MC glared at the table in front of him, his eyes blurring as exhaustion weighed his eyelids. What happened the previous night had just totally drained him, his body merely an empty shell, housing a mind still in turmoil from the horrors it had seen. The warm morning light filtering through the kitchen windows barely dispersed the cold that had seeped deep into his bones.
Maximus had found him at dawn huddled near the window, like some kind of afraid child. The wide-eyed look of his brother soon fetched their mother, who wore that worn look-one too many times-accustomed with the episodes. MC didn't even try explaining about Emma's ghost this time. He had long since been silenced by the futility of it all-the lack of tangible evidence, the disbelieving stares, the pitying looks. All the trauma of each encounter had clung to him like a second skin, an invisible shroud of dread he couldn't rid himself of.
"You okay?" ventured Maximus with great caution, his voice hardly above a whisper. "You. see her again?"
The withering glare from MC was enough to speak volumes of exhaustion and irritation. "What do you think?" he spat, immediately regretting the harshness of his tone.
Maximus took the hint and fell silent, his concerned gaze never leaving his brother's face. MC's hand drifted unconsciously to his cheek, phantom sensations of squirming maggots making his skin crawl. He could still feel them, still hear the wet, sickening sounds of their writhing bodies. The memory threatened to overwhelm him, but he forced it down, focusing instead on Emma's cryptic message, echoing steadily in his mind: 'Find his stuff.'
The words were a riddle he couldn't solve, a task that filled him with equal parts confusion and dread. Was this what Emma needed to find peace? And more importantly, did he have any choice in the matter? The vagueness of it all gnawed at him like a hungry beast. Who was this mysterious 'he'? How was MC supposed to do this when he was supposed to leave immediately after breakfast? It was as if some malignant force in the universe was playing a cruel joke on him.
His mother came in, carrying two steaming bowls. She set one in front of each boy, the warm scent of oatmeal wafting up to fill the room. MC looked down at the lumpy texture and felt his stomach roll violently; it was too similar to the writhing maggots which had poured from Emma's empty eye sockets. Food was most definitely off the table for him today, and it would probably remain that way for many days.
"Are we going home after breakfast?" Maximus asked between mouthfuls, utterly oblivious to MC's growing discomfort.
Her mom's face flickered-a flash of uncertainty crossing her face before it settled into a weak smile. "I actually promised Eva I'd help her move her father's things up to the attic today," she confessed contritely.
MC's head hit the table with a dull thud; a groan escaped his lips, which was partly frustration and partly despair. It really appeared that the universe was colluding to keep him here-right where Emma wanted him. A search for this mysterious 'stuff' now stared him in the face, an unwelcome and probably terrifying task he couldn't sidestep.
He sat at the table, his forehead against the cool wood, wondering, Why do ghosts have to be so bloody cryptic? Why couldn't Emma just come straight out and say what she wanted? The idea of being kept here God only knew how long by her half-told hints made him tired deep in his bones.
Yet a small part of him knew. Death had probably fragmented Emma's mind, leaving behind only shards of her consciousness. Perhaps speech was beyond her now, her ghostly form capable of conveying little more than the barest sense of her wants. Or perhaps, he thought, shuddering, she was just playing with him, some creature of pure emotion lashing out at the living in the only way she could.
Whatever the reason, MC knew he had no choice but to play along with Emma's macabre game. The alternative was too terrifying to contemplate: ignoring her demands and risking her wrath. He let out a deep sigh and then lifted his head, steeling himself for the day ahead. It seemed he had a ghost to appease and a mystery to solve.
…
MC labored to lug a box of books up narrow attic stairs; his arms ached from the weight of them as his mind worked on why Eva had stored them in the attic instead of donating them to some library where at least they could be read and enjoyed. As he set the box down with a thud, fighting the urge to collapse onto the filthy floor, a wave of frustration washed over him. This menial task felt like a colossal waste of time when he should be searching for whatever the hell that "stuff" was Emma's ghost had so cryptically demanded he find.
On his way back from the attic to the living room, his mind was already running over all of the possibilities-all unsettling, one after another. Or maybe the "stuff" belonged to Emma's killer, something the police had never found in all these years. Maybe it was something belonging to a person no one had ever imagined having any link with Emma's death. Questions proliferated, branching like some twisted tree of possibilities, but MC knew there could only be one truth hidden among the branches.
In the living room, Maximus was taping up another box-meticulous, his movements sharp and focused. He looked up as MC entered and furrowed his brow in concern. "MC, are you okay enough to be working? You look like you're about to keel over."
MC slumped onto the couch, his body sinking into its worn cushions as if they might swallow him whole. "Physically and mentally? No-I feel like I've been hit by a truck and then reverse over for good measure."
Despite the bone-deep exhaustion and the weight of Emma's spectral demands pressing down on his shoulders, MC's resolve to rid himself of her haunting presence kept him from giving up completely. He turned to his brother, desperation coloring his voice. "Maximus, you're smart, right? How do you solve something with little or zero clues? I mean, if you were trying to piece together a puzzle but most of the pieces were missing, where would you even start?"
Maximus paused, setting down the packing tape as he considered the question. His brow furrowed in thought, reminding MC of how many times he'd seen that same expression when Maximus was trying to solve one of those really hard math problems. "When you're trying to solve something with little to no clues, it's all about breaking it down into smaller parts," he started, his voice taking on a teacher-like quality. Try thinking about what you know, however insignificant it may seem, and try finding patterns. Just throw out ideas-even if they sound weird or off the wall. Not being afraid to try different approaches to see what works; looking up similar problems or cases to see if that gives you any hints. And that's okay-it's all about testing your ideas and being flexible if something else comes up that may change your direction.
MC was taken aback by his brother's response, a little spark of hope in his chest. "Okay, but can I use that to solve someone's murder?" The words spilled out before he could stop them, hanging in the air like a confession.
"Murder?" Maximus looked up in disbelief as his eyes widened. "What on earth am I hearing? MC, what have you gotten yourself into?"
He realized he had crossed a line and couldn't turn back now. MC then decided to confide fully in his brother; after all, he needed an ally in this ghostly mystery, and who better than his genius younger sibling? "Didn't you say that you want to learn more about me? Well, here's your chance, but I warn you, it's not pretty."
"Yeah, I wanted to know more about you, but I didn't expect to be dragged into a murder case," Maximus replied, his voice filled with curiosity and a tint of apprehension. "Wait. who got killed?"
MC looked up at the ceiling, preparing himself for the conversation ahead. "Do you know how I always have those nightmares that leave me a nervous wreck? The ones mom and dad think are just night terrors?"
Maximus nodded, acknowledging MC's episodes. "Yeah, I always thought you had some kind of mental illness or PTSD or something."
"Mental illness?" MC shot him a dirty look, indignant. "No, it's not that simple. I've been. I've been haunted by Emma's ghost."
Maximus's face was a picture of surprise, his disbelief fighting it out with apprehension for the sanity of his brother's state. "That. that is worse! Why is she haunting you? What did you do?"
MC took a deep breath, weighed down by the weight of his guilt. "Honestly, I had always kind of felt it was maybe due to my being somewhat responsible for her dying," he said, leaning back and shutting his eyes as if he could shut out the painful memories. "But now it seems like she wants me to help her out so she can finally move on to the afterlife. She's given me a task, but it's so vague, I don't even know where to start."
Maximus was not so sure if he should believe in ghosts or if this was just his brother's possible delusions, so he decided to play along. If nothing else, it might help him find out what was going on with MC and Jake's mysterious past. "Well, I guess we need to know Emma better as a person," he said, standing up and beginning to pace, his mind already working on the problem. "We need to find out who was associated with her, friends, enemies-the whole nine yards-and something out of her past ties in with what she wanted you to find."
MC stared at the ceiling, a mix of emotions: relieved that he had finally shared his burden, yet apprehensive about what lay ahead. "You think in a few hours we could get a handle on it? We're supposed to leave soon."
"Who knows?" returned Maximus-the determined glint already in his eye. "We wouldn't know if we don't try. And hey, two heads are better than one, right? Even if one of those heads is possibly being influenced by a ghost."
…
Jake jerked as if being twitched, uneasiness coiled at the base of his gut like a snake. He got a creepy notion, the gravest in conviction, that the going was all to go badly now. All at once, the basketball court became very wide and unshielded under open sky; he didn't much care about winter's chafe on the skin. Yet the more Jake watched the play on the floor, the darker felt that growing suspicion haunting his vision at large.
He caught the ball that was passed from his teammate-the leather rough against his calloused palms-and he tossed it, with practiced ease, toward the hoop. Time seemed to stand still as the ball arced through the air, seeming to hang for a moment before swishing through the net. "That's 4 to 2," he announced, a tinge of satisfaction in his voice, doing little for the growing unease now clawing within him.
"That's not fair," Josh grumbled, rubbing absently at his arm, where a faint scar showed-a souvenir of the day he'd sliced MC with scissors five years ago. "I'm still suffering from the fallout of fighting with that fucker. My wrist has never been the same since."
They'd all borne their scars from that day, both physical and emotional. MC had miraculously held his own with them, despite looking like a twig that could snap in half under a feather. The memory of the scrawny kid suddenly becoming a whirlwind of fists and fury still haunted them. Jake's black eye, now faded to a sickly yellow, was a constant reminder of MC's unexpected strength. He was glad no one asked where it came from, but that knowing glint in his teammates' eyes spoke volumes.
"Hey, you gonna let MC get away with him hitting us?" Alex, that scrawny kid who had a chip on his shoulder, piped up. His eyes gleamed with a mixture of fear and anticipation, clearly hoping for some sort of retribution.
The ball suddenly felt heavy in Jake's hands as he faltered. He really didn't want to let go of the ball, but then again, a confrontation with MC once more was as good as swallowing glass shards. Of course, to admit that would mean showing weakness to his friends. "I don't want to be on his mom's bad side," he muttered, really not answering, hoping they would drop it.
"His mom?" Josh snickered, an evil glint in his eye. "You're afraid of his mom? I've seen her at the funeral, and to me, she doesn't seem all that. Just another miserable, middle-aged woman if you ask me."
"What?" Jake growled, irritation flaring hot and bright in his chest. "What are you talking about? I meant MC's mom is my mom's best friend. Why the hell would you think I was interested in her?" The very idea made his skin crawl, and he fought the urge to shove Josh for even suggesting it.
Alex laughed at Josh's discomfort while the latter wisely kept his mouth shut, not wanting to further provoke Jake. The tension on the court was palpable, the game forgotten in the wake of this conversation. "So, you just hate MC?" Alex probed, his voice a mixture of curiosity and something darker, as if he was hoping to stoke the flames of Jake's anger.
Jake snatched up the basketball, the familiar weight grounding him as he lined up another shot. "Yeah, after what he did to me." The ball sailed through the hoop with a satisfying swish, but beneath the surface, Jake's anger simmered, threatening to boil over. "I will never forgive him."
The words hung in the air, heavy with unspoken history and resentment. Jake's proclamation was like a shadow cast onto the court-a warning of deeper, unhealed wounds from years past. The other boys shifted uncomfortably; the feeling grew in them that this was something more than a simple schoolyard grievance.
The more silence stretched out, the more that old, nasty premonition of Jake's crawled its way to the forefront again. Something was going to arrive, something which would force him to confront this messy tangle of a history between him and MC. No matter how hard he wished he were blameless in this feud, something deep inside his guts called that a dream.
…
MC and Maximus stood frozen in the doorway of Emma's bedroom, their eyes wide with wonder. The room was a time capsule, preserved with an eerie perfection that sent chills down their spines. It was as if Emma might walk in at any moment, ready to chastise them for invading her private space.
"This room is so girly," Maximus muttered under his breath, his eyes scanning the too-pink decor. "I thought these rooms only existed in movies or in magazines."
Soft blush pink coated the walls with a delicate floral pattern and strings of fairy lights that seemed to hang frozen in mid-air like stars.
The floor was covered with white plush carpet, still good as new all these years later. A white desk, dresser, and canopy bed floated in a sea of pink and gold accents.
MC nodded, his lips curling wryly. "Yeah, I used to give her so much crap about it. Told her it was her 'Barbie dreamhouse'." What at one time had been an easy way to poke fun at her now felt like a knife twisting in his gut.
Pushing aside the wave of nostalgia, they hunkered down to work. "We're lucky everyone's busy with Grandpa William's stuff and Jake's out with his friends," MC said, digging through the white desk. "Otherwise, we'd never get in here."
Maximus started on the closet, carefully sifting through hangers of pastel dresses and sparkly tops. "You said we need to find guys from Emma's past?
"Yeah, she said 'find HIS stuff,' so we know we're looking for a guy," MC said, shutting one drawer and stopping at a photo of Emma with her friends. Their smiling faces seemed to mock him from the past. "But that's not much to go on."
He turned his attention to the bed and reached underneath to pull out a pink shoebox. The edges of the cardboard were worn from the many times Emma had taken something from within. MC remembered once teasing her about keeping her "stupid trinkets" in it, but could now appreciate holding onto memories.
Inside, he found a treasure trove of photos. One in particular caught his eye-a snapshot of himself with Jake and Emma at the county fair, laughing with cotton candy still sticking to their fingers, nary a clue of impending tragedy that would eventually tear them asunder. The image really tugged on his heart, a bittersweet reminder of easy times.
As he reached further down, his fingers grazed against plastic. He drew out a pink flip phone with its face glittered up with sparkly stickers. It was a relic from another era-a time when phones had served purposes other than calling and texting. MC turned it on; the battery had been long dead.
"Hey, I found something!" Maximus exclaimed, showing them a pink diary with a tiny lock on it. "This girl really liked pink, man. It's like Barbiecore went off here."
MC just set the shoebox down, still holding onto the phone. "Can you read through it and see if she mentions any guys? Maybe there's a clue about who we're looking for."
"I suppose we have to start at the beginning," Maximus said, opening the diary with caution. The pages were filled with loopy handwriting and doodles of hearts and flowers.
As they dug into the private thoughts of Emma, MC couldn't help but feel that they were about to bring to light secrets that had been buried for years. The room, once a sanctuary for a young girl's dreams, now felt like a mausoleum of unspoken truths. Every object they touched, every page they turned, might hold the key to unlocking the mystery of Emma's tragic fate.
The flip phone in MC's hand seemed heavier now, buoyed with unspoken stories. He wondered if there was a means to charge it, in order to see what messages and photos it might contain. Could this small device, once a symbol of teen freedom and connection, now be a link to the truth about Emma's last days?
As Maximus started reading from the diary aloud, MC steeled himself. They were about to enter Emma's world, to see through her eyes what had taken place right up to that fateful night five years ago. Whatever they found, MC knew their lives would never be the same again.