Page 59 of What You Never Knew

Sitting cross-legged on the floor, she flips through them at a rapid pace, mumbling to herself as she goes. She bypasses photos of herself, of me, of my mother and of the cottage. The only time she slows down to actually study a photo is when my father is in it, but even these she tosses back into the suitcase with a huff of frustration. There’s black dirt packed under her fingernails and a line of red blisters along the palm of each hand.

Getting up off the floor, she reaches into the pocket of her shorts to pull something out. It looks like a piece of old brown leather. She turns it over in her hands, rubs the surface of it with her thumb, her brow furrowed in concentration.

After staring at it for several seconds, she looks up, and I can almost see the answer dawning in her head. She sinks back down to her knees in front of the suitcase and begins to once again sort through the photos, slowly this time. After a few seconds she finds something, bringing it out of the box to study it closely. It’s a photo of June, Ezra, and West. They’re looking right at the camera, holding up the wood carvings they’ve just finished. I remember taking the photo.

June stares at the picture, looking as though she’s seen a ghost. She lifts the piece of brown leather up to the photo, her eyes moving between both as if looking for a match.

“It’s not him,” she whispers into the empty room, her eyes wide with shock, her lips parted. “It’s West.”

What is West? I ask while passing right through her, hoping she’ll say more. All she does is shudder and look with confusion around the empty room.

Her phone starts to ring. Ezra’s name sits on the screen as it chimes loudly.

She shoves it away from her. “Oh my god. Ezra,” she groans, clutching at her stomach and bending over as though in pain. The ringing eventually stops, but she stays as she is, staring at the phone blankly—grief all over her beautiful face.

Is this my penance for some unknown sin I committed in life? To watch my sister suffer while I hang in the atmosphere beside her, helpless to do anything?

JUNE

The night is thick with the fragrance of the forest and heavy with heat. The sound of a boat engine in the distance skips across the calm lake to reach me as I make my way back along the path to West’s grave. I decided to cover it back up. I don’t want animals or rain to get in there and disturb it. I’ll tell Ezra about it and let him be the one to decide what he wants to do next. I have no idea how West’s body came to be buried on Avril Island. All this discovery has done is create yet another mystery.

Using my phone as a flashlight, I carefully make my way through the dark. I’m light-headed from the Scotch and an empty stomach, and there’s an unsettling tremor all through my body from adrenaline and the effort of digging up a grave. My island that is supposed to be my refuge has turned into a waking nightmare.

I keep getting flashes of May, her scent, her voice, the feeling that she’s in the room with me. It’s comforting, so I tell my skeptical side to shut up. I don’t want to be alone in all of this, so what harm can come from imagining my sister is right here with me, even if she’s dead?

As I turn onto the path that leads to the tree, the light of my phone grows dimmer. It’s at only six percent battery. I silently curse myself for not taking the time to charge it.

Stepping into the small clearing, I’m thinking I’ll end up filling everything back in by dark, only to find that the hole has vanished. There’s still enough light from my phone to see that I’m not imagining it. Only flat earth sits in front of the tree. I move right up to it for a closer look. All the earth has been returned to the grave and carefully packed down. I spin around, looking for whoever completed the task, but there’s no sign of anyone. Even the shovel is gone.

It’s as though the grave uncovering never even happened. For a split second I wonder if it actually did, but then the pulsing of the blisters on my hands reminds me that I did not imagine it. I’m not crazy. Someone covered that grave up, which means I’m not alone on this island and they could be anywhere. Maybe even in the woods, watching me right now.

Rushing back out to the main path, I scroll through my phone until I find the number for the local police station. Before I can even hit call, my phone dies. This is when real fear sets in. Someone else is on this island with me, and my only tether to the outside world has been cut.

I break into a run back toward the cottage. My mind desperately swings between two plans: get inside, lock the doors, and plug my phone in to call the police, or grab the boat keys, get off the island, and drive to town.

Before leaving the cover of the forest, I stop and scan the lawn for signs of anyone, my gaze skimming across the windows of the cottage as well—sick at the thought that I may see a dark silhouette pass by at any moment. But the cottage remains still and quiet, the lawn empty.

I decide to rush inside, get the boat keys, and get off the island altogether. The back door is closest, so I make a run for it. I grab my purse from the counter in the kitchen and keep moving into the living room, where I grab the boat keys from the key rack.

Without stopping, I go right out the front door and down the steps of the verandah. As soon as my feet hit the path to the dock, I start to feel a bit better. I can see the boat down there, waiting to take me to safety.

Only a few feet away from the lake, I hear a rustling in the bushes just behind me. Before I have a chance to turn and see what it is, an explosion of pain erupts across the back of my skull. White sparks flash behind my eyes, and then everything goes black.

MAY

June lies motionless on the couch, and a strange woman is tying her wrists together with a long piece of rope. June looks dead, but I know she’s not. I can feel her life and see the gentle rise of breath in her chest.

The woman is much older than she was the last time I saw her. The hair is now white, the skin wrinkled. It’s Willa—Ezra’s mother. I’d recognize those piercing green eyes anywhere. She mumbles to herself as she secures June’s ankles together. She’s wearing a white nightgown, but it’s stained brown and makes her look as though she’s been sleeping on a bed of dirt.

June, I scream, with as much force as I can muster. Willa looks up, a slash of confusion upsetting the determination on her face, but it passes and she returns to tightening the ropes.

June groans loudly, and Willa jumps back, startled. I push between the old woman and my sister, a wall of spirit separating the two. I don’t imagine it will do much, but it makes me feel better. June’s eyes flutter and then slowly open. She looks up at Willa, and I can see her struggling to make sense of things.

“Willa?” she says. Moving to sit up, she realizes her hands and feet are tied. “What the fuck?” Anger quickly replaces the confusion. “Willa, untie me.” The woman shakes her head. June propels herself up into a sitting position, then winces in pain. There’s blood on the back of her head. “Was it you who hit me?” Willa nods. “With what?” June asks, unsuccessfully trying to reach around and assess the damage.

“A shovel,” Willa answers matter-of-factly.

“But why?” June asks, sounding like she might cry. “Why would you do that? And why are you even here?”