Chapter 7 #2
“I agree. I guess we’re all confident enough in our relationship with Erez to think we’d know.
That sounds incredibly flimsy, especially after recounting Alice’s story, but I don’t know.
Sometimes I’ll be thinking about Alice, and I realize that all the signs were there.
There were little things that I think that maybe should have given us pause or asked questions.
Something that doesn’t necessarily make sense, like the amount of black paint she went through, and yet, if you look at the more than a dozen canvases in her room, not one has a smidge of black paint on it. Where is the black paint?”
“Where is it?” Darwin asks.
I laugh. “No fucking idea.”
“You really think that’s something?”
“Dunno. Something inside me says yes. All these years later, I can’t let it go.
I can’t help but think that the copious amount of black paint she went through was a sign.
It’s not like we didn’t see empty tubes, either.
She threw out empty tubes of black paint, but fuck if we know what she was doing with it.
It seems so inconsequential, and yet, I can’t let it go. Even now.”
“Then maybe you’re right. Maybe it means something.”
“Doesn’t matter in hindsight,” I say, shaking my head again.
“All the little things that don’t scream ‘this person needs help’ are the things that my counselor dismissed or the police dismissed.
So I think none of us volunteered any of the many instances we thought were signs we overlooked.
That’s the problem, though, isn’t it? At the time, if we’d noticed and maybe tried to do something, Alice might still be here.
What good is recognizing or even identifying them now?
Whether her death is ruled accidental or intentional doesn’t bring her back. It doesn’t change anything.”
Darwin’s arms tighten around me. “Did you talk to Erez today?”
“I did. We texted intermittently for several hours today. Thanks for asking.”
“I can’t imagine. Thanks for sharing, but I’m sorry for asking you to talk about it again.”
“It’s okay. Maybe I should talk about it sometimes to keep her story alive. It must be a lesson for someone to recognize unconventional warning signs in their loved ones, right?”
“Maybe, yeah.”
“Get some sleep. I’m going to fuck you awake as soon as the sun comes up and all throughout breakfast.”
Darwin snorts. “Sure, sure. I have a feeling you’re going to sleep until noon. All the missed hours and the physical activity are going to catch up with you eventually.”
“You forgot to mention the emotional trauma dump I just did.”
“That goes without saying.”
“You act like we’ve been super active. I’m not sure walking around the castle has been all that strenuous.”
“You want me to say it out loud, do you?” I grin but don’t answer. “You make sex a fucking marathon, Zephyr.”
“Ohhh,” I say. “We’re training for a sex marathon. A sex-a-thon!”
“Jesus,” he mutters. “Go to sleep. I’m going to need you in top form tomorrow.”
“Why?”
“So far, each time we fuck has been better than the last. I expect that pattern to keep.”
“No pressure.” I laugh.
I know he’s teasing. I know he intentionally brought us to lighter banter so I wouldn’t fall asleep with the heaviness of talking about my sister’s death and my brother’s guilt over it. That’s the kind of person Darwin is. He’s a good guy.
Before sticking behind for my own self-pity reasons, I’d have said Darwin isn’t the kind of person I’d ever be interested in. He’s too quiet. Too opposite. Too nice.
I was wrong. I’m not sure there’s a better person than Darwin Dayne. All those things I’d have said were reasons not to hang around Darwin are all the reasons I love being in his company. I suppose I don’t know myself as well as I thought I did.
Sleep slinks up slowly, like creeping hands stretching across the floor in the shadows; it gradually overtakes me. I’m aware of my body on Darwin’s. I’m conscious of feeling his heartbeat against mine, like a distant echo. I feel his hands on my back and his breath on my cheek.
My body feels like it gets heavier and heavier as it sinks into sleep. Just as I slip into a deep, comfortable, dreamless sleep, I’m awoken by someone panicky, yelling, “Someone is here. Get up, someone is here. Someone is on the island.”
Groggily, I open my eyes and look around the bedroom. What the fuck is that?
“Get up! Someone is here. They’re on our island. Someone is here!”
I shift so I can look toward the door. Matty stands there, his sweats hanging off his lean frame, curls a mess, and a flashlight in hand. It’s probably a trick of the light, but his eyes look absolutely wild.
“Go back to sleep, Matty. Everything is fine,” I say and let myself drop onto Darwin again.
“No,” he insists. “They said he’s going to the tower. He can’t be here. He’ll find the bodies! You have to stop him.”
“They?” I ask, not at all awake enough for this conversation.
“The dead,” Matty says. “They say someone is here who shouldn’t be, and they’re looking for our secrets.”
Chills race along my spine.