Fake Me To Church

Chapter 18.1 - The Widow's Might

- AHMED -

"October 26, 1985—

"I'm not sure I trust Marcus, but he says he just wants to let bygones be bygones. To hear him tell the story, he never did anything to Shelby. He'd only tickled her, made her laugh...but that's not quite what she told me. I suppose it's possible she was imagining things. But at the very least, I know Marcus was eyeing her when I walked in on the two of them—and that in and of itself is far too much to ignore. Perhaps that's why he's asked to take me out to dinner for a chat...but whatever 'bygones' he wants to let go of, I'm not sure he's—" Steven paused. "That—that's it. Another cutoff."

"Maybe she...had to go somewhere," I offered.

"Yeah," Irina said icily. "Or maybe she just couldn't think of a word horrible enough to describe Marcus."

Steven shot her a pained look.

I reached over his shoulder and flipped to the next page marked with blond hair. "October 31," I read aloud, hesitating. "Halloween."

Steven sighed, shaking his head before beginning. "I have no words. For Marcus or for Ernest. I've never been so humiliated in my entire life."

I heard Steven gulp hard.

"All those flowers he sent me, all those Sunday brunches and talks about finding joy in the everyday beauties of life—all this time invested...and he goes and kisses some cocktail waitress? Slobbers all over her? And at the bar, of all places! In front of half the restaurant, while I just sit there looking like an idiot, trying to hold back tears! I know he was drunk, and I know Marcus and his friends probably put him up to it. But I can't believe Ernest would do something like this to me. It finally felt like we were making headway, like we were moving toward something.

"I truly was foolish to ever think so highly of him...and so highly of myself. I know Ernest will never look at me the way he gazed after that waitress. Kristie was her name—she was so, so beautiful. And I know I don't compare to her; I could never, and I know that. But up until tonight, I guess I never knew how much that could matter to Ernest...and I how little I could."

"Is that...is that it?" I asked.

"For that entry, yeah," Steven mumbled.

Irina shut her eyes, and Sam just stared impassively into space.

"I can't...I can't believe this," Steven whispered. "My dad was...I can't..."

I hesitated. "...What's the next entry say?"

Steven was silent.

"Maybe...maybe things got better?" I tried.

"No," came a soft yet dauntless voice, carried on the sudden chirp of a low creak as it sounded from the foyer. "They didn't. In fact, they got much, much worse."

I jolted upright, as did Steven, Sam, and Irina, the four of us turning immediately to face the echo of high heels clattering across the tiled entrance to the Gravestepper home.

"Wh—who's there?" Irina asked.

The snapping patter of footsteps softened as they passed onto smooth carpet, their owner stepping at last into full view of the living room's ajar door.

"Prudence?" Steven gasped aloud. "How the—what are you doing here?"

"Making sure the four of you are still alive," she replied matter-of-factly, then turned to Irina. "Where's your mother? I need to speak with her."

Irina blinked. "She's...she's out. She went to the hardware store."

"Which hardware store? Chadwick's?"