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I turn back around and keep walking, but my thoughts stay with that girl.
I know something’s wrong by the time I get back. The door to my hotel room is open a crack. I rack my brain, retracing my hurried steps out of the room. I know I pulled it shut and locked it. I always do.
I press my palm against the door gingerly, bracing myself.
It’s utter chaos. My clothes have been pulled from my drawers and strewn everywhere. The sole lamp lies shattered on the floor, and the sheets have been pulled off the bed, the mattress askew on its frame.
I clutch my tote bag, feeling the weight of my laptop against my hip, and breathe a sigh of relief. I have my laptop and my phone. I scan the room, but my chargers for both are gone.
I think of something else and hurry to the desk, pulling open the top drawer.
There’s a space where I had stored both Daniel’s phone and the burner I’d found under Cass’s bed.
I look around the room again, searching for anything to suggest who could have done this. There’s no note but the intent is as clear as if it’d been written on the wall:Leave this alone. Mind your business. Or else.
Words I’ve been told over and over in my life.
I feel something light in me, a flame kissing the powder keg of rage in my abdomen. Despite everything, I smile. Do they think this will stop me?
They don’t know how far I’ve come, everything I’ve sacrificed. They can’t know the real reason I’ve come to Koh Sang.
I sit down on the mattress, pulling out my phone. I know I don’t have too much time—without a charger, I’ve got only a few hours of battery life at most.
I pull up the Instagram post I had drafted before, skimming it one more time.
It’s time to clear the air. For me to confess my true motive for coming to Koh Sang. It wasn’t the sun or the diving or the hype of island living.
It was for a person. A woman.
And before you start thinking something salacious—no, it wasn’t for sex or romance or any of that.
Most of you—my American followers, at least—probably remember Meghan Morris. Meghan the Murderer. The Hudson Massacre Killer. The person who ruthlessly murdered her own father and little sister a few years ago. You may recall that the tabloids painted her as a villain out for blood. And I can tell you it’s all true. Meghan doesn’t care about anyone but herself. I know from personal experience.
Even in the aftermath of the murders, which gained the attention of the whole country—hell, even the world—Meghan declined to give us any answers for why she did what she did. She refused all interviews, holed up in her grandmother’s home for nearly a year, and left us all wondering how a seemingly normal girl could be so evil.
When the tabloids finally died down, Meghan saw her chance for escape. No one knew where she went to or where she’s been hiding out for the last few years.
Until now…
Meghan came here, to Koh Sang, the island where I’ve been staying for the last few weeks. She started going by the name Cass Morris, took up scuba, and began living the life that neither her sister nor her father was apparently entitled to.
But it seems like Meghan is back on her bullshit. Because wherever she goes, people get hurt. Or, in this case, killed.
I skim over the rest of the post, which details all the evidence I’ve collected on the island: Cass’s connection to the three deaths, her convenient little drug problem, the phone I found in her room.
The words lie beneath a rotating album. Four photos in all. A still frame from Daniel’s video that shows Lucy talking to Cass at the Full Moon Party; a screenshot of the text messages the mystery sender sent to Lucy on the night of her death; and a zoomed-in photo of Cass’s passport, with all information blocked out aside from her passport photo and her name—Meghan Morris. But the coup d’état is the first photo, the cover of the album. A photo of Cass that I persuaded her to reluctantly allow me to take as we hiked Khrum Yai days ago. I’ve layered it in a black-and-white filter that amplifies the plain discomfort on her face and makes her eyes look too dark against the bright sun, almost scared. She had beggedme not to put the photo on Instagram, and I had promised her I wouldn’t. Until now.
Because I came to Koh Sang with one goal in mind: to find Cass. To confront her. And to destroy her.
I just didn’t predict that I’d find a trail of dead bodies in her wake.
I’ve been following her as often as I can since I’ve arrived, watching her tiptoe through life, as if one wrong move will bring everything down. I’ve been choosing places, like my favorite table at the Tiki Palms, where I can monitor her as she teaches classes, noting her schedule, who she talks to, what she does, going after her whenever she hops on her motorbike, always keeping a safe distance so she won’t ever suspect.
I’ve been the one leaving her little notes on her doorstep. Letting her know she hasn’t changed. That she’s still the same girl from years ago. The one who hurt me. The one who ruined me.
I think of the promise I made her yesterday.
Everyone is going to know the truth, soon.
