Chapter Twenty-Six
Fog of Doubt
The rain had stopped, but the island wasn’t dry. Fog hung low over Avalon, blurring edges and distances. Harmony hadn’t been sleeping well. None of them had. Through all of the noise, Candy’s songs refused to fade.
Cass walked beside Harmony down Crescent Avenue, clutching a steaming paper cup between her hands. “I feel like we’re all holding our breath,” Cass said.
“We are,” Harmony said. “We just don’t know when it’s safe to release it and still be able to pull in clean oxygen.”
Shuttered shops lined the street. Avalon looked like a town bracing for impact.
“Torie’s a wreck,” Cass murmured. “She’s convinced everyone believes she’s guilty.”
“Most people do.”
“That’s mean,” Cass said.
“It’s the truth,” Harmony replied. “She gets herself so wound up that she loses time. Maybe she’s guilty and doesn’t even know it.”
“Wouldn’t that be a twist?” Cass said with wide eyes.
“Our minds protect us from what we don’t want to know,” Harmony said. “But sometimes they make us remember things we wish we could bury. It’s a double-edged sword.”
“You mean, like . . . she could have multiple personalities?” Cass asked.
Harmony considered for a moment.
“She could. Or she could just be exhausted and fractured. Trauma. Stress. Shame. People block pain any way they can.”
“Like what?” Cass asked.
Harmony took several moments before answering. Her eyes drifted toward the foggy harbor, and it was clear she was in a whole other world, just as she often was.
“Trauma makes people forget,” Harmony said. “So does guilt and shame. Some people lose time without knowing. Others rewrite their memories—soften them, blur the edges, change the ending.”
Cass shivered. “That sounds terrifying.”
“It is,” Harmony agreed. “But it’s also survival. The brain would rather lie to us than let us break. Sometimes, people believe the new version more than the truth.”
Cass walked a few steps in silence, her coffee steaming in the cold air.
“So . . . do you think that’s what’s happening with Torie?” she finally asked.
“It could be,” Harmony said. “Or it could be happening to someone else entirely.”
Her voice was calm, maybe too calm. It sounded like experience rather than observation. Cass felt a shiver travel down her spine. They didn’t talk more about it as they kept walking.
They rounded the corner near the Glenmore. A deputy’s cruiser idled out front. The mainland detective, Vega, stood near it, talking quietly with Sergeant Durante. Vega’s eyes flicked to Harmony and Cass, assessing, cataloging, suspicious in a way that made Harmony feel flayed open.
He’d already decided someone was lying.
Durante noticed the glance too and quickly looked away, guilt or irritation . . . or something colder passing over his features.
Mary stood outside smoking, her hair pinned back, looking like a widow rehearsing grief.
“Good morning, girls,” Mary said.
“Morning, Mary,” they echoed.
“How are you sleeping?” Harmony asked.
“I can’t sleep when the ghosts are active,” Mary replied.
“I agree,” Cass whispered.
“Did you hear about the suspicious vehicle up in the hills last night?” Mary asked.
“No. Do they know who it was?” Harmony asked.
“Don’t know. The deputies have been asking around. I think we’re not even close to being done with whatever game someone has us all playing.”
“Don’t say that,” Cass said with a shiver.
Mary smiled faintly. “Pretending doesn’t make it go away.”
Harmony studied her for a long moment.
“You sound like you know something.”
Mary held her gaze. “Maybe I recognize obsession when I see it.”
She crushed her cigarette in a puddle and slipped inside, leaving the ripples widening until they vanished.
Cass and Harmony walked on, needing fresh air to push out the rot that had soaked into their bones.
“Do you ever wonder if disasters are sent down from the heavens just to see what we’ll do in the midst of terror?” Harmony asked.
Cass chuckled. “If I were a god, I’d do that for sure.”
“I probably would too,” Harmony admitted.
They reached The Brewhouse. Tosh, Torie, and Zach were already there. Tosh wore exhaustion like a uniform. Torie hid behind oversized sunglasses. Zach’s thumb hovered over an unsent text.
“You guys, we need to stop living like we’re at a never-ending wake,” Cass said as she plopped down.
“It’s hard to find joy when there’s evil all around,” Tosh muttered.
“Then we’re letting someone else control our story,” Harmony said.
“We can’t do anything about the twisted mind of some freak,” Zach said.
He looked at Torie, who glared.
“It wasn’t me,” she snapped, having to defend herself again.
“It’s someone,” Zach said. “I’m beginning to not care. I’m sick of living like this.”
“We choose how we live,” Harmony said.
“Do we?” Cass asked. “Every time we try, something knocks us on our asses again.”
“Well, at least we keep getting back up,” Harmony said.
“A person can only rise so many times before they give up and stay down,” Tosh said.
“You’ve never believed that,” Harmony pointed out.
“Murder changes a person’s perspective really fast,’’ Tosh said.
“Well, we know the killer wants us focused, so let’s stop feeding them. A book only sells if people keep buying it,” Harmony said. “I might be wrong, but let’s stop buying.”
Zach scoffed. “How do we do that?”
“We stop admiring the art.”
Torie stood sharply. “Stop calling it art. You sound like you admire it.”
“Maybe it is art. We’re all staring, aren’t we?” Harmony said.
Tosh slammed his palm on the table. “Enough! People are dead. This isn’t a story.”
“Life is a story. We all just react differently,” Harmony said.
“Do you really think you can write your way out of this?” Zach asked.
“Someone else is doing just that,” she shot back.
Cass swallowed. “Okay, Cuz, you’re scaring me a little.”
Harmony reached into her purse and pulled out a folded page.
“This was taped to my door this morning.”
She unfolded the note and set it on the table. Only three words were taped to it, three words cut from a magazine.
You saw me.
The group froze.
“What is that?” Tosh asked.
“A message.”
“Where was it?” Torie demanded.
“Outside my cottage door,” Harmony said.
“Did you hear anyone?” Cass asked, trembling.
“No. Not a sound.”
Mary slid silently into the booth with them, her face pale.
Harmony stared. “Mary . . . what happened?”
Mary placed her own note on the table.
You missed it.
There was a pause as a waitress walked past. It felt like everyone was guilty. Even themselves.
Zach swore beneath his breath. “This is insane.”
“We should show this to Vega,” Cass said. “Or Durante. Or someone with a badge.”
Harmony shook her head. “They already see what they want to see. This just gives them a tighter circle.”
Mary’s voice was flat. “And the killer will get exactly what they want . . . center stage.”
“This is a performance, and we’re all unwilling actors,” Harmony said.
“I don’t want to perform,” Cass whispered.
“I don’t think the killer cares what any of us want,” Mary said.
“Nobody should go anywhere alone until this is over,” Cass said.
“I won’t let someone control me,” Harmony said.
“Then you’ll end up dead,” Mary said quietly.
Zach exhaled. “Besides, half the island thinks one of us is guilty. People are betting it’s you, Harmony.”
“Why me?” Harmony asked.
“Because you’re too damn cool and composed,” Torie insisted.
“Being calm makes a person suspicious?” Harmony asked. “There’s nothing I can do about the situation, so I don’t see a reason to freak out.” She paused a beat. “Besides, panicking can’t save me.”
“Besides, you freak out enough for all of us,” Mary said, staring at Torie.
“The other half of the island thinks it’s you,” Torie spat at Mary.
“Good,” Mary said without warmth. “Let them.”
A commotion near the shoreline caught their eyes. Someone seemed to duck behind the seawall—or they imagined it.
Cass huddled closer to Zach, who put his arm around her. Torie practically climbed into Tosh’s lap. Harmony stood.
“What are you doing?” Cass hissed. “What if someone’s watching us right now?”
“Then I want to see who they are,” Harmony said.
“No! I refuse to let you,” Cass said as she yanked her cousin back.
They waited. No one reappeared. The fog thickened.
“This is getting crazy. We’re seeing shadows where they don’t exist,” Cass said.
“That’s what happens when terror’s a constant,” Mary said.
They fell into silence, each sinking into their own dread. The fog pressed against the windows. The notes lay between them like fingerprints.
Outside, Deputy Evans walked by with Deputy Ciscel at his side.
Evans’s jaw was tight, his eyes cutting briefly toward Harmony as if he recognized something he shouldn’t.
It was Ciscel’s knowing nod that made Harmony’s stomach dip.
His eyes flicked from her to the notes on the table, as if he knew exactly what they meant.
A chill coiled down Harmony’s spine.
They were no longer sure who the killer was. Or who was simply playing a role.
And the worst part was, the performance wasn’t over.