THE ABANDONED HOUSE

Episode 7

FUNERAL AND SILENCE

Rain fell on the morning of Danielle Olivia’s funeral. Not a downpour, but a steady, drizzling mist that seemed to soak into everything. Black umbrellas bloomed across the cemetery like wilted flowers.

Andrew stood near the back of the crowd, his suit a size too large, his collar choking him. Jayson stood beside him, shifting uncomfortably, his eyes fixed on the ground. Neither of them spoke. Words felt wrong here, too loud, too alive.

At the front, Mr. Olivia sat in a wooden chair by the casket. His shoulders slumped, his hands gripping a folded handkerchief that he never used. He stared at the polished wood as though if he just looked long enough, it might open and return his daughter to him.

Mrs. Olivia sat beside him, her hand resting lightly on his arm. Her black dress clung to her like a shadow, her face a perfect mask of solemnity. But Andrew watched closely, too closely, and saw what others didn’t: her eyes were dry. Her lips pressed together just a second too long when people weren’t looking, as though she were suppressing not grief, but satisfaction.

The priest’s voice droned over the patter of rain. He spoke of youth lost too soon, of a light extinguished, of God’s plan. Andrew’s chest burned. Danny would have hated every word of it. She wasn’t a candle snuffed out by heaven’s will. She was fire—untamed, wild—and someone had poured water over her flame.

When it came time for friends and family to step forward, Andrew felt Jayson nudge him. His legs moved on their own, carrying him to the casket. The polished wood gleamed under the gray light. His reflection wavered on the surface.

“Goodbye, Danny,” he whispered, his throat tight. “I’m sorry I couldn’t stop you. But I swear I’ll find out the truth.”

His fingers brushed the cold wood before he stepped aside. Behind him, Mrs. Olivia rose gracefully. She didn’t falter, didn’t stumble, didn’t tremble. She placed a single white lily on the casket, bowed her head, and returned to her seat without a word.

The priest gave a final blessing. The casket was lowered into the ground. The crowd began to disperse, umbrellas bobbing away into the mist.

But Andrew stayed. He couldn’t move, not while the grave was still open. Jayson tugged at his sleeve. “Come on,” he said softly. “It’s over.”

Andrew shook his head. “No. It’s not.”

Later, in the Olivia estate, the silence was heavier than the rain. The mourners had gone, leaving only the family and a few close friends. Mr. Olivia sat in his study again, staring at nothing. Mrs. Olivia glided through the halls, thanking guests, offering tea, her voice soft and controlled.

Andrew lingered by the door, unseen. He watched as she closed the study door behind her and placed a hand on her husband’s shoulder.

“She’s at peace now,” she murmured. “We have to move on.”

Mr. Olivia’s voice cracked. “How? She was my little girl.”

Mrs. Olivia’s hand tightened. “She was reckless, love. Always chasing danger. You can’t blame yourself.”

Andrew’s jaw clenched. Reckless. That was the word she chose. Not beloved, not cherished. Reckless.

He turned and slipped away before she could see him.

That night, Andrew lay awake, staring at the ceiling. Every word, every glance, every silence replayed in his mind. The town would let this be an accident. The police would let it fade into paperwork.

But he couldn’t.

Danny was more than a tragedy. And if no one else would fight for her, then he would.

Even if it meant going back to the house.

Even if it meant facing the shadows that had taken her.