The lock releases and he pushes open the door, stepping inside without hesitation. I follow him in—leaving the others outside. It’s too tight for all us in here at once.
“She’s not here?” he says, looking into the tiny bathroom and two bedrooms.
“There’s her bag.” I point to the seat by the table. She’d carried it that night. A copy of her mother’s book was on the kitchen table.
“Find anything?” Nick asks, leaning his head inside.
“No.”
“Shit, shit, shit,” Pete mumbles, rubbing his hands over his face.
My phone buzzes. Summer’s name and beautiful face lights up the screen. Relief washes over my body. “It’s her. Hello?”
Pete picks up the book and opens the cover. From my spot by the tiny kitchen I see handwriting scrawled on the inside. I’d seen a hundred of these tonight—Julia’s notes of thanks to her fans.
“Hello?” I say again, the relief turning into confusion. “Summer?”
I hear nothing. Just a rattle and whisper. Like when you get a butt dial.
“What is it?” Nick asks, forehead creased with concern.
“Summer, it’s Justin.”
I only hear faint voices—nothing concrete. Then nothing, although the call is still live. “She’s not there, but there’s something…a sound I can’t quite make out.” I press speaker and hold it up. Nick squeezes into the tiny space. Whit’s body fills the doorway. Peter frowns at the book.
“Is that…water?” Nick asks.
“Not the ocean. It’s not loud enough.”
I shake my head. My heart leaps. “No. The waterway.”
Pete holds up the book and points to the inscription, in Julia’s handwriting it says, “To Avery, my number one fan.”
The four of us look at one another, realization dawning clear as the sun over the Atlantic.
“He took her,” Whit says. “That little bastard took her.”
Pete looks around the room. “And left those notes and flowers. I’ve seen him around here. I thought it was weird but I know he has family here…I mean, who doesn’t?”
I nod, knowing this sounds familiar. Or seems to be. I glance at the phone again; the call is still running. The lapping wavessound the same. “We need to get to the waterway,” I announce. “Someone call the police.”
Nick nods and holds the phone to his ear and the four of us leave the tiny camper, racing to the waterway, hoping against hope she’s still down there. In my heart I know it’s a long shot. I haven’t heard her voice in minutes, just the never-ending sound of waves beating on the sand.
53
Summer
Avery growsquiet and it’s unnerving, more than listening to his bizarre justifications earlier. In the eerie light of his lantern I can make out the shapes of the tools he’s organizing on the table. Knives, a small saw, pliers, and a few other sharp objects I don’t want to know exactly what they are—there’s just little doubt he plans to use them. On us.
He mutters to himself and once he seems to have everything arranged he stops to look at us, his face shadowy and ghoulish. His expression is thoughtful, calculating, definitely lucid. After a long beat, he finally says, “Here comes the hard part. Who do I kill first?”
I’m actually surprised by the nerves in his voice, and there’s a tremble in his fingers, because otherwise he’s disturbingly calm. “My plan all along had been to kill you, Summer—to get back at your mother for exploiting our family and becoming rich and famous in the process. Think of the story that will make. Daughter of Gaskins Survivor Killed by Grandson.” His eyes light up for a moment but then shift to Shay, “But to be honest,I’ve never done this before, so practicing on someone else may be a good idea.” He sighs. “It’s just a little less impactful. I mean, you only get to have your first kill once. I’ll be judged for it the rest of my life.”
This commentary is surreal and it makes my skin prickle despite the ever-growing heat. There’s no electricity in the camper, that much is obvious, and the musty, unused smell seems worse as the rising sun warms the metal top. Sweat trickles down my back and is obvious on Shay’s forehead. Avery wipes it off his neck, perspiration showing through his shirt. I don’t know if it’s from the heat or the fact he’s about to dismember us in the camper. My brain swims.
He watches us closely for a moment and then nods to himself. “Yep, I know what I have to do.”
He takes a step forward. Shay sobs next to me. I fight back the rolling wave of emotion that’s trying to take me over. I’ve seen how this ends. The impact on the family—those close to the victim. The police photos. The trial.
