not threatening, but
impatient for me to rouse and command them
to bring their lunacy
into the waking world.
—
I lean againstthe wall to keep myself upright.
I am the bringer of madness.
Whose madness? Kingsley’s? June’s?
Meer’s?
My own?
Did June take a photograph of me and send it to Kingsley in Italy?
No. If that were true, the painting wouldn’t be here. It would be withhim,abroad.
That means Kingsley painted this picture here. Or, if I go back to my earlier theory, someone else painted them, pretending to be Kingsley.
Whoever made this art, that person had to be here at Hidden Beach. The artist saw me sleeping in my Irvine sweatshirt.
My dream. The dream I had when I first arrived, of Kingsley, coming to my room and calling me Melinoe.
That wasn’t a dream at all. He was really there, and that’s why he painted me in the sweatshirt. I saw him. He painted me as the bringer of madness.
So if Kingsley was in my room, then Kingsley is the person who sketched the goblins that are under my bed in the painting. Thoseare in the sketchbook I found, which means it is his sketchbook, for sure.
That means Kingsley tried working with one of Meer’s Sharpies. And he drew the piranha plant. And the way he would have known to draw those things is that one of the boys told him the story ofLuigi’s Haunted Mansion.
He has been emailing me that he’s delayed in Italy, that he’s sorry he can’t be here, that he’s coming home soon—but Kingsley Cello has been here at Hidden Beach, all along.
53
Shaking, I walkfarther into the studio.
On the easel is a large painting in progress. It’s based on drawings I’ve seen.
—
MIrren, Gat, andJohnny stand with their backs to the ocean,
faces grave, like children in an old-fashioned portrait.
They wear swimsuits.
Only Johnny has been painted in. The other two are just pencil outlines.
Johnny’s blond hair glints in the sun. His eyes glimmer with mischief. And he is
covered in
dark gray ash.
