“Sorry about that. I’ve had too much to drink. I’m just ready for this night to be over.” He rubs his forehead with his palm. “You have to understand where I’m coming from. I’ve only been dating this girl a few weeks. She talks me into going away for the weekend with her friends, all of whom are crazier than shit, by the way. Then she dies! And we can’t even get the police to come.”
“I know you didn’t come here because of Marlowe,” I say. “You came here because of me.”
“What are you talking about?” He won’t stop walking toward me, his stomps creating threatening splashes as he skirts the water’s edge. “Look, I’m hurt. I think I’m bleeding. Please, take me back to the house.”
It’s a ploy to keep me vulnerable. “Preston told us you attacked him.”
“What the fuck are you talking about?”
“You’ve been lying to us ever since you got here. Marlowe told me the truth about how you met. Did you orchestrate dating her just to get closer to me?”
Damien shakes his head. “I lied about how we met because I don’t like diving into the details of my first marriage—”
“Enough. I don’t believe you. You’ve been leaving messages aroundthe house all night, and I finally figured it out. You’re Doc. You were helping Oliver all along. You broke into my apartment. You’re even wearing his fucking watch!”
“Whothe fuckis Oliver?” His voice trembles. He’s becoming desperate. “Tippi, I’m telling you. I have no idea what you’re talking about. I just want to go back to the damned house!”
I raise the weapon, hoping the sight of it will keep him distracted.“I’m not taking you back to the house until you tell me the truth.”
“Are you pointing a gun at me?!”
“Just tell me what you want, and we can end this.”
“Don’t point that at me!”
Damien steps forward. I only have a second to decide whether I’m brave enough to pull the trigger, if I’m really capable of killing another person to keep my weakly woven web of lies from coming undone. I take too long. Damien lunges toward me in the darkness, his rugged hands clenching my forearms. Shaken, I drop the gun, brace myself for whatever he’s bound to do next.
A sound breaks out behind him. Damien is either too drunk or too deranged to respond. Another person creeps from the bushes. Preston. A shovel is gripped in his hands, reared back as if he’s preparing to swing a baseball bat.
He follows through, and the metal blade connects with the top of Damien’s head with a sickening sound. Damien falls, his face plunking into the muddy soil.
I take several deep breaths, my heart pounding inside my chest.
“Where the fuck did you come from?”
“I told you it was too dangerous for you to be out here alone.” He drops the shovel. “I’m so glad I got here in time. Are you okay?”
I bend down to inspect Damien’s injury. I pull at his limp body. When I turn over my hands, even in the darkness I can see they’re covered in a murky film. Blood from the wound to his head. His body is eerily still, but I detect the gentle rise and fall of his chest.
The Rolex glitters in the moonlight. My fingers long to touch it,pinching at the clasp to slide it off his wrist. I turn over the watch, anticipating the personalized inscription on the back.
It’s blank. Not Oliver’s watch.
“Wait, this isn’t—”
Before I can finish, a sharp, blinding pain strikes the side of my neck. The muddy earth rises to meet me.
40
My head throbs, myneck aches. Something struck me.
My fingers claw against the damp soil, reaching the hard rectangle of my phone. I stand on shaking legs and reorient myself with my surroundings. Nightfall. The pond. Struggling to steady the light in my hands, I catch a glimpse of Damien on the ground. He fell forward after Preston hit him, the water soaking the lower half of his body.
“Leave him,” Preston says, his voice calm amid the chaos.
“Preston?”
“Get up.” His voice is a command. “We’re going back to the house.”
