Phantom [h.s]

Thirty Eight

It's time.

It's finally time I take the initiative and unveil a part of Harry's past that could help some pieces fall into place; time that I conjure up a plan that is foolproof and flies under the radar of my parents; time that I do something I should have done weeks ago.

It's time to break down the wall.

Not entirely, though. I've thought it through, and the reason Harry can't get through that wall must be because whatever we may find in that room connects directly to his death, and once we break it enough to see inside, Harry should be able to pass through to the room it conceals. Should.

If not, well, that's another problem.

I've begun to plan. My parents go LARPing (I am still not quite over that awkward sounding acronym) in about a weeks' time, and so I will have the house to myself. After they leave, Harry and I can break down a part of the wall, and once we're done, I'll hang a family portrait over it. A rather large family portrait. I'll have to go through our pictures.

Another thing to consider is how to break the wall. My father owns tools that I know he keeps in the garage, but I'm not sure where. The only option here is to ask him about a sledgehammer or something of that nature (I know he owns at least that) and say it's for a friend's engineering class or something at school. I haven't quite got my lie figured out, and honestly I hate to lie to my dad, but at this point I'm far too determined to solve Harry's murder.

The school days pass at their regular painstaking pace, and I make a point to avoid Ava and Estella as much as I can. Well, avoiding Ava hasn't been hard, because she's practically been avoiding everyone as well. She seems sulky and drained of energy most days, hardly talking to anyone but Max. I catch the fleeting looks Estella gives me at lunch and try to ignore them.

October rolls into November as the leaves finish dropping from the trees, dry and brown and crinkling under shoes. The days become shorter and the air crisper, the smell of rain almost perpetual as the days slide by. The road is slick with last night's rain as I drive home from school, and I wonder how exactly last night's rain hasn't at least dried a little off the roads by now. Clouds block out the blue of the sky, leaving the day feeling dreary and tired.

My father is home early, sitting at the kitchen table with a mug of Earl Grey tea and a book. He smiles at me when I walk through the kitchen door.

"How are you?"

"Tired," I answer, setting my stuff down on the table and slumping into a seat beside him. "This weather makes me moody."

"Want some tea?"

I shake my head. "I've actually been meaning to ask you," I say carefully. "Do you think one of my friends could use one of your tools for some project they have? It's for one of their engineering classes, or something." I shrug.

"What do they need?"

"I'll ask them, I don't know for sure," I say. "I'll get back to you."

"No problem. It's not like we use the tools much anyway."

"Yeah." I nod.

I talk to my father for a bit longer before going to my room, shutting the door and leaning back against it, sliding down so that I'm sitting on the ground.

Harry steps through the window and takes a seat on my bed.

"Feeling lethargic I see," he observes.

"It's the weather," I say. "And figuring out how to break the wall."

He leans back to rest his weight on his palms. "You asked your dad about the tools?"