a memorial card.

"He looks like you," Autumn picked up the card, holding it up to compare. They had the same doe-like eyes, the same potato of a nose, but Charon's features were squarer, and his hair sprung out in waves. "Charon Agur Runds" was written in cursive at the top of the card. The bottom block of text read like a fortune cookie, "You will return to your home seeking an answer. Things will be very dark until you see the light. Stay the course and friendship will be your reward. Lucky number: 2." Autumn read the bottom aloud as Sandrine ate her pie, her expression changing from bemusement to outright amazement.

"How did you do that?"

"It says right here -" the words blurred in front of Autumn's eyes, reforming into:

Seer - Animal Telepath - Beloved Son - Brother - Friend.

We have gained an advocate on the other side.

Freed from the bonds of his physical body, a pure spirit shall he be.

"Oh no you don't," Sandrine snatched the card from Autumn's hand, "Out of my house."

"But . . ." was all Autumn got out before Sandrine stood, the air cracking orange around her.

Sandrine didn't touch Autumn, but somehow she was pushed off the couch. As she scrambled to get her feet underneath her, Autumn could hear a _crik-crik-crik_ to her right. "Leave!" Sandrine seemed to deflate, the word coming out in a hiss.

Little Jane can't hear the rain,

Pitter, patter, splash.

Autumn could have sworn she had left it in the car, but there was the carousel, and it was levitating. Not wanting to see what happened next, she took Sandrine's advice and left. She ran like a fool, banging through the door and half falling down the porch steps. Sandrine's car sat in the drive, and Autumn sprinted to it, yanking on the door handle. "Please, let there be keys," she threw herself into the driver's seat, pawing at the ignition for a key that wasn't there.

A hand smacked the window her my left and she yelped. Once Autumn saw the face in the window, she outright screamed. The man didn't look friendly, a ball cap pulled low over his eyes, freckles splattered across his cheeks, his lips a straight line. He stared at her and unblinkingly held up a key fob. Her hands shaking, Autumn opened the door. "Here," he pressed the key into my palm, "Drive responsibly."

Autumn fumbled with the keyless system until some mysterious combination of button and pedal pushing turned the ignition. The wheels spun as the car lurched into Drive, a cloud of wet soil rising behind her. She didn't look in the rear-view mirror until she reached the end of the drive. The single-wide was miniaturized behind her, deceptively still.
Rain of Books

When Sandrine called her the next day, Autumn let it go to voicemail and pulled an afghan over her legs. Persephone jumped onto the couch and batted at the lumps in the blanket. Hunting completed, she settled in between Autumn's legs, working the wool with her missing claws. Autumn slid one hand out of the blanket, causing Persephone's ears to twist like satellite dishes.

"Don't attack me, I'm just listening to a voicemail," Autumn clicked on the message. Persephone crouched, her blue eyes crossing.

"Hi, this is Charon. I know you might not be really happy with us right now, but you have Zoe's car. I'm not really sure how you got the key . . . I guess you outsmarted me," Sandrine paused for so long, Autumn almost thought the message had ended. "Meet me at Chattan's Books at noon. I'll be in the Spirituality section."

Autumn glanced at the time; noon was only an hour away. She was halfway off the couch when she saw the blur of fur coming at her. Persephone vaulted onto Autumn's shoulders and attached herself to Autumn's head. "Get off me!" Autumn staggered, bumping into the coffee table before crashing to her knees. In a fit of kitty fright, Persephone dug her rear claws into Autumn's neck and launched herself across the room. Cursing, Autumn clapped a hand over the scratches.

"You just try something," Autumn threatened as she walked down the hall, "I have a squirt bottle with your name on it." She did a sweep of her bedroom, checking under the bed and in the closet, spray bottle at the ready. Persephone was either so far underneath the bed that Autumn couldn't see her, or in a different room entirely. Autumn turned her attention to the closet, selecting a cowl-neck sweater and a pair of leggings. Stripping off her pajamas, she eyed herself in the mirrored closet doors. Her reflection stared back, blonde hair floating with static, eyes the color of well-washed denim. Autumn rubbed the scratch on her neck, leaning in to get a closer look in the mirror. Her face seemed distorted, and she picked up her pajama top to wipe the glass. Her reflection stood waiting, face oozing in and out of focus around the blurred spot. She raised her left hand, her reflection following the movement a second later. "Weird," Autumn wiped the mirror.

The blurred spot cleared, and she turned her attention back to dressing, sliding the sweater over her head. What the cowl didn't cover, she concealed with Band-Aids. Satisfied, Autumn sprayed her hair with a leave-in conditioner and ran a comb through it until it laid flat.

The _tap-tap-tap_ of rain on the roof turned to drumming as Autumn pulled a hooded jacket on and ducked out the door. Dashing to the black import, she slid behind the wheel. It wasn't until she was halfway down the block, that Autumn realized the roof was leaking. "Antlers, right," she mumbled, "They must be sharp."

The sign for Chattan's appeared on the right and Autumn turned into an alleyway. The alley snaked behind a row of three storefronts, terminating in a small lot. Entering the backside of a business always made her feel nervous, and the disheveled nature of Chattan's compounded the feeling. Books were stacked waist-deep on the floor as if the shelves above them had disgorged their contents after a night of heavy reading. There was no indication of what section she was in, and Autumn wandered aimlessly, hoping to catch a stripe of purple on a bent head.

Spirituality, as it turns out, was located at the bottom of a staircase that led to a door marked "Employees Only." Sandrine looked up at her as Autumn descended, "Oh good, you came."

"I wasn't going to keep your car," Autumn side-stepped around a pile of books.

"You didn't seem like the type," Sandrine passed her a book, "Here, you'll need this."

_Possession_ scrolled across the front of the torn dust jacket. "Thanks, I think," Autumn passed Sandrine the key fob, "Still Charon, I guess?"

Sandrine took the fob, maintaining her grip on to Autumn's wrist, "You don't mind, do you?"

"No, I mean it's confusing, but - " Autumn's wrist started to tingle as if Sandrine had pressed on a nerve, "That kind of hurts."

"You need me if you're going to figure this out. Do you want to figure this out?"

"I mean, yeah, but do you really have to squeeze my arm like that?" A wave of dizziness passed over her, and Autumn bumped a pile of books. They tumbled around her feet as she tottered.

Sandrine's eyes went blank as she dropped Autumn's arm. Her nose, usually amorphous, sharpened and her smile lines deepened into a grimace. She slumped to the floor, books slapping the ground around her.

That was the last thing Autumn was conscious of for some time.
Winter Cold

Autumn woke up in the backseat of Sandrine's car, drool stringing down her face. The single-wide was directly in view, a light flickering in the window like a child swinging around a flashlight.

"You're back, huh?" the male voice startled Autumn. The man had been sitting in the driver's seat the whole time, but somehow she had overlooked him.

"What happened?" Autumn's mouth was dry, and she ran her tongue around the inside of it.

The man's cold eyes regarded her in the rearview mirror, "You were possessed."

Autumn rubbed her face with the hem of her sweater. He looked familiar, the freckles spilling across his nose-bridge, the ball cap covering his hair, but she couldn't recall his name or how she had met him. "What's going on in there?" Autumn pointed to the trailer just as the front door shuddered in its frame.

"The deer-guy is throwing a fit. He does that sometimes," he leaned over the back of the seat, passing her a bottle of water, "Those damn antlers. You should call your job. Let them know you'll be out a few weeks."

"What?" turning her head made the car spin. Autumn closed her eyes and leaned forward. Outside there was the tinkle of breaking glass.

"You're a counselor, right? You can't really go to work if you're possessed. That could affect your clients."

"I'm not possessed, the merry-go-round is possessed," Autumn gulped a breath between her knees.

His eyes bored into her from above, "Don't you remember what happened at the bookstore? Charon entered your body and now he possesses you."

" _Ewwwwww_ . . ." Autumn clung to her knees, repulsed. Whatever was in her stomach inched upwards threateningly.

"That's why you don't remember coming here," the man continued, "Charon was in control. He can help you figure out your problem if you follow where he leads you." Behind him, Sandrine sprinted across the yard, her shoes on the wrong feet.

"I don't kno -" Autumn bit off the end of her sentence with a click. A man was framed in the doorway of the single-wide, straining as if he could not squeeze through. He ducked his head, twisting in an odd fashion to allow his invisible antlers through. His black eye and nose streamed with a mixture of mucus and tears, his blonde hair sticky with sweat. She could not believe it.

Christian. Christian was the deer-man.

"You don't mind staying in the backseat, do you?" the man removed his hat, running his stubby fingers through his strawberry-blonde hair before replacing his cap, "Antlers need all the headroom they can get."

Autumn sputtered, then yanked on the door handle. Throwing herself towards the opening, she vomited on a clump of grass.

"Zoe, yikes," Sandrine huffed up next to them, "The sedative's not working on Christian. He's just getting more and more -" There was a thud as Christian flopped onto the porch face first.

Zoe hopped out of the car, "Not working? That stuff would stop an elephant." Zoe walked over to the porch, nudging Christian's limp body with his shoe.

"You need help?" Sandrine made no move towards the porch.

"Fireman's carry."

"Okay," Sandrine's eyes focused on Autumn, and her voice softened, "How are you doing? I'm so sorry about Charon. I tried to keep him away from you . . ."

Autumn rinsed her mouth with the water from the bottle, leaning out of the car to spit. She took a long drink, swallowed, then finally addressed her, "So it's true that I'm possessed by your brother's spirit."

"I'm afraid so," Sandrine's gaze wandered to the pile of vomit on the ground.

Autumn thought back to the tingling in her arm, to Sandrine slumping to the floor. "That's why you told me to leave. Ugh. Do you feel this bad . . . after, after . . ."

"Uh, maybe," Sandrine stood on one foot and took off a ballet flat. She looked at it for a moment before putting it back on, "Did Zoe tell you where we're going?"

"No," Autumn took another sip, swallowed, "Was he supposed to?"

Sandrine snorted, then circled the car. Opening the rear passenger side door, she perched on the bench seat, one leg tucked under her, "We're going to Richmond! You know, where you grew up. You said - I mean Charon said it would be a good idea. Get to the root of things." Her eyes glazed over, "I see stems popping up in different places. The problems you have seem unrelated, but they all stem from the same corpse. Uh, sorry, I mean copse. Like, you know, trees."

"I have a job. What am I supposed to do? Call in sick with a ghost? How long will this last?"

Sandrine uncurled her leg and stared at the buckles on the toes of her flats, "Spirits be damned. My shoes are on the wrong feet." She kicked them off in a jumble, "This is what you say, 'I'm having a family emergency and I have to go back home. I will call you when I have an idea of when I'll return, but I'll be gone at least a week.'" She picked up a shoe, sliding it on her right foot, "If they question you, tell them your mother is in the hospital, but you don't know the details. If they get pushy, tell them you'll talk to HR. That'll shut them up."

"Charon?"

"No, don't mention him."

"I mean, you're acting like Charon."

"Am I? Thanks," she giggled, "He was always the smarter one."

The passenger side door swung open, and Zoe dumped Christian in the car. Christian lolled over the parking brake, his upper body drooping into the driver's side. Zoe jumped in the driver's side, pushing Christian back in the other direction. Christian's head hit the passenger side window with a bang and Autumn winced. "Could you be a little more gentle? That's gonna hurt when he wakes up."

Zoe glared at her in the rear-view mirror, "This guy was tearing through my house like a bull in a china shop, and you want me to be careful? You should see what he did to my chest. He literally gored me."

"A _deer_ in a _tea_ shop," Sandrine corrected, "Saying 'China' makes you sound ignorant."

Zoe snorted, then gasped, "Good one, but oh God, laughing hurts."

Autumn slid the water bottle into her purse, exchanging it for her phone. There was already a call and text from Girls Nest, asking her to work that night. Feeling guilty, she dialed Jen's number.

"Autumn! Guess who came back last night. I'll give you a hint: it starts with a G."

"I'm glad she's back safe," Autumn switched the phone to her right ear, "but I have some bad news."

"What's up?" There was a thunk in the background and the rattle of a doorknob.

"My mom is - well, it's a family emergency and I have to go home. I'm leaving right now, and I haven't even packed a toothbrush," anxiety squeezed Autumn's stomach. What was she doing? She didn't even have a change of clothes. "Persephone! Oh, no, who's gonna feed her?"

"Bring your keys by the office and I'll drop in and take care of her," Jen's voice brimmed with empathy.

Autumn's face burned with shame, "Jen, I - "

Sandrine pulled on Autumn's arm, forcing the phone away from her ear. "You really shouldn't, you're so kind," she prompted in a whisper.

"Thanks," Autumn turned her body away from Sandrine, "I don't deserve it, but thanks."

"Pish," Jen hissed into the phone, "You're always covering shifts for other people. Now it's our turn to cover for you."

"Thanks," Autumn hung up and glared at Sandrine.

She grinned back, "I guess we get to see where you work?"
Sunlight

Richmond was suffering from the same blight that hit all suburbs; empty storefronts, aging infrastructure and boarded up houses. The roads were still hauntingly familiar to Autumn, and she cranked the window down.

"What is that smell?" Sandrine covered her nose with her tee shirt.

Autumn took a deep breath, "Papermill. It's awful, right?"

Christian groaned in the front seat, then put his hands over his temples.

"Horns off?" Zoe quipped.

"Antlers," mumbled Sandrine through her tee shirt.

"Yeah, sorry I, uh," Christian rubbed his face and winced, "No, I'm not sorry. Why'd you say those things?"

"Are you ready to find out the truth about your mother?" Sandrine wrapped an arm around the chair, placing a slim hand on Christian's shoulder.

Autumn curled her tongue in her mouth, the words, "Don't touch him," tickling the back of her teeth.

"She didn't do anything wrong, I'll prove it to you," Christian turned in his seat, his eyes flickering across Autumn, "What - in the actual hell - is going on?"

"Autumn's along for the ride," Sandrine's voice was soothing, "Did you know you both are from Richmond?"

"Why are we . . . I trusted you . . . Richmond?" Christian's eyes darted around the car. He grasped the parking brake with his left hand and gave it a yank. Autumn thought something dramatic would happen, but Zoe just continued driving, a smirk on his face.

As the car slowed at a stop sign, Christian made a run for it, springing out of the car, his door flapping shut behind him. He ran between two houses, vanishing into a strip of trees that provided a privacy screen to the backyards.

Zoe pulled over, parking near a curbless easement. A man glared down at their car from a bay window, his forehead puckered with suspicion.

"Wow, he's pretty fast for the shape he's in," Sandrine stared at her phone, "I say we wait until he stops to give chase."

Autumn looked over at Sandrine's phone, "Is that what I think it is?"

"Find phone? Yep," Sandrine's eyes softened, "I'm really worried about him, Autumn. He seems to be less and less himself and more and more deer lately."

"Does he know you're stalking him?"

"I'm not stalking him, and no, he doesn't know. I set it up on his phone when he was in the bathroom," Sandrine glanced at her phone, "He's stopped."

"Where am I going?" Zoe started the car.

"Flamingo Court," Sandrine set her phone to give directions.

Flamingo had an island of trees in the middle of it, six two-story homes situated in a ring. The third house was unkempt, paint peeling from its siding, moss carpeting the roof, knee-high grass studded with dandelions. Zoe pulled into the driveway, parking as if he lived there, square in front of the sagging garage door.

"This is like every psychological thriller I've ever seen," Sandrine unfastened her belt with a snap, "Christian will be waiting for us inside the walls with a mask that looks like the monkey on Autumn's carousel."

Zoe burst into giggles interspaced with groans. Catching his breath, he swiped at his eyes with his sleeve, "I'm gonna find a way in. You two stay here." Zoe proceeded up a cracked stone walkway to the front door. He turned the knob, then huddled up against the door. A moment later, it was open.

Sandrine hopped out of the car, Autumn following behind her. The decay of the house was more apparent the closer they came; brick steps crumbling to clay, the siding sagging out of its parallel lines, the front window curtains lacy with rot. Autumn paused on the threshold, looking at the dual set of stairs. It could have been the house she grew up in, the wrought iron banister and popcorn ceilings dating it to an era she couldn't clearly remember.

Autumn headed up while Sandrine bounced down the other set of stairs, her eyes glowing with a mixture of excitement and fear. The stairs led up to a room where a wood stove stood sentry. Rotten curtains, the same Autumn had seen from the outside, filtered the light through their cracked plastic backing. A creak came from the dark hall that spilled off to the left, and Autumn turned towards the sound. Stained carpet dampened her footfalls as she inched her way down the hall.

The first room stood open, a CRT television the only fixture. A toiletless bathroom adjoined the room. Again, there was a creak. Autumn tiptoed through the bathroom, sliding open its other door. A landscape was painted across one of the walls, a choppy river winding its way from the horizon to the carpet. Tree trunks formed a border on each side, and in the center, a stag lowered his head to lap at a stream of blue paint. There was an even louder creak from the closet, and she slid the door open, each hair on her arms standing on end. "See, nothing he -" Autumn sucked in the end of her sentence as a panel in the closet slid open.

"Autumn?"

"Oh my God, Christian, you're really in the walls? Maybe Sandrine is legitimately psychic," she ducked down to inspect the inner wall.

"Shhhhhh, come in here if you want to talk," Christian clicked on his phone, using it to illuminate the entrance, "There's a little step down here."

Autumn scooted into the crawl space on her bottom. The floor was dirt inside, the ceiling high enough that Christian could stand, bent double at the waist. She slid the panel shut behind her, "How did you know this was here?"

"This is the house I lived in from when I was about three to the year I turned fifteen," the light from Christian's phone flickered over a stack of file boxes.

"Oh," Autumn blinked, the blackness of the room flashing white behind her closed eyes.

Christian pulled a box off the stack and opened it. Autumn scooted closer as he pulled out an eight-by-ten of a chubby baby. "That's me," he tapped the stuffed bear the baby was holding, "I still have Bear-bear." As he flipped through well-baby check-ups and greeting cards, something caught Autumn's eye.

"What's that?" she pointed to the bulging business envelope. Christian passed it to her, his eyes still focused on the contents of the file. The envelope gaped open, torn fragments of a photograph stuffed inside. "We have to put this back together," Autumn's fingers itched for a paintbrush and a pot of decoupage compound.

"I'm not coming out of here until _those people_ leave," Christian focused his light on an image of a woman holding a baby.

"I don't trust them either, especially not Zoe, but this is my only chance to have a normal life," Autumn folded the envelope, tucking it in her back pocket, "I have a possessed music box in the shape of a carousel following me around. First, it just played music, but now it levitates. It fell out of the sky and hit my workplace. I work with kids you know; I can't have that sort of thing happening." Autumn felt the wall, attempted to stand, "Are you really okay with being a deer? If you are, turn off Find Phone and stay here. I'm going to go find Sandrine."

"Autumn," the light from Christian's phone bounced around the space dizzyingly.

As Autumn felt for the sliding panel, indignation blossomed in her chest, "I liked you, but I don't even know anymore." Dropping to all fours, she crawled through the closet. The bedroom, _Christian's room_ , seemed bright in comparison, dust motes twirling in the air like a sprinkle of miniature diamonds.

Autumn retraced her steps back to the main room where Sandrine was sitting against the wall, mumbling to herself. "Do you have any glue?" Autumn pulled the envelope out of her pocket.

"No," Sandrine giggled, "Did you break something?"

Autumn held up the envelope, "This has something to do with Christian, I think."

"Why would it have to do with him? Did you see him?"

"The uh, well, there was a deer on the wall in the room I found it in?" The unheated house suddenly seemed warm, and Autumn unzipped the front of her coat.

"All things are connected," Sandrine picked up the envelope, "That, and we don't have anything else better to do." She looked up, "Zoe, do you have any duct tape?"

Autumn hadn't noticed him when she came in, but Zoe was above them; sitting on the bend of the stove pipe, his body inches from the ceiling. "Yeah, prolly," he slid off the pipe, landing like a gymnast.

Sandrine shook out the envelope and started sorting the pieces. Autumn joined her, placing green in one pile, peach in another, "I think this is more than one picture," Autumn placed three blue eyes on her palm.

"Or one picture and three people," Sandrine stopped sorting, "Why'd I say three?"

"Because there are more eyes," Autumn put the additional two eyes next to the others.

By the time Zoe returned, they had started trying to put the faces together. Autumn laid down strips of duct tape, sticky-side up and started placing scraps on it. Sandrine and Autumn worked in silence until they had the main part of the imaged completed. Three blonde toddlers stared back at them, two with pigtails, one with short hair. "That's Christian," the face was the same in the picture of the baby.

"And you," Sandrine pointed at the little girl on the end, "The question is, who is this other girl?"
Dusk

Autumn's mother still lived in the house Autumn grew up in, situated across from a small park with a solitary teeter-totter shaded by a pine. Autumn had never seen children playing there, nor had she ever played there herself, but there she was, in the dusky half-light standing with Sandrine next to the water-logged see-saw, Zoe somewhere in the branches above them.

Sandrine put a foot on the raised part of the teeter-totter, causing it to wobble, "Little Jane can't hear the rain, pitter, patter, splash."

"Did you really have to pick that rhyme?" Autumn glared at her.

"Sorry," Sandrine pushed her foot down with a thunk, "It's stuck in my head."

Across the street, the garage door opened as headlights crested the hill, "There's my mom."

"Should I come with you?" Sandrine gave Autumn a sly grin, "I know I'm not the sort of psychic you want to bring home to mother."

"You're not a psychic, you're just a friend. And Zoe is your boyfriend, who came along for some reason?"

Sandrine craned her neck, "Maybe just don't mention him."

"Oooooo-kay," Autumn stepped out into the road, her footfalls echoing on the concrete. The Abbott Hill neighborhood always felt empty, cars seldom passed on the roads, houses showed vacant windows, and fences blinded any outdoor activities. The house itself was set back from the road, a stretch of lawn surrounding it like a moat. Like Christian's house it was a bi-level, but a well-kept one. Fresh tan paint covered the siding, and the stoop boasted a turquoise mat with "Cya, h8 2 B ya" stenciled on it.

Autumn rang the doorbell, standing with one foot on the eight in hate. Sandrine shuffled in place next to Autumn as if she could sense what awaited her. There was a scamper of feet and frantic barking, and then a whoosh of perfume as the door swung open. A mop-like dog burst forwards, sniffing the hems of their jeans, followed by a woman with coiffed blonde hair and a tight pink shirt tucked into designer jeans. Her makeup couldn't hide her age, but it lent her wrinkles a certain luster.

"Oh Honey, what have they been doing to you?" Darla took Autumn's hands, "Come inside and I'll do your nails."

"Mom, this is my friend-"

"Sandra," Sandrine interrupted.

Darla's eyes wandered from the purple streak in Sandrine's hair to the hole in the knee of her jeans, "Would you like some tea? I was just about to sit down with a cup and a fashion magazine. Jean skirts are back in, and I'm dying to get one. I know they say you shouldn't wear a trend if you wore it the first time around, but sometimes I simply cannot resist."

Autumn led the way up the staircase, following the graceful spill of rooms to the left; living room with a floral sofa and cream chairs, dining room with settings for eight, and finally the kitchen. Sitting on the granite island was a solitary mug of tea and a magazine flipped open to an outfit coordinated with the sort of rigor Autumn reserved for collages.

"OOTD?" Sandrine tried to sound the letters out.

"Outfit Of The Day," Darla refilled her electric kettle, "Now what kind of tea do you like?"

"Chai," Sandrine turned a page in the magazine, then snapped it shut.

Darla's back was turned, her pink nails flipping through bags of orange pekoe and slimming tea. Knowing it would be easier to lie without making eye contact, Autumn started into her pitch, "We'll probably be in Richmond for the next week." Autumn pulled out a stool with a scrape, "We're looking for a missing friend, so, unfortunately, we haven't really planned this trip well."

"Is Earl Grey like Chai?" Darla held the bag aloft.

"Uh," Autumn looked at Sandrine, "Do you like Earl Grey?"

Sandrine shrugged, "Sure. Hey, let's just stay at a hotel, okay? I don't want to put your mom out."

Darla fished out a bag of peppermint tea for her daughter, and plopped both bags into matching turquoise mugs, "You don't have a place to stay?"

"No, we kind of panicked. Christian seemed really loopy, like, well, I'll just say it: he thought he was a deer," Autumn perched on the stool, fingering the edge of the magazine.

Sandrine snatched it from her, rolling it into a tube, "We have reason to believe he was headed to Richmond, based on messages he left on social media." She tucked the magazine into her bag, "You don't know him, do you? Christian Tremblay?"

"I wouldn't know a young man, now would I?" Darla poured the water, "I'm not the cougar type, I like a man with money."

"Moooooooooom!"

Darla placed a mug in front of each of them, "You both are welcome to stay here during your search, as long as you keep the house rules. Manicures are a must, no loud noises after nine, and, I know it's old-fashioned, but, Sandra, what is your last name?"

"Whittle," Sandrine wrapped her hands around her mug.

"And how do you know my daughter?"

Sandrine took a huge sip of tea. She swallowed, then looked at Autumn, "I guess we met at the coffee shop, didn't we? There wasn't enough seating, so we spent the whole time standing against a wall while this projector blinded us with an image of a locomotive."

Darla laughed, "That's the city for you. There's a reason I like the suburbs. No locomotives." She barked out another laugh, "What do you do for a living?"

"I create custom furniture using reclaimed and repurposed materials. For example," Sandrine patted the cushion on the stool, "if you wanted your stools to be hot pink with turquoise cushions printed with white fluffy dogs . . ."

Darla squealed, "You can do that?"

"Yeah, that's what I do," Sandrine yawned.

"Well, I'm sure you two have had a long day. I'm going to make a Lean Cuisine and turn in for the night. Feel free to help yourselves. There's Chicken Alfredo, Butternut Squash Ravioli, and Korean Beef. That one is new, and I love it," Darla picked up her mug, "Autumn, can you be a dear and show Sandra her room?"

"Yes, Mom," Autumn pushed back her stool and lead the way down the stairs. They turned right at the bottom, entering a bedroom with a grey comforter printed with roses. "Sorry, your room is all the way down here. Cookies has the room next to mine."

"Cookies? Is that your step-dad?" Sandrine touched an antiqued nightstand with her index finger.

Autumn was so weary, she didn't even laugh, "No, the dog has his own room. I'm going to heat up some ravioli and eat it in my room. See you tomorrow."
Ocean Sky

Autumn was drifting off to sleep when she heard a thud. She sat up, blankets pooling around her waist. There was another crash, and then a moan. "Those idiots," Autumn muttered, scooting out from under the covers. If Autumn could hear that, then Darla could too, and she would not be happy. Autumn padded out of the room attired in a nightshirt that dated back to high school, a puppy screen-printed across the front. She tip-toed down the stairs, the thumping below her getting louder and more frequent.

With the most matter-of-fact expression on her face, Autumn rapped on Sandrine's door with her knuckles. It swung open under her touch, revealing the vacant bed. Sandrine was seated across from it on the carpet, her legs in the lotus position, both hands held out in front of her, palms up. Zoe sat next to her, legs crossed, hands folded in his lap, his head lolled back against the wall. They were both fully dressed, and either asleep or in an altered state.

Puzzled, Autumn headed back up the stairs. A light was on in the kitchen, the low buzz of the microwave the only sound. "Sorry about the noise," Autumn called from the arched doorway.

Darla looked up from her tablet, "Oh, Honey, you didn't wake me. It's just part of being old. Humor an old woman, and let me do your nails?"

"Okay, but I get to pick the color," Autumn's bare feet slapped against the kitchen linoleum as she made her way to the kitchen island.

Opening a cabinet, Darla produced a plastic case with a manicure set and ten bottles of varnish, "This is just my kitchen set, I have more in my bedroom if you don't like these."

"This is fine," Autumn picked up a pale pink that would match the color of her nail beds.

"Honey," Darla took Autumn's left hand and examined it, "You don't have a thing for that boy, Christian do you?" She unsheathed a nail file and went to work on Autumn's thumb.

"Yeah, I think I do."

Darla filed her way down the row of nails, quiet for a moment. Pulling out a cuticle pusher, she lit back into her daughter, "You should stay away from him. He sounds unstable and you really should consider an older man. Christian is younger than you. He'll expect _you_ to take care of _him_. Does he even have a job?"

"He makes books and sells them. I know how that sounds," Autumn waved her free hand, "but he's really talented. You should see the leather work he does."

"Just like his fath-" Darla cut her sentence off, picking up the pink polish with a trembling hand.

"You knew him," Autumn spread her fingers on the counter, cuticles smarting, "I saw a picture of Christian and I sitting together when we were toddlers. So, our families knew each other, that doesn't mean he'll be like his dad. His dad sounds pretty terrible from what I've heard."

Darla lost the pot of varnish, pink splattering across the granite like a rain of pearls. "You don't know what you're saying," she grabbed a dish towel, wiping the pearls into a gooey smear.

"No, I don't. And you won't tell me, will you?" Autumn opened the bottle of nail polish remover.

"Not on granite!" Darla pointed to the cabinet above the stove, "The cleaner's up there, but I can't reach it."

Autumn stood, flipping open the cabinet. Standing on her tiptoes, she batted at the bottle of cleaner, "I might need a stool."

"He was . . . is your father too," Darla's voice sounded faint, "I swore I'd never tell you."

"Why?" Autumn turned to Darla, her back against the stove, "You told me he was dead."

"To me he was," Darla stared at the countertop with blank eyes, "I'm going to bed."

"Wait, Christian is my half-brother? Who is the other little girl? How many siblings do I have? Is my dad's name really Macaire? Does he know I'm his daughter?"

Darla walked out of the room. Autumn could have chased her down the hall, spouting questions like an over boiling pot, but a hand closed over her shoulder.

"I'm sorry, Autumn," Sandrine's voice was husky, "but I told you Christian was your brother."

"No, Charon told me that," Autumn slapped Sandrine's hand away, "You've been lying too, haven't you?"

"I couldn't think of another way to get you here."

"How did you do it? Was I ever possessed? Is anyone going to come clean with me?" Autumn was so mad, she was spitting.

Sandrine wiped her face with the back of her hand, "Sometimes when someone lies to you, they're trying to protect you."

"Bull crap. Both you and my mother only have your own interests in mind. I heard you and Zoe down there. You couldn't even hold off for one night? Didn't you think someone might hear you?" tears of anger sprang from the corners of Autumn's eyes.

"Shhhh," Sandrine put her arms around Autumn. "You shouldn't have heard anything, we were in the astral plane," Sandrine kissed Autumn's hair, "You're spiritually sensitive." Another kiss, "You're special."

"I-" Autumn pulled away, "I'm really confused right now."

"It's late. We'll talk later," Sandrine wiped Autumn's cheeks and smiled at her.

Autumn turned and stumbled out of the kitchen, as dazed as Darla had looked a moment ago. It was as if she had just learned that the ocean was really the sky, and to swim was to fly.
Deceptive Drizzle

When Autumn got up the next morning, Darla was frying bacon, a coffee pot perking beside her. Sandrine was seated on a stool, wrapping a freezer waffle in a napkin. She stared at Autumn as she tucked the waffle in her purse, "Your eyes look puffy."

"Allergies," Autumn fibbed.

A waffle popped up from the toaster and Darla put it on a plate with two strips of bacon. She set it in front of her daughter without a word.

"Thanks, Mom," Autumn opened the bottle of syrup, drawing a swirl on her waffle.

Sandrine slid off her stool, "Meet me out front when you're done." She strolled out of the kitchen, steam wafting out of her bag.

Autumn cut up her waffle, watching Darla busy herself. "I'm sorry about last night. I was only thinking about myself," She took a bite of waffle, chasing it with bacon.

"No, I'm the one who should be sorry," Darla leaned against the counter, scrub brush raised, "I can't imagine the shock you feel discovering your father is alive, but he may as well have been dead. He wasn't here for Christmases, or when you needed braces, or your graduation . . ."

Autumn pushed her plate away, "Thanks for breakfast, I'm going to go look for my brother."

Sandrine was waiting outside in the car, Zoe behind the wheel, a piece of bacon dangling out of his mouth like a lizard tongue. "Do you ever drive?" Autumn carped to Sandrine as she climbed into the backseat.

"She's the reason the parking brake doesn't work," Zoe backed the car out of the drive, "Drove all around the city with it on. Speaking of driving all around, where exactly am I going?"

"The library would be good," Autumn crossed her arms, "Not that you care about what would actually help me, but I want to find out more about my father."

Sandrine peeked over her headrest, "I agree. I mean, with the part about the library. Birth announcements could be a good starting place. That will at least give us your father's name, and sometimes they even give stuff like occupations."

Autumn knew where the library was and she could have given Zoe directions, but she was feeling anything but gracious. No, this morning her internal teenager was full of angst and self-righteousness. She could not be bothered to help this trailer-trash couple who thought nothing of drugging and lying their way across the province. Let them use GPS. Let stupid Zoe drive while trying to eat breakfast. They could drive off the Oak Street Bridge for all she cared, as long as she had time to get out beforehand.

"Was that it?" Sandrine pointed as a circular building flashed by.

Zoe pulled into the next driveway, turned the car around and backtracked. "I can't decide if that's fancy architecture or just a grain silo," he pulled into a parking spot and killed the engine.

"Grain silo!" Sandrine giggled, "Now I can't unsee it."

Ignoring them, Autumn unlatched her belt and exited the car. In front of the library was a reflecting pool, where on clear days people would gather. Today it was deserted, the sprinkles of rain though intermittent were enough to keep people inside. The building itself was royal; the large brick turret with a green peaked roof, the high walls, and small windows. Autumn passed through the double doors into that unique echoey silence that all libraries possess. Drop a piece of paper, and it sounds like a hurricane. Cough, and it's the apocalypse.

The Richmond library hales from the school of thought that libraries should look like something other than what they were; cushy chairs clustered around a fireplace, paintings hung on the walls, ceilings that drew the eye upward and away from the undisguisable shelves of books. It was an attempt to woo patrons of coffee shops and art galleries; people who were quiet and nonchalant, and who would keep the funding going. People not unlike Autumn herself or Charon; who would rather bury themselves in a book than make eye-contact.

Autumn paused, midstride. Why did she just think about Charon? She knew nearly nothing about him, and besides that, he was dead. For all she knew, Sandrine was faking the whole thing, pretending to be Charon when it suited her. Autumn headed for the hanging brass letters that spelled out "Reference."

Reference was no longer a section of thick tomes that flopped open with the sloppiness of too many pages. It now boasted a bank of computers that connected it to the Periodicals section. Settling into a chair at a terminal, Autumn jiggled the mouse. A log-on prompt appeared. Digging in her purse, she unearthed a faded Richmond library card. She typed in the card number, then entered the pin 0909, her day and month of birth. Autumn hadn't used her library card in years, and she was pleased that it logged her in.

"There you are," Sandrine sat at the terminal next to her, "I thought I'd find you at a microfilm machine."

"Ta-dah," Autumn clicked on the Gazette archives, "21st-century technology." She pulled up the issues her birth year, then month and day. Opening the file, Autumn hit CTRL-F and typed "Tremblay."

"You know, I've been thinking about last night, and what you said about lying," Sandrine moved the keyboard and leaned on the desk.

"Shhhhhh," Autumn had been trying not to think about last night. Irritated, she opened the file for September 10 and tried her search again.

Sandrine frowned, "You're really mad at me, aren't you?"

"I just don't like liars . . ." A result popped up and Autumn froze.

"To Macaire and Darla Tremblay," read Sandrine, "Daughters Autumn Thorne and September Rose, born September 9 at 5 and 5:15 AM."

A hazy memory drifted through Autumn's mind, more of a feeling than an image; a hand in hers, a warmth next to her, a feeling of connectedness. As if she were in an altered state of consciousness, the world was tilting, desks and computers sliding across the floor, books slapping the ceiling as they somersaulted off the shelves. Sandrine grabbed the belt-loop of Autumn's pants, yanking her back down into the chair, her eyes wide with awe, "You were floating."

"Don't touch me," Autumn hissed, stumbling to her feet. Winding her way through the shelves of books, she side-swiped a woman with a backpack. "Sorry," Autumn tossed over her shoulder. Hitting the crash bar, she burst through the doors into the drizzle. While she walked at a brisk pace, Autumn dialed Christian.

"Autumn?" he sounded half-asleep.

"Do you have a sister?" she blurted.

"What's going on?"

"Just. Answer. The. Question."

"No, there's just me. Autumn, are you safe? You're not still with those people, are you?"

"Me?" Autumn dodged the question, "What about you? Are you still in a hole in the wall of an abandoned house?"

"No, I'm staying with an old friend of my dad's."

A car pulled up next to Autumn. _Those people_ were here. She continued walking, the car following her, "Christian, is your dad's name Macaire?"

"Yeah, why?"

"This is going to sound crazy, but I think your father might be my father too," Autumn turned her head as a car window rolled down.

"Get in," Sandrine called to her.

"I just found out I have a twin. I have to find her. Christian, I can't believe my mom lied to me about something this big," behind Autumn, the car stopped.

Whatever Christian said next was lost in the click of an opening door and the tromp of footsteps on gravel. Autumn hurried, then started to run. For a moment she sprinted, then everything seemed to slow, each gasp of air burning in her chest.

Sandrine huffed up beside Autumn, her breath wheezing out in puffs of steam. "Can we?" she panted, "Just walk?"

"What do you want?" Autumn's side twinged and she stopped, wheeling around to face Sandrine. Reaching in her bag, Sandrine pulled out a sheet of paper. Autumn almost didn't want to take it from her, but she could see the blur of newsprint from where she stood. "You made a copy," Autumn snatched the paper, reading the birth announcement again.

"I'm trying to help you," Sandrine bent forward, breathing between her knees, "Spirits, I'm out of shape. Do you know what graveyard your family uses?"

"Eh?" Autumn gawped.

"Uh, not to sound cold, but I'm assuming the merry-go-round is getting energy from someone who is gone but has unfinished business. You know, maybe your twin," Sandrine frowned at the car as it parked on the shoulder behind them.

Zoe stuck his head out the open window, "You're the psychic, shouldn't you already know?"

"Nah, none of that stuff is real," Sandrine walked back to the import, opening the back door, "Are you coming?"

"Wait, did you just say you're not a psychic?" Autumn climbed in, still clutching the piece of paper.

Sandrine got in next to her, "Charon's the one who truly believes in that stuff, but really, if I could see the future, I would know when tragedy was coming, and I would stop it. Charon didn't foresee his own death, did he?" She opened up her giant purse and pulled out a paper crane, "But sometimes things happen that can't be explained, and you can't run away from them. Maybe I have a split personality and Zoe is a psychopath. But then it's just as likely that you and Christian are having hallucinations."

Sandrine handed Autumn the paper crane. It was made out of notebook paper, the writing in a loose, flowing cursive. "So you're finally telling me the truth," Autumn flipped the crane over in her hand.

"Some of it," Sandrine gave her a wry grin, "You lie too, like telling me you didn't see Christian in the creepy house. You saw him, didn't you?"

"Hypocrite," Zoe's eyes, framed in the rear-view mirror were cold.

"I mean, I'm down with hypocrisy. After all, I hang out with Zoe. I'm just hoping we can start over. No more deception," Sandrine held out a hand.

"No more deception," Autumn shook.
Poached Egg Sun

Autumn found Darla downstairs in the rec room, striding on her elliptical machine. Darla was wearing a white exercise top and powder blue yoga pants with the word "Slay" printed across the rump in glittery font. "Mom," Autumn walked up to her. Earbuds were clamped inside each ear. Autumn slid the birth announcement out of a manila envelope and placed it in front of her.

Darla punched the stop button, "Where did you get this?"

"The library," Autumn watched Darla remove her headphones. They dangled off the side of the machine, tethered only by her MP3 player.

"I don't want to talk about this," Darla stumbled as she dismounted the machine, "I don't want to remember that woman. I don't want to think about it!" She headed towards the stairs, "Stop this, Autumn. Haven't I suffered enough?"

"Mom," Autumn followed Darla to her room. The door snapped shut in front of her, the lock clicking into place. "Great," Autumn mumbled. Her room stood open, and she stared blankly at the green walls and pink floral bedspread.

_Crik-crik-crik-crik_. The sound came from the closet. Autumn padded across the beige carpet, sliding the door open a crack. _Bang!_ The carousel hit the door. It rattled on its track, oscillating until the bottom wheel gave. _Bang!_ The door knocked the envelope from Autumn's hands, a paper crane flying out end over end like a grade school football. _Bang!_ The merry-go-round slammed its way through, rotating as it floated towards her.

"I know about September!" was the last thing Autumn said before the carousel hit her from above, diving like a bird of prey, slamming down straight on top of her head.

Wake up.

Yes, she needed to wake up. This was a bad dream, and she would wake up in her bed at home, Persephone standing on her head, batting at Autumn's hair with her paws. She opened her eyes and found herself pressed against the ceiling. Below her were the dizzying black and white tiles of the entryway. Autumn shut her eyes again, inching her fingers across the bumps of plaster, feeling for the chandelier. Her hand brushed a crystal teardrop, sending the light fixture tinkling. As she secured a grasp on the post, Autumn heard a voice from below.

"Look at that. I would give my left leg to be able to do that," it was Zoe.

Autumn opened her eyes a crack. A figure was below her, flopped on the tile. "We have bigger problems than that," Sandrine's voice wobbled, "Just tell me you've been wearing gloves when you're inside and get out of here."

"Love, you know I wouldn't leave a trace." It was the only time she had ever heard Zoe use an endearment, and without thinking, Autumn opened her eyes all the way. The floor spun below her, its pattern seeming to throb. And there, lying in a crumpled pile, her face turned in silhouette, was Darla.

Someone screamed, a wail so piercing, that it seemed to pull Autumn towards the ground. The chandelier came with her, tearing out of the ceiling with a shower of drywall. Autumn flailed, her legs hitting the half-wall of the second floor.

"Gotcha," hands closed over Autumn's left ankle. A scraggly ponytail dangled as he leaned over the half-wall, tendons in his arms straining. Somehow he pulled her up, even though he, himself was made of only ectoplasm and unfulfilled desires.

"Thanks, Ch-" The room was empty. Out the front window, Autumn could see Sandrine in her orange coat, waving down a wailing ambulance. Then her feet could no longer hold her, and Autumn sat on the carpet. Time moved in an unaccustomed manner, the beeping and pulsing sounds of the paramedics at work seeming to stretch out in both directions in her mind.

A blanket wrapped around Autumn's shoulders. "This might sound terrible, but I'm starving," Sandrine plopped down next to her, "I saw a cafe down the road and all I can think about is panini."

"My mom," Autumn's whole body quivered, and she couldn't form the question.

"Is alive. Uh, unstable condition or something? She was pushed down the stairs."

"By you."

"No, spirits be damned. You really believe I would do something like that?" Sandrine's usually dazed eyes were indignant, "Weren't you watching the whole thing?"

Sandrine felt for her purse and found nothing, "What time is it?"

"Four-twenty-eight," Sandrine glanced at her phone, "Zoe says the woman had brown hair and wrinkles, about 5"4' . . . that could be anyone, thanks, Zoe." She tossed her phone into the maw of her bag, "Anyway, I can't channel on an empty stomach and there's no way I'm eating more frozen food. Hospital jello sounds better at this point."

"I should go there, shouldn't I?" Autumn straightened out her legs, watching them jerk with a quivering she couldn't control.

Sandrine nodded, "Richmond Hospital. Those guys thought I was an idiot, by the way. They were like, 'Where else would we take her?' and I was like, 'How in the blessed Hades should I know?'"

Sandrine's prattle focused Autumn's thoughts on the mundane; her stomach was empty and outside the sun sat like a poached egg in the sky, wrapped in a bank of clouds. Poached eggs. She could eat that. "Let me get my purse," Autumn walked back to her room, hesitating in the doorway. The closet door lay in the center of the room, the carousel perched on top of it in silent victory. She inched around it, keeping her eyes glued to the black-and-white zebra, the silver unicorn, and the black mare, a solitary white hoof raised mid-canter. Snatching her purse, Autumn bent to pull the manila envelope out from underneath the door. _Plink_. She jumped. The merry-go-round had rotated slightly, bringing a pegasus into view, a porcelain cavity where its head once was. Horrified, Autumn abandoned the birth announcement and tore down the hall.

"Ready to go?" Sandrine held up her car keys, attached to a jumble of rabbits' feet.

"The pegasus is decapitated. What does that mean? Is my mom going to die?" Autumn whimpered.

"We are going to the hospital. I am going to eat a sandwich. I absolutely refuse to deal with anymore disembodied or decapitated beings until that happens," Sandrine patted Autumn on the back, "It'll be okay Autumn, we'll get through this together." They walked together down the stairs, Autumn leaning on Sandrine's arm.

A gust of wind whooshed over them as Sandrine opened the front door. Autumn shivered, "You don't know what this is like."

"I lose time all the time thanks to Charon. I've cried blood, my boyfriend was kidnapped . . ."

"Someone kidnapped Zoe?" Autumn let herself be herded to the car.

Sandrine giggled, "No, can you imagine?" She opened the car door for Autumn, "Things will get worse before they get better."

"Uh, thanks, I guess," Autumn clipped her belt in place. Sandrine cranked the driver's seat forward, then toyed with the mirror. Autumn fidgeted as Sandrine turned the ignition, drummed her fingers as she shifted, and sighed as she stepped on the gas. It wasn't that Sandrine was slow, it was anxiety from the image of that headless pink glazed pegasus; wings folded in defeat, body chained to the carousel by the gilded bar.
Red Skies At Night

Sandrine plopped down on the hospital room's vinyl bench, legs crossed, a magazine spread over her hands. Autumn filed in behind her, standing near the head of Darla's bed, unable to take her eyes off the form tucked under the crisp white sheets. Someone had wiped off Darla's makeup, leaving behind a smaller, meeker woman, a woman Autumn didn't completely recognize. If it wasn't for the turquoise acrylic nails on Darla's hands, Autumn would have exited to check the room number.

The doctor, a serious looking but baby-faced man, regarded their arrival with bemusement. A badge clipped to his white jacket identified him as Dr. Beauchamp.

"Ms. Tremblay?" he held out a hand to Autumn.

She nodded, accepting his hand. "Is she going to be okay?" Autumn looked back at the tubes snaking out of Darla's body.

"She's a fighter. Her left leg will need surgery when she's stable enough," Dr. Beauchamp paused as Sandrine flopped sideways, her eyelids twitching. "Ma'am," he put a hand on Sandrine's shoulder and gave her a shake, "Ma'am?".

Sandrine sat up, her eyes deer-in-the-headlights wide, "Cookies, don't forget to feed Cookies."

"What's your name, ma'am? Do you know where you are?"

Sandrine blinked at him, her eyes glazed over, "Your mother wants you to know that she's proud of you. R, the letter R. Does that mean something to you?"

Dr. Beauchamp took a step backward. "Sorry," Autumn moved in between them, "I brought a psychic to help me communicate, you know, since my mom is unconscious."

"Rosalie," he whispered.

"I see a piece of jewelry, something that meant a lot to her, either a watch or a ring. She wants to tell you something is okay, that it's okay now," Sandrine pushed a lock of hair out of her face, "She's fading now."

"Maybe we can talk later," Autumn stepped closer to the doctor, "If you don't mind giving us some time to visit privately?"

"Of . . . of course," Dr. Beauchamp felt his pockets as if to reassure himself that Autumn hadn't lifted his wallet. He turned away from them, pulling the curtain shut with a scrape.

As soon as they were alone, Autumn picked up the magazine and smacked Sandrine with it. "Hey," she rubbed her head, "It's not my fault. That Rosalie woman just pushed her way to the front of the line and had her way with me."

"Mmm-hmm," Autumn flipped through the magazine, stopping on a glossy page with a familiar face. "Is that Zoe?" His pupils were psychopath-wide, mouth drawn into a sinister grin.

"No," Sandrine closed the magazine on Autumn's fingers.

"Then let me see," Autumn pulled away from Sandrine, flipping back to the article.

"Only A Puddle of Water

Jack Flynn had barely served a week of his life sentence when he vanished from his hospital bed leaving behind only a puddle of water. Flynn, who was found guilty of the gruesome murder of the well-known Psychic and Animal Telepath Charon Agur Runds, was said to be behind lock and key in the state correctional facility. At the time of his escape, Flynn was facing an additional attempted murder charge filed by Runds' sister. Lurid details involving an attempt to bury the younger Runds alive in an occupied coffin have been reported but not confirmed.

So how did this dangerous criminal end up outside of the prison compound? Flynn was reportedly transferred to a mental health unit inside the correctional facility, for licking the sides of his cell while unclothed. According to an unnamed source, the licking persisted to the point where he was not only bleeding from the mouth but also vomiting blood. No one suspected that he wasn't truly mentally impaired until he disappeared, leaving behind nothing but a pool of water. What is meant by nothing, is that everything in his room was gone: the hospital bed, his lunch tray, the linens, everything."

The opposite page held an image of those very objects, high up in the branches of a pine.

Autumn lowered the magazine and looked at Sandrine. She was picking at her nail beds, her lips thinned with anxiety. "He tried to bury you alive," Autumn's words seemed to buzz in the air.

"It's not him," Sandrine took the magazine, laid it back over her hands, "I'll try your mom again."

In spite of the resemblance, Autumn couldn't be completely sure that the picture was Zoe. Everyone has a doppelganger, and short of mapping each freckle, there was no way to confirm it was him. Jack's hair appeared more dishwasher than the strawberry-blonde of Zoe, but that could be due to the lighting. The one thing Autumn couldn't ignore was that Charon's death was in that article, and it was murder. A gruesome murder. A gust of chilly air blew from the overhead vent, and Autumn reached up to close it.

"M, M something," Sandrine's eyelids were flickering again, "I see a boat, like one of those yacht things."

"We don't own a yacht."

"A whale?"

"No, we don't own one of those either."

Sandrine shook her head, "Those were really clear images, but they don't make a lick of sense." She turned to the window. Outside, the sun was setting, the clouds taking on a fiery hue. "Red skies at night?"

"Great," Autumn mumbled, " Maybe you're channeling a sailor."
Hear the Rain

Autumn wasn't sure what woke her that morning; if it was birdsong, the light trickling through the sheer magenta curtains, or tickle of breath on the side of her face. Whatever it was didn't prepare her for what she saw - not even a ruler's length away from her face. The first thing she noticed was the plastic. A large sheet of plastic that crinkled as Autumn rolled onto the corner of it. Then there was the face. Freckles everywhere, eyes closed, ballcap askew. It was inches away from hers. Autumn had been doing a lot of screaming lately, and this seemed like a perfectly good time to let loose with another one.

Zoe sat up and rubbed his eyes, "Why are you in here?"

"W-wha . . . this is my mom's room. Why are you here?" Autumn's heart was pounding so hard, she thought it might pop out of her chest and deck him.

"I didn't think anyone would be in here," he removed his cap, brushing his hair with stubby fingers.

"Shouldn't you be, I don't know, sleeping with your girlfriend?"

Zoe frowned, sliding his hat back into position, "She told me to leave. It was either sleep in the car or here."

"Do you always sleep on plastic like some kind of murder scene? Or did you ever, you know, maybe accidentally murder someone and now you're on the run from the law, so you can't leave your DNA anywhere or they might find you? That's it, isn't eh?" Autumn scrunched her body up against the shabby chic headboard, as if that would somehow protect her from becoming Zoe's next victim.

"Not exactly," he pulled his phone out of his pocket and glanced at it, "I usually sleep in a hammock."

"So, you didn't kill Charon or bury Sandrine alive?"

"You really think Sandrine would hang out with me if I killed her brother?" he held up his phone to show Autumn a text message from Sandrine. It was a series of hearts in a rainbow of colors.

Autumn stood, pulling down on the hem of her nightgown, "I'm gonna pretend I didn't see you here."

Frazzled, she padded into Cookies' room. The little white dog raised his head as Autumn entered, whimpering his disappointment.

"I know, I'm not your mommy. She's gonna be gone for a little while," Autumn let Cookies sniff her hand, before running it over his soft fur. Cookies looked at her with sorrowful eyes, and she could feel her own eyes fill. Autumn sat there, sniffling and petting the dog until Sandrine poked her head in the room.

"I know you had a rough day yesterday, but would you be up for another library trip?" Sandrine appeared to have raided Autumn's high school closet. She had picked items from Autumn's very brief boho phase; a flowery blouse that was fitted through the bust and a pair of bell-bottoms with daisies embroidered around the hem.

Autumn wiped her eyes, "You actually look like a psychic today."

"Charon dressed me," Sandrine spun in a circle, "I hope you don't mind me borrowing something. I don't think I can wear those same clothes again without washing them."

"We can run a load today," Autumn patted Cookies, "Let me put some kibble in Cookies' bowl, then we'll stop at the panini place, and then the library."

"Paninis!" Sandrine squealed, "Okay, meet me outside. Zoe should be here soon."

"I'm sure he will," Autumn grumbled, opening the cabinet underneath the flat screen TV. In spite of his junk-food name, Cookies ate only the finest dog food Darla could buy. All of it had labels stating it was raw, organic, non-GMO, pasture-fed, cage-free, or vegetarian-fed. "Dog eats better than I do," Autumn picked a can with an image of a thick beef stew and retrieved a fresh ceramic bowl. Plopping the stew into the bowl, she turned on the TV. It was already on the animal channel, so she gave Cookies a kiss and made for the door. "I'll leave your doggie door open. Just stay inside the fence when you go out," Autumn paused in the doorway. What if the murderer came back for Cookies? What if she kidnapped him and sent Autumn his tail and a demand for money? Autumn certainly couldn't pay blackmail, not a social worker's salary.

The blast of a car horn interrupted her worries. "Oh, yes, honk your horn," Autumn complained, heading for the stairs, "All we need is to draw attention to ourselves. Come here, murderer! There's three of us left that you haven't thrown down the stairs yet! Come finish the job!"

It took a moment for her to realize two things; first, that her emotions were all over the place, and second, that she was only wearing a nightgown. Autumn slipped into her room, ignoring the carousel and dislocated closet door. She grabbed the first t-shirt and set of jeans she could find, and swapped her underwear and socks for clean ones. The merry-go-round didn't give so much as a _plink_.

By the time Autumn got outside, heavy rain had started. Inside the leaky car, Zoe was in a foul mood, "We should go chase Christian around some more. After all, we have him to thank for the holes in the roof." He tightened his grip on the steering wheel, "Let's do a little deer-hunting."

"Leave it alone, Zoe. If he wants to be a deer, he can go stag. Get it? Go stag?" Sandrine giggled.

Autumn ignored both of them, settling onto the bench seat.

They had barely reached the end of the block when Sandrine grabbed the gear shift, "Stop the car!"

Zoe cursed as the car engine revved, "Are you trying to kill us? Drop my transmission? You can thank God that was just Neutral."

"That house," Sandrine pointed at the raised ranch on the corner, "Who owns that house?"

"I have no idea." Autumn really didn't. Most of the houses were occupied by young families, with only a handful of the original occupants remaining.

"Zoe, can you look it up on your phone?" Sandrine opened her door, stepping out onto the sidewalk. Rain sheeted down around her, forming a river forded by her ballet flats.

Zoe put the car in Park and pulled out his phone. After a few moments, he leaned across the passenger seat, "George Johnston, and can you at least put on your hood?"

"Go back farther, like twenty years or so. Who owned it then?"

"Jun Zhang."

"Nainai," the memories flooded back into Autumn's mind: the rows of flowers, the smell of oranges, and the merry-go-round in its high cabinet. "She was like the grandmother I never had," Autumn smiled thinking about the way Nainai's face lit up when she came over and the glass jar that was always full of candy. "Her house seemed magical when I was little, like the house of a fairy godmother. Anyway, she's the one who gave me the carousel."

Sandrine climbed back into the car, "We're going back to Darla's. I'm such an idiot! We need that carousel."

"It's uh, kind of dangerous," Autumn hedged, "It keeps hitting me."

"Now that I know who to call on, it will be fine," Sandrine turned around backward in her seat, her hair sending rivulets of water down her face, "I didn't think about it being a sentry spirit."

"A sentry? You mean like it's guarding someone or something," Autumn rubbed a drop of water on the knee of my jeans, "September."

"Yeah," Sandrine drummed on the seatback, "June has been following you around too, trying to warn you. We just didn't understand. She knows who pushed Darla and why. If I spin this right, she'll tell us."

"Jun," corrected Zoe, pulling up to Darla's house, "Am I still not allowed inside?"

"This is a crime scene, so no," Sandrine popped out of the car, "You smell like mildew and blood, though, so give Autumn your clothes sometime today." She hopped up the path to the door, a triumphant grin on her face.

"Sure, I'll just run around nude," Zoe called after her.

Autumn eyed him suspiciously, "And lick things?"

"Wow, I didn't know you were kinky like that, " Zoe teasingly lifted his shirt, giving Autumn a glimpse of the makeshift bandages across his chest.

"You really should go to a doctor," she unlatched her belt with a click, "You could get an infection."

"Just like a cold shower. Wasn't your dad some kind of Casanova? You should be trying to seduce me, not trying to shrink me," his eyes hardened, "I know your type and I know your weakness. Stay in your own lane, Autumn, or you might have an accident, just like your mom."

Autumn jumped out of the car, her pulse racing. For a moment Zoe's mask had slipped and she had seen the real person behind it; a person who was both manipulative and cold. He covered it well with jokes and an affected charm, but all of that was just part of an act. Sandrine might be right. Zoe might really be a psychopath.

Wind hit her back, fluttering through her hair, urging her back towards the house. Sandrine was waiting for her on the turquoise doormat, starting down at the motto, "Cya, h8 2 b ya."

"Cah-yah! Is that supposed to be a karate move or something?" Sandrine asked as Autumn approached.

Autumn took Darla's house keys out of her pocket, "Maybe you should bring Charon back for this." She selected the one with the pink poodle keycap and inserted it into the lock.

"You don't think I can handle this? This is _my_ show. _I'm_ the one who figured it out, not Charon."

Autumn held the door open for Sandrine, "Okay."

Sandrine blinked at her, raindrops speckling her eyelashes like misplaced tears, "You don't know what it's like to grow up with someone who's good at everything. I never saw him struggle or fail. He was Icarus without wax, and I hated him for it."

"A sincere polymath," Autumn quipped.

"I wouldn't say sincere."

"It means 'without wax' in Lat-" Autumn broke off her sentence with a gasp. The chandelier was where she had dropped it, sagging against the wall, but its crystals reflecting a multitude of carousels. Autumn turned on her heel, finding it perched on the top stair to the bottom floor.

_Crik-crik-crik_. As it wound, Sandrine approached it, sweeping it off the floor and holding it aloft. The room got darker as if the already hidden sun had gone deeper behind the veil of clouds. "Come," whispered Sandrine huskily. There was a crackle, then Sandrine sagged to the ground, another body on the black and white tile.

"Sandrine!" instead of heading towards her, Autumn backed herself against the front door.

Sandrine pushed herself up onto her elbows, her dazed eyes sweeping the entryway, "Little Jane can't hear the rain, pitter, patter, splash, a lock of hair will be her bow, bones her purses clasp."

The only thing that kept Autumn from running, was the thought that Sandrine was teasing her. "Joking, eh?" the doorknob dug into Autumn's side as she inched away from Sandrine.

"Birdseed," Sandrine rasped, crawling across the tile. A slim hand grasped Autumn's ankle.

"What do you want?" Autumn whimpered, scrunching even harder against the doorknob.

Sandrine opened her mouth, a choking sound bubbling out of her throat. She retched, spitting up a folded piece of paper, the size of a gum wrapper. As Autumn cringed and tried to melt into the woodwork, Sandrine unfolded the paper, "06 17 94. A date, maybe?"

"Please let go of my ankle," Autumn begged.

"Sorry," Sandrine sat up, "I didn't expect it to possess me. Did I do anything strange like float around the room?"

"You sang."

"Was I any good?"

"You were terrifying."

Sandrine giggled, then stood. For a moment the two women faced each other, staring into each other's eyes as if the answer was there, just out of reach. Autumn felt herself becoming entranced. Sandrine's eyes weren't doe-like nor dazed; no, they were bottomless. It was the same sensation as looking down a tunnel so vast, that the other side was lost in blackness. "Autumn?" Sandrine had her in thrall. Whatever she told her to do, Autumn would do without questioning. "Let's go get paninis."

"Yes," Autumn turned the knob and leaned against the door, "Whatever you want."
Skyward

Autumn sat at the same terminal out of habit, still trying to shake the sensation of being mesmerized. The scanned newsprint looked hazy and as hard as she tried, she couldn't focus. Next to her, Sandrine made a sound like a teakettle.

"Look," Sandrine hissed in Autumn's ear, "I found it!" She stabbed at the screen with a tapered finger. It was a tidy little article, nestled next to an ad for peanut butter. "Tot Accidentally Shoots Twin " read the banner.

" _I_ shot September?" the desk smacked Autumn's thighs.

"No, no, no, no," Sandrine dove for Autumn, but her weight wasn't enough this time. Autumn was hydrogen, buoyant, combustible, lighter than air. She drifted up, floating across the room and into the center of the dome, rising past the second-floor balcony, Sandrine riding her like she was a boogie board. "I am one with the universe," Sandrine rode the waves of Autumn's misery with something resembling awe.

Autumn's vision blurred, and she swallowed the words that rose within her. It was too late for her. What she had done was unforgivable. Her own sister, her shadow, her twin. No wonder her mother had lied to her.

"Autumn?" Sandrine's back bumped the domed ceiling, "We can talk about why I think that article is a lie, if you want?"

"No," Autumn sniffed.

"Then look down," Sandrine nodded at the library below them. Here a woman crouched, perusing a bottom shelf. There a man stood, book open, a smile on his face. "The most amazing thing is happening, right above their heads, but they can't be bothered to look up."

"I don't want to fly."

"You think that your pain is the cost of this gift, and that's where you're wrong. Suffering is unavoidable. All those ordinary people down there are split wide by it, just like you. You can't bargain it away," Sandrine stared down at the floor, her eyes unfocused, "You know, a gift is just that: a gift. No strings attached."

Somewhere in the middle of Sandrine's speech, Autumn had started to drift downward. By the time Sandrine finished, they were skimming the tops of bookshelves. Autumn landed, crablike on her back, feet on the top of a bookshelf, arms dangling down each side. Sandrine wasn't quite as lucky. She flipped over the top of the bookcase, dangling off the side right in front of a surprised looking gentleman with a Santa beard.

"Oh," he whispered, "Now ladies are falling out of the sky."

Sandrine dropped to the floor and staggered. "This is an omen for you. You are unable to see the things that are right in front of you. Practice mindfulness and truly see the women in your life, not as their sex, but as souls -"

"Excuse us," Autumn took Sandrine by the shoulders and steered her away. The man's mouth was open, fishlike, the gills of his beard standing on end.

"- on the path to enlightenment," Sandrine called over her shoulder in a half-whisper. She continued back towards the reference section with no prompting, a thoughtful look on her face.

Autumn ignored the computers, pointing at Sandrine's bag, "Get your stuff. I can't stay here and I . . ." She shivered with self-revulsion, "I just don't want to be here right now."

"You're right, we really need to find the woman who pushed your mom, and now I think I have an idea," Sandrine shouldered her purse, "Hey, how'd you get down from that shelf?"

Autumn waited until they were at the double-doors to answer, "I just took a big step." An obscene pride bubbled inside her. She could fly, and she could control where she went and how she landed. It was the thrill of a villain, a superpower that glorified the user without easing the ills of the world.

"Weird," Sandrine waved a hand in the air. A black car pulled up to the curb, the passenger window rolling down. "Hey Zoe," Sandrine stuck her head in the car, "Can you go to the police station and get us anything you can find on the Tremblays? Any of them; Macaire, Darla, September, Autumn, Christian?"

"You expect me to just waltz in there and demand information?" Zoe shook his head, "I'll go take a look around tonight after I get some clean clothes and a shower."

Sandrine stared at him, "Garden hose?"

"No, a hot shower. In the house."

"It's a crime scene," she pulled her head out of the car, "You promised."

Zoe leaned across the seat, "A crime scene that no one knows is a crime scene is not a crime scene. If you want me to B&E, then you have to clean me.

When they arrived at the crime scene that was not a crime scene, an unfamiliar car sat in the drive. "Who -" Sandrine shifted in her seat.

"It's someone selling supplements or God or . . . is that Antlers?" Zoe passed the house, his neck craning.

A man stood next to the car; the hood of his jacket pulled up against the rain. Antlers sprouted out the top of the hood, like a costume headband. Next to him stood a dark-haired woman, her smile-lines visible even from a distance.

"Spirits be damned," Sandrine strained against her seat belt, as if she would climb into the backseat, "Is that the woman you saw push Darla?"

Zoe was a veritable fountain of obscenity, and the way he was waving his hands around made Autumn nervous. "Everybody take five deep breaths," she inhaled dramatically.

"That's her," Zoe jerked the wheel left, before thumping it with his fist, "she's back to finish the job."

"In," Autumn gulped air, "and out."

"Go down that street," Sandrine bounced in her chair, "We'll approach from the rear. If Christian's alive, we'll tranq both of them."

Zoe turned the wheel hard so hard, that Autumn had to seize the grab bar to keep from slamming into the window, "We're all going to die before we get murdered."

He stopped with a sickening lurch that made Autumn's stomach continue moving, even though her body had stopped. Sandrine jumped out, running across the lawn of a purple bi-level trimmed with forest green, her flats slipping on the wet grass. She stopped at a cedar fence, the latched gate holding firm against her attempts to open it. Zoe swung open his door, "Reach over the top!" There was a gust of wind, and the latch clicked open. "Or do that," Zoe smirked.

Autumn sat glued to her seat as Zoe followed Sandrine through the gate. They left it open to loll back and forth on its hinges, bits of the backyard coming in and out of view: a potting bench, a retaining wall, a puzzled-looking bulldog. "What would Cookies make of all this?" Autumn wondered. In her mind's eye, she pictured the little dog across from a faceless woman. Sandrine stood next to him, her eyes reflecting the woman's raised arms. Just as the woman pushed Sandrine, Cookies walked behind her. They tumbled down the stairs, a blur of floral-patterned fabric and white fur. Autumn jumped out of the car.

Chugging up the lawn and through the gate, Autumn nodded to the bulldog, "Hi, Puppy."

The bulldog growled.

Autumn bent over and picked up a rock. "Fetch," she tossed it off to the bulldog's left. His head turned, and Autumn scrambled up the side of the retaining wall. The bulldog barked at her as she climbed, prancing around like she was a treed squirrel. At the top was Darla's fence, the wood so old that it was disintegrating. Someone had helped the process along by ripping two of the slats off. Autumn could tell the damage was new by the crispness of the splinters as she squeezed past them.

Darla's backyard was still, the green of the grass broken only by the brown of Cookies' excretions. The back door stood ajar, doggie door smeared with a red that could only be blood. Autumn broke into a run, leaping over the clods of dog poop with the fleet-footedness of a deer. The kitchen stood silent, kettle at the ready on the stove, a dish rinsed in the sink, a blood-sodden dish towel tossed on the counter.

"Cookies? Here boy," Autumn's voice wobbled.

On the top tread of the stairs, there were little drops of glossy crimson. Every few steps, there was another drop, all the way down to the chandelier and merry-go-round. _Ping._ It rotated to a horse Autumn had never seen before, a glossy bay with branching horns. She had barely gasped a breath when a foreleg snapped off the horse, spinning across the tile.

"Christian!"

The front door opened, "Autumn?" Christian's horns appeared before the rest of him, "I didn't know you were here."

Autumn threw herself in his arms before registering the people around them. Zoe, his shirt stained with blood, stood across from them, Sandrine slightly in front of him, with Cookies sitting on her foot. Next to Christian stood the dark-haired woman with wrinkles. Autumn felt like her brain had been put in a food processor on pulse. "You!" she pointed at the woman with one hand, pushing away from Christian with the other, "I was just relieved, eh?" Autumn wheeled around on Zoe, "Why was your blood on the dog door? I thought something happened to Cookies. My mom would die. And you!" she pointed at the woman again.

"I hoped you would stay in the car," Sandrine looked weary as if every past life had registered behind her eyes.

"This is Marine," Christian gestured at the woman, "We came here to get you."

" _Get_ me? Get _me_?" Autumn sputtered.

"These people aren't who you think they are. Zoe is a wanted fugitive whose real name is Jack Flynn and Sandrine," Christian's face hardened, "is the name of someone he murdered."

Sandrine sagged to her knees; her eyes blank. She blinked, then stared at Marine, "What are you wearing? You really shouldn't wear a denim shirt that matches your jeans. A darker wash would make your blouse pop. Instead, you look like you're wearing coveralls."

"Mom?" It was unmistakable. Sandrine was channeling Darla.

"And here you always blamed Mercy, said she was some kind of thot, but if you would have just dressed a little better . . ." Sandrine sat back on her haunches, running her fingers through Cookies' fur.

"What does 'thot' mean?" Marine scoffed, "You probably shouldn't use slang when you're pretending to be middle-aged."

Christian's antlers glowed like an upside-down chandelier, "Mercy? Can I talk to her?"

"What am I, a telephone operator? This is the afterlife, what number please?" Darla shook Sandrine's finger at him, "You're just like your father."

"I am not like that man," Christian stepped forward, towering over Sandrine.

Zoe moved between them, putting a hand on Christian's chest, "Easy. She didn't mean it like that."

"Yes, I did. Because you know, don't you Christian?"

"Mom didn't mean for it to happen. She was just trying to protect you," Christian gave Zoe a shove, "She should have let Marine shoot you."

"What?" Autumn looked at Marine, "Why are you trying to kill my mother?"

Marine gazed at Autumn, her eyes finally settling on her hands, "It was a different time. Young people wanted the world to be different and better than it was. We didn't want to be like our parents; working jobs we hated until we died. There had to be something more to life, something with meaning. And once you find that connection with the oneness of humankind, you will do anything to protect it."

"I don't understand," Autumn felt like she was talking to an older Sandrine. A Sandrine who for some reason wanted to murder her mother.

"It was like a cult, Honey," Sandrine's body stood, "Macaire was a sort of an artist-prophet, and he used it to get his way."

"How . . . How did you get involved in that?"
The Fog of Memory

"I met Macaire in college, Philosophy 101. The first day, I'm sitting there waiting for class to start, and in walks this handsome man. I mean, tall, blonde, with these bright eyes like sapphires. He looks around the room, then walks straight over and sits next to me! He didn't say anything, not even, 'Is this seat taken?' Anyway, he spent the whole class drawing, except for when the professor asked us to pair up. Macaire glommed onto me and I couldn't shake him. The next day, I tried sitting in a different seat, but he followed me."

"Creepy," Autumn acknowledged.

"Well, it could have been, _should_ have been. I should have realized then that behavior was a red flag, but I was flattered. Here's a class of thirty-some college kids, and you know, my college was something like 70% female, so we were all thirsty," Darla made Sandrine's face smile, "and he picked me like I was a diamond in a tray of cut glass.

"Anyway, we dated, we eloped, and things were . . . okay. He had some weird ideas about things, but it made him interesting and fun. When he was drunk, he'd go off on these tangents about the true meaning of evil, or how we could achieve world peace through sex. That kind of thing was on-trend at the time, so I didn't really think he was serious about it until after I found out I was pregnant.

"I shouldn't have been. I was taking birth control. But that's another story for another day. Anyway, Macaire starts in on about how we should move into a house. He knew someone who was renting out their whole lower floor. It would be cheaper, and we would have more space. I didn't realize it until we moved in, but the two women living there thought everything Macaire said was like the words of God."

Autumn shivered, "Was this the house on Flamingo Court?"

"Flamingo, oh, no, not that house. You're going to get me ahead of myself," Darla smoothed out Sandrine's blouse, "It was this house, the house you grew up in. Marine owned it and she let Mercy rent what was your room. Macaire and I lived in the guest room and we had the exercise room set up like a living room. We all would cook and eat together upstairs, and for a while it really was fun.

"Then Mercy ended up pregnant and I _knew_. I confronted Macaire. I expected excuses, but all he said was that it was a test for me, that if I could accept her into our family, I would have achieved enlightenment. I told him to go take a long walk off a short bridge.

"But really, I felt trapped. I was weeks away from giving birth to twins. How could I support and parent two babies on my own? I couldn't. So, I shut my mouth and stayed. I thought I was doing a great job of faking it until Marine approached me.

"'You and I have something in common,' she said, 'We both know that Mercy is being selfish.'

"I didn't say anything back, I just cried. For a moment I thought someone had understood what I was going through.

"Then she says, 'I know how you feel. I wish Macaire would pay more attention to me too.'

"I wiped off my tears, waddled to a stand and said, 'Marine, he's a visual sort. You need a make-over.'

"She looked at me like I was crazy, which I was at that point. But oddly, it made me realize something else. I needed to start making plans to get out of there.

"After you were about a year old, I started with the least scary thing: I looked for a job. I worked and worked, trying to squirrel away as much money as possible. By the time you turned four, I was ready. Parenting was getting easier, and I had enough saved to know we would be okay.

"Then, one night Marine called a house meeting. You have to understand; we didn't _have_ house meetings. Anyway, we all gathered in the upstairs living room and Marine starts talking about how I've betrayed everyone with my lies. She had picked up the phone upstairs when I was downstairs calling a friend. She heard me talk about moving, and even worse, she heard what I really thought of all of them: that Macaire was vain, delusional, and disloyal. That Mercy was a liar and a home wrecker, and I hated her. That Marine was weird, and she made me uncomfortable.

"She repeated all of it, almost verbatim. Then she pulled out a gun. I don't even remember what she said, but she pointed it at me.

"Macaire was so stunned, he just sat there like a bump on a log. No, the person who reacted was the person I hated. Mercy grabbed the gun and tried to disarm Marine, but the only thing she managed to do, was to push it down when it fired. So instead of killing me, it killed my baby."

"Mom," tears filled Autumn's eyes, and for a moment she didn't see that history was repeating itself. Marine was standing with her arms straight, gun pointed at Sandrine.

"I gave you my house. You were the one who broke up our family. You broke my heart," Marine lowered her gun, "What I can't figure out is why you called me."

"I didn't know what to do. Autumn was asking all these questions, and I . . . I was just as guilty as all of you. I should have told the police the truth. But Macaire threatened me. He said that all of you would lie and say I did it. Then it would be three against one. I know it's not a good excuse, but I believed him. I thought I'd be in jail and never see my daughter again."

Marine lowered the gun, then stuck it under her own chin.

"Nooooo!" Christian grabbed her the same moment the gun discharged. It made a sound like breaking glass, like every note on the carousel being struck at once. Christian's antlers shattered into chunks of ice, and fog seemed to settle around us. When it cleared enough that Autumn could see, Sandrine and Zoe had disappeared.

Marine lay on the ground, her face a bloody mess, her chest moving slowly.

"She's dead," Christian's voice wobbled.

"Dead people don't breathe," Autumn pulled her phone out of her purse and dialed 911.
Epilogue

Persephone crouched behind Autumn's laptop. Every time Autumn hit "Backspace," the cat swatted at her hand, mouth open in a silent "Gotcha!"

Even Persephone's antics couldn't distract Autumn from the icy feeling in her stomach. She picked up her phone and dialed.

"Darla," her mom sing-songed.

"Hi, Mom," Autumn turned her speakerphone on.

"Oh, hi Honey. How are you?"

Autumn cringed, "Not good, but before we get into that, how are you?"

"There's a really cute male nurse who works the second shift on the weekends, so I'm happy as a MILF," Darla giggled.

"'As a clam,' Mom," Autumn corrected.

"Well, whatever. Now it's your turn."

"My card was declined at the grocery store today, so I checked my bank account online and . . . there's nothing in there," Autumn scrolled through the list of transfers anxiously, "Somehow, someone transferred all my money to the Cayman Islands."

"Did you call your bank?"

Autumn eyed the clock, it was six fifty PM, "They're closed right now, but I will."

"Let me know if you need any money and Autumn? Have Christian check his account too."

"Why?"

Darla paused, and Autumn could hear the low murmur of the TV in her room, "I had this weird dream when I was in critical condition. I was floating above my body, watching the nurses and the doctors work on me, and then I started to see this white light. I went towards it and I ended up in this attic with all these chests, like pirate chests. So, I started opening them and then I was having a catfight with that girl you were hanging out with. The sneaky one with the bad dye job."

"Sandrine?" Autumn laughed for a moment at Darla's description. "She disappeared."

"Yeah, well, so did your money." There was a squeak in the background, "Gotta go. Sponge bath time."

" _Mo-om_. You don't really need that, do you?" There was no answer. Darla had hung up on her.

Autumn stood and jittered her way across the apartment. Wobbling outside, she knocked on Christian's door. "Hey, Sister," he opened the door a crack, "Can we talk later?" There was a giggle from inside his room.

"Just check your bank account," annoyed, Autumn headed back the way she had come. They had only been home for a few days, and already Christian seemed more of a stranger than before they had left. Autumn picked up her phone and snapped a picture of the carousel. Posting it on an auction site, she added the headline, "Merry-go-round, formerly possessed, $15 OBO."

Scanning her kitchen, she picked up the mug with the jump-roping bear. _Click_. "Bear mug, time-traveling, $5 OBO." _Click_. "Handmade candles, set of two, $3." _Click_. "Paper crane, folded by a medium, $1."

"Autumn?" Christian's voice startled her.

_Click_. The picture was a messy blur. Autumn focused and tried again. _Click_. "Possession book, $5."

"I checked my account, and there's nothing in there," Christian sat down heavily on her couch, "Like nothing, nothing."

_Click._ "Crystal from chandelier gained through levitation, $3." _Click_. "Steel box, formerly used for storing possessed items, $10."

Christian stared at her, "Autumn? What are you doing?"

"Selling things online so I won't starve," Autumn looked around the apartment until her eyes settled on Charon's memorial card. She picked it up, running her finger over the purple aura. "I don't get paid for another two weeks," positioning the card where it wouldn't catch a glare, Autumn snapped a picture of it.

"What if I told you I know someone who will buy us food until you get paid and I make some more sales?" Christian's ears turned red.

"Your girlfriend," Autumn added a headline to Charon's card, "Yeah, no thanks."

"Are you . . . jealous?" he mumbled, or at least it seemed like a mumble. It was hard to tell when she was floating above someone, what it was they were saying. Autumn dove under the transom, coasted across the cover of the balcony, then spiraled upwards into the sky.

It wasn't until she felt the clouds' cold brush of ice that she answered him, "No, you are."

### ###

Thank you for reading my book. If you enjoyed it, please take a moment to leave me a review at your favorite retailer.

Thanks,

Melissa Dill

### Discover other titles by Melissa Dill:

_Murder In A Box_

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