Chapter 82
amy
My arms feel like they’re being pulled out of their sockets.
My shoulder has never really healed from my injury last year; it feels as if someone is forcing a white-hot blade deep into the bone.
My feet are numb against the hull beneath the cold lake water, and I don’t know how much longer I can hold on.
But if I let go, my sister will die.
The only way we can stay on top of the boat keel is to use each other’s weight as a counterbalance. We live or die together.
She risked her life to come out here after me.
I can’t reconcile that with her wanting to kill me, which means I believe her when she says she didn’t send me those text messages, promising to tell me where my son is and luring me to Colt’s house.
But the texts came from her number, so if it wasn’t her, it has to be someone close to her, someone with access to her phone or computer.
Someone like Rose.
If Iris finds out what her daughter has done, it’ll destroy her. I know this, because realising Nicky hated me so much he’d rather let me think he was dead than come home has broken me.
‘I love you,’ I tell my sister.
‘Don’t you do that,’ Iris says fiercely. ‘Don’t you dare give up on me.’
The wind is picking up now, chilling us both and sending waves lapping across the keel. There’s only so much time before the boat sinks altogether, and neither Iris nor I have the strength to swim back to shore. If we go into the water again, we won’t survive.
Maybe it’s better this way.
‘Did you hear that?’ Iris asks suddenly.
All I can hear is the wind and the water.
And then I notice it: the faint sound of an engine.
‘Someone’s coming for us,’ Iris says. ‘It’s got to be Quinn. She knows you’re missing. Thank fuck. She’s worked out where we are.’
The engine is getting closer.
But its lights are off, and even as Iris shouts for help, the hairs on the back of my neck stand up and a cold wash of fear sluices through my body.
Something is wrong.
The engine is just a hundred metres away. It sounds like a small craft of some sort: a dinghy, perhaps, or another jet ski. I can see it now, a dark shadow moving through the gloom.
It’s heading straight for us.
‘I think they’ve seen us!’ Iris says.
The jet ski – or whatever it is – should be slowing down, not speeding up. I can’t see who’s driving, but their head is down, their body rigid with determination.
I grip my sister’s hands tightly.
‘It’s OK,’ I say. ‘I’ve got you.’