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But where do I go now?
The question sits deep in my gut, and I realize I have absolutely no idea how to answer it. I’ve got nothing left to work for, nothing to plan. No future.
This makes no sense. I should be on top of the world. I’m victorious, after all. I did what I had been waiting years to do.
Yet all I feel is that same hollowness from earlier expanding like a balloon in my gut. An empty void where the rage used to reside, leaving me almost nostalgic for it. And slowly, drop by drop, the guilt trickles in.
I think of calling Neil, remembering that fleeting moment of happiness yesterday morning as he kissed me. But as soon as I pull out my phone, I remember. I betrayed him.
I imagine his reaction when he sees the post, his shock when he realizes what I’ve done. My Instagram post has the capability of ruining—or at least severely damaging—tourism for the island. It will force Neil and Cass and the rest of them to move somewhere new, to start over. And still I posted it, even after Neil confessed to me why he’d come here, everything he’d run from, and how Koh Sang is the only place he’s ever been truly happy. He confided in me, and I threw his trust away.
And I know what I gave up in doing so. I chose revenge over a potentially happy future.
I start walking away from Cass and Logan’s house. I need to do something to distract myself. I can’t bear the thought of returning to that empty hotel room just yet. I walk past the motorbike and keepgoing. The rain is coming down faster now, hitting my shoulders, my calves, my head, slicking my hair to each side of my face. But I continue to the break in the trees, the same route Cass and I hiked just a week ago. The Khrum Yai trail.
As soon as I duck into the jungle, it’s as if I’ve stepped into another world. The deluge has turned into a trickle, most of the rain caught in the thick canopy overhead. The birds have fallen quiet, disappearing God knows where for shelter; the only sound is the rhythmic hum of the rain against the trees’ heavy branches. Water has begun seeping into the dirt of the trail, filtering a fresh, earthy smell into the air.
I’m not dressed for a trail hike, and my flip-flops sink into the thick quicksand-like mud. Each step is a fight between me and the earth, bringing a moment of suspense before my sandal breaks free, reuniting with my foot in a satisfying squelch.
I don’t mind. I’ve always liked a struggle, never shied away from it. Maybe that’s my problem. I yearn for confrontation, for wrongs to right. I was never left with a choice not to. If I had been like Cass, appeasing and pleasant, I would have ended up like my mother, living in that squalid trailer, trading disgusting men and the drugs we needed to put up with them.
Ending up like her wasn’t an option. I had to fight. Didn’t I?
Maybe I could have simply talked with Cass, confronted her individually about how much she hurt me in college, without involving the entire world in our mess. But that wasn’t enough. I wanted more. I wanted her to suffer like I did.
By the time Logan interrupted us, I was entirely positive that I had trapped Cass in her lies. That she killed Lucy and Jacinta and—God knows how—Daniel. But with every step I take, my certainty fades, little by little.
Because it doesn’t make sense. Sure, maybe Cass pushed Jacinta from Khrum Yai, but would she really do that after learning that Jacinta kissed Logan only once? And would Xanax be enough for her to completely forget luring Jacinta up this mountain in the middle of the night to push her to her death?
And then there’s Daniel. He was huge. How could he not have fought back against her? And even if she did kill him, wouldn’t she have been covered in blood after the staff meeting? But she showed up at the dive shop that night without even a hair out of place.
And, of course, Lucy. Cass had her phone, and she admitted to finding her own ring by Lucy’s body. It’s all incriminating, sure, but things just don’t add up. Why would she have claimed to Logan that it washisring? And something she said a few minutes ago sticks with me. If she did kill Lucy, then why would she have helped me search her room? Why would she have been so genuinely scared when we heard that person trying to break in? Why would she have helped me hide?
I replay the words she said a few minutes ago, the attempts at explanations that I threw away as useless excuses. But one claws at the side of my brain, refusing to leave.
I was the one who found her body the next morning.
It didn’t register at first, why Cass was clinging to that to prove her innocence. The fact that Cass allegedly found Lucy didn’t mean she didn’t murder her.
But now I think of what I’ve accused her of. Strangling Lucy and leaving her body in the shallow water.
If that was true, Lucy’s body would have easily washed ashore, leaving some traumatized guest to find her during an early-morning beach walk. But that’s not what happened. Cass found Lucy’s body the next morning at the very bottom of the ocean, affixed tothe coral, at least a hundred yards from the shore. For Cass to have killed Lucy, she would have had to swim out and dive down several meters, dragging Lucy’s body with her.
That’s a lot of strength for anyone to have—especially after killing someone with their bare hands. And an almost inconceivable amount for someone as doped up on Xanax as Cass apparently was that night.
I think back to how fragile she seemed by the end of our confrontation as she apparently grappled with the possibility that she really did kill Lucy. I had expected her to deny everything, to have some sort of excuse to explain it all away. But her response seemed completely genuine. Which leaves me with one question.
Could Cass really be behind this?
No matter how I spin it, the only answer I can come up with now isno.
I realize I never gave her a chance to explain the other evidence I used to jump to my quick conclusions. To tell me why she had Lucy’s phone or what had happened in that hotel room all those years ago, the deaths the police would barely comment on, that the press speculated so wildly about. I was just so excited to finally have revenge and to do it in a way that would propel me forward, back into the life I had dreamed of. Because I know what will happen if this post gets enough press. Forget about reaching out to news outlets and offering to write a story; they’ll be running to me, throwing money in my direction for a firsthand account of my experience with the Hudson Massacre Killer, especially one filled with salacious musings linking her to more murders. It will get me the journalism career I’ve always believed I deserve. The one I may have had if Cass had just spoken up after Eric raped me.
It had all seemed so noble since my arrival on the island, this crusade to confront Cass, to then stand up for the three people who were so mercilessly killed on Koh Sang. But now, it seems tainted with a selfishness I hadn’t noticed before.
I hear something crack behind me. A branch, loud enough to break through the thrum of the rain.
I spin around, but it’s silent. The trees are close together, close enough to obscure someone hiding behind them. I stay still for a few seconds, squinting, but all I see beyond the trees is darkness. I pause, waiting for the noise to come again, but other than the drumroll of the rain on the canopy, there’s only quiet.
