Gathering up the rest of Paper Museum is harder than Landis assumed it would be - he’d assumed that he knew the places that they all go to be alone, but it looks like they’re all better at keeping secrets from him than he is from them. By the time he, Grace, and Otter track down Danton and Jeremy (enviously watching people at the ice cream parlor, and illicitly practicing moving a bow across one of the high school orchestra’s cellos), it’s been over an hour. Abbie and the ghosts she took in tow with her are surely at the lake house by now, even in the unlikely event that they did hit traffic on the way. Landis tries hard not to think about what might happen if the ghost killer shows up at the lake house without Otter there to handle it.
He tries equally as hard not to think about the increasingly likely possibility that the ghost killer has already gotten to Wes. They’ve searched all of the places Wes should be - the library, the cemetery across from the library, the cemetery on the other side of town - and turned up nothing. Now they’re at an abandoned house in a suburban cul-de-sac where Danton claims Wes “goes to think” sometimes. Otter is still stomping around the second floor of the house as though he’ll even be able to see Wes when he finds him, while Jeremy and Danton explore the first floor with mild interest, and Landis and Grace sit dejectedly on the front porch.
“Isn’t it weird?” Grace asks abruptly. “The whole lake house business? You know, we could have done it somewhere else if -”
Landis shakes his head. “I don’t care. I mean - it’s fine. I haven’t been using the place anyway…I would sell it, but, uh, nobody really wants to live there, after what happened. So I figure, at least I’ll be getting some use out of it.”
Grace hums thoughtfully. “You think you’ll ever move back in?”
“God, no.” Landis barks out a laugh. “Not if you paid me.”
He and Grace lapse into silence, each leaning against the railing on opposite sides of the porch steps. A breeze rolls through that makes them both shiver, and Landis rubs his forearms, feeling the raised goosebumps on his skin. Kind of a strange temperature drop for the summer, he thinks. Nights in Colorado can get pretty cold, but Landis looks up and finds that he can still see the sun, though the sky has started to turn the deep reds and purples that signal the oncoming of night.
“Are you chilly?” Grace asks. “Because I’m really -”
She stops abruptly as a figure starts to materialize on the sidewalk in front of them. Spindly limbs appear where there were none before, popping into place on a thin torso. Head and neck grow out of it at the same time, and though the figure’s face is drenched in blood, it has a scowly look about it that looks somehow familiar to Landis. It’s not until the spirit’s colors start to fade in that Landis sees the pasty skin and red hair, and makes the connection. His heart lurches up into his throat.
“I’ve been trying to get you alone all damn day,” Declan Tam says, grinning with blood-stained teeth as he takes a step closer to the porch. His gait is uneven, and as he gets closer, Landis can see that the blood on his face is coming from a wound close to his hairline. Like someone who flew headfirst into a steering wheel.
Something’s digging uncomfortably into Landis’s wrist, and he looks down to find that Grace has grabbed him in a vice grip.
“If you come any closer, I’ll scream,” she warns Declan, her eyes steely. “Our friend upstairs can touch ghosts, and -”
Declan freezes. “You mean Abbie’s here?”
It’s not the reaction Landis was expecting, and apparently neither was Grace, because the two share a momentary look of confusion. Landis swallows, trying to control his nerves.
“What do you mean?” he asks Declan. “I mean, no, she’s not here - we have another friend, but -”
“Oh. Good.” Declan visibly deflates in relief. He uses the undershirt hanging off his skinny frame to mop some of the blood from his face, but it doesn’t seem to do much at all. “Good. She can’t know I’m still around. Or she’ll do me like she did the rest of ‘em.”
Grace’s grip on Landis’s arm loosens, and she leans towards Declan. “Explain.”
“Well, she killed those other ghosts, didn’t she? I mean, she’s killed people too, but then she started switchin’ to ghosts. I think it started out that she was afraid the people she knocked off would find a way to tell someone who killed ‘em, but then she just kept doing it when she realized nobody really cared what happened to ‘em.” Declan laughs nervously, scratching at the back of his neck. When he opens his mouth wide enough, Landis can see that he’s missing several teeth.
“So…” Landis says slowly. “You helped her kill people, and then she switched to ghosts.”
“I was more of her body dump guy, but yeah,” Declan says. “And then - well, no bodies, no body dump guy, right? So she told the police I was the one who killed all those people. Figured she’d tie everything up in a bow, either I’d get put in jail or shot or something and I wouldn’t bother her anymore. Don’t think she counted on me coming back, too.” He snorts. “I mean, t’be honest, I didn’t really believe her about the whole ghost thing until this happened. I thought she was just. Y’know. Going nuts.”
If Abbie’s the killer, we left her alone with Amber and Mal. Landis’s stomach flips over. He can tell Grace is thinking the same thing, because her hands fly to her mouth, the color draining out of her face.
“How do we know you’re telling the truth?” Landis asks weakly, each word an effort to push out.
“Why the fuck would I lie?” Declan spreads his arms, looking incredulous. “I mean, if I was the killer, I’d have gone inside and killed your ghost pals while you weren’t looking instead of staying out here to chat, wouldn’t I? And besides,” he says, the dried blood around his mouth splitting and flaking away as he grins, “that bitch got me killed, and I’d love to see her get what’s coming to her.”
He’s right. Even if he was the killer, there’s no reason for him to lie. And Abbie led us straight to him, like she knew exactly who to use as a scapegoat. Landis leans heavily against the porch railing, feeling dizzy. She split us up so she could go with Amber and Mal to the lake house. Nobody for miles around to see or hear anything. Why the hell didn’t I think -
Before he can finish the thought, Grace is yanking him up to his feet. There’s an anger in her face that Landis has never seen before, and she throws the door to the abandoned house open, leaning the upper half of her body inside.
“Otter!” She yells at the top of her lungs, startling even Landis. “Jeremy! Danton! We’re leaving, now!”
Danton pokes his head out through a wall. “What about -”
“Mal’s in trouble,” Landis says quickly. “We’ll explain in the car.”
Mal might be dead already, his brain helpfully supplies. He’s going to die right on the lake, right where you killed him the first time. Isn’t that funny? And what even happens to a ghost after they die? Maybe they don’t even pass on anywhere. Maybe they just get erased.
He shakes the thought off as he slides into the passenger seat of the car. Mal’s a fighter. He won’t go down easily - and if Abbie can touch him, that means he can touch her back.
“Good luck!” Declan yells at them through cupped hands as Grace pulls the car a little too quickly out of the cul-de-sac, the tires screeching on the asphalt. “Be sure and kill her for me, will you?”
Landis closes his eyes, resting the side of his head on the cool window glass. He can feel his heart pumping in his chest like a scared rabbit’s, and his hands are clenched so tightly that his nails bite into his palms, almost certainly hard enough to leave marks. His eyes sting.
I’m sorry, he thinks desperately, as if Mal could even hear him. I’m sorry I set you up to get caught in the same trap a second time. I’m sorry I didn’t realize sooner, I’m sorry we’ll probably be too late to save you. I’m sorry. I’m sorry.
[singing softly] el muchacho de los ojos tristes...