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I continue walking up the trail, not stopping until I reach the summit. The path opens up to a plateau, the trees no longer providing cover. The wind slaps my face as I leave the confines of the jungle. I step carefully toward the edge of the cliff, where the footing breaks off at jagged angles, giving way to the long drop to the sea and rocks below. The same place I stood just days ago with Cass. The same place Jacinta must have stood seconds before her body crashed onto the rocks.
Rain pummels down as I inch my foot toward the ledge until my toes are dangling off. It would be so easy to take one more step, to make all these thoughts just stop. To not have to think about the new guilt lying fresh in my stomach, about everything I’ve done wrong in this life, everything I should have done differently. I wouldn’t have to figure out where to go from here, how to start over.
I tried it once before. I could do it again. Better this time, with no room for error.
The sound comes again from behind me, audible over the wind. This time, it’s louder than the cracking of a stick, more human.
I spin around, and my foot slips, sending small pebbles tumbling over the cliff. The rain drowns out their collision with the rocks below.
“Who’s there?” I shout, but the wind seems to hurl my words over the edge as well.
I wait.
“Who’s there?!” I say it louder this time. Peering through the rain, I think I spot something shift behind one of the trees lining the trail, but I can’t tell if it’s human or animal or just a figment of my paranoia. I realize with a jolt that this must be what Cass has been feeling these past few weeks as I followed her around the island.
“Cass?” I yell.
At first, I find myself hoping itisher, that she’s followed me to give me another chance. A chance to apologize for how I got it so wrong. But even as the thought bubbles into my head, it pops with the reality of the situation. After what I just did, she’s certainly not here to help me.
Whoever is following me has darker intentions.
I pull my phone from my pocket before remembering I have no one to call for help.
I look frantically in all directions, trying to pinpoint the source of the sound. But there’s nothing but dense trees on one side and the cliff on the other. No way to escape. Nowhere to go but down. I peek over the side. The sharp points of the rocks reach skyward, barely visible through the rain.
My thoughts from moments ago are long gone. With a sudden burst of clarity, I realize I don’t want to end up like Jacinta, lying broken and alone at the bottom of this cliff.
The sound comes again.
And with it, a realization. If Cass really isn’t behind the three deaths, then whoever killed Jacinta, Lucy, and Daniel is still out there. And likely still on this island.
I want to yell, to scream. But I know it wouldn’t do any good. Who would hear me? Who would even care after what I’ve done?
Still, my throat seizes, ready to make as loud a sound as I can muster. But the scream lies stagnant in my throat. I turn back around cautiously, as if one misstep could throw off whatever delicate balance I’m hanging in.
And then I see it. A shadowed mass stepping out from behind a tree.
Approaching, closer and closer. Until slowly, unbearably slowly, it comes into view, close enough for me to make out the shape. To recognize who it is. But it doesn’t make sense.
The figure keeps walking toward me.
And finally, I scream.
32
CASS
I want nothing more than to take a pill and lie down. To find solace under my covers and stay there for eternity.
But that’s not an option—Logan made that abundantly clear. And he’s right. If we’re ever going to work this out—a possibility I cling to with all the hope in the world—then I need to give him space.
So I throw a change of clothes into my backpack, force myself out of the house, and drive. The red from this morning’s sky is nothing more than a memory. Slivers of silver peek through the massive gray storm clouds that blanket the island, the streetlights doing little to illuminate the road. The wind has picked up incrementally since I went into the house with Logan, and I grip the handles of my bike tightly as I go, barely avoiding hydroplaning on the puddles that have begun to form. Despite the daily storms, the island isn’t equipped for a long, sustained deluge like this, and flooding is a near certainty. Just as I near the turn to my destination, the island vibrates with a hugeboomand the streetlights allextinguish in unison. The power’s gone out, and the island is awash in darkness.
The wind whips at my face and the rain spits, and by the time I arrive, standing outside the one place where someone may still accept me, I’m drenched to the bone.
“Oh, my sweet thing,” Greta says as she answers the door. “You’re soaking wet. Come in, come in.”
As soon as I see her, emotion floods out of me. Hysterical sobs shake my body and leave me gasping for breath.
