Dancing with the Dead ✔

Chapter Thirty-One - The Usual Suspects

"Can I get you anything?" Lucas opens his small refrigerator and observes it. "Let's see what we have here..."

When Lucas gave me his address, I didn't know what to think. Honestly, I thought he would be living in one of those big, luxurious houses, considering his parents were the wealthiest in this town. A small, comfortable house like Nana's perhaps. I certainly didn't expect him to live in a cheap motel room.

I look around as I take my seat at the chair beside the small desk by the window. The small room consists of one king-sized bed, a bathroom, and other basic furniture you normally find in a motel room. It's really neat and clean, as opposed to some other cheap motel rooms I've seen. Actually, it's quite cozy too. But I still don't see why he choose to live in a place like this.

The feeling of an ice-cold thing gently placed on my left cheek breaks my thought. In my peripheral vision, I can see Lucas holding a soda can on my cheek to grab my attention. He pulls it away once I notice him. I look up to see him offering me a can of diet coke.

I take the can from his hand and flash a thank-you smile.

"You want to know why I live in a motel, do you?"

"Huh? N-no." I open the can hastily. Then, I take a sip, trying to act as normal as I can and hide my curiosity.

He raises one brow with a half smile, silently telling me he's not buying what I said.

He approaches the desk beside me and is about to open the drawer when I can't contain my curiosity any longer. Before I know it, I start to babble, "Okay, why? You own a freaking mansion, for God's sake, and you live in this? Not that this is a bad place or anything, it's just... Why would you live in a motel room?"

He chuckles before he grabs a half-inch thick paper file from the drawer and walks towards the bed. "The maintenance cost of that 'mansion' of mine is pretty huge, you know?" He takes his seat on the edge of the bed, facing me. "And frankly, being a detective doesn't really pay that much. So... This is all I can afford. For now, at least."

As if reading my mind, he continues abruptly, "And don't get started on that trust fund bullshit. Yes, I did have a trust fund. But do you also know how long has it been since my parents died?" He gives a dramatic pause, but not long enough for me to answer. "Long enough for it to run dry."

"Well, why don't you just sell the house, then? I'm sure someone will buy it if you market it at a really low price. After all, not all people believe in ghosts and curses."

He lets out a sigh. His smile slowly turns into a slightly sad one. "I don't know. I guess... I'm just not ready to let go of that place yet. Especially now that I know my brother and sister still live there."

Oh. Come to think of it, that house must've held so many precious memories of his family. Who knew behind his tough-guy image is one vulnerable man. I guess I really shouldn't have judged a book by its cover.

"Anyway, is he here? Volker?"

"Yeah, he's here," I refer to the ghost who's leaning on the desk right next to me.

Lucas clears his throat before taking out a piece of paper from the file he's holding. "William Volker. Born 24th December 1982 in Los Angeles to Henry Volker and Theresa Scott."

Wait. That doesn't sound right! Isn't Lucy St. John supposed to be the mother?

Before I can even open my mouth, Lucas anticipates, "That's not all. DNA result just came in." He takes another paper out and hands it over to me.

I begin to observe the document. I look straight to the 'interpretation' column at the bottom of the page.

Likelihood of Half-sibship: 27.73%