Haunter 1: The Shadow of the Haunter

43. The Land of Winter

Saying it was a rough patch would be the understatement of the century.

Trisha found me two days later in bed, where I'd crawled in after Brandon left, and where I still was when she came back home, doing nothing but crying. I would only get up to go to the bathroom, and on one of those quick trips, I spotted the corner of the fat quilt escaping the closet door. The quilt that had covered Brandon and me the first time we'd slept together, just before setting Kujo free. So I spread it open on the bed and curled up under it to keep crying.

Lizzie showed up to check on me a couple of times, until I turned my phone off.

Susan didn't come anywhere near my room, no matter if it was the day to vacuum the master bedroom or change sheets or whatever.

When I refused to get up, eat or even speak, Trisha decided it was time to call on the cavalry and texted Amy. She arrived the next day, Thursday. She didn't ask any questions. She sat on my bed, right by my head, and tried to rub my back. I shuffled away from her. Then I heard her speak to somebody, asking what had happened. When I heard no audible response, I got up, wrapped myself in the quilt and locked myself up in the bathroom, wishing Kujo was still in the basement to go cuddle by him.

Kujo. I wanted to see him. I missed him so bad. And I could give him a thousand extra pounds with all I was feeling. Maybe I should just take my car and— I'd left it in Boston. Fuck. I was stuck in the Manor, because there was no way I would go to Boston for the next twenty years.

Amy knocked on the door. "Come out, Fran," she said softly.

"Can you all just leave me the fuck alone?" I snarled, sitting on the floor between the sink and the tube, knees to my chest under the quilt.

She didn't insist, and I heard her walk out of my room a few minutes later. Great. I was free to go back to bed and keep crying to my heart's content.

I don't know what happened when she sat to talk with the Blotters downstairs. I didn't care either. I was devastated and I was furious. At that particular moment, I didn't give a fuck about anybody, living or not. What I really wanted was to turn back the clock and be with Brandon. I couldn't, so I just wanted to be left alone.

The next days are a blur. I think Amy and Trisha got me to have a bite now and then, but I still refused to get out of bed, let alone walk out of my room or talk with anybody. Amy had pending work and couldn't linger at the Manor any longer, just waiting for me to decide to come back to life. On Monday, a week to the day since I'd come home with Brandon, Amy left with Trisha in her red machine, and Trisha brought back my car.

Another blizzard hit Hardwick a week later, already mid-January, so my plans to go to Pennhurst were delayed again.

Trisha was almost kicked out to the storm when she tried the last stunt she could think of to make me react. One night, she walked into my room without even knocking. I saw she was facetiming with somebody, talking about me, so I just rolled over to turn my back on her and pulled the quilt over my head. Now I would surely have to bear Amy's pleas and scoldings and wise motherly words.

"Fran?"

Brandon? The pain seemed to rip me apart just by hearing his voice, and I curled up even tighter under the quilt.

"Fran, kid." He waited for a moment and I heard him click his tongue. "Fuck! C'mon, don't do this. Talk to me, love."

I pushed the quilt away and sat up to glare at Trisha, ignoring the phone.

"You," I growled, pointing at my door. "Outta my room. That fucker's dead to me and he knows it."

"There you—" Brandon tried to say.