Chapter 44
The five of us spend the rest of the evening in the basement huddled by candlelight, sipping chamomile tea, half watching the storm’s violence, half watching each other.
I test my phone. No signal. I try to send an emergency SOS text, but the storm blocks the satellite.
Eric looks at me, and we both acknowledge the undeniable reality: We’re trapped here.
The adults do our best to put on brave faces for the twins, but none of us can forget that Laelynn’s corpse lies in a freezer.
Sometimes when I close my eyes, I swear I can hear her voice.
When the meteorologist on the radio tells of the tornado veering north, Eric puts the twins to bed.
Olivia and I retreat to our rooms. I close the door and turn the lock.
The subtle click makes me flinch. I flash to Eric’s expression when he saw Laelynn—pure, unfiltered horror.
That wasn’t an act. Was it? Could what Russ said be true?
Is Eric really scaring people off the island?
Was Marjorie Neuman the one he couldn’t scare?
I don’t think he killed his wife. But I didn’t think I’d find a body rotting in the lake either.
If I’m wrong… If I let my guard down…
I shake off the thought. I don’t want to be alone with it.
A candle flickers on my nightstand, its glow casting unknown monsters across the walls. The storm is losing steam, but the unnatural stillness it leaves behind is worse. It’s the kind of silence you hear before the strike.
I unpack my bag again to calm my mind, placing my clothing and toiletries back in their proper places.
The crack in the mirror reaches my waist now, splitting me in two.
As the candle flickers, I catch one side of me bursting with light, the other shrouded in darkness.
I rewind the past few days, searching for a pattern, something that makes sense. But the pieces won’t fit.
My mother? She couldn’t have. Could she?
Eric? Why lead me straight to Laelynn’s body if he was the one who put her there?
Russ Neuman? He’s strange, sure, but he had the perfect chance to hurt me on the trail. He didn’t take it.
Carlos? Where is he now? Where was he when the Adwanis died?
The twins? Too little. Right? Not too little to torture me.
None of this seems random. It’s too tangled. Too intentional.
And then I remember the girl who fell off the Ferris wheel. The ghost.
I massage my temples. Maybe I was wrong. Maybe this island is haunted. I can’t help but wonder, who’s next?
A wave of dizziness rushes over me.
Distant lightning shocks the silence. I open my bedside drawer.
Eric’s hunting knife is still there, its steel glinting in the candlelight.
I wrap my fingers around the handle, testing its weight.
I seriously consider sleeping with it under my pillow.
But with my luck, I’d roll over and stab myself in the heart.
Hell of a way to go.
A faint sound at the door snaps me to attention.
“CharBar?” Olivia’s voice, barely above a whisper.
I slide the knife back into the drawer and ease it shut. “Yeah?”
“Can I crash with you? My mattress is in the basement, and there’s no way I’m sleeping down there alone.”
I let out a breath. I’d forgotten I’d hijacked her bed. “Yeah, of course. One sec.”
I swing my legs over the side and crack the door open. Olivia slips inside fast, like she half expects Jigsaw might reach out and grab her if she lingers.
I shut the door and lock it.
“Thanks,” she says. “I was ready to call it a night, then realized, ‘Hey, where’s my bed?’”
“Sorry. I moved it in case we had to camp out in the basement.”
“No worries.” She leaps onto the bed, tosses the comforter over her legs, and pats the down.
Her coconut-shampoo scent wafts through the room.
“Now we get to have an old-school slumber party, like when we were kids. Should I grab popcorn so we can talk about boys? We can make one of those paper fortune tellers.”
I laugh and climb in beside her. “Your dad’s fortune teller is more than enough for me.”
She groans, smiling, eyes swollen from crying, her round cheeks glistening in the candlelight. “Don’t get me started on that thing. And the dolls! Those effing things are terrifying. I was like, Dad, could you please get a new hobby?”
“Seriously.” I clear my throat. “I’m glad you’re here though. Sleeping alone wasn’t high on my list of things I wanted to do tonight.”
“Same.”
We both clutch the duvet out of reflex. Silence overtakes our laughter. Not comforting silence, but the kind that reminds us we’re trapped. My instincts scream at me to run, but where? Into the tornado? Through the dark wood? Into the lake? To our dead neighbor’s house? To Russ Neuman’s?
There’s nowhere to go.
We watch the candlelight dance across the sailboat wallpaper. The little ships bob as if caught in invisible waves. I feel as though I’m on one of those ships, preparing to capsize. I peek at Olivia and see her lip trembling.
“How are you holding up?” I ask.
She hesitates. Swallows hard. “I’m okay.” Her hands shake as she brushes a loose curl from her face.
I tilt my head.
She exhales sharply, then speaks, her voice ragged.
“No, really, I am. I mean, obviously I’m devastated.
” A pause. More shallow breaths. “I loved her. And I’m going to miss her more than you can imagine.
” A tear slips. “But these last few years were…rough. She was so controlling. So overbearing. It was like a dark cloud over our family.” She wipes a trickle of snot from her nose.
“I feel terrible saying this, but part of me feels relieved that it’s just me and Dad now. ”
I think of Laelynn barking orders, always needing the last word. “I get it.”
I don’t really get it. If I lost my mom, I’d fall apart. Part of me wonders if, without Laelynn, the Parkers will fall apart too.
She pulls the headband out of her hair and shakes out her curls.
“I just feel bad for Emma and P. I don’t know what they’re going to do.
My mom was their structure.” She laughs quietly to herself.
“They were little terrors when she was around. I can’t imagine what they’ll be like now.
My poor dad would’ve been better off if the killer had gotten them too. ”
“Jesus, Liv,” I say, but a part of me empathizes. I picture them laughing at me. Making me feel three feet tall.
She winces. “I didn’t mean that.”
“I understand. We’re both saying and thinking things we don’t mean. You’re exhausted. You’ve been through hell.”
“Yeah. I just need sleep.”
“Same.” I blow out the candle, plunging the room into darkness. The only sounds are the needle-fine rain tapping the roof and the growl of thunder. “God, I hope the storm clears so we can leave tomorrow.”
“Even if it doesn’t, we’re getting off this island. I’ll build us a damn raft if I have to.”
I smile, though she can’t see it, and wrap my arm around her. “I’ll help.” Her body quivers. “Good night, Liv.”
“Good night, CharBar.”
Sleep comes fast.
And with it, the dream.
I’m back at the State Fair. Back on the Ferris wheel with Olivia. The summer air thick with the scent of ice cream and hot pavement. Olivia balancing on the safety bar, arms outstretched like a ballerina.
She falls.
A scream rips through the night.
Ear-splitting. Terrifying. The sound jolts me awake.
Or was I already awake?
I sit up too fast, a lump in my chest. The air feels wrong. Stale. Suffocating. The candle is out, the storm a memory, the house too still.
Something’s missing.
I reach beside me. The bed is empty. Olivia is gone. My blood goes cold.
The scream.
The twins.
I throw back the covers and yank open the nightstand drawer.
The hunting knife is gone.
A lump forms in my throat. Did Olivia take it?
Or did someone else?
I creep into the pitch-black hallway, a bass pulsing in my skull, my bare feet sweating against the cold hardwood. I pause at the foot of the staircase, listening for movement.
But all I hear are the trees.
A scent lingers in the air. Familiar. Wrong.
I ease up the stairs and reach the landing. Down the hall, the twins’ door swings gently, tapping the frame. Click. Click. Click.
I tiptoe toward their room. A cold, wet breeze brushes my skin. The bedroom window is open.
Now I recognize the scent.
Blood.
I force myself forward into the room, squinting through the dim light. Moonlight spills through the window. My knees buckle when I see it.
Emma.
Lying in bed.
A knife buried deep in her chest.
Her sister lies beside her.
Still. Lifeless. Drenched in crimson.