“Freewild Cove, North Carolina,” the television practically screamed.
As she was backing away from the couch, she caught movement. The remote lifted on its own to hover in the air. The television screen paused on a beach scene, rewound a few frames, only to play.
“Freewild Cove.”
It did it again.
“Freewild Cove.”
And again.
“Freewild Cove.”
Sue ran for the door.
“Freewild Cove.”
It slammed shut behind her with unnatural force.
The evening had turned to dark, and she saw a hint of light playing through the seam in the curtains. She couldn’t go back in. Head-injury-induced hallucinations or not, that shit was terrifying.
She stood on the front sidewalk and glanced up and down the quiet block, unsure what she was doing. It was late, and the only car she owned was spending its eternity in a junkyard. All she knew was she couldn’t go back into the house.
The smell of cologne drifted past, bringing with it a chill.
Sue hurried down the sidewalk, keeping her head down and hoping none of her neighbors chose that moment to look outside.
Chapter Three
Sue tried not to look at the series of beach pictures that the bored teenager next to her kept flipping through on his phone. His parents were in the seats behind them. Every once in a while, his mother would try to hand him a water bottle and snacks. The kid would answer by shifting in the seat, slouching down as if to hide the bikini babe he’d found, and then sighing in annoyance. His leg encroached on Sue’s space, but instead of saying anything, she leaned closer to the window.
The tinted windows kept the interstate lights from shining in her face as they traveled past the dark landscape. She’d been on the bus for—gah, what was it, fifteen?—hours, and as much as she hated being crammed next to two dozen strangers, she needed their nearness. Whatever weirdness had followed her through town until she’d ended up taking refuge at a bus station didn’t seem to stir around the other passengers.
The screen of a tablet reflected in the window next to the seat in front of her. Though she couldn’t hear the words, she saw the face of the clown with a knife. She knew it was impossible, but it felt like the clown smiled directly at her. She hugged her arms across her chest. The screen flashed to that of a couple in deep conversation at a restaurant. It didn’t look like the same movie.
Sue turned her gaze to the back of the seat. The teenager suddenly jerked, hitting her shoulder with his elbow.
“Ow.” Sue rubbed her arm.
“Sorry,” the kid mumbled, but he continued playing a video game.
She pressed closer to the window to give him space. Her purse sat on the floor, squished between her feet. She thought of the check shoved in the zipper pocket of her purse, thankful she’d had the presence of mind to grab the bag.
Fear beat through her, tightening in her chest and flowing through her nervous limbs. She tried to convince herself that she’d hallucinated the remote hovering in the air, just like she hallucinated the smell of Hank’s cologne.
Sue glanced at the teenager’s phone just as he crashed the car he drove in the game. It flipped off the side of a cliff and exploded. She looked toward the window. The clown face was there, as he threatened with his knife. Tears gathered, and she closed her eyes.
In. Out. In. Out.
She had to calm herself, or she’d find herself screaming nonsense on a bus full of people.
“I can’t wait to get to the beach,” a woman said.
Sue had no idea where she was going. She had bought a ticket on the first bus leaving the station—anyplace to get away from the cloud of Hank’s cologne following her down the sidewalk. She couldn’t shake the feeling that she was doing something wrong, which was ridiculous. If she wanted to buy a bus ticket and travel all night, she should be able to do that.
Hank didn’t like her traveling alone.
“Fuck Hank,” she whispered. “I can if I want to.”
“You want this? I’m done with it.”
Sue opened her eyes. The woman in the seat ahead of her held a magazine toward her. Sue automatically lifted her hand to take it even though she didn’t feel like reading. “Uh, thanks.”
She put the magazine on her lap. A model’s smiling face graced the cover next to the bold words, “Know when to shut your mouth.”
One of the scented inserts that advertised cologne had slipped to the side. A nerve in her hand stung, and she looked at the ring she’d found in the hospital bag. In her flight from the house, she’d forgotten about it.
The teenager bumped her again, causing the magazine to slide on her lap. The scented insert slipped farther from the pages. With a shaking hand, Sue pulled it out. A glass of bourbon neat was printed on it, and the smell of gun oil and cedar wafted over her. The smell made her sick to her stomach.
“Cool. Can I have that?” the teenager asked.
Sue looked from the insert to the boy, not following his question. He gave a meaningful look at the cologne ad. She slowly handed it to him. The teen snatched it from her and instantly peeled it open to rub the scented paper on his neck. The stench of the cologne became unbearable.
“Do you know if we’re stopping soon?” Sue asked.
The teen shrugged and went back to his game. “Probably never. This stupid trip…”
His words disappeared into a grumble as his attention disappeared into his game.
Sue rubbed her sore hand. Even though she hadn’t wanted it, she opened the magazine to distract her mind from the overwhelming smell of her cologned neighbor.
She flipped to the center of the magazine to an article about a historic theater screening old movies. Sue almost ignored it but for an emblem carved in the front of the building. It looked similar to the band she wore. She turned the band on her finger and lifted it next to the picture. They were almost identical.
What could that mean?
“Warrick Theater,” she read, mouthing the words quietly, “named for eccentric businesswoman Julia Warrick, who’d commissioned the building in the early nineteen-hundreds, represents a colorful chapter in North Carolina’s history. A self-proclaimed medium, Julia wanted a place to hold séances. People would travel for hundreds of miles to have her contact their dead relatives.”
The smell of the cologne tickled the back of her throat, and she gave a light cough. Sue tried to ignore it as she looked at a series of photos. Inside, the art deco theater appeared well maintained, if not a little outdated. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d seen gold and burgundy sponge-painted walls.
Seeing a picture of a woman with dark hair standing behind a concession counter, Sue read, “Julia’s granddaughter, Heather Harrison, is keeping the entertainment tradition alive and the theater doors open.”
Sue started to pull the ring off her finger to get a better look at the design.
The bus lurched. A collective gasp of surprise sounded. Sue braced her hands to keep from flying out of her seat. The magazine slid off her lap and under the seat in front of her.
Thud. Thump-thump-thump-thump. Clank.
They bounced in their seats as the bus slowed.
“Oh, that can’t be good,” the teenager’s mom exclaimed.