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Noa observed the woods from the driver's window, squinting to clear up the shadowy figures she imagined lurking between the trees. Suburbs twinkled through the canopy of birch trees, and the lamps along this reclusive street did little to illuminate the darkness.
Clutching her teacup tightly, she sipped on water, absorbing its soothing heat. A tea bag added would be better, she knew, but recently the idea brought a creeping nausea. A night in a motel would also be better, but much riskier, now that she and Cain were fugitives. She glanced towards the suitcase on the passenger side of the bench, packed with travel items borrowed from the dead homeowner.
She'd been far from her manor for a few days now. Of course, her heart pained to see her family, and she was certain they were worried to death. Father most definitely.
But... being on the run had its own charm.
Today alone, an adorable red fox approached her during dinner, and Noa gave the animal her bread (she simply had to—this was the first fox she'd ever seen!). And when Six sang or played games to pass the time, it felt like being on the road trips she admired in movies. But her limbs cramped in the small space, and she’d kill for the luxury of a bed. There had always been one, even in her least favorite places.
A car zoomed in the distance, and she flinched, rustling the map in her lap. She set it on top of the dashboard, noting the red mark of the graveyard they had left this afternoon. The journey since had been quieter than usual (at least, for herself). Noa was used to Six's enthusiasm and bickering with Cain filling the space. Six would’ve loved to meet the fox.
Cain assured Noa the ghost would be fine, but her thoughts drifted. In the short time she'd known him, she gathered that Six gave kindness with a passion. But they abandoned him to such an overwhelming swarm of ghosts. Any kindness he was given would only be a miracle.
Noa wanted to believe in miracles, and that he could forgive them.
Movement in the rearview mirror—a blur of light brown hair.
She snapped toward the disturbance, heart pounding with the memory of sharp metal on her cheek.
A man sat in the backseat, wearing a wrinkled cotton T-shirt and pajama pants—clothes he'd brought from home.
She let out a relieved breath. Right. Just Cain.
He was bleary-eyed, yet intently adjusting an object on the beige cushion—a brown leather bag he used for a pillow.
Strange.
Over an hour had passed since her guard shift started, and he was still awake. Normally, Cain dozed off instantly (not that she watched him sleep or anything).
Seeing him sleep easily made her envious. She stayed awake for so long, fearing the pull of unconsciousness, and begging for its rest all the same. It had become a game of how she'd find herself once pushed out.
Blood covered. With a corpse. Tied up. In the woods. Or… a closet.
Noa won each time she woke up in this car—to Six’s boyish voice, with his reassurances and news on the journey, even the unnecessary but fun observations. Or to Cain’s firm hand on her shoulder, reminding her about the ethics of smacking injured people as she muttered apologies.
So, she finished her drink to return the cup to the suitcase, then twisted to face him as he lay awkwardly across the beige leather.
“Can't sleep?”
Cain rubbed his eyes with a sigh, “Something like that." He turned away, "I'll be fine. It'll come to me, eventually."
His fingers rested on the black wool covering his left shoulder, absentmindedly tugging and tapping the jacket.
Noa gnawed on her lip, debating to say otherwise, because she'd experienced this war of mind and body.
How it often plagued her during perceived nights in the basement. Now, she'd been fighting the invasions of murder victims and glinting knives as her body sank into the trenches of exhaustion.
But she wasn't alone in this battlefield—not anymore.
Words slipped off her tongue before she could think, "Do you want me to tell you a story?"
He looked back, eyes wide, "What?"
"It's just… something that helps Dennis. He'd always fall asleep when I read to him,” heat stung her cheeks, and she scrambled to correct her tactless self, "s-sorry, force of habit. Carry on."
Great. Maybe she needed sleep, too, for nearly treating a grown man like her nephew.
Cain remained silent, so she almost faced the driver's window to let him be, until he spoke, a corner of his mouth lifted, “That’s a shame—I'm wondering how. Last I checked, you didn't steal any books from that house."
Noa glared. Okay, first—she wouldn't label her actions ‘stealing’ because it was necessary. Second, he had been complicit. But the crack in his mouth spread, so she brushed it off with a cough.
"Well, I won't need a book exactly. I have Denny's favorite memorized."
Denny, clad in his lucky blue striped pajamas, graced her nights when he'd sneak into her bedroom with a book hugged to his heart.
He persistently visited Noa with open arms, against Sarah and John's wishes. Even when everyone else was afraid of her.
"He makes me read it often.” Noa held her arms, supporting them on the backrest as her voice faltered, “Every time I… tuck him in."
When had she last read to Denny?
There was the stormy night before the news of Linda's murder. Afterwards, she had promised him once again and broken it.
She failed him.
The grip on her sleeves tightened. That had been a couple of weeks ago. And her most recent moment with him… in her bedroom.
Lucky blue stripes stained by unlucky red.
A small body cradled to her heart.
Her fingers pressed into warm, soaked fabric—
A cool, light touch covered her hand.
"Noa, what's the book called?"
"Hmm?" she blinked.
In the car, she missed when Cain sat up and leaned close. Her knuckles peeked from underneath his fingers—ghostly pale from clenching her elbows. A wave of pain surged throughout her forearms, and wincing, she loosened her grip. He pulled away his hand.
"The kids' book?"
He spoke casually, but Noa saw a hint of concern that shouldn't be there. Calm down. Denny's safe. No need to make a fuss. She inhaled shakily, the tremble in her arms steadying, “I-I'm so sorry… the... Girl and the Hare."
“Don't worry, I get it,” he reassured, sighing. She nodded and cued him to settle down, while she gathered herself with deep breaths. After the sounds of sharp breathing had leveled, he hummed, staring at the ceiling.
"Can't say I know that one."
"Really? Isn't it a famous classic? I read it as a child."
The servants spoke of their bedtime nostalgia whenever the boy carried the picture book around the manor. However, as Cain busied himself with draping the jacket, Noa supposed she was mistaken in assuming everyone knew the same books.
Cain gestured dismissively, "Hey, your audience gets something fresh. Great opportunity for a storyteller."
“A storyteller?” Noa quietly mused. That was an interesting way to think about it.
She smoothed down her borrowed nightgown, hands clasping in her lap, “Alright then." Sucking in a breath, “Once upon a time… a little girl ventured into a land unknown.”
Noa squirmed in her seat. She proposed the idea, but it was strange telling a children's tale to an adult. Internally, she was grateful Cain chose to observe out the back window.
"What does she look like? I'm a visual learner," Cain asked.
"Um, red pigtails and a blue dress—like the one from Alice in Wonderland."
On the weekends, when Father and John were off work, the family watched movies together in their screening room. Denny often chose this one.
"She loved discovering the forests and all that had grown."
The accompanying illustration flashed in her mind—the girl peeking through the bushes in wonder.
She racked her brain for the next line. Which came first again? Flowers or bugs? She'd borrow inspiration from him—this would be better visually.
Noa closed her eyes, "She stopped to admire the trees and the shrubs—"
“Wait, are you dozing off? Defeats the purpose of this whole thing."
“No, it's easier to recount the book like this," she clarified, an eye peeking open to see him assessing her in mild confusion. "What's wrong?"
"Why are you tense? It's not like I'll throw tomatoes or something."
She fixed her posture, loosening her shoulders, "There. Moving on... the trees and the shrubs. Adored the flowers, bushes, and the bugs. Played in the rivers with stones."
When Noa accompanied Sarah and Denny in the courtyard, he'd smell the neatly trimmed rosebushes and be mesmerized by the bumblebees. He'd been stung, once, but his intrigue never wavered.
Though much to his mother's dismay, the boy often muddied his pockets with rocks. Reaching this line, he'd point to the flat, smooth pebbles on his dresser and declare he'd master stone skipping one day.
"But no creatures she discovered on her own. They were shy and hiding, you see, and left the girl alone."
"So she was bullied."
Noa opened her eyes, sputtering, "B-Bullied? How is that bullying?"
"They basically ostracized her," he pointed out. She hoped he was joking.
"The animals had their reasons... they feared people."
"The girl herself never did anything to deserve it, though."
"That's..." her finger lifted in rebuttal but she paused, admitting, "fine, my audience has a fair point. But 'bullying' is a harsh term."
"If you say so."
She shook her head, shutting her eyes, "Though the girl was not hindered. No, she was determined. A friend she'd make, this goal was certain. She'd nap in the trees, hoping an animal would ask of her dreams. Only to wake up for no one to be seen. She'd try to host picnics, expecting peckish creatures to come, but none attended."
“That's a good thing. Didn't I say earlier, feeding wildlife makes them go crazy?" He mumbled, "I wonder why..."
“Quiet in the crowd, please,” she gritted out. It was cruel to deny a hungry fox.
“Right, right. My apologies," he said unapologetically.
“The girl searched and searched the forest, heartbroken by this plight. She traveled to the highest hill and still, found no one in sight. So the girl spoke to the rain. Of forest adventures. Of picnics. Of dreams. The girl shared with the rain, and it washed away her pain."
Noa recalled the image of the redheaded girl on the bright green hill, her tears mingling with the raindrops.
“This is depressing. How does this soothe a kid?” Cain muttered.
Noa suppressed a smile. He wasn’t wrong. Denny got misty-eyed the first few times she'd read this part, and Noa herself was struck by the illustration as a child.
“One day, a hare came happily hopping. He’d heard of her forest adventures. Of her picnics. Of her dreams. The rain carried her words and… he followed them… her way,” Noa's eyes stung, and she swallowed, a futile attempt at easing the burn creeping up her throat. This had been Denny's favorite part.
His blue eyes had sparkled, and he squished a plush grey bunny to his cheek.
If it rained, he whispered simple desires like outdoor picnics, theme parks, or aquariums with his aunt. Naturally, Auntie Noa was not allowed to fulfill them.
But on the nights Denny wished for chocolate cake, Noa anticipated the next day. How she waited by the elaborate dining table until the boy entered and jumped in joy. She cleaned chocolate frosting from his nose as Denny thanked the rain for magically delivering his message to the chefs.
A voice perked up, “The rain carries her words? Wasn’t she on a hill? The big-eared critter is definitely hearing an echo.”
What?
Noa cracked her eyes open. Cain was watching her with a questioning brow, eyes heavy but alert. If he needed to rest, why not stay quiet?
“Rain... listens and travels everywhere. So her words easily reach him... despite his distance,” she replied, voice steadying.
“Sure, sure, " he looked unconvinced, head tilting, "While we're at it, the hare should happily hop in the exact opposite direction.”
“Why?”
“I mean, hares are solitary animals. He'd hear the wailing and go about his business. Or scamper off.”
She scoffed, “That doesn't mean a hare can't feel lonely. Besides, he finds her fun and wants to join her adventures.”
He idly waved her off, “Eh, I bet a rabbit will have more fun, 'cause they're actually social.”
“Compared to a rabbit, it’s far more remarkable for a hare to go against his nature because he's drawn to the girl, and their shared loneliness,” she retorted, and he seemed stunned for a minute, if not impressed.
“Touché,” he eventually said, looking out the window.
She exhaled. Finally, she could continue… or so she believed, until Cain threw her a sidelong glance, adding under his breath, “Although… kids like rabbits. Something cute and cuddly could liven up this depressing tale.”
Her eyes twitched. Noa was trying to help him sleep, but here was Cain—a fully-grown working man arguing with her on a children's book she didn’t even write. For the first time, Noa wished Six hadn’t said ghosts couldn't possess the living. She could really use the patience of a dead saint.
She crossed her arms, scrutinizing the smile sneaking on his face.
“Okay, what do you think should happen next?”
“Pretty sure that's your job.”
“But you’re terrible at yours."
“Aww… terrible? How so? I'm very engaged."
She yelled, “No. You’re heckling me!”
A restrained noise slipped from Cain.
Another came, the corners of his eyes crinkling. More flowed like wind through leaves as he clutched his jacket.
Laughter.
The mellow quality settled in her mind, lifting a weight off her chest.
"Fine, fine, take it away,” he grinned, resting his good arm behind his head, "but, technically, my performance is accurate to a real audience."
Noa rolled her eyes with a groan. So stubborn. Set on continuing the tale, she tucked her legs under her knees and nestled her arms on the backrest.
Warmth tugged at her lips.
She couldn’t remember the last time she made someone laugh.
Dropping her head in her folded arms, out of the corner of her eye, she caught Cain’s gaze lingering on her before shifting to the backseat window. Her cheeks burned. Was there something on her face? Why was he staring? Oh... right—he must be waiting for her to continue.
With a huff, Noa shut her eyes, but her mouth opened to emptiness. Wait—where had she left off?
“The storyteller forgot the tale?” Cain didn't bother hiding the amusement in his voice. “Rain carries her words, and the hare follows…” he supplied.
“Thank you,” she said, although it was his fault. She cleared her throat, “The girl shared with the rain, and a friend she'd gain.”
What came after was anything but depressing.
The girl and the hare braved the forest together. The two did everything, tied paw and hand. They shared dreams, held picnics and went on new journeys. Along the way, other curious creatures joined, and they all lived happily ever after.
True to his words, her heckler switched to an obedient audience. Cain kept quiet throughout her narration, not a sound other than the occasional yawn. The silence of the past few minutes surfaced an image she couldn't push down—his eyes closed, embracing slumber.
"The End.”
No response. Had her audience actually fallen asleep?
Noa opened her eyes.
Cain remained in the same position, lying on his back with a jacket draped over him.
And he looked at her.
Noa raised her head with a sigh, heart sinking, "This didn’t help at all, did it?"
Cain stifled a yawn, “More than you think, actually.”
A seed of warmth planted in her chest. The story calmed his mind?
“I should probably give a round of applause, but,” he raised his bandaged arm, "might be a little difficult."
She snorted, “Thank you, though I like to put my audience to sleep, anyway," and added quietly, tucking a loose strand behind her ear, "my nephew is usually long gone by now, so... I hoped you'd be too."
“Yeah, well..." He shrugged, running fingers through his hair, "it's not bad to hear the whole story if I don't know it."
"Plus, I had to stay up and keep watch 'cause someone's eyes were closed," he lightly accused.
He was right; she had completely forgotten about her guard shift. Though as he avoided her gaze, she'd wondered if there was more.
Cain shuffled around to turn in for the night, commenting, “Honestly, if you stopped talking, I'd think you knocked out. You were practically deflated on the seat.”
Oh?
When she was about to bid him goodnight, he threw her a sly glance over his shoulder. For the second time, Noa wished to be possessed. To kindly deal with whatever nonsense left his mouth.
“Know any lullabies, by the way?”
"Why."
“Oh, just assumed you'd serenade me next time. I'm sure you'd love to sing for me.”
For a moment, her gentle eyes locked with his piercing ones.
The hitch in his breath broke through the stillness. Mischief in his expression faded into something new.
Something sharp.
Noa spoke his name softly, “Cain?”
“...yes?” he swallowed.
“Will you kindly pass my purse? I misplaced my gun.”
“Have a safe and peaceful night! Wake me in two hours… No—earlier, if you’re tired. Whenever you want,” with a polite smile, he rapidly whirled, sweat on his forehead.
Green eyes drilled holes into the back of his mussed head, “Anything else.”
“...take my Kit Kat. I wasn’t looking forward to it. Too crisp for my liking,” he muttered into his makeshift pillow.
“Good. Sweet dreams.”
...
Glossy wafer-coated chocolate was raised to Noa's mouth. With a crunch, the sugary richness melted onto her tongue. She leaned into the seat and blissfully closed her eyes, basking in the symphony of crickets nearby and the scent of cocoa. She wanted this feeling to last until her turn to sleep.
She was so light... and it wasn't solely because of the chocolate (she had an avid sweet tooth).
No, the seed of warmth bloomed into pleasant satisfaction because despite how ridiculous the idea was, the children's tale worked for Cain. Like it always had for Denny. She missed smoothing the fluffy auburn from his resting face, as he'd murmur about dinosaur-filled dreams that made her laugh.
Noa hummed. After she caught the killer, she would certainly read to Denny again, a thousand times if he wanted. At his hospital bedside or in his bedroom, she'd gladly bring him to the same peaceful state as she had before, repeat his favorite part, or grasp his small hand.
Anything. Denny deserved that now more than ever.
Once the chocolate mysteriously disappeared from her left hand, Noa neatly folded the crinkling red wrapper, leaving the other half atop the suitcase for Cain. He could have some—the only mercy she'd spare.
What he had said earlier… “Honestly, if you stopped talking, I'd think you knocked out.”
Had she really looked so relaxed while storytelling? Then… perhaps she should have stolen a book.
A story could calm her mind, so she wouldn't have to be scared of falling asleep. A story could be the olive branch between her mind and body. A story could be the reason she'd wake up less exhausted in these difficult days.
And it certainly would work—Noa read her whole life. Books were her companions.
In her bedroom, late at night, she'd sit by the crackling hearth and snuggle inside the teal covers with her favorite novels. After dinner, when the table conversations revolved around school friends, the family's exciting trips. The questions about voices, or the mention of doctors.
In the basement, with a treasure of books piled high next to her, while cocooned inside a thin blanket. How she cozied up on the cold concrete floor, mind feeding on stories before the endless silence fed on her mind. To feel something.
Noa would definitely consider buying a book—possibly the next morning, if she was sent to retrieve food and supplies. Hopefully, Cain wouldn't pester her on the spending or the narrative, although it would feel nice if he laughed…
Wait.
Maybe it wasn't the story that relaxed her.
Admittedly, despite Cain being, well, Cain, she liked acting as his storyteller. The heckling was irksome, but it almost felt like he wanted her to have... fun.
And it was different from Denny's routine, where she was more focused on soothing the boy as he listened quietly. He'd always request for her to remain until he drifted off, which she happily obliged through her own fatigue.
But...
Was there anyone at her bedside?
Scouring pages with her before the dreams trapped her inside suffocating, tiny dark spaces.
Had no one...
Oh.
To be lulled by a voice, and guided through unconsciousness...
What does that feel like?
Will it calm my fear? Ease my nightmares?
A pitter-pattering sound drew her to the window. A few droplets dotted the clean plane of glass, blurring the golden lights of the suburbs. Two raced downwards, carving twisted trails that ran parallel.
Rain came frequently these days.
"I've never had bedtime stories," she confessed to the rain.
A pang hit her heart, the pain unwelcome yet dull in its familiarity. It mingled everywhere within, leaving her… hollow.
How silly am I?
Feeling hung up over bedtime stories, of all things, at her age.
Besides… the truth was she hadn't been devoid of its comfort. How often she read to Denny, and her heart warmed, tucking the covers to his tranquil face? How satisfied she'd been after Cain fell asleep?
She should be fine, never inconveniencing others, never being the one under the covers—she still found joy. Even though Noa struggled for peace, a book had been enough to survive her battles. It would continue to be.
Her fists clenched the fabric of her nightgown. There should be no need to dwell on this.
Silly little Noa, watching the rain, clung to this fantasy. She imagined the raindrops listening to her words. How it washed the ache away, and carried it far from her reach.
A whisper.
So faint, it vanished into the drizzle.
Did she imagine that?
She whipped around to the suspect. Who, apparently, had been awake this entire time.
"Pardon?" she asked.
"Maybe you'll get one," Cain clarified with a tired mumble.
Is that really okay?
Noa stared at his back, breath caught in her throat. In the rolling mass of clouds, a single ray of sunlight had peeked through. Small in the darkness, but bright enough.
Eventually, she choked out a whisper, “I'd... like that.”
Cain nodded, the movement dying out once his shoulders rose and fell in a slow rhythm.
Leaning over the seat, her right hand lowered towards the tousled hair. Hovering, almost ready to pull away.
Until his grumble, accompanied by knitted brows, ruined his peace. Immediately, her fingertips brushed aside the soft bangs stuck to his forehead, the strands a harmony of sand and ash hues in the dome light. He relaxed, but her gaze caught elsewhere, on the bags under his eyes.
Two hours would be too short.
Releasing a breath, Noa settled back down in her seat, swiveling to the window once more. The winding, inky paths had bent inwards, merging into one.
No, it was almost imperceptible, the voice muddled in the rain, but Noa hadn't misheard him the first time.
"Me neither."
She smiled.