Mezzanine

| 31 |

Lola and I sat next to each other at the dining room table. Her grandmother sat on the other side, facing the two of us. The heavy, turquoise beads on the old woman's necklaces clanked and chimed against each other as she took her glasses off. She cleaned the smudges with the fabric of her floral-patterned shirt before placing them back on her face.

Even though I couldn't understand the words she thought, I could feel her emotions. They grew stronger with every second, echoing the tense silence snaking its way through the room.

A strange mixture of unease, but also...relief...emanated off her. Whatever happened to Maria—it was something she'd been holding in for a while. What was it, and why keep it secret?

She placed the paper she'd been clutching on the table, smoothing the worn edges with her fingertips. Her eyes fixated on it, and she hummed to herself, like she'd forgotten Lola and I were even in the room.

Her palm covered most of the page, leaving only a few lines of faded black ink peeking out at the top. I could make out one word written in stylized calligraphy: "October."

A date?

I opened my mouth—someone needed to say something to get her to start talking—but before I could speak, Lola placed her hand on my leg, and I froze. I glanced at her out of the corners of my eyes.

"Wait," she mouthed. She squeezed my knee before releasing her grip.

I nodded, turning my attention back to her grandma.

She closed her eyes, exhaling heavily. When she opened them, she looked at Lola first. Then, she met my gaze, unblinking as a single tear leaked from the corner of her right eye and melting into the deep creases above her cheeks.

"I'm ready to talk about her," she finally said. "It's been long enough."

I ran a hand back through my hair. "Thank you," I started. "Lola," I looked at her, waiting for her to say something. She remained silent, blinking a few times at me like she wanted me to talk instead.

I swallowed the lump in my throat, and I began again. "Lola said Maria is—was—your sister." I glanced in the direction of the living room, thinking about the photo of the two of them hanging on the wall, both so happy.

Five months before Maria died.

Even though I'd never met her and she'd been dead for decades before I was born, I felt a connection to her. She was the face I saw in my mind whenever I picked up a paintbrush. She was the voice I heard screaming in the factory. She was the one that helped me save Carter from possession.

Seeing that photo of her strengthened the pull she had on me. She called to me, and I needed to help her. I needed to know more.

I needed to know her.

"Who was she?" I finally asked. I didn't know how else to capture what I was feeling in a single question. I felt like I was talking to the Ouija board all over again. I wanted to know everything at once, but I had to put my thoughts into specific questions—express them in a way that would get me the answers I wanted and needed.

"Maria...was my little sister," Lola's grandma finally began. The slight accent in her speech became more pronounced as she continued, as if remembering her sister brought her back to an earlier time in her life. "We moved here together when she was just seven years old, and I was nine."

I pinched my eyes shut for a second. They were only two years apart. That was the same age difference as Damien and me.

"We grew up in Sycamore Falls together, and then when I graduated High School, I went to the city." Her eyes rolled back, and a hollow laugh escaped her throat. "I wanted to be an actress. I had big dreams for myself...but I shouldn't have left her."