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I take a deep breath and press my finger down hard on the “post” button, all my hesitations from earlier long gone. I can’t let anything get in the way of why I came here.
It’s time I made good on my threat.
26
CASS
The sky has morphed from a harsh pink to the early beginnings of a bruise as I speed down the hill, away from my house. Despite Doug’s recommendation to stay home, I need to get out. It’s not just avoiding Logan—though that’s certainly part of it. I need to feel the water on my skin, the sea stretching up above me. I need to dive.
It’s been a while since I’ve had a craving this intense to be underwater. Lately, I’ve been dulling any urges with the pills. But for the first time in days, my head finally seems clear of chemicals, dirtied now only by the thousands of anxieties rushing through my mind. And diving is my one sure way to silence them.
It’s a twenty-minute drive across the island. It would be much quicker to go to Pho Tau beach, but I can’t bear the thought of running into anyone. I’m not prepared for the avalanche of images the sight of the Tiki Palms would unleash: Sengphet smiling as he delivered my coffee; Sengphet waving to me cheerily from behind the bar; Sengphet bruised and bloodied, alone in a nondescript cell.
I’ve seen firsthand what the police are capable of. Last year, my dive student went and tried to fight an off-duty cop while on a midday bender. The police didn’t take kindly to that, so they tracked my student down in his Terrace room, dragged him away from the resort, and locked him up in the Koh Sang jail, a narrow hallway of cells connected to the police station. Frederic sent me there with a crumpled envelope filled with American dollars. The handover was easy, cash in exchange for the guest, a South African tourist in his early twenties. He was cocky, reluctant to listen to any of my instructions during class, just like Daniel was at the beginning. But when I picked him up from the jail, he was someone else entirely. Blood had dried in a crusty mess along his lips and chin, cigarette burns lined his shoulders, and he was missing a fingernail.
And that was just for an assault. I can’t begin to imagine what they would do for a murder.
I push the thought from my mind as I pull up to Lamphan beach. As I hoped, the sand is empty aside from one long-tail boat tied up at the far end of the shore. This part of the island has none of the tourist draws of Pho Tau: no beach bars or water-sport stands. Only silky white sand and turquoise waters that stretch on forever.
I pause, reminding myself how lucky I am—despite everything—to call this my home. I inhale deeply, relishing the fresh, salty smell of the air, and peer across the water. This beach is usually calm, protected by the cliffs that surround it. But today, as the storm nears, the waves have started to pick up, a handful of white caps marring the otherwise placid surface.
After parking, I walk out on the sand and pull the tank and the BCD vest I dragged from the house—my personal backups—off my back. I empty the bag I have looped over my arm, removingfins, a mask, my respirators, and my wetsuit, and leave the rest of my things on the beach. I don’t worry that anyone will take it. This part of the island is—has always been—a safe haven. Within minutes, I’m at the water’s edge, savoring the easy comfort of the water filtering over my feet.
And for the first time in days, I relax. My muscles loosen, the thoughts subside, and I let myself enjoy this. The sun is absent today; dark clouds and the growing winds cast a murky glow over the water. But still, it’s beautiful. Small fish skitter away as I approach them, basking in the beautiful glow of the coral that lives on this side of the island. But the views aren’t why I came here. It’s the reprieve I’m after, the temporary pause of the real world around me.
I stay down for far longer than I should. Whenever I try to ascend, I’m stopped by an all-encompassing reluctance to surface.
Finally, when my air gauge reads close to empty, I break the waterline. I allow myself to float there a moment, buoyed by my inflated vest, and spin, taking in the full 360-degree view. The sky has darkened since I got in the water, a growing wind pushing the sand down the empty beach, spotted only with the occasional palm tree, its branches bending precariously.
When I can’t put it off any longer, I swim back to shore, ultimately collapsing onto the sand next to where I left my bag. I sit there for a while, long enough to feel a few light drops of rain fall from the sky. When the unease starts to return, eradicating the calm like a virus, I finally pull my phone from my bag.
My screen flashes before I can even press a button, warning of seventeen notifications.
I was hoping to acclimatize back into the anxiety of the real world, but it hits me like a wave, taking me under. I open mymessaging app and scroll. Panic thumps in my chest as I take in the number of different senders: Greta, Neil, Doug, Logan, and Brooke.
Something is clearly wrong.
I decide to start with Brooke’s message. As I click on it, I realize how much I’ve missed talking to her, and for the first time, I wonder why she never returned my call from yesterday afternoon. Until I see it.
Maybe now you’ll rethink what you did.
A thrum of dread races through me and, at the tail end, confusion. What did I do? Or more importantly, what does BrookethinkI did? What does she know? I squeeze my eyes shut, as if that will stop the text from existing, but the words burn into the back of my eyelids.What you did.
Suddenly, the moment I’ve feared since I first stepped onto this island two years ago, since I first realized I had a second chance at life, feels imminent.
I force myself to confront what Brooke is talking about, to get that confirmation, and open the new messages from Logan.
Please answer.
Tell me this isn’t true.
Cass, these are lies, right?
They all follow the same theme. Something terrible has happened. Something that involves me.
And I know. Without having to look, I know that it’s time. Whoever left those envelopes on my doorstep has finally made good on their threat.
Still, I scroll up the thread, finding the first message from Logan.
