Chapter Thirty-Six
The Breaking Point
A new day brought the illusion of hope. Technically, they weren’t supposed to gather like this. Curfew had loosened into suggestions the way rules always did once people got tired of being scared.
The ocean was a postcard—blue, glittering, and always pretending. The air smelled of charcoal and citrus as laughter drifted from Tosh’s patio. It should have felt normal. It nearly did.
Tosh’s place sat high enough on the hill to catch the breeze, strung with lights that swayed over the enclosed area.
A grill hissed as music floated soft and easy from a speaker.
Those attending the gathering were trying to pretend they were peaceful, pretending that nothing bad had happened, that no one had been hurt in the past months.
But there was too much evidence of the sin for them to forget.
Cass sat at a table, smiling faintly, tracing condensation rings. Zach manned the grill with a beer in hand, calm, whistling, as if nothing could affect him. Harmony sat close by, her computer and notebook put away, her eyes half-lidded, watching . . . always watching.
Mary wasn’t there.
No one knew where she was. No one knew when she’d return.
Torie arrived late. They heard her before they saw her—the click of heels on stone. When she stepped into the light, she was stunning in a sundress that shimmered against her tan skin, a glass of wine already in her hand. Her smile was too wide. Her pupils were pinpoints.
“This is what I call therapy,” she announced, sweeping in like she owned the night. “A balmy evening, steak, and selective amnesia.”
“Torie,” Tosh greeted. “You look beautiful.”
“I feel beautiful,” she said, spinning, fabric flaring. Her gaze landed on Harmony. “How would you write me today? Would you say I look radiant . . . even after tragedy?”
Harmony tilted her head, considering. “I’d say resilient. Isn’t that a polite word for crazy?”
Zach slid a plate onto the table. “Everyone needs to eat.” He said everyone, but they all knew he meant Torie. She was already drunk and teetering, which meant things could go downhill fast. She needed something in her system to absorb at least some of the alcohol.
Torie looked at the plate like he’d offered poison. Her mood was already turning, and she’d just arrived. She smirked at Zach.
“Is food your fix for everything?” she asked. “Feed it, build it, sand it down until it’s pretty again.” Her voice sharpened. “That doesn’t work on people, Zach. Only on old wood.”
He didn’t answer. There was no point. He turned back to the grill—his refuge. Cass shifted in her seat. They needed a peaceful day. It didn’t feel like too much to ask after all they’d been through.
“More wine, Tosh,” Torie said, holding out her glass.
Tosh looked like he wanted to argue, but knew it wouldn’t matter. “It’s been rough,” he told her as he filled her glass. “We all need to sit, relax, eat, and forget about trauma for a while.”
“Don’t worry, love, I’m very relaxed,” she assured him. “Isn’t it funny? You’ve always told me I needed to learn to let go. Well, I have—so congratulations.”
Harmony caught the twitch in Tosh’s jaw, the flicker in his eyes as he tried to hold onto a calm he didn’t feel. He clearly felt responsible for Torie, but she was an adult, making her own bad choices. That wasn’t on him. It wasn’t on any of them.
Torie drifted around the patio, her fingers gliding along every surface—touching hands, shoulders, faces, cups. Like she was making sure she left herself everywhere. There were no boundaries. A nearly manic light burned in her eyes, though her lips stayed curved in that falsely innocent smile.
“You all look so sad,” she said. “Don’t. I mean, people die. That’s life and death, the circle of life. Lisa, Heidi, Candy, Mary’s daughter . . .” She shrugged, expression chilling. “More will die. The island needs to feed its hunger.”
She laughed.
They stared, stunned. Torie had been getting worse for a while, but this was beyond anything they’d seen.
“Um, Torie—” Cass began gently.
Harmony reached over and touched her cousin’s arm. “Let her speak,” she said, tone calm but firm. “The truth slips out when people stop performing.”
Torie stopped pacing. She turned to Harmony, the friendliness gone like a blown-out candle.
“You always have something to say, don’t you?
” Torie’s voice cut through the night. “Because you’re the observer, the note-taker, the one who never bleeds.
” Her voice cracked, her eyes growing wilder.
“You think you’re so much better than the rest of us, Harmony.
But you’re not. You’re just better at hiding.
But we know how to seek, so you should be scared. You should be very, very scared.”
Tosh moved toward her slowly. “I think that might be enough, Torie.”
“Enough?” Torie said, laughing again, the sound splintering into something sharp and dangerous.
“You don’t get to tell me anymore when it’s enough.
” She pointed at him, her hand shaking. “You used me. You made me think that I mattered. You told me I was the only one, the love of your life. You said we’d be together.
Then you let that slut Lisa crawl into your bed while it was still warm from my body.
Then you brought in another and another.
You don’t get to tell me what to do anymore.
I gave you everything, and you threw it right back in my face. Then you dared call it friendship.”
“That’s not what happened,” Tosh said evenly. “Torie, you’re not yourself right now. A lot has been happening. Don’t do or say something you can’t take back.”
“That’s where you’re wrong.” Her voice dropped low and bitter. “I’ve finally woken up. I’ve finally found myself again. You kept me down for too long. I put on an act to fit into your world. I don’t need to act anymore,” she hissed.
She took a step closer, eyes blazing.
“I’ve been choking on this lie for months.
Everyone thinks I’m crazy, but I see everything.
I see how they all look at you. I see how they touch you.
I see how you touch them. You humiliated me and didn’t care.
You broke me.” She pressed a shaking fist to her chest. “But I’ve been picking up the shattered pieces.
I’ve been putting myself back together again .
. . any way I possibly can. Maybe it’s tape and glue holding me together, but I’m whole again. ”
Cass stood and held out a hand. “Please, come sit with me, Torie. We can talk—”
“Don’t touch me!” Torie screamed, jerking away from the group that seemed to be closing in. Her wineglass slipped from her hand and shattered on the concrete. “Quit looking at me like I’m crazy! You all think I’m just a hysterical woman, don’t you? A side show. Something to watch and clap at.”
Zach took a careful step toward her. “No one thinks that, Torie.”
“Liar!” Her voice shook. “You’re all liars.
You all hide. You think I don’t know you, but I do.
I know what happens on this island. I have more friends than just you.
” She raised her chin. “I know what happened to Lisa, to Heidi, to Candy. I know what happened to Mary’s daughter.
I know who the killer is. I’m so much smarter than all of you. ”
The words hung in the air like smoke. Somewhere between the wine and the rage, her words had slid into the category of things it was easier not to hear. Torie was clearly slipping out of reach. Had they done it to her . . . or had she been lost long before?
Zach turned, spatula still in his hand. “Say it,” he said, voice low. “Say the name.”
Torie looked at him without answering.
Harmony tried next. “What do you mean, Torie?”
Torie smiled slowly, her red lipstick smeared, her eyes wild and glistening.
“You know better than any of them what I mean, Harmony. You’ve been here the whole time, watching, playing us like the puppets you think we are.
You judge us, but it should be us judging you.
And the verdict?” She laughed, harsh and breathless.
“You don’t matter. You’re meaningless. You’ll be forgotten.
You’re not one of us. You never were and never will be.
You’re nothing! You just want to see the blood so you can describe how it looks when it runs down a body. You don’t care about the lives taken.”
The accusation rolled through the group like thunder.
Tosh stepped between Torie and the others, shielding them from her rage. “This needs to stop now, Torie. You’re drunk, and you’re going to regret this.”
She shook her head. “I’m finally awake,” she screamed. “You’re drunk. All of you are sleeping. You think you’re innocent, but I see blood dripping off of every one of you. Yes, it’s on me too, but at least I admit it.”
Cass retreated to her chair, curling her knees to her chest as she rocked. She couldn’t help Torie, and she was close to melting down herself. This was too much. Zach again reached for Torie, murmuring something low, but she wrenched herself away from him.
Harmony stayed seated, calm, studying Torie as if she were on the brink of collapse. She watched Torie like she was seeing the final act of a play she’d written.
Torie’s chest heaved. Her voice dropped to a whisper. “Do you think you can write me out of this, Harmony? Do you think I’m just another chapter for you to finish?”
Harmony didn’t respond, but she didn’t take her eyes off the woman, either. That was probably wise as Torie was unpredictable.
“You don’t get to end my story.”
She laughed—a tragic, broken sound. “I’ve already ended yours.”
For the first time all evening, Harmony’s mask slipped, just a hair. Not fear. Recognition.
Tosh stepped forward, voice tight. “Stop this now, Torie!”
She went oddly still, her eyes widening, as if she saw something no one else could. Then she smiled sweetly. Her voice went eerily calm.
“You never loved me. You still can’t choose me.”
He looked shattered. “I tried to. You wouldn’t let me.”