Cooper knew that catchphrase. “Did it work?”
“It worked. I got away. But now I’ve locked myself inside the lighthouse, and he’s losing his mind with rage outside the door.”
I held the phone toward the trapdoor so Cooper could hear. It sounded like Pork Pie might be beating at the lock with a crowbar.
Over the sound of the banging, Cooper said, “You’re inside the lighthouse?”
“At the top,” I confirmed. Like he might climb with a toprope up to get me.
Which he actually might. This was Cooper, after all.
Then Cooper said, “I’ll be right there,” and he hung up.
But then twenty minutes went by, and nothing. Then another twenty.
After an endless hour or so, I noticed that the banging had stopped. Had Pork Pie lost interest? Wandered back to his ship? Found someone else to menace?
The railing around the light chamber made it hard to peer down below. I decided to go down and put my ear to the door.
I lost my balance a little as I started down the stairs—enough, in fact, that I got that dropped-stomach feeling as I looked down. I caught myself—which was good. But in the process, I dropped my cell phone through the hatch, and it went tumbling down the staircase instead of me.
I watched it go in horror. It hit a stair, and then bounced up and hit the wall, and then hit another stair, and then another wall, and zigzagged on and on like that before plummeting, at last, to its death on the cold stone floor below.
I gave the moment a chance to change its mind.
When it didn’t, I slowly, carefully, tiptoed down to go examine the body of my phone.
Case gone, screen shattered. Pieces of phone everywhere. Beyond dead.
I gathered all the pieces up tenderly, like we might go to the hospital and have them surgically reattached, and cradled them in my palms.
At that point, I was still thinking Cooper would be there any minute.
With no phone, I had no clock. A thousand hours went by—or maybe that was just boredom bending time—and when the bright midday sunlight started to shift into the muted light of afternoon and Cooper still hadn’t shown up, I started to worry that I might miss the boat. Literally.
I finally decided to undo the bolt, look around outside, and, if the coast seemed clear, haul ass back to town. I still had to pick up Ashley’s dress, after all. And get back to the ship before four o’clock sharp.
But guess what?
When I finally worked up the nerve to open that door… it was locked. This time, from the outside.
I had locked Pork Pie out—but I guess he had locked me in.
When the door didn’t open, I slapped it, and kicked it, and threw myself against it over and over.
But nothing. Not even a budge.
And that’s when I sat down on the stairs and started to panic.
This was bad.
I was locked in the lighthouse, and I had no way to call for help, and no way to get out.
I wasn’t just going to miss the boat, and my sister’s wedding, and any chance at ever making up with Cooper…
I was going todie.
Twenty-Seven
