As she drew closer, Bridget could already hear the music inside, and her irritation surged.
Although Danny was older than her, he was far more rebellious.
He'd set up a sound system in his room, claiming he was making music, but in truth he was just indulging himself.
Thinking of their mother's reluctant agreement to pay for it, Bridget burned with anger; she'd long had a problem with Danny.
She strode to the door, stared at the closed panel, and kicked it open.
The door exploded inward with a thunderous bang.
Casey had just stood up from the sofa and turned curiously, only to jump in fright. She stared blankly as Bridget stormed in, wondering what had gotten into her today.
Exactly what she'd expected!
There he was—Danny wearing headphones, right arm flailing as he danced, spinning tracks on the turntable.
The pounding music made Bridget's brows knot; she scanned the room for the antique tome, then marched to the wall socket and yanked every plug free.
Instantly the raucous beat died, and quiet finally reclaimed the space.
Danny slipped off his headphones and turned, frowning when he saw the bundle of plugs in his sister's hand.
"What the hell, Bridget?"
Bridget swept the room again, still no sign of the book, and said coldly,
"Where's that antique book you found in the basement?"
"Antique book?" Danny studied her, realizing she was at her limit.
"Tossed it ages ago. You said it was creepy and told me to throw it out. Why, suddenly want it back?"
He glanced at the plugs she still held.
"Put those back. Don't make me say it twice."
Bridget didn't budge; she knew how foul his temper was and didn't trust him an inch.
"Danny, you're sure you're not lying to me?"
"Lying to you pays my rent?"
Her interrogation tone grated on him. He glared at the plugs and snapped,
"Bridget, I'm not saying it a third time—plug them back in!"
Instead of obeying, Bridget's face darkened as she kept searching.
Danny lowered the headphones slowly, flexed his wrists, and barked,
"Right now—NOW!"
Bridget didn't flinch; she simply dropped the plugs and walked over to his desk.
She had to search. She yanked open the bottom drawer—no book.
"That's enough, Bridget!"
Danny lunged, grabbed her wrist.
"This is my turf."
"Turfy turf? You'll be booted out soon, remember?" She smirked, shook him off, and moved to the wardrobe.
"Bridget!" he roared.
"Don't push me!"
She kept rummaging.
"Damn it—you asked for it!"
With a yell Danny kicked her; she flew half a meter, eyes red, then sprang and tackled him to the floor.
Chaos erupted—bangs, crashes. In the living-room Casey watched them roll, clawing hair, sighed like a miniature adult, and went back to dismembering her Barbie Doll.
Fights like this between Danny and Bridget were old news to her.
"Let go!"
"You first!"
"You!"
Casey paused, glanced at the shut door across the hall, wondering whether to fetch their newly arrived aunt Belle—who was pregnant—and decided against it.
Evening came.
At the dinner table:
"What now?"
Lisa—tattooed arms, crimson hair, single mother abandoned by her husband—looked from her bruised eldest Danny to her equally battered second daughter Bridget and sighed.
"Can you two not pick now? My plate's already full—of mess, not your drama, okay?"
"Don't bother."
Bridget shot back while Danny stayed silent; she spooned soup, winced as it tugged a cut, but kept talking.
"Just keep doing your thing."
Silence fell. Lisa rubbed her temples, exhausted.
Her once-cute kids had grown impossible; she was house-hunting, juggling three children plus her little sister who'd moved in—she was drained.
Belle, sensing her sister's despair, glanced at the sulking bruised pair, then turned to little Casey and her doll, trying to lighten the mood.
"Casey, who's your friend?"
Casey read the room and chirped,
"Her name's Stefani."
Belle played along; the others looked over.
"Hi, Stefani," Belle greeted the doll now reassembled into something unrecognizable.
"Goodness, what have you done to her…?"
Casey sneaked a look at Danny.
"Danny said a bank teller died in this building. If you carry coins in your pocket and they jingle, his ghost hears and scares you to death, then steals your money."
She paused, eyes darting, then raised her Franken-doll.
"But my Stefani will scare him first."
Lisa, the single mom, smiled at her four-year-old—kids this age were still adorable.
The atmosphere shifted. Danny added,
"It's true—there really is a ghost."
Belle gave a wry smile.
"Dan, ghosts don't exist."
"Oh."
Danny shrugged and started eating.
Casey tilted her head. "Aunt Belle, have you seen a ghost? If not, how do you know?"
Bridget, expressionless, pushed her chair back. Under their stares she left the pointless talk.
"I'm done."
She headed to her room.
Belle watched her go, then answered Casey,
"Sweetie, I only believe what I can see."