CHAPTER THREE
eva miller's boarding house
　

　
THEY DIDN'T HEAD INTO TOWN STRAIGHT AWAY. BEN PULLED THEIR CITROËN ONTO THE SHOULDER of the road, the sudden stop jarring Evey. She looked at him, a question forming on her lips. Why had he stopped? The answer was written in his gaze, a mixture of trepidation and fascination. He was pointing, not at the picturesque fields of Maine that stretched before them, but at something far more unsettling that stood silhouetted against the pale afternoon sky, perched atop a hill like a malevolent sentinel.

“There,” Ben said, his voice a low rumble. “That's it.”

Evey understood. The Marsten House. The very reason they were in Jerusalem's Lot. The enigmatic cornerstone of her husband's past, the wellspring from which he intended to draw inspiration for his next novel. A novel she suspected would be far darker than anything he'd written before.

Once, a long time ago, that house must have been a pristine white landmark, a beacon of prosperity and good fortune. Now, even from this distance, the paint looked cracked and peeling, revealing the aged wood beneath. It gave the estate a skeletal appearance, as though it were slowly crumbling in on itself, consumed by time and neglect. But even in its disrepair, Evey could see glimpses of its former grandeur. The arched windows, the ornate trim around the eaves, the sheer scale of the building; they all spoke of a bygone era.

But more than that, there was something about it that sent a shiver crawling down her spine. An oppressive weight, a sense of ancient, unseen eyes watching them from the shadowed windows.

“It's… creepy,” Evey commented, a shiver tracing its way down her spine. The house seemed to hum with a silent, unseen energy.

Ben chuckled, a sound that did little to dispel the chill that had settled over her. “Yeah, when I was a kid, you'd have to be dared to even step foot on the property. It was the ultimate test of courage.”

“And did you?” Evey asked, raising a brow in curiosity, her eyes still fixed on the house.

“Maybe once,” Ben smirked, a glint of mischief in his blue eyes. “But it wasn't on a dare. It was out of pure curiosity. I had to see it for myself.”

“That doesn't surprise me,” Evey said, a soft smile gracing her lips. Ben had always been drawn to the mysterious, the unconventional, the things that others shied away from. It was one of the things she loved about him. She turned back to look at the house, her gaze lingering on the dark spaces where windows should be.

Ben squinted, his brow furrowing slightly. “You know, it looks like someone's living there now. I could have sworn I just saw a car leave.”

Evey scoffed. “You're kidding, right? Who in their right mind would actually buy that house? Think of all the ghosts that probably come with it.”

Ben laughed. “Oh, it's definitely haunted. It was all everyone talked about when I grew up here. Ghost stories and urban legends, all centered around the Marsten House. It was a local legend.”

Evey shuddered. “So, what exactly do you plan on writing about this place? A horror novel? Let me guess ━ a family moves in, completely unaware of the axe murderer that lives in their basement?”

Ben smiled at her wild assumptions, his blue eyes shining with amusement. “Honestly, I'm not sure yet. I want to do some digging on the history of the house before I make any decisions. I'd like to draw inspiration from the real history of this place, if I can. Find out who lived here, what happened to them… But I am leaning more towards the horror genre for this book. Something that will really grab people.”

Evey smiled, her hand reaching out to squeeze his. “Well, I'm sure whatever you find about this place, and whatever you end up writing, will be amazing. You always manage to find the interesting parts of a story, the parts that other people miss.”

Ben leaned in, his gaze softening. He kissed her, a soft, lingering kiss that momentarily banished the chilling atmosphere of the Marsten House.

A harsh rapping on the driver's side window startled them apart.

“Oh, Jesus!” Ben exclaimed, jumping slightly in his seat.

They both turned towards Ben's window to find the sheriff of Jerusalem's Lot standing there, leaning down to peer inside their car. He was a stocky man with a weathered face and eyes that seemed to see right through you. Ben immediately lowered his window.

“You folks lost?” he asked them, his voice a gruff drawl.

“No, no,” Ben shook his head, offering a nervous smile. “Um, sorry. We're just sightseeing. I used to live around here.”

“Huh. Come back for a visit?” The sheriff asked, his eyes narrowing slightly.

“Yep,” Ben nodded, trying to project an air of casual nonchalance.

The sheriff glanced at the book in Evey's lap, one of Ben's earlier novels, his face plastered across the back cover. He seemed to put two and two together at that moment.

“What are you, some kind of an author?” The sheriff asked, glancing from the book and then back at Ben with a newfound curiosity.

“Yeah,” Ben nodded again, a flicker of nervousness in his eyes.

“Painter, too?” The sheriff asked, noticing the neatly stacked canvases and easel secured in the back of the car.

“Yes, sir,” Ben replied, a faint smile on his face as he glanced at Evey. “My wife is an artist.”

The sheriff looked to Evey, then back at Ben. “Do me a favor, would you? Don't make any trouble while you're here. Trouble makes work for me. I don't like to work.”

Evey raised a brow, amused by the sheriff's frankness. “We won't, sir, promise. We're just here searching for some inspiration, that's all.” She hoped her genuine smile would reassure him.

Ben nodded in agreement. “You'll get no trouble from us. As my wife said, we're just here for a little inspiration.”

“Alright,” the sheriff conceded, seeming to believe them. A hint of a smile touched his lips. “You folks take care now.” He straightened up and ambled back to his cruiser, a silent acknowledgment that they were free to go.

Ben rolled up his window, a sigh escaping his lips. He stole one last look at the Marsten House, its darkened windows still watching them, and then pulled down the road, crossing the border and passing the faded blue town sign: WELCOME TO JERUSALEM'S LOT. POPULATION 1282.

The jaunty opening bars of Gordon Lightfoot's “Sundown” crackled through the radio. Evey leaned forward, her face brightening. “Oh, I love this song!” she declared, reaching to turn up the volume. The familiar tune filled the car, momentarily chasing away the lingering sense of unease that the Marsten House had instilled in her.

As they drove through town, Evey was captivated by the quaint, picturesque charm of Jerusalem's Lot. They passed the drive-in movie theater, its screen a blank canvas against the bright blue sky. “Oh, we have to come here one night!” Evey exclaimed, her hazel eyes sparkling.

Ben chuckled. “I used to go there all the time when I was a kid. I'll take you, promise.”

They continued down Main Street, passing a park filled with children laughing and playing, their shouts echoing in the crisp autumn air. Quaint little stores, with hand-painted signs and welcoming window displays, lined the street. It was Norman Rockwell come to life, a slice of small-town Americana that seemed almost too perfect, too idyllic.

“It's like something out of a painting by Andrew Wyeth,” Evey said, her voice filled with genuine admiration. “So peaceful, so… unspoiled.”

Ben smiled softly as she continued to compare the town to some artist he'd never heard of before, pointing out small details she swore were right out of an actual painting.

Eventually, Ben spotted what he was looking for. A small, unassuming office with a faded sign hanging above the door: Crockett Real Estate. He pulled the car to the side of the street, parked carefully, and killed the engine. They both unbuckled their seatbelts, a sense of anticipation washing over them.

“Ready?” Ben asked, turning to Evey with a hopeful smile.

She smiled back, her eyes full of adventure. “Ready.”

They crossed the road hand in hand, and stepped inside Crockett Real Estate. The air was thick with the scent of stale coffee and old paper. They walked down the short hallway, arriving in a small office space.

Sitting behind a desk was a woman who looked barely out of her twenties. Her short, blond hair framed a face that was both sharp and surprisingly delicate, and her scarlet red, button-down shirt popped against the drab surroundings. She was completely absorbed in a hardback novel, its cover artwork all too familiar to them. Evey couldn't help but wonder if the woman knew they were coming and had purposely chosen this book to read, or if it was some weird coincidence that on the very day Ben Mears decided to return to his childhood hometown, the first person they encountered was engrossed in one of his novels.

Evey smiled, a subtle quirk of her lips, and glanced at Ben. His brow was furrowed in bemusement, his dark eyes flickering between the woman and the cover of the book. He seemed almost frozen, the air crackling with an unspoken irony.

They approached the desk, the sound of their shoes echoing in the quiet room. After a moment, the woman, still lost in the narrative, finally looked up. Her gaze lingered on Ben, a flicker of recognition━or perhaps something else entirely━in her bright blue eyes.

“You look familiar,” she said, her voice laced with a hint of suspicion, as if she were trying to place him in some half-remembered dream.

Okay, she has to know... right? Evey thought, a silent question echoing in her mind. This couldn't be some random, cosmic coincidence.

Ben crossed his arms, a gesture that subtly betrayed his underlying nervousness. “Well, how's the book?” he asked, his voice a touch too casual, betraying the writer beneath the carefully constructed facade.

The woman's lips curved into a smile. “I'm at the point in the story where the reader decides whether or not she'll ever finish it,” she replied, a wry smile playing on her lips as she closed the book with a resounding thwack.

So she doesn't know, Evey guessed, a mixture of relief and disappointment washing over her.

Evey frowned, a subtle crease forming between her eyebrows, and glanced at Ben, watching his reaction. He seemed a little hurt by her bluntness, but masked it well, his expression carefully neutral. It was obvious the woman was oblivious to the fact that she was speaking with the author of the very book she just nonchalantly critiqued. He was used to it by now ━ people casually dismissing his hard work. It was, unfortunately, part of the job.

“Uh-huh,” he said, a short, dismissive sound escaping his lips.

“Can I help you with something?” she asked, her tone now all business.

“We're looking for a place to rent,” Evey said, stepping forward. She wanted to steer the conversation away from literary critiques and back to the practical reason for their visit.

“Just the two of you?” the woman asked, her gaze shifting between them.

“Yeah, it's just us,” Ben confirmed, a slight edge creeping into his voice.

The woman hesitated, her eyes scanning his face again. “Are you sure you wanna be here?”

Before Ben could respond, a door to their right swung open, revealing a man in a too-tight suit, his face flushed and perpetually sweating. He was the kind of man who wore cologne strong enough to knock you off your feet.

“Susan! Who goes there?” he boomed, his voice echoing in the small office.

He noticed Ben and Evey, a wave of forced joviality washing over his face. He straightened his tie and extended a hand towards them, his smile a little too wide, a little too eager. “Oh! Hello! Hey! Larry Crockett.” He shook Ben's hand with excessive enthusiasm, then turned to Evey, his eyes lingering a moment longer than necessary. “Nice to meet you both. Would you like some coffee?”

“Oh, uh━” Before Evey could politely decline, Larry was snapping his fingers in Susan's direction. “Get a fresh pot going there, Susie. Will ya? I have trained her to make it just right,” he said, his voice dripping with condescension. He clicked his tongue, as if to emphasize his superior knowledge of coffee-making.

Evey raised an eyebrow, exchanging a silent, empathetic glance with Susan. The poor woman looked like she wanted to throttle her boss. Evey didn't blame her. He was the epitome of the small-town tyrant, treating his associate like a glorified secretary who was clearly only good enough to make coffee.

“Oh, um, we're okay on the coffee. Thank you,” Ben said, his voice tight.

Still, Susan, her face a mask of barely concealed resentment, got up from her desk and began the tedious process of making a fresh pot.

“Uh, we were just gonna ask your associate here━” Ben started.

“Secretary,” Larry corrected, his smile unwavering.

Susan turned from the coffee maker, her glare a silent dagger aimed at Larry's back.

Evey nearly scoffed, but held her tongue. She could smell the simmering resentment radiating from Susan, and she felt a pang of sympathy for the woman trapped in this stifling environment.

“Yeah,” Ben said, forcing a smile and changing the subject abruptly. “We think we saw someone in the Marsten House on the way in. Is someone actually living there now?”

Larry's eyes widened, a glint of calculation entering them. He straightened up, puffing out his chest a little. “Oh. Well, if you know about the Marsten House, that should tell you I can pretty much sell anything,” he bragged. “It's been sitting vacant for almost forty years.”

“It's a beautiful house, but that's a long time for a house to remain vacant,” Evey commented, frowning slightly.

“Who bought it?” Ben pressed, ignoring Larry's attempt to steer the conversation back to his sales prowess.

“Um, some European fella. Wears these fancy suits,” Larry replied, his brow furrowing in thought. “He's the one opening up that shop across the street.” He gestured towards a storefront across Main Street.

Evey and Ben both turned to look. The sign above the shop read: Barlow & Straker. Fine Furnishings. The windows were dark, but through the grimy glass, they could make out shrouded shapes and dusty furniture.

“How do you know about the Marsten House?” Susan asked, she seemed genuinely curious. “Are you from around here?”

“I grew up here till I was nine, yeah,” Ben confirmed. “But, uh, my wife… she's from Pennsylvania. This is her first time in Jerusalem's Lot.”

“Oh, is that so?” Larry smiled, his eyes flicking towards Evey again. “Well, I hope you enjoy Jerusalem's Lot…?”

“Evangeline,” she supplied, offering a small, polite smile.

“Beautiful name,” Larry complimented, his voice a little too smooth, a little too oily. “I hope you enjoy your stay here, Evangeline.”

“Thank you,” Evey replied, instinctively wrapping her arm around Ben's and leaning into him a bit. “It's such a cute little town. I'm excited to see more of it.”

“So maybe that's why you look so familiar,” Susan said to Ben, her eyes narrowed in concentration, as if she were still trying to place him.

Before Ben could reply, Larry cut in again. “Uh, what'd you say your name was again, sir?”

“Ben Mears,” he introduced himself, glancing at Susan in amusement. He watched her face as realization dawned, her eyes widening in disbelief.

Evey smiled to herself. She saw Susan glance across the room at her desk and her book, where even from this distance, the name Ben Mears could be seen written in bold white font. Susan's face paled, a blush creeping up her neck. She seemed to immediately regret her earlier comments, the weight of her unintended insult pressing down on her.

“No, doesn't ring a bell,” Larry said after mulling over the name for a moment. “Mr. and Mrs. Mears, are you looking to buy? It's a great town. Perfect place to raise a family.”

Evey's smile wavered, the joy draining from her face. Family. The word hung in the air like a poisoned dart. Almost ten years of marriage, filled with love and laughter, but also with longing and quiet disappointment. They had tried. So many times. The doctors had assured them that everything was fine, that there was no reason why they couldn't conceive. But the babies never came. Evey had finally accepted that motherhood might not be in her future, but the ache never truly faded.

Ben seemed to notice her subtle shift in mood and immediately placed a comforting hand at the small of her back, his touch a silent expression of empathy. “Nope, just need a place to rent,” he said, his voice low and firm, cutting off Larry's line of thought.

“Um, well, I'm sure you're acquainted with the beauty of Maine,” Larry began, launching into a practiced sales pitch that neither of them was in the mood for. “Perhaps, as an investment━”

“Eva Miller has a couple of rooms open,” Susan interrupted, her voice surprisingly strong, cutting through Larry's blather. A spoon, inadvertently nudged, clinked against the wood of the table she was making coffee on as she abruptly turned around to face them. Her eyes held something akin to defiance.

Larry gave Susan a sharp, disapproving look, his eyebrows arching into a disapproving V. She simply smiled sweetly, a touch of sarcasm dancing in her eyes, and snapped her fingers, deflecting his glare. She then told Ben and Evey where to find Eva Miller, her voice suddenly warm and helpful. “She's over on Railroad Street.”

“Eva Miller. Railroad. Got it,” Ben made mental notes, offering Susan a genuine, grateful smile.

“Thank you, Susan,” Evey added, her voice sincere.

Ben guided Evey out of the room, one hand still protectively at the small of her back.

“Enjoy your book,” Ben called over his shoulder, a playful jab that still managed to carry a hint of genuine kindness.

“You're cruel,” Evey whispered, playfully nudging his arm as they stepped out onto the sidewalk. “She's probably even more embarrassed now.”

“Hey, she's the one that didn't recognize me in the first place when she literally had my book in her hands,” Ben shrugged with a grin, a mischievous glint in his eyes.

“It was kind of ironic, wasn't it?” Evey mused, a small smile playing on her lips.

“Creepily,” Ben agreed, his grin fading slightly, replaced by a more thoughtful expression.

Before they got back in the car, Ben looked at her from over the hood, his eyes searching hers. “Hey,” he said, his voice dropping to a serious tone. “You good?”

“Yeah,” she replied, but her voice lacked conviction even to her own ears.

“You sure? When Larry said…”

“It's not like he knew we've been trying,” Evey said, forcing a lightness into her voice. “I'm okay, promise. Just… caught me off guard for a moment, that's all.”

Ben still seemed a little unsure, his eyes lingering on her face, searching for any sign of lingering pain. But he nodded quietly, respecting her boundaries. Neither one of them spoke another word about it. Family was a touchy subject for them ━ especially when it came to starting one of their own. Ben hated that he hadn't been able to make her a mother yet. According to the doctors they'd seen, everything was fine, and yet, he'd failed at every attempt to give her the one thing he knew she wanted most in the world. He loathed himself for it, a silent burden that weighed heavily on his heart.

They climbed inside their car and he started the engine. The Citroën rumbled to life, a comforting sound in the quiet street. Ben pulled away from the curb, heading in the direction of Railroad Street, the unsettling encounter at Larry Crockett Realty already fading into the background.

　
✶
　

He walked around the car, opening Evey's door with a flourish. She smiled, taking his outstretched hand, its calluses a familiar comfort. As they approached the boarding house, Evey took it all in. The peeling paint, a faded robin's egg blue, the porch swing that creaked rhythmically in the gentle breeze, the overgrown rose bushes clawing their way up the trellis. It was a place steeped in history, a history that felt both melancholic and strangely alluring.

The moment they stepped inside, a bell above the door jingled, announcing their arrival. A woman materialized from the depths of the house, short and wiry with a halo of graying hair. She wore a faded flannel and a pair of sensible, orthopedic shoes.

“I'm Eva Miller,” she said, her voice raspy but not unkind. “Welcome to my humble establishment.”

“It's a pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Miller,” Ben said, extending his hand. “I'm Ben, and this is my wife, Evey.”

Eva Miller shook his hand firmly, her grip surprisingly strong. “Just Eva. Everyone calls me Eva. What can I do for you folks?”

“We are looking for a room to rent,” Evey said. “Do you have anything available?”

“Yeah, I've got some rooms available,” Eva nodded. “Don't normally rent to couples, though…”

“We wouldn't be any trouble,” Ben was quick to say.

Eva thought about it for a long moment. “What is it you two do for a living?”

“I'm a writer,” Ben replied. “My wife is a painter. We needed a change of scenery, a place where we could… focus. Find some inspiration.”

“Focus, huh? Well, this town's got plenty of quiet. Not much else going on these days, I'm afraid. Used to be a bustling place, back when the mines were booming. Now…” She trailed off, shaking her head. “Well, never mind. I don't normally rent to couples, you understand. Too much… drama. But you seem like a nice enough pair. Suppose I can make an exception, if you promise not to cause me any trouble, that is.”

“No trouble,” Ben promised. “We swear.”

Evey spoke up, a grateful smile spreading across her face. “We appreciate you making an exception for us, Eva. We promise to be good tenants.”

Eva studied them for a moment, her eyes sharp and assessing. Then, she nodded. “Alright, then. You can have Room 22. Grab your things and follow me.”

“Yes, ma'am,” Ben nodded.

They began unloading the car. Ben wrestled with some boxes while Evey carried their suitcases.

Back inside, they followed Eva up the creaking wooden staircase. The air grew warmer and mustier with each step. Eva rambled on about the temperamental plumbing.

“Yeah, you just jiggle it a little and it'll work,” Eva explained, her voice echoing up the stairwell. “It's the toilet in the downstairs bathroom. Keeps running if you don't. I keep asking Weasel to fix it. Who knows, maybe one of these days he will.”

From somewhere downstairs, a gruff voice replied, “Don't count on it.”

Eva rolled her eyes. “That's Weasel. He ‘helps’ around the place. Mostly he just lazes around. But he's harmless.”

Finally, they reached the top of the stairs. Eva walked to Room 22 and unlocked the door with a tarnished brass key, swinging it open with a theatrical flourish. “Here we are.”

Ben and Evey stepped inside. The room was smaller than they had imagined. Sunlight streamed through the two windows, illuminating the dust motes dancing in the air. The walls were painted a faded yellow. A single twin-sized bed dominated the space, covered with a worn patchwork quilt.

“Alright, I serve breakfast at seven sharp if you want it,” Eva began explaining everything they would need to know, her voice taking on a rapid-fire quality. “Dinner's usually on the table by six. Your laundry day is Tuesday. No guests allowed. And this ain't some honeymoon suite, either, so try to keep things quiet.”

Evey blushed, glancing at Ben with slightly widened eyes. He looked suddenly sheepish, as though caught doing something naughty.

“Um, yes, ma'am,” Ben said, awkwardly scratching the nape of his neck. “We'll be sure to keep it down.”

“What is it you two say you were again?” Eva asked, her gaze flicking between them. “Some kind of co-writers? You journalists or somethin’?”

“Not exactly,” Evey smiled, trying to diffuse the tension. “My husband writes novels. And I'm a painter.”

“I see,” Eva said, nodding her head slowly. “Creative types. Well, just remember, creativity doesn't pay the bills. I'll take payment in advance.”

Ben chuckled softly as Eva Miller left, closing the door behind her with a decisive click. The small room suddenly felt very small indeed.

“Well, that was awkward,” Evey said, breaking the silence.

“Yeah,” Ben agreed, running a hand through his hair.

“Small bed,” Evey pointed out, gesturing to the quilt-covered mattress.

“I don't mind,” Ben grinned, a mischievous glint in his eye as he inched closer, wrapping his arms around her waist. “We'll make it work.”

She wrapped her arms around his neck, her fingers tangling in his hair. “Careful, you wouldn't want to violate Eva's rule.”

“To hell with her rules,” Ben murmured, his breath warm against her lips before kissing her. It was a deep, lingering kiss, filled with the promise of shared adventure and the quiet rebellion against the mundane.

Evey chuckled softly, but kissed back with equal passion. His hands roamed over her back, pulling her closer until there was no space left between them. The kiss deepened, becoming a silent conversation, a reassurance that despite the cramped room and the eccentric landlady, they were together, and that was all that mattered.

After several minutes, Evey reluctantly pulled back, panting slightly. Her cheeks were flushed, and her eyes sparkled. “We need to bring in the rest of our stuff from the car,” she said, her voice a little breathless.

Ben groaned dramatically, burying his face in her neck. “Five more minutes?”

Evey laughed, pushing him away gently. “No, mister. The sooner we get settled, the sooner we can… explore our new surroundings. And maybe break a few of Eva's rules.”

Ben reluctantly agreed, kissing her one last time, a quick, playful peck, before heading out the door. “Be right back.”

Left alone, Evey took a deep breath, the lingering warmth of his kiss still on her lips. She looked around the small, sparse room. Twin bed. Dated furniture. But it was theirs, at least for now. She walked over to the two windows, pushing aside the thin, faded curtains. Outside, she could see a patch of overgrown garden and the back of another, equally old, building. Not much of a view, but the light was decent.

She opened the worn suitcase she had carried in, pulling out their clothes. Evey carefully folded their few shirts, slacks and jeans into the shallow drawers of the small dresser, then hung their jackets, her two best dresses and Ben's blazer in the empty closet. From one of the boxes Ben had carried in, she retrieved her small watercolor set, a block of paper, and a selection of brushes, arranging them neatly on the small table by the armchair. Her eyes landed on the clock radio. She fiddled with the dial until she found a local station playing a soft rock tune from The Eagles. The familiar melody filled the quiet room, a comforting hum.

Just as she was smoothing out the thin quilt, Ben returned, arms laden with another box filled with his writing supplies and typewriter and a few of her empty canvases.

“Wow,” he said, a genuine smile spreading across his face. “You can make any place feel like home.”

Evey beamed. “That's the plan.”

They continued to unpack, working in comfortable silence. Slowly, the room began to transform, shedding its impersonal feel and taking on the character of its new inhabitants.

Once everything was inside, they sat down on the edge of the bed, exhausted but satisfied. The room was still small, but it felt… cozy.

The small radio continued to hum, and the soft afternoon light streamed in through the windows, illuminating the dust motes dancing in the air. For a moment, they simply sat there, side by side, shoulders touching, a quiet contentment settling over them in their temporary home.

“It's been a long day,” Ben said, kissing her temple.

“A very long day,” she echoed, her voice a low, melodic murmur.

“Are you hungry?”

“Starving,” Evey groaned.

“There was this place…” He trailed off, a faint smile playing on his lips. “A diner. My aunt would take me there every Friday night. They had the best milkshakes in town. Great burgers, too. What do you say we revisit it tonight for dinner?”

Evey's eyes sparkled at the thought of visiting a place from her husband's childhood. “You had me at best milkshakes in town.” She kissed his cheek. “Lead the way, Mr. Mears. I'm ready for a taste of your past.”

He got up from the bed, offering her his hands. She took them. “I just hope it's still there.”

　
✶
　

The diner was still there, a beacon of neon against the deepening twilight. Its sign, a faded red script, proclaimed it “Ruth's Diner.” It looked much the same as Ben Mears remembered, a squat, unpretentious building that had weathered the years with a stoic indifference.

The bell above the door of Ruth's Diner jingled, a tinny, familiar sound that scraped against Ben's memory like a rusty key in a forgotten lock. He paused on the threshold, inhaling the mingled scents of frying grease, stale coffee, and something else ━ something ancient and earthy that clung to the very air of Jerusalem's Lot. Evey slipped her hand into his, her touch a grounding warmth.

“This is it, huh?” she murmured, her gaze sweeping over the worn vinyl booths, the checkered floor, the greasy counter where a lone man nursed a cup of coffee, the motley collection of faded photographs and local memorabilia along the walls. Ruth's hadn't changed, not really. It was smaller than he remembered, dingier, the fluorescent lights buzzing overhead casting a harsh, unflattering glow, but the essence was the same. A time capsule he hadn't known he needed to open.

Ben nodded, a faint smile playing on his lips. “Just like I remember. Even the peeling paint on the ceiling.” He led her to a booth near the window and scanned the room, a strange mix of nostalgia and unease prickling at him. It was all so familiar, yet… changed. He'd been gone so long.

A moment later, a woman approached their table, a menu held loosely in her hands. Her uniform was a crisp blue, a little too tight around the middle, and her hair, a sandy blond, was pulled back in a practical ponytail. She had a kind face, a little weary around the eyes, and a ghost of a smile that didn't quite reach them.

“Evenin’,” she said, her voice pleasant, if a little flat. “Welcome to Ruth's. Can I get you started with some drinks?”

Ben opened his mouth to order, but then something about the woman flickered in his mind. A memory, a fleeting impression, too vague to grasp. He frowned, his gaze lingering on her.

“Sure,” Evey chirped, always the more immediate of the two. “I'll have a Coke, please. And Ben?”

Ben cleared his throat, still trying to place the waitress. There was just something about her that was so familiar. “Uh, I'll have the same. Thanks.”

The waitress ━ Virginia, he only just realized her name tag read ━ nodded, scribbling on her pad. He noticed a necklace of a cross around her neck. His gaze then shifted to her hand, particularly her wrist, where a thin piece of old rope was wrapped around her flesh in a makeshift bracelet. It looked just as familiar as her presence felt.

As though feeling him staring, the waitress glanced at Ben again, and this time, a subtle shift occurred between them as their eyes met.

The pieces clicked into place with a jarring thud. It was her. Virginia Turner. His childhood best friend, the girl he'd built forts with, who'd scraped her knees alongside him, who'd whispered secrets under the starry skies of Salem's Lot. How had he not recognized her? Time, distance, the sheer weight of the years had blurred her face in his memory. But here she was, standing before him, older, a little worn, but undeniably Ginny. And she was still wearing their friendship bracelet, made from a piece of rope they'd found in the woods. Had she never taken it off?

“Ginny?” he managed, his voice barely above a whisper.

The woman blinked, her smile faltering for a split second. Her eyes narrowed. “I'm surprised you even recognize me.”

A wide, disbelieving grin spread across his face “How could I not remember you?”

Evey, sensing the charged recognition, looked between the two of them, a curious, almost intrigued smile playing on her lips. She had heard stories, of course, snippets of Ben's childhood. But no mention of a girl named Ginny. “Ginny?” she prompted gently, her voice soft, inviting, a bridge between two worlds. She watched Ben's face, a kaleidoscope of emotions ━ shock, joy, perhaps a touch of apprehension ━ flash across it. He was a different man here, not the confident, sometimes aloof writer she knew, but a ghost of the boy he once was, vulnerable and exposed.

Ben's grin didn't falter, but he could feel a slight tension radiating from his childhood best friend. An uncomfortable awareness, a shift in the air that suggested this reunion wasn't going to be a simple, nostalgic affair. “Uh, Ginny, this is my wife, Evangeline. Evey, this is Virginia Turner. Ginny and I… we grew up together here.”

Evey extended a hand across the table, her smile warm and genuine. “It's so nice to meet you, Virginia. Ben has told me so much about his childhood in Jerusalem's Lot.”

Virginia took Evey's hand, shook it briefly. “It's nice to meet you, Evangeline.”

“Please, call me Evey.” She tried to project an openness, a desire for connection, but Virginia's gaze felt like a barrier rather than an invitation.

“Well, Evey, your husband clearly hasn't told you much about his time in the Lot,” Virginia said, her voice low, a curious flatness to it, as if she were delivering an undeniable fact. She wasn't smiling anymore. Her gaze flickered towards the grimy window, then back to Ben, a spark of something unreadable, perhaps bitter amusement, in her eyes. “You look… different. Successful.” The word was delivered with that same curious flatness, devoid of the admiration he might have expected, laced instead with an almost mocking irony.

Evey felt a prickle of unease. This wasn't the loving, tearful reunion she knew Ben might have imagined between himself and Virginia Turner. This was something sharper, more complex, fraught with unspoken resentments.

Ben shifted in his seat, the prickle of unease deepening, chilling the initial warmth of recognition. It wasn't just the flatness of her tone, but the subtle inflection, as if ‘successful’ was a slight or an accusation. “I'm a writer now, Ginny.” He swallowed, the words feeling almost defensive. He wondered if she ever read one of his novels, if she was a fan of his work.

Virginia gave a short, mirthless laugh. “Oh, I know you're a writer, Ben. I recognized you the moment you walked in. You haven't changed much, not really.” She paused, her eyes scanning his face, taking in every detail, and Ben felt a sudden, uncomfortable awareness of his own presence, of how he must appear to her now ━ the city slicker, the success story, come back to gawk at the ruins of his past. “Funny, isn't it? You leave this town, the people here, this life, and become someone famous. Someone people read about.” The words were a quiet accusation, a testament to the diverging paths their lives had taken, a knife twist.

Evey, sensing the tension between them escalating, decided to interject, hoping to soften the sharp edges of Virginia’s resentment. “He's very talented. And incredibly dedicated. Ben's been working on a new project, something inspired by his time here when he was a boy.” She glanced at her husband, a gentle encouragement in her eyes. Tell her, Ben, she thought. Explain why you’re here, beyond just nostalgia. Evey believed in the power of stories, of understanding, and she saw a deep, unhealed wound between them. Virginia's bitterness seemed to stem from something more profound than just envy; it felt like betrayal.

Virginia's gaze snapped to Evey, a faint, almost imperceptible tightening around her mouth. “Inspired by his time here,” she repeated, the emphasis subtle but loaded. She turned her attention back to Ben. “So, is that what brings you back to your roots, Ben? Decided to revisit the scenes of your childhood adventures?” Her tone was laced with a sarcasm that was sharper than Ben remembered. 

He cleared his throat, trying to steer the conversation back to less contentious territory. “My aunt used to bring me to Ruth's all the time, you know that, Ginny. It's a place with a lot of memories for me. As for my book, I'm doing research on the Marsten House.”

“Memories,” Virginia echoed, her voice flat. “Right. Lots of memories for everyone, I suppose.” She finally picked up her order pad. “So, what can I get for you?” The professional veneer was back, but it felt thin, brittle.

Evey smiled, trying to inject some normalcy into the increasingly awkward interaction. “A cheeseburger and fries for me, please. And a chocolate milkshake, if they're as good as Ben remembers.”

“And for you?” Virginia asked, her pen poised over Ben's name.

“Same for me,” Ben said, trying to keep his tone light. “And a vanilla milkshake.”

Virginia scribbled them down, her movements efficient, almost mechanical. As she turned to leave, Ben couldn't resist asking, “Do you… do you still live here, Ginny?”

She stopped, her back to them, and for a long moment, she didn't answer. Then, she turned her head slightly, a shadow passing over her face. “Where else would I be, Ben?” The question was rhetorical, and the answer was etched in her posture, in the way she held herself. She was still here. Stuck in the Lot, unable to fulfill her dream of leaving like she always talked about when they were kids. He frowned.

When she walked away, Evey turned to Ben, her expression thoughtful. “She seems… a little on edge.”

“Yeah,” Ben admitted, his gaze following Ginny as she disappeared into the kitchen. “A little. It's been a long time. And… well, she was my best friend. She probably feels a little… left behind.” He'd left Salem's Lot when he was nine, right after he'd been orphaned. He'd left Ginny, too, without much of a goodbye. He remembered her tears, her small, hurt face, as he'd waved from the backseat of a car.

“Abandoned?” Evey supplied, her eyes soft with understanding. She, too, had experienced her own share of parental absence, though in a different, more volatile form.

“Something like that,” Ben conceded.

“Perhaps you should talk with her,” Evey suggested. She reached across the table and squeezed his hand. “Reconcile over what happened in the past. You were just kids, Ben. I'm sure she will forgive you.”

He squeezed back, smiling weakly. “You're right. I'll talk to her. But right now, I think she needs some space.”

A few moments later, they watched Virginia as she returned, carrying a tray laden with their food. The milkshake glasses, tall and frosty, gleamed with condensation. The burgers were classic diner fare, wrapped in paper, the fries piled high.

Virginia placed their orders in front of them. Her hands, as she set down the milkshake glasses, trembled almost imperceptibly. She avoided Ben's direct gaze, her eyes flitting around the diner, anywhere but at him.

“There you go,” she said, her voice a little strained. “Anything else?”

“This is perfect, Virginia, thank you,” Evey said, already digging into her burger. “Oh, my God. Ben, you have to try this. It's delicious!”

Ben took a bite, the familiar taste of a good, honest burger flooding his senses. He then reached for his milkshake, the cold, creamy vanilla incredibly satisfying and bringing back old memories. “See? I told you,” he said to Evey, who was already nodding in agreement as she sipped her chocolate milkshake with a smile.

Virginia remained by the table, her arms crossed, her gaze fixed on their food. Ben finally met her eyes. “It's good to see you, Ginny. Really, it is. I've thought about you over the years.”

She gave a small, humorless smile. “Have you? That's… nice. I never thought you would, considering you never once bothered to contact me after you left.” The bitterness was undeniable now, a subtle undercurrent in her words.

Ben froze, taken aback by her words. He stared at her face, a pang of guilt tightening his chest.

Evey sensed the shift in the atmosphere, and immediately tried to lighten the mood. “You must have some wonderful stories about Ben,” she said to their waitress, her voice warm and inviting. “He's always been a bit of a dreamer, even as a child, I imagine. Did he always have his head in the clouds?”

Virginia's lips twitched ever-so-slightly, a flicker of something akin to amusement, or perhaps just a memory. “Ben? Oh, he always had his head somewhere else. Usually buried in a book, even back then. Or spinning some wild tale that no one else believed. But he had a knack for getting into trouble, too. Remember that time we stole apples from old Mrs. Peabody's orchard?”

Ben smiled. “I remember that. Our aunts were pissed.”

“My, Ben, I didn't know you were such a troublemaker as a boy,” Evey said teasingly. “Do go on, Virginia, I would love to hear more.”

“Uh, you know, I'd love to, but I have to get back to work,” Virginia said, awkwardly clearing her throat. “It was nice meeting you again, Evange━uh, Evey.” She quickly caught herself. “Enjoy your meal, and holler if you need anything.”

They ate in silence for a few minutes, the only sounds were the clinking of silverware, the hum of the diner, and the sound of them surping the best milkshakes in town. Evey savored the burger, appreciating its simple, unpretentious flavor.

Finally, she broke the silence. “So, Mrs. Peabody's orchard… tell me more about that.”

Ben chuckled, the sound lighter this time. “Oh man, that was a disaster. Mrs. Peabody was this tiny, old lady with a voice like a rusty hinge. She was fiercely protective of her apple trees. Ginny and I were… what, seven? Eight? We thought we were being so sneaky, sneaking into her orchard after dark. But she caught us red-handed, stuffing our pockets with apples.”

“What happened?” Evey asked, intrigued.

“She threatened to call the sheriff!” Ben exclaimed. “We were terrified. But Ginny started crying and told Mrs. Peabody that we were orphans and that we were starving and had no food. Ginny was really good at crying on command. I wasn't.”

Evey laughed. “Oh, that is terrible! Did she believe you?”

“No,” Ben continued, grinning. “But she didn't call the sheriff. Just Ginny's aunt, who also called my aunt. They were so pissed. We were both grounded for a week.”

“Worth it?” Evey asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Definitely,” Ben said, grinning. “Those apples were delicious.”

The shared laughter eased the tension in the air, and Evey was glad to see Ben's mood lighten after his tense reunion with Virginia.

The last of the daylight was fading from the sky by the time they finished their meal. Outside, the street lights flickered on, casting long, distorted shadows. Evey decided that she was going to ask Ben more about Virginia after they left the diner. Maybe understanding her past would help Evey empathize and help Ben reconcile with her. She was willing to help her husband however she could.

When they were done, Ben flagged down Virginia. “Hey, Ginny, can we get the check?”

Virginia approached the table, her expression neutral. She avoided eye contact, her gaze fixed on the tabletop. “Sure.” She scribbled on the checkpad and handed it to Ben.

As Ben paid, Evey watched Virginia's hands as she rang up the order. They were calloused and worn, the nails bitten short. They were the hands of someone who worked hard, someone who had spent her life scrubbing tables and washing dishes.

“Ginny,” Ben said, handing her the money and leaving behind a gracious tip. “Thanks. Everything was great.”

Virginia took the money, still avoiding his gaze. “You're welcome.”

As they walked out the door, Evey turned back, catching Virginia's eye for just a moment. And in that brief, fleeting moment, Evey saw a flicker of something in Virginia's eyes. Sadness? Resentment? Or perhaps… just a hint of hope?

As they stepped out into the night, Evey squeezed her husband's hand. “She's hurting, Ben. Make sure you make amends with her soon. Don't wait too long.”

“I won't,” Ben said, opening the car door for her.

The drive back to Eva Miller's Boarding House was quiet, comfortable. Evey rested her head against his shoulder, occasionally glancing up at Ben, who seemed lost in thought, the earlier conversation with Virginia clearly weighing on him.

The boarding house was a beacon of soft yellow light. They entered, the scent of old wood and something vaguely floral greeting them. Eva Miller was nowhere to be seen, the common room empty and hushed. They ascended the creaking stairs to their room on the second floor, the key turning with a soft click.

Soon, they were both changed into their pajamas. Ben in a soft, worn t-shirt and a pair of boxer shorts, Evey in a silk camisole and shorts, a subtle contrast of textures and comfort. The day's events, the long drive, the strange encounters, the melancholy of Virginia's bitterness, all seemed to dissolve in the quiet privacy of their room.

Evey sat on the edge of the bed, running her hand over the quilt. “So, our first night in Jerusalem's Lot,” she murmured, glancing up at Ben as he moved to the window to close the heavy curtains. The faint sounds of the town outside were muffled, replaced by the soft hum of the old house.

He turned, his eyes meeting hers, a familiar warmth kindling between them. The exhaustion of the day, the emotional weight, now seemed to draw them closer, rather than pulling them apart. He walked towards the bed, the faint moonlight filtering through the gap in the curtains illuminating the lines of his face, the dark intensity of his gaze.

“Our very first night,” he echoed, his voice a low rumble. He sat beside her, the mattress dipping slightly under his weight. He reached out, his fingers tracing the delicate line of her jaw, then cupping her face. “We should probably… christen the room, shouldn't we?” he whispered, a playful glint in his eyes, though the underlying current was undeniably serious.

Evey leaned into his touch, her eyes fluttering closed for a moment, a soft hum escaping her. “Oh, definitely,” she breathed, her own hand finding his, intertwining their fingers. “I did, after all, promise that we would break Eva's rule tonight.”

“You don't actually plan on being that loud, do you?” Ben asked. “Because I don't think I could handle the secondhand embarrassment over breakfast tomorrow.”

“God, no,” Evey laughed, leaning in.

The air thickened, a quiet understanding passing between them. There were no more jokes, no more words. Only the gentle sway of the bed as Ben copied her actions and leaned in, only the soft sigh that slipped from Evey's lips as their bodies drew together, the world outside this room fading into an indistinct murmur, leaving only the quiet pulse of two hearts beating in unison in the dim light.

a/n: not eva miller immediately telling them to keep their sex life quiet. talk about embarrassing 💀

there was so much to unpack in this chapter. poor evey and ben have been unable to conceive for literally almost a decade now, even though they're both completely healthy. i hate how much ben loathes himself for not making her a mother yet 🥺

you also got to meet miss virginia turner in this chapter, who is a character that belongs to my friend xonceuponatimex. remember to check out her ben mears fic, DARK PLACES, to read all about ginny and ben!! this is also not the last you've seen of ginny. i enjoyed writing this cameo of her so much that i've decided to include her again in future chapters, so be prepared for more ginny 😉