He shifts closer to me. “If we can prove that the house is haunted and that Piper is possessed, she’ll have to come with us.”
“And how do you plan on doing that?”
Sammy crawls over to his desk, digging through a bottom drawer. “With these!”
In his hands, he holds two GoPro cameras, a couple of rechargeable batteries, and cords. I sit up.
“Where’d you get those?”
“They were Dad’s. He used them for some old construction project. Said I could have them.”
I pluck one of the cameras out to examine it.
“And what are you going to do with them?”
“Set them up around the house. If we can show Mom proof that Piper is crazy-town, she’ll totally come be with us . . . and Dad.”
There’s an eagerness in his voice, for Mom to be with Dad again, and I feel a twinge for his heartache.
“Sam,” I say gently. “She won’t leave Alec. That’s her new husband, remember?”
Sammy diverts his eyes, shoulders curling, fidgeting with the cameras.
“I know that,” he mutters. “And I guess maybe Alec can come too. But this is the only way they’ll believe us. Plus, we’ll need proof Piper’s possessed or the church won’t perform an exorcism on her.”
“How the hell do you know that?”
“Duh! The Conjuring. You fell asleep before the end.”
Okay, that’s probably true. I fall asleep during most movies. But if I had known that movie would be the key to my survival here, I would’ve drunk some coffee.
“Come on, Mari. We at least have to try. It’s our only shot!”
Well, a plan is better than no plan.
“Okay. Let’s do it.”
“What you doing here, Cali!” Mr. Brown says with a laugh as he unloads his truck. “I thought y’all would be long gone by now.”
“Nope, my parents insist on torturing us,” I say, walking up the driveway.
He chuckles. “Yusef’s inside, cooking dinner.”
“Domesticating him,” I say with an impressed nod. “I like that.”
“As it says in first Corinthians, chapter three, verse eight . . . ‘The one who plants and the one who waters work together with the same purpose. And both will be rewarded for their own hard work.’ And children of God, I’m here to provide the seeds that you will plant, and you will do the watering. Do not forsake his words. For the devil is among you! He has poisoned your minds, makes you feel you can’t trust the very people he put to care for you. . . .”
As usual, Pop-Pop is in his chair, faithful to the program. Yusef throws some potatoes in a pot of boiling water, wiping his hands on a dish towel.
“I’ve come with gifts,” I announce, placing a case of soda on the kitchen table. “You know, for saving my life and everything.”
Yusef cracks a smile. “Aw, you didn’t have to do all that.” He raises an eyebrow, with a mischievous smirk. “Seeing how it was Mr. Watson who really saved you.”
I purse my lips. “Are you seriously going to make fun of a girl with a concussion?”
He laughs and reaches for my hand, interlocking our fingers.
“Sorry, guess you’re not the only one who cracks jokes when you’re uncomfortable.” His voice turns serious as he gently rubs the inside of my palm. “I was . . . really worried about you.”
The tenderness, I could just melt into him, I need a hug so bad. But . . . I step back, bumping into Pop-Pop’s seat, and scramble away.
“Yeah, well. I didn’t drown.” I cough out a laugh, stuffing my hands in my hoodie to keep them hidden just so he doesn’t reach for them. Then I can pretend I don’t want to reach for his. I’m queen of making awkward moments more awkward.
Yusef rolls his eyes with a smirk. “But what was up with all that? Mr. Watson lives all the way on park side. What would he be doing around your block? And that late at night.”
“I don’t know. And he’s the least of my worries with a demon running loose in my home.”
“Well, can’t say I ain’t try to tell you.” He gives a sympathetic smile. “Wanna stay for dinner?”
“Sure. Can I also camp out in your garage with Sammy? We won’t be any trouble. We just need an extension cord and the Wi-Fi password.”
He fake thinks, tapping his chin. “Um, not sure how that’d go with the neighbors. Maplewood got enough rumors floating around.”
Yusef opens the oven and stuffs a seasoned raw chicken inside. “And if I didn’t say it before, I’m proud you went back to get your sister. Means you ain’t as heartless as you think.”
He winks and my stomach tenses, appetite gone. I came here on a mission to tell the truth but I’m already having second thoughts. Depending on how he reacts, I may not have a friend left in Cedarville by the end of this convo.
“Um, hey . . . I have to tell you something,” I blurt out. “It’s about Erika.”
“All you have to do is call the number below, place your order, and we will send you one pack of seeds absolutely free. Follow the instructions in the detailed letter I will send to you. . . .”
Yusef straightens. “Okay, what’s up?”
I crack open a soda and take a sip, buying myself some time.
“Yes, hello. This is Mr. Brown, putting in this week’s order.”
I glance at Pop-Pop, catching the tail of the rolling credits on Scott Clark’s program, and almost choke.
“Wait! That girl!” I scream.
Yusef jumps, looking out the back window. “What girl? Where?”
“Would y’all keep quiet,” Pop-Pop snaps. “I’m on the phone!”
“That girl in the picture frame,” I say, pointing to the TV. “Can you rewind?”
Yusef nods, rushing into the living room.
“Pop-Pop, lemme see that real quick,” he says, snatching the remote out of his grandfather’s hand.
“Hey! What you doing with my TV!” Pop-Pop shouts, helplessly trying to get out of his chair.
“Just a minute,” Yusef says, rewinding back a few beats to the outro of Scott Clark’s program.
“Right there! Stop!” I shout.
He freezes on a picture frame sitting on Clark’s bookshelf. I lean in to take a photo of the screen, then nod at Yusef.
“Thanks, Pop-Pop,” he says quick as we race back into the kitchen.
“What’s going on?” Yusef asks, leaning over my shoulder.
I zoom in to the blurry family photo, the kids all with white-blond hair. Judging from their modest clothes and hairstyles, the picture was taken a long time ago, but the girl’s eyes are a familiar crystal blue. Haunting with a soul-sucking stare. I remember thinking the same thing when I noticed her eyes before.
“Can I look up something on your phone?” I ask, breathless.
“Uh, sure,” Yusef says, a question lingering while he’s passing his cell.
The Foundation may be watching our Wi-Fi, but maybe not watching his.
I google Scott Clark and a Wikipedia article comes up first. I scroll down to the personal life section.
Scott Clark has five children: Scott Clark III, Kenneth Clark, Abel Clark, Noah Clark, Eden Clark. . . .