Chapter 47
The world tilts. A sickening lurch in my stomach.
Olivia is dead.
No, that’s not right. I just talked to her. I search the trees. The muddy path. The carousel. Spinning, spinning, spinning. Looking for what? Proof that I misheard? Someone to tell me Eric is wrong, that he’s lying? That my best friend hasn’t been ripped away from me again?
But there’s nothing. The lonely frog, the creak of the carousel turning without its riders. The reminder that I’m alone. A slow, sinking numbness spreads through me. I don’t care if Eric kills me anymore.
I meet his eyes. “How did she die?” My voice barely holds. “Did you kill her?”
His eyes pulse. His grip tightens around the knife. I brace myself.
But then he exhales, the fight draining from him like the wind. A shudder rolls through his shoulders, and the knife clatters to the ground. He drags a hand down his face, his mouth twisted, his breath uneven.
“Charlotte…” His voice is barely above a whisper. “Olivia’s been dead for eighteen years.”
I stare at him, waiting for the words to make sense. They don’t.
A small, involuntary breath slips from my lips, half a laugh, half a denial. “What are you talking about? I saw her. She slept in my room last night.” I force my mind to replay it, to hold on to it. That was last night. Wasn’t it? Yes. I said “Good night” to her. She was there. But then she wasn’t.
Eric runs a hand through his hair, pacing through the mud. He looks up at the sky, as if hoping for some divine intervention. The storm clouds have thinned. A few stars peek through.
“She died eighteen years ago, Charlotte. You were there. She fell off the Ferris wheel at the State Fair.”
The words dig into my brain, but they don’t stick.
“No.” My voice is hoarse. “I saw them put her in the ambulance. My mom…she told me she was okay.”
Eric rocks his head, like he’s trying to shake loose a nightmare. Tears spill down his cheeks. He presses the heels of his palms against his eyes, trying to hold them in.
“I can’t believe Julie never told you,” he says, more to himself than to me.
“No, Charlotte. She wasn’t okay. She was in a coma for two weeks.
Then she died.” His voice cracks. “Your mom wanted to spare you the grief of seeing her like that. We all did.” He pauses, pacing.
“That’s why we invited you back here after all this time.
We thought it would help us all find closure.
I never imagined…” His breath chokes. “I never imagined this.”
The words should hit like a hammer. But they don’t. They drift over me, slow and weightless, like something happening to someone else. A background conversation.
Because they’re wrong. They have to be.
A warm wooziness rushes over me. Like I’ve been drugged. Wait, have I been drugged? Was there something in the tea he gave me before bed? Is Eric gaslighting me? He is.
Olivia was here. We canoed together. Ate dinner together. Laughed and shared stories. Confided in each other.
“You’re lying.” My voice is sharp, accusing. “She’s been with us all week. You saw her.”
Eric doesn’t argue. He just watches me, pity lining his face. His bare feet scrape the mud. “She’s not here, Charlotte.” A pause. “You’re not well.”
The dizziness grows stronger. My eyelids become heavy, and my vision blurs. I open my mouth to fire back, but something stops me. His eyes. They aren’t evasive, aren’t defensive. Just exhausted. Heavy with something deeper than grief.
I search my memory, but my mind slips now. Thoughts vaporizing. Olivia and I were alone at the lake. Alone in the canoe. Alone last night. But she was with us at dinner.
Then I remember. No one ever spoke to her.
A slow, icy trickle runs down my spine.
Reality bends. My pulse pounds. My vision sharpens, hyper-focused, like my mind is trying to cling to reality before it shatters completely.
“Are you okay?” Eric’s voice is careful, measured. He takes a slow, cautious step toward me.
I nod. Lie. “I’m fine.” But I’m not.
The trees loom taller, stretching like fingers, reaching, closing in. The air feels tight, suffocating. I ask the question, though I don’t know if I can stand to hear the answer.
“So if Olivia didn’t kill the twins…” The words leave my mouth before I can stop them. “Who did?”
Eric doesn’t answer. He just lifts his hand, palm up, and gestures toward me.
I follow his gaze.
I smell the blood before I see it. The sharp, metallic scent clinging to my skin. The sickly warmth of it, thick and drying, sticking to the fine hairs on my arms. Blood soaks my tank top. My shorts too. My hands—sticky. That’s from when I found them, I tell myself. I checked their breathing.
But then I see my arms. Scratches. Deep ones. Not from trees, not from brambles.
Fingernails. Small. Desperate.
I touch my face. It burns.
A slow, creeping horror snakes around me, tightening, squeezing, refusing to let go.
No.
No.
The ground spins. The forest warps. Eric’s voice calls my name, distant, fading. My heart vibrates. I can’t breathe.
The edges of my vision blur. Then darken. Then—
Blackness.