Chapter 61
CHAPTER 61
SARAH
Sarah dragged her suitcase from the closet and heaved it onto the bed.
She wiped her cheeks, raw and itchy, from her tears, then took a deep breath.
It was quiet in the room.
But inside her head, she was still screaming.
Moments ago, staring at Mia’s disembodied head, Sarah had wondered if she would ever stop screaming. She could still hear the mournful howls that burst from her mouth, rising from the depths of her gut, escaping her lips. Sarah screamed and screamed until Jason slapped her, grabbing her by the shoulders, shaking her hard enough to dislodge something within her. Hard enough to disassemble everything she’d thought was put together. Broken and jostled, plagued by the image of Mia’s severed head in her mind, she’d wept in Jason’s arms.
Crossing the room, she hurried to the wardrobe, throwing open the doors. When had she unpacked, she wondered, yanking clothes from the silked padded hangers. She hardly remembered. Time seemed fractured. Oblivious. Pointless. How long had she been on the island? When had she arrived? Two days ago? Three? Did it even matter now?
All that mattered was leaving.
Tossing clothes into the suitcase, she berated herself for coming to this damn island. Hated herself for falling victim to Mia’s sly manipulation. But had she really been manipulated? She’d known she couldn’t trust Mia.
Not that she could ever trust Mia.
Even in college, Sarah had known to be wary. Doubtful if not outright suspicious. Mia was not her friend. She never had been. Sarah was certain of that after a brunch date with Grace a few years ago.
Laughing and tipsy, recalling old times, some good, some bad, Sarah had asked why Mia hadn’t joined them.
Rolling her eyes, Grace said, “She made some excuse. Who cares? Be glad she’s not here to drug you again.”
Nearly choking on the mimosa she’d just swallowed, Sarah sputtered. “What?”
Grace stared at her, wide-eyed, bright splotches of pink breaking out across her skin. “Nothing …”
“No, what did you mean?” Sarah asked, placing her half-empty glass on the table, leaning toward Grace. “Be glad I’m not sure?— ”
“It’s nothing, I promise,” Grace said, looking away, glancing around the upscale café where they’d met, a quaint place designed to look like a Parisian bistro with chandeliers, trompe l’oeil wallpaper, and Louis XIV inspired décor.
“Don’t tell me it’s nothing.”
“Sarah, please,” Grace said, her gaze imploring. “Forget I said anything.”
“Tell me why you said that,” Sarah demanded.
Shaking her head, Grace looked away. “The night of Phil’s party, when you didn’t feel well …”
Her heart slamming, Sarah urged Grace to go on.
Exhaling, blinking back tears, Grace said, “You were feeling dizzy because … Mia put something in your drink.”
Sarah stalked back to the wardrobe, pushing the angry, depressing memories away. When Grace had told her that Mia slipped GHB in her shot, Sarah had wanted to kill Mia. Or at least confront her. Demand to know why Mia had done it. But she hadn’t done any of those things. And she didn’t know why. Maybe, at the time, she didn’t know how. And as time passed, maybe she’d convinced herself that it didn’t matter.
Grabbing more clothes from the wardrobe, Sarah shuttered.
She was saddened and filled with rage when she thought about what Mia had done. The bitch could have killed her that night.
Sarah froze.
She might be dead now, if Mia had given her too much of the drug, causing her to overdose.
But Mia was dead .
Sarah closed her eyes, fighting tears. Mia didn’t deserve them. Why should she cry for a miserable bitch who hated her? Who had never been a friend to her? She hated the conflicting feelings warring within her. She was heartbroken and at the same time, she didn’t give a damn.
Sarah stuffed the clothes into the suitcase, not bothering to fold anything.
She needed to get the hell off the island. Jason had called the water taxi. She would finish packing, then join him downstairs, and?—
“Sarah …?”
She froze, a chill slithering down her back.
Slowly, her heart slamming, Sarah turned.
Chris stumbled toward her...