Summertime Kick-Off

As the summer kicked off, and as guests continued to arrive, hoping to spend their vacations or their full summers at the Nightingale—Vera adjusted comfortably and happily to her new life.

Each day, she awoke in a big, wonderful room, embraced in the snug warmth of a full, glorious bed—and she’d awaken with a start despite that she had no regular job to rush off to anymore. Aside from speaking with Miles about basic decisions and the employee’s payment plans—and usually resolving not to change much of anything—she was free as a bird, sauntering about the resort, meeting new faces, and getting to know the staff of the Nightingale better and better with every day to pass.

Despite that Miles would regularly serve her, she found herself helping him with minor tasks quite often. In fact, she even helped Margret to do a massive amount of laundry shortly before the arrival of a large family from northern California, the family of a congressman. Now, more children were running amok in the resort, often told to stop playing near the sconces, vases, and the lounge. Usually, the ones to bark these orders at the kids were the parents, though Miles and Sarah occasionally stopped them as well. The only child who seemed rather reserved now was Max Hernandez, who was often wandering off by himself, staring down at his feet, or playing the arcade games in the Underground until nine PM on the dot, never going outside like the rest.

Vera visited the Underground during the daytime occasionally, and she enjoyed playing the arcade games with the kids, especially when she was able to fight one of them in Street Fighter. She’d also gotten accustomed to visiting Wilson each day, and he could usually be found either stationed at his usual patio table outside, or sitting in a cozy recliner in the far corner of the library, quietly reading a book. Wilson seemed to enjoy trading conversation with her, and honestly, Vera loved to listen, to hear the tales about his old life in Virginia, the wild antics of his family members in their youth, and the life paths each of his children chose later on.

In fact, Vera traded similar stories with Sarah a few times as well. She popped into the kitchen once, just after the large congress family arrived, asking Dino if he needed any help preparing a larger dinner than usual, though he politely declined before thanking her for asking. She managed to pull Miles aside a few times in the late afternoon, and she’d sit him down in her room, turning on her giant TV and surfing Netflix until they found something to watch. Usually, the two would watch stand-up comedy together, laughing and cracking their own snide jokes until Miles had to leave to complete whatever tasks he had to finish for the day.

The giant dining hall played host to countless families and guests every evening, many of whom knew one another, and they regularly saw each other here every summer. They’d all trade conversations of small talk, levity, humor, and wisdom, a gentle string of violin music or old-timey songs playing from the small speakers in the corners of the huge room, an elegant scene with an old-school atmosphere, which made everyone feel comfortable and at ease, just the type of environment they’d all paid for.

Vera hadn’t yet attended one of these big dinners; Miles usually brought her meals upstairs for her, though she wasn’t hiding away from the resort and its people by any means. She made a point to help whoever she needed to and talk to everyone she could every day. Listening to stories from people who’d lived fuller lives than her, people like Sarah and Wilson, as well as talking with Miles, someone who seemed to think a lot like her—it was all wonderful, peaceful, down to earth and genuine, great in a way she didn’t think truly existed until now. She’d never found so much clarity and serenity in such simple, peaceful endeavors before—but now, it seemed like a perfect part of life, like something she couldn’t imagine overlooking the way she always used to. She hadn’t driven her old van since the day she arrived here, and she hadn’t checked her dating app in weeks. She rarely even touched her phone anymore; everything she cared about was right here in front of her now.

Nothing felt amiss at all until the final week of June came.

On the evening of June’s last Friday, just after three in the morning—nearly everyone in the resort was fast asleep, not a single sound stirring on the air, the sconces dark and the candles now unlit, almost every light in the resort switched off.

Wilson’s suite was still and quiet, as were the three suites occupied by the large congress family, all of them lost to a deep slumber, just as the employees were in their respective rooms one floor above. The Hernandez suite sat in the same dark silence—and only one member of the family slept restlessly, Max Hernandez tossing and turning, wincing and cringing as he wormed around urgently in his covers, unbeknown to his parents one bed over.

On the third floor—Vera was fast asleep in her own room, snug inside her comforters and inhaling a deep breath, as her dreams were beginning to venture into stranger places now.

Still, not a single guest or employee awoke, even as the darkness inside every elegant hall seemed to slowly, densely thicken, darker, blacker, and deeper with every minute to pass. No lights were on, dimming, flickering, or fading; the still, silent darkness of the night simply darkened more each moment, for no conceivable reason at all.

And—only one person in the resort was awake to see it now.

Miles Williams strolled around the corner on the second floor, marching alone in the darkness and slowly meandering down the halls, his expression grave and distant, carrying the sleek, shiny basher by his side as he ventured forward.

He eased to a stop at the avenue of the second floor’s halls, his eyes scoping around the area before him, first landing on the library’s double-doors, then shifting over to the window across from them.

Lastly, his gaze moved to the end of the hall.

Directly ahead of him, he watched, eyeing the painting on the far wall, as well as the sconces on either side. And, as he stared, observing the items intently—they grew harder to see, slowly, steadily darker with every second to pass by, and the darkness at the end of the hall appeared to be thickening like a black cloud on the night sky.

Miles’s eyes narrowed, hand tightening around the modified metal pole.

The painting at the end of the hall, and both of the sconces on each side, were nearly impossible to see now, shrouded in blackness.

Miles took in a heavy breath, turning and raising his arm—and he whipped the basher back in a hard swing, smashing it into the gong behind him with a deafening, blasting noise.

The gong’s noise exploded in a rapid wave of rippling vibrations all the way down the hall, the sound waves bounding off the walls and traveling across the entire second floor. And, as the hanging golden plate continued to vibrate from its stand—the darkness down the hall slowly began to dissipate, vanishing from the scene, allowing the butler to see the painting and the sconces clearly once again.

Miles stared fixedly at the area down the hall for several silent seconds, the gong slowly falling still and ceasing its vibrating just behind him. The area down the hall remained visible in the dim lighting of the moon from the window, and no mysterious darkness made any return.

So, he sighed and turned on his heel, strolling away and disappearing down the stairwell before anyone could poke their heads out of their rooms to see him.

The last Saturday of June was the first day Vera awoke from a nightmare.

She blinked herself awake, pushing upright in her bed and glancing around, seeing only the still, peaceful room all around her, the sunrise visible out her sliding glass door, nothing stirring at all.

Vera stared down for a while, her heart pounding, wearing a perturbed face, trying to remember her dream, wondering why it had awoken her with such a start, but she couldn’t recall any details. So, she flumped back and lay down again, gazing up at the ceiling fan and releasing a cloud of breath.

A while later, she finally crawled out of bed, disappearing into the shower and preparing for the day. Once she was dressed, clean, and had her hair done, she wandered out of the bathroom, checking her phone and seeing that it was ten in the morning now.

Vera made a face at her phone, feeling that something was off, and a second later, she realized why. Miles usually arrived with her breakfast earlier than this, but he hadn’t shown up today.

Curious, she pocketed her phone and walked out of the room, heading down the hall and entering the main office. The moment she walked in, she slowed to a stop, surprised to see two people inside; Miles stood beside the desk, speaking to another suited man whom she didn’t recognize. The stranger wore a slim black suit, with brown hairs slicked back and a sort of charming visage with a voice to match, instantly reminding her of every used car salesman she’d ever spoken to.

The man instantly stopped talking to Miles when he noticed her, wheeling around and widening his charming smile even more. “Miss Nightingale! Pleasure to finally meet you. Can we talk?”

“Ah… sure,” Vera murmured uncertainly, giving Miles a questioning glance.

“Mr. Nightingale’s lawyer, Madame,” Miles explained, giving the suited man a nod. “Mr. Hanson has worked with your father on and off for many years. Now, I presume, he’d like to continue that with you.”

“O… kay,” Vera mumbled, sauntering closer and giving the lawyer an odd look. “Why do I need a lawyer, again…?”

The lawyer, Hanson, smiled and clicked his tongue, making a sideways nod. “Oh, well, a plethora of reasons. Say someone slips and falls outside at the pool, or gets food poisoning from one of the dinners here. You wouldn’t believe the kind of things you could get sued for. Simple accidents and minor mistakes can cost you big when you’re running a business.”

Vera leaned on the back of the chair that faced the desk, narrowing her eyes at him. “Does that happen a lot here?”

“It’s happened a few times,” Hanson shrugged. “Never hurts to be prepared for it. Especially if the three-years-ago incident manages to repeat itself in some way. God forbid.”

Vera opened her mouth, drawing a blank and giving her butler another confused glance.

Miles tilted his head, biting his lip and sighing. “Ah… Miss Nightingale had something of an estranged relationship with her father, Mr. Hanson. She’s not aware of what happened three years ago.”

“What happened…?” Vera asked, glimpsing between both of them.

“A young twenty-something from Hollywood fell down the stairway and broke his leg… swore up and down that someone pushed him,” Hanson explained. “Most everyone else in the building was accounted for somewhere else, so it seemed pretty unlikely that he was pushed… but that didn’t stop him from suing Alexander.”

“And… given that the resort will be welcoming another family of particular fragility here soon… Mr. Hanson thought it best to stop by,” Miles added. “Just in case his services are soon needed again.”

“What family?” Vera wondered. “Someone’s coming here who might sue us…?”

“Well… hard to say right now,” Miles told her. “It’s the Sindaco family, the family of a business owner in Los Angeles, another person your father knew well… but their oldest son is schizophrenic, and a chronic drug user. Last I heard, the son successfully underwent rehab, and he’s on medication for his schizophrenia… but, the young man also has a history of psychotic breaks, so… there’s no telling if he might have an unfortunate episode during his stay here.”

“And if he does… then something might happen that they can sue you for,” Hanson disclosed. “The guy’s father is a reasonable type, and I don’t think he’d pull something like that… oh, but the mother would, no question. That woman is a Karen from the ninth circle of Hell.”

“Oh… goodie. I love those,” Vera snarked, turning and squinting at Miles. “If this guy is sober now, and if he’s medicated for his disorder, then we shouldn’t have anything to worry about, right? If he’s getting better now, why would he have a psychotic break here?”

Miles stared at her, his mouth drifting agape, and he let out another sigh.

“He hopefully won’t,” the butler muttered. “But… it’s best to be prepared for any scenario.”

“Hence why I came by,” Hanson said, reaching out and shaking Vera’s hand. “Just wanted to introduce myself. My number is in Miles’s phone, and if any bad scenarios do rear their ugly heads, then please don’t hesitate to give me a call. All right?”

“Okay,” Vera agreed. “Nice meeting you.”

“You too,” Hanson replied with a two-fingered salute, waving at the butler before marching off.

Vera and Miles watched as the lawyer left the room, then turned back to each other.

Vera almost spoke, then hesitated, studying her butler rather closely. Miles blinked a few times, yawning and leaning on the desk.

“Well… I was gonna ask why you never came by this morning, but never mind,” Vera remarked. “You look tired.”

Miles raised his brows at her, then glanced away. “Didn’t sleep well last night…”

Vera nodded, pocketing her hands. “Then… go take a nap.”

“Well… I’ve still got things to do,” Miles mumbled. “Things to dust, and things to sweep…”

“No you don’t,” Vera argued. “You’re off today.”

Miles turned and stared at her. “No I’m not.”

“Um… yeah, you are,” Vera stated, cocking her brow challengingly at him. “I’m in charge, right? Well, listen. You can take the rest of the day off. See? There you go.”

Miles scoffed out a laugh, smirking and shaking his head at her. “I won’t rest easy if I don’t finish my tasks for the day.”

“Ughk… then… just… do them later in the day,” Vera griped, swatting at him. “Go take a nap, then go work some more when you get up. I know how miserable it is to work nonstop when you haven’t had any sleep. I don’t want you doing that, okay?”

Miles opened his mouth, hesitating and falling silent for a moment.

“Hey… we already sat here and crunched all the numbers and everything,” Vera reminded him, gesturing to the desk. “I know how much everybody gets paid, and when they get paid, and who gets paid what… and I have it all written down in the desk drawer. And I think the vases can go without being dusted for a few more hours. We already took care of the big stuff, and the small stuff can wait. Everything’s pretty much taken care of right now… so just go take a nap.”

“Oh… very well.” Miles let out a breath and straightened up, walking around the desk and stopping beside her. “You’ll have to stop being kind to me, you know. You’ll make the other employees jealous.”

Vera snickered.

Miles paused, flashing his signature half-smile and giving her a mischievous look. “No, on second thought, don’t stop.”

Vera laughed and smacked him on the arm. “Go sleep.”

Miles nodded, still smiling as he ventured out of the room.

Vera wandered behind the desk, watching as the doors creaked shut, and she stood there for a moment thereafter, wondering what she ought to do now.

She hadn’t yet traveled the resort to speak with the employees and regulars like usual, and she was also considering simply dusting the vases herself, giving Miles a real day off for once. But, as she stood here in silence, her eyes coasting around her father’s old office, something compelled her to stay, and she couldn’t really know what, or why.

Vera slowly sank into the big leather rolling chair behind the desk, sighing deeply and intertwining her fingers as she leaned back against the seat, her mind wandering.

Thus far, she’d found no massive catch attached to this place, quite the contrary. Her new life here was wonderful, almost too good to be true, and she’d waited for nearly a month to see what the downfall of owning the Nightingale might be—but so far, she’d seen nothing terribly bad or concerning. Aside from the little ghost stories about the gong on the second floor, she couldn’t think of anything wrong with the place at all.

And, the longer she sat in thought, the more she found herself trying to remember her dream again, still fairly curious as to why it had startled her awake so suddenly today.

Her eyes ventured aimlessly across the room, moving between the paintings and one of the animal heads—and then, her gaze landed on the elevator, the one directly across from the desk, which she never paid any mind to before.

“The lift to the clock tower,” Vera murmured, only just remembering that Miles had mentioned it the day she arrived here.

Then, something came back to her—a vivid scene of an incredibly dark night, a vision of a man falling from the tower with a shrill, echoing scream.

Vera gulped, her expression hardening as she glared at the elevator across from her.

Yes—now she remembered, at least a little bit. Her nightmare was about her father, falling from the clock tower during his final moments of life.

Honestly, she’d given him very little thought since she first came here, but perhaps she simply wasn’t dealing with it. Maybe her grim thoughts on the matter were beginning to reach her in her dreams, as she certainly never entertained them when she was awake.

Still, how was she meant to mourn a man who had abandoned her? What was there to deal with? She hadn’t the faintest clue.

Vera slowly stood, still eyeing the elevator and moving around the desk, marching toward it and taking in a deep cloud of breath.

Her arm raised, fingers extending, wanting to press the button, to open the elevator and ride up to the only part of the Nightingale she hadn’t yet seen. But, she fell still in front of the elevator, staring at it and feeling a wave of hesitation overcome her.

Vera sighed and dropped her arm by her side, deciding now wasn’t the time. She spun around and walked out of the office instead, setting off toward the stairwell.

Unlike the elevator in the hall, the stairwell resided in the corner, nearby Miles’s room. It was a rounded stairway that spiraled downward, leading to every other floor of the place, complete with tall, rectangular windows, a dark wooden railing along the side, scenic paintings of the ocean, and sconces along the wall that ventured down alongside the stairs.

Vera thumped down the rounded path, emerging on the second floor and pushing the library doors open. She trekked across the expansive rug in the center, passing by the empty tables in the middle and the various aisles of books on either side beyond them.

When she reached the end of the room, she spotted a familiar sight—Wilson, sitting in the recliner in the corner, facing the large window nearby him, and gently flipping the page of his current book, reading glasses on the edge of his nose, a coffee mug on the table beside him.

“Hey,” Vera said, smiling and sitting in the smaller chair next to his. “Did you get through the ghost stories book?”

Wilson raised his brows, placing his book pages-down on the table and nodding. “Oh… yes… and it was wildly disappointing.”

Vera breathed out a laugh. “Was it? Why?”

“Well… given my newfound interest in the topic, I’d hoped to learn something new about it,” Wilson remarked, intertwining his fingers and gently placing his hands atop his knee. “But… it was just your typical pile of short stories, designed to scare the reader with fairly basic spooks and jump-scare type things. The stories were supposedly based on true ones, so I thought it would hold more credibility, but… basic scares are a better seller than credibility, I suppose.”

“Oh.” Vera glanced down at the small blue paperback on the table. “What’re you reading now?”

“Ah… something Miles recommended, actually,” Wilson replied, lifting the book again and showing her the cover. “He says it’s related, but… so far… I really don’t see how it is.”

Vera leaned forward, squinting at the slender golden letters that spelled out the title of the book. The book’s title was; The Demons of DMT .

“DMT,” she uttered, leaning back and giving him a look. “Isn’t that like a drug…?”

“It is a drug,” Wilson informed. “Apparently, people like to take DMT in order to speak with beings in another dimension. Sounds like some hippie shit to me…”

Vera smirked, giving the book another thoughtful stare. “Yeah… I’ve heard of that before. There’re conspiracy theories about the leaders of the government doing that, and planning evil stuff with the beings on the other side. I guess that does make a good story…”

“Well… it’s not a story,” Wilson told her, giving the book a light shake. “This is all about the history of DMT and its use, and what the beings look like based on various different people’s encounters. It’s packaged like a ‘true story,’ same as the last one… only this one actually has some historical context, so I reckon it’s a step up from the little ghost stories book.”

“Oh… that’s actually pretty cool,” Vera commented. “I might wanna read that when you’re done with it.”

Wilson nodded, then lowered the book, meeting her eyes and raising his brows again.

“Did you hear the gong go off?” he said softly.

Vera stared, narrowing her eyes and shaking her head at him.

“It went off last night,” Wilson told her, cracking a slight half-smile. “Everybody on the second floor heard it, but nobody got outta bed to go see.”

Vera took back, somewhat surprised, giving him a skeptical sort of stare. “No way…”

“Oh yeah,” Wilson replied with a nod. “You go and ask anybody who’s stayin’ on the second floor, and they’ll tell you. I heard it clear as day, too.”

“Did the Hernandez family hear it?”

“Oh yeah… they couldn’t stop talking about it this morning. All except for Max, for some reason. That boy’s just withdrawing into a shell now. I can’t think why. He’s usually the most outgoing little runt here.”

Vera pondered on this, thinking back to the incident at the pool and only just realizing the same thing. She hadn’t seen the boy every summer like Wilson had, but she remembered the way Max acted when she first saw him; the boy was outgoing and fearless, trying his best to swim clear across an unusually massive pool without a care in the world. Now, however, he always spent his time inside, hiding away from the other children and isolating himself on an arcade game for several hours of the day.

“He’s acting scared,” she realized.

“Ye’ap… his little fright in the pool made him realize he’s not invincible,” Wilson agreed.

Vera stared down at the edge of the table, her thoughts wandering back to weeks ago, remembering the look on Max’s face the moment he’d scrambled out of the pool—the way he stared at it, ogling it in bewildered fear.

Now, her mind was venturing into strange, impossible places; she almost wanted to consider that this place truly was haunted, that the pool had somehow dragged him under, but such a thing seemed as insane as it was impossible. Truly, she felt intrigued by the idea of the Nightingale being haunted, by something so interesting transpiring around her—but it wasn’t as if she actually expected to live out a real-life horror movie. Besides, the boy’s reaction to the incident could easily be explained by mere shock. He could have drowned, after all. It made perfect sense that he was rattled and terrified after such an event.

Wilson was watching her intently now, seeming to read her. He smirked again, placing the book back down.

“Your father thought this place was haunted,” he said.

Vera blinked and faced him. “He did?”

“Oh yeah,” Wilson nodded. “He never used the word ‘haunted,’ though. He always called it… broken. The Nightingale’s broken. Yeah, he said that all the time…”

“Why?”

“Well… it started with the usual kind of ghost stories you’d hear,” Wilson explained. “Things going bump in the night, doors opening and closing, and that damn gong going off for no reason… but, then, about five years ago… the stories got… more interesting. He started talking about… nighttime… being too dark.”

Vera squinted interestingly at him. “What does that mean…?”

“I’unno,” Wilson uttered. “He’d say that the darkness in the hallways at night would get unreasonably dark sometimes… even when there’s a full moon, when the windows had the halls lit up in a glowing moonlight. Things would just get dark… and keep getting dark… until there wasn’t any moonlight anymore.”

“Whoa,” Vera breathed. “That’s wild.”

“Yeah… but… well,” Wilson sighed, shrugging and shaking his head once. “He talked a bit more nonsense toward the end, there… so… I don’t know how much of it I believe anymore.”

Vera dwelled on everything he said, absorbing it and pondering deeply on it, finding it all rather fascinating. The two of them were quiet for a moment, and then, Wilson made another curious face at her.

“Where’s your shadow at?” he asked, peeking past her and seeing no butler around. “I was gonna ask him to fetch me some early lunch.”

“Oh… um… he didn’t sleep well last night, so… I kinda gave him some time off so he could go take a nap,” Vera answered. “But… I can go grab you some food. What do you want?”

Wilson stared at her, smiling and gently shaking his head. “Oh, you don’t have to do that. You’re the owner , sweetheart, not a servant here.”

“So?” Vera smirked. “Do you know how much work I don’t do here? I’m going outta my mind, never doing anything. I seriously need something to do. Just tell me what you want. You’d be doing me a favor.”

Wilson chuckled. “Oh, sure I would. All right… just tell ‘em I’ll have a Number Six, Brunch Special. Thank you, dear.”

“No problem. I’ll be back in a bit.”

Vera stood and waved him off, then walked out of the library.

When she arrived in the dining hall, she traded brief small talk with Davies before catching the waitress’s attention and placing Wilson’s order. While his food was being made, Vera thought to leave and ask Margaret for a spare duster, hoping to do a bit of Miles’s work for him while he slept. She took Wilson’s food up to him, then headed off with a duster and began dusting all the vases in the resort, many of which were in the dining hall and the lounge.

One of them was in the lounge’s corner—a large old vase with a swirly maroon design—and Sarah squinted at her from across the room, leaning over the front counter and eyeballing her.

“Oh, sweetheart, what’re you doing?” Sarah called out. “Don’t go spoilin’ your butler, now.”

“Aww… I’m not,” Vera laughed, finishing off the vase and stepping away from it, maneuvering between the red couch and recliner. “He spoils me.”

“Well… that’s ‘cause it’s his job ,” Sarah replied with a curt smile. “You’re so sweet, helpin’ everybody out the way you do.”

“Eh… no reason not to,” Vera said with a shrug, approaching her counter. “Do you need help with anything right now?”

“Nooo, honey, no—you oughta go relax,” Sarah responded, swatting the air. “I won’t need you down here until the Sincado family gets here, seeing as how all the regulars wanna meet the new owner soon as they get here. But the Sindacos don’t usually show up ‘till the first of July.”

“Yeah… I heard about them. I don’t really know much about them, though.”

“Well…” Sarah folded her arms on the counter, leaning closer and taking a deep breath. “This is the first time they’re bringing their oldest son back out here, ever since he went through rehab and psychiatric care. Their oldest son—Tony Sindaco—he’s not a bad

sort, but he’s just a bit unstable. I heard he’s doing better now, so it shouldn’t cause us no problems. Oh—but there’s one other thing you might wanna know.”

“What?”

“We’re getting a Hollywood star out here soon, too. He’s not supposed to show up until later in July, but everybody’s kinda excited about it. He’s an up-and-coming musician… guy named… Rick Rager.”

Vera stared vacantly at her. “His name is Rick Rager …?”

“Well… that’s a stage name,” Sarah replied with a sideways nod. “But, yeah… that’s his name. He does some new-agey kind of pop rock or something. I don’t know what the hell you call it… all that dark edgy teeny-bopper music. Those type of folks usually bring a whole damn posse with them when they come out here… and he ain’t no different. He booked up a few rooms for all throughout July, so I reckon he ain’t coming out here alone.”

“Hah… well… good thing we have the Underground,” Vera sniggered.

“Damn straight, hun. Just stick ‘em all down in that Hollywood Hole and let the rest of us go on with our lives,” Sarah agreed.

Vera giggled and nodded, giving her a brief goodbye before walking off.

For the rest of the day, she meandered around the resort, speaking with Jorge and Rosa in the dining hall during lunch, breaking away to play arcade games in the Underground, chatting with Connie about the excitement to come in late July, and watching the kids run and play around the pool for a short while.

By the time the late afternoon came around, Vera wandered back into her office on the top floor, sighing and glancing around at the big, silent room.

Her gaze landed on the elevator.

Vera stared at it for a second, then glanced over at the sliding glass door to the office balcony, seeing that sunset was drawing near, the sky darkening outside. Then, with a heavy breath, she marched toward the elevator—biting her lip, reaching out, and pressing the button.

Ding.

The elevator doors slid open, and Vera inhaled, stepping inside and hitting one of only two buttons on this elevator’s wall—the one that would take her up to the clock tower.

The doors then eased closed, sealing her inside and slowly carrying her up to the highest point of the Nightingale.

And the moment the elevator took her away—a sleepy Miles walked into the office, shutting the double-doors and yawning. He patted his hairs back into their usual style, then glanced around, seeing that Vera was nowhere in sight.

He could’ve sworn he’d seen her enter the office when he stepped out of his bedroom moments ago, but now she was gone.

Miles blinked a few times and looked around, seeing that the bathroom in the corner was open, the door ajar and the inside dark. Then, he turned and stared at the elevator—just when it made another faint ding .

The doors slid open, revealing that the inside was now empty.

Miles’s eyes narrowed, and he took in a deep, slow breath, feeling a spark of dread inside.

He strode over to the desk, collected his basher, marched briskly across the room, and stepped into the elevator, quickly hitting the button for the clock tower.

The doors sealed shut, and he felt the elevator shift, ascending to the tower above.

Ding.

The doors opened again—and Miles stared out, the brick and stone balcony of the clock tower now visible in front of him, wrapping around the center of the tower where the elevator was, the structure a thick, massive square shape. Far above the balcony area was the actual clock, vastly out of reach—and Vera stood opposite him, facing away, leaning on the stone wall, and gazing over the landscape of costal California.

She turned back around and spotted him.

Miles sighed with agitation, holding the basher by his side and cocking his head at her.

Vera read his expression, then gave him a strange look. “What…?”

Miles made a faint shake of the head, stepping out of the elevator and gently placing the basher against the corner of the balcony’s brick interior. “Nothing…”

Vera glimpsed down at his object, then met his eyes again. “You look annoyed.”

“No… not annoyed,” Miles sighed. “Well, not very annoyed…”

“Why’re you annoyed?” Vera asked. “What did I do?”

“You didn’t do anything… I just… didn’t know you’d be coming up here,” Miles exhaled.

Vera squinted at him. “Does it matter…?”

“Well… this balcony is a hell of a safety hazard, as I’ve recently been forced to learn,” Miles explained. “Personally, I’d rather you not be up here, but that’s not my decision to make.”

“Uh-huh,” Vera nodded, glancing down at the basher again. “What did you bring that for?”

“To rescue you if you went for a fall,” Miles replied, his caustic sarcasm suddenly making a full return. “Naturally.”

Vera choked out a laugh, turning and facing the scenery again. “Yeah right…”

They were quiet for a few seconds, Miles cupping his hands in front of him, standing just behind her as she stared across the beauty of the expansive land below, as well as the endless ocean, visible off to the left.

“Would you like to be alone?” Miles asked her.

“No,” Vera replied, turning and waving him closer. “Come’ere. I like when you’re around.”

“Oh.” Miles stepped forward. “Well… good, then…”

“Yeah… you’re kinda my best friend now,” Vera smiled, facing the scenery once more.

“Ah… yet another promotion for me,” Miles chuckled. “I’ll have too many titles to fit on my tombstone by the time I die.”

Vera laughed, and they both fell silent for a moment longer.

Then, she stole a glimpse of him, smirking again.

“I did your dusting for you,” she said. “And… took Wilson some food, and talked to everyone, and learned some stuff…”

Miles glanced over, perching his brow at her. “You do realize that you doing my job will make me look bad, right?”

“No… it makes me look good ,” Vera corrected, raising a finger. “And you’re the only who told me it’s good to look good, so…”

“Right… yes… hoisted by my own noose. Well done.”

“Oh… shut up. I’m just trying to help everyone out, here.”

“Yes, I know.”

Miles paused, turning his head and eyeing her again, his mouth curling into a faint half-smile.

“Thank you,” he said sincerely.

Vera shrugged, still smiling.

The two fell silent for another moment, gazing out at the landscape.

And as they did, Vera’s mind wandered back to everything she’d discussed with Wilson, and all the strange, impossible sort of questions on her mind now. She couldn’t think of how to ask about any of them, as they all sounded insane. So, she simply chose to ask it all in the simplest way she could.

“Miles,” Vera muttered. “Do you think the Nightingale’s haunted…?”

Miles’s eyes shifted over to her, gazing into her with a distant, unreadable visage.

“Not by ghosts,” he said. “No.”

Vera made a face, then wheeled around and narrowed her eyes at him.

“Then by what?” she asked.

Miles stared into her eyes, releasing a grave cloud of breath.

“What, indeed…” he murmured softly.

Vera gave him a double-take. “What does that mean…?”

“Well, it means… we have a run of unexplainable unfortunate luck here, in a wide variety of ways,” Miles told her. “But I hope the ghost stories haven’t actually gotten to you. Have they?”

“No… no,” Vera replied, shaking her head. “I’m not scared of ghost stories. I just… I don’t know, I keep hearing things that make me think something’s just weird here.”

“You’re in a weird place, Miss Nightingale,” Miles said, his half-smile returning. “I thought you knew that by now.”

“Yeah, okay… shut up. Let’s go,” Vera snarked, pushing him toward the elevator. “I wanna watch that Fluffy special with you before you run off trying to work again.”

He nodded with a laugh, and they both headed back to the elevator.

Vera stepped inside, and Miles paused to grab his basher from the corner, giving a final, thoughtful glance to the edge of the tower’s balcony before walking into the elevator and riding back down to the main office of the Nightingale.