Iris tried to project that image of the confident town psychic as she walked into Town Hall the next afternoon. She was the expert in matters of the paranormal, she was the one who spent all day every day surrounded by it. This was how she made her living. And Baxter was hiding paranormal secrets that were causing injury to other people in town. She was unequivocally in the right here, and it was time to demand answers.

Underneath all this she was terrified, but that was just how it was. She was going up against someone who had more power than her in this town. Even if that seemed like such a small thing in the long run, it really wasn’t. It could be a matter of life and death. The proof of that was waiting outside Town Hall in the small courtyard for her, with a charmed coin in hand to let him know if anything went wrong. She didn’t like the idea of putting Andrew in danger, but he had insisted and she did feel better having him out there.

“You don’t have to stay,” she’d said for at least the third time as she’d handed him the coin. 

Andrew had just looked at her from where he was perched on an old picnic table, then pulled out a pack of cigarettes and tapped the bottom of the pack against the palm holding the coin. “Iris, I’m not leaving you alone here.”

“It’ll be fine, it’s a public area.”

He’d pulled out a cigarette, put it in his mouth, then lit it, all without breaking eye contact with her. Iris didn’t like the smell of cigarettes, but as the tobacco began to burn and the smoke curled freely into the air between them, she just nodded. “Thank you,” she’d said, then walked back out to the front of Town Hall.

As she did, she’d noticed Andrew waving to a woman sitting in a box truck parked in front of the next building over. The woman grinned and waved back, getting out of the truck and passing by Iris as she turned the corner to go talk to him. The idea that there actually were other people out here, going about their day as Iris risked everything going inside to confront Baxter gave her a bit more confidence as she attempted to make a plan on the fly.

Baxter didn’t have an actual office, but he was at Town Hall just about every day when he wasn’t lying low after burning down a local business. So Iris knew if she was there, she’d eventually run into him. And there was a meeting scheduled tonight, so he was almost sure to be there at some point. It would just be a matter of getting him alone long enough to talk. 

Either luckily or unluckily, this happened much faster than she had anticipated. She was standing in the main foyer of Town Hall, looking up at the plaques on the wall. There was Harrison Barlow, president of Elmwood Financial, grandfather of Charles Baxter, and very likely instigator of the New Winslow curse. He was right at the top of the 1920s town council. Pushing through the lives of innocent people to get more money for his company as the potential threat of annihilation for the entire town drew closer. Most people had probably been concerned with their family’s homes and where they would go next if New Winslow was chosen for disincorporation for the creation of the reservoir. But not Barlow, not with Elmwood Financial. No, he was going to squeeze as much money out of this as possible, no matter the cost to others.

“Iris.”

The voice behind her was quiet and she turned to see a middle-aged woman with light brown hair looking at her. Jennifer Declan. She was on the council, Iris remembered her face. She was also somewhat sure she’d seen this woman in her shop before. 

“If you’re looking for Charles, he’ll be in at five.”

It was four-fifty now. “Thank you,” Iris said. 

Then she lowered her voice, looking around to make sure no one else was within earshot. “The curse is the reason that those power lines got torn down this week,” she said, painfully aware she was leaving her own contribution out. “Things are ramping up and it’s going to impact everyone in town, not just the ones that get stuck. We need to do something about it.”

The woman’s face remained neutral, and Iris’s hopes for an ally faded. “Iris, it’s not that we don’t care,” Jennifer said after a moment. “We do, I promise you. But the council isn’t responsible for individual problems. We can’t get involved in people’s medical situations, housing, relationships, you know? No one knows what’s causing the curse, but it would be a slippery slope if we were to get involved.”

“Baxter knows what’s causing it.”

Jennifer frowned. “What do you mean?” she asked. “There’s no way he could know. No one does. And from what we’ve seen, it’s actually fading out.”

“Andrew Harris has been here for a year and a half,” Iris said. “What are you talking about?”

“I mean, it’s only impacting him as far as we know,” Jennifer said. “And that’s fewer long-term victims than there were last year, right?”

“Are you talking about Minnie Jensen and Roman Beckett?” Iris asked. “Because Minnie died, Jennifer. The curse didn’t break, she just died.”

“But Roman got out, right? Maybe there’s others we don’t know about, but again, it isn’t government business. We have so many other things that we need to deal with. So Iris, I’m just asking that you be considerate of the workload the council has.”

Thoughts of potholes the size of Volkswagens and endlessly tabled licensing discussions came to mind, but Iris had to stay focused on the current problem. And talking to this woman was a waste of time. “Thank you,” she said. “But I do need to talk to him.”

“Is there something I can help you with?” Jennifer asked.

Fuck it. No time like the present. “You know what?” Iris started. “Sure. You can ask Charles Baxter why he’s hidden the fact that his grandfather’s company is the one that tried to buy out Rosalind Alderidge’s property in 1926. And when she refused, harassed her until he eventually burned down the property and killed her son. Please, save me some time and go ask him that.”

Jennifer had already been pale, but now she looked ghostly. “Well, that was his grandfather, not him,” she said. “We can’t help who our families are.”

“No, but when they’re linked to the curse that is hurting people in our town, we can certainly do something about that,” Iris said, her anger threatening to burst out, hot and crackling, even as she tried to rein it in. “The curse started with that fire at Rosalind Alderidge’s house. Evelyn Harbinger confirmed it in her history of the town. The pages were removed and so many other documents have been edited to hide the connection. But if you ask him about it, I’m sure he’ll know everything.”

“Hello, Iris,”

Charles Baxter’s voice sent a shot of ice straight up Iris’s spine. She turned to see him coming up the wide staircase and realized she had no idea what he had heard. But Jennifer Declan was standing beside her, still deathly pale as she looked between Iris and Baxter. Then Iris was completely unsurprised as she hurried away, almost running down the hall.

“Hi,” Iris said. “I need to talk to you.”

He kept his expression friendly, though his eyes were steel. “Come to the council room with me,” he said. “I don’t have an office here. You would think that the president of the town council would get something, but…”

He laughed, the sound wooden and strained as he started for the nearby stairwell. She followed, considering whether or not he was going to push her down them when they reached the top. But instead, he walked like they were merely going to discuss a municipal matter of zero supernatural importance.

“How is your family, Iris?” Baxter asked as they made their way down the narrow hallway to the council room she’d sneaked into so many months earlier.

“They’re fine, thanks,” she replied.

“Good. It’s good to know that people are doing well out there.”

He set his stack of papers on the long table, then went and closed the door. As soon as it was shut, his demeanor changed completely. “I have nothing to say to you,” Baxter snarled. “I don’t know what you’ve done to harass the town this time, but I’m not going to allow you to blackmail me.”

“What I’ve done?” Iris demanded, her face hot. “It’s the curse that your family caused and you know more about it than anyone else in this town. That information about the Alderidges would be the key to breaking it, so could you please just tell me? We’ll move on. I won’t tell anyone. I won’t even say anything about the fire at the Limerick building.”

Baxter didn’t move, but she could feel the anger and desperation radiating off of him. It was worth pushing just a little further, maybe appeal to his humanity and guilt. “There was someone inside,” she said, keeping her tone level. “Thankfully he got out with only a few injuries, but it could have been so much worse. The county fire chief said it was arson. Before the fake cop got involved. Did you set that up?”

“It was an electrical failure,” Baxter said. “They had an amateur doing their electrical work.”

“Not according to the inspections,” Iris said. “And the initial report the owners received. There was a witness too.”

She couldn’t prove that, it was all on intuition and maybe a hint of wishful thinking. Again, his face remained calm enough, but there was a flicker of fear that she’d been hoping for. “He saw someone,” Iris continued. “But that’s not why I’m here.”

She came closer to Baxter, too close for it to be a smart move up here alone behind a closed door. But Andrew knew she was here. And if the coin in his hand burned hot, then he’d know to get up here and help her.

“What caused the curse?” she asked, looking up into Baxter’s eyes. “Your grandfather’s actions killed Samuel Alderidge, but what caused the curse? What happened after that? How do we stop it?”

“I don’t know,” Baxter said. “Iris, the curse isn’t government-”

“I know,” she interrupted. “You know and I know, so please let’s just cut the horseshit. You’ve been antagonizing me and my friends for months now. I don’t know if it’s you directly or someone you brought in to do it, but I don’t care. I don’t even care that you tried to burn down my shop too, because it didn’t work and I know that is fucking eating you. But I do care that you nearly killed Andrew. And I care about resolving the curse and settling the spirits of Rosalind and Samuel Alderidge, but I can’t do it if I don’t know exactly what happened.”

“I don’t know exactly what happened!” Baxter snapped, pounding a fist on the gleaming wooden table. “I never needed to know what happened. It was in the past, it doesn’t apply now.”

“The spirit he murdered just tore power lines out of the ground!” Iris exclaimed. “Three cars were crushed downtown and thank God no one was in them. So please, just tell me how to fix this.”

“There is no way to fix it,” Baxter said, moving toward her so quickly that she barely had time to avoid colliding before he was looming over her. “What happened, happened. My grandfather didn’t know the son was still in the house, there was no reason for him to be there. He was a grown man and could have gotten himself out, but he didn’t.”

So Olivia had been right, just like they thought. “Did your grandfather die that night too?” Iris asked, hoping against hope that this was a breakthrough.

“My grandfather died of scarlet fever years later.”

“I have the pages,” Iris said, aware of the danger she was putting herself in with this bluff. “Harbinger’s? I found them. The real history. They weren’t buried with her, you fucking liar. I’m just trying to give you a chance. Help me help the Alderidge family.”

Then Baxter was on her, his hands reaching for her throat before she could dodge the table behind her and get out. Iris’s air was cut off instantly as he squeezed. The coin went red and hot in her hand for an instant before it slipped out and landed on the table, cutting off the connection to Andrew. She couldn’t lean down to get it, Baxter’s grip was shockingly strong and the edges of her vision were going hazy as she clung to his fingers and tried to pull them off her throat.

“You have no friends here, Iris,” Baxter said, “And you always take things too far. I’m not going to let you destroy me or my family over this.”

Iris was dying. This was ridiculous, and a small part of her was laughing as the lights dimmed around her. She was going to die right here in New Winslow Town Hall, thirty-one years old, at the hands of her old biology teacher. A gurgling noise escaped her throat, but she couldn’t get away from him to breathe.

And then something tore Baxter from her with a force that sent his fingernails raking across her throat. His hands snapped like old sticks as they were pulled away. Iris couldn’t see what it was, but the crunch of bone and his wail of agony cut through the haze she was in as she dropped to her knees, gasping for breath. 

Her vision cleared as she saw Baxter pinned to the wall, four feet off the ground. She couldn’t see what force was holding him there, but there was only one it could be. “Roland!” she yelled, pain searing through her bruised and scratched throat. “Samuel! Don’t!”

The door flew open, and she didn’t need a spirit board to understand this message. She ran, colliding with Andrew midway down the hall as something crashed in the room behind her. “He’s hurt,” she said, barely stopping as she ran toward the stairwell out of the building. “Get help!”

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CONTINUE TO EPISODE 46

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