Chapter Thirty-Eight #2
I lower my head, air leaving my lungs. “Sometimes I still can’t either.
You don’t know how many times I’ve wished I could go back and try to save her.
I was afraid. I let that cougar go after her by running away.
After Beth nearly drowned, I convinced myself it was too late by that point to save Courtney, and I was scared that if I told the truth I could be facing manslaughter charges.
” Because that’s what Beth made me believe.
“I should’ve been truthful. It’s not fair that Courtney’s family has had to wonder what happened to her all these years. ”
“Reading Courtney’s diary brought back how .
. . almost evil she could be. Ever since that trip, I’ve been angry at myself for exaggerating my knee injury, wondering if we would’ve found her if I’d helped look for Courtney rather than make Gigi come back to the rafts with me.
Now, after reading how much Courtney enjoyed watching the torment we went through from things she’d done, I wonder if Courtney would’ve been happy at the way things turned out. ”
I sit tall. “What do you mean?” Happy to be dead?
“Happy with how her disappearance ruined our lives and marred us forever. That we’ve all had to live with guilt over that trip.
You and Beth lying about finding her, me faking my injury instead of looking for her, and Gigi pushing her from the raft.
I think Courtney would’ve loved to see us all called murderers by reporters, and random strangers even. ”
I swallow, thinking about the last time I saw Courtney. I move the flashlight onto the bed so Emma can’t see the guilt on my face.
“We’ll never get away from Courtney, or that trip.
Ironically, I think it’s what she would’ve wanted.
” Emma stretches her arm toward the skylight hatch.
“The mystery of her death haunting us for the rest of our lives. I mean, look at us now. Stranded in the Pacific, wondering which one of us will end up dead next.” She props herself up on her elbows.
“Maybe it’s from reading her diary—or that note left in the bathroom—but it feels like Courtney’s here somehow.
” Emma leans closer to me. “You don’t think she could be here, on this boat, do you? ”
I recall the look on Courtney’s face when I found her that day in the woods. And how much I’d hated her in that moment. Courtney couldn’t have survived; I made sure of that for her by running away in silence while that cougar—
“Palmer?”
I turn toward Emma. Unless . . . somehow .
. . could it be possible? If Courtney had survived being mauled by the cougar, she might’ve been horribly disfigured.
Courtney was meticulous about her appearance, careful about what she ate, always making sure she never had a hair out of place.
She even stayed home sick from school once because she had a pimple.
Would Courtney have preferred the world think she was dead than be seen as less than perfect?
Were Courtney and Russell working together, planning to off us one by one?
“No. Russell seems genuinely convinced of his sister’s death.
Courtney couldn’t have written that note.
” There’s a firmness to my voice, and I’m not sure who I’m trying to convince more: Emma or myself.
“But I get what you mean. A part of Courtney has stayed with all of us. How could she not?”
Emma yawns. “Yeah, you’re probably right.”
But I feel her presence too. “Take another drink and then you can have a rest,” I tell her.
Emma closes her eyes after lifting the can to her mouth. “Get out.”
“What?”
Emma turns on her side. “If Courtney is dead, it’s your fault. And you’ve been lying about it all these years. Just like you lied about being the one who caused my broken ankle. I don’t trust you. One of you drugged me. How do I know it wasn’t you?”
“Emma, I—”
“Even Beth thinks you did it.”
The truth in her last statement stings. “I saved you. I’m a nurse, I’ve seen overdoses before. But I didn’t drug you!”
Emma sighs.
“It wasn’t me, Emma. I swear. I’m here to help you.”
She doesn’t answer. Hopefully, that means she believes me. More likely, she’s just too drugged to put up more of a fight. If it weren’t for those pills in her system, Emma would probably have me against the wall.
I lie beside her in silence, my thoughts consumed by Courtney as I stare up at the darkened window hatch. After a few minutes, I sit up, recalling the smell of Courtney’s perfume on the couch.
“Emma?” I sweep the small space with the flashlight. “Where’s the diary?” My heart beats with anticipation to read Courtney’s words but also at the implication of what the diary’s presence means: Russell is, at least in part, telling the truth.
Emma’s only response is her rhythmic breathing.
I feel the inside of her wrist for a pulse.
It’s stronger and faster than before. Seeing her second bottle of water nearly empty, I let her sleep, counting her respirations for a full minute before I shine the light around the bed in search of the diary.
I lift up the blanket and sheets, sifting through the fabric with my hand. But it’s not here. I shine my light over the edge of the bed, wondering if Emma stashed the diary in her bag. But she said she’d fallen asleep reading it, hadn’t she? I check her bag anyway, but it’s not there.
Whoever drugged her must’ve taken it. Probably Russell. But it could’ve been Beth.
Or Courtney, I think before forcing the thought from my mind.