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Bracken watches as the Feds fan out around the property, moving like wraiths, swallowed by the night as they disappear down the path to the guest cabin. They seem to know where they’re going. How?
He stays frozen, listening.
Bracken thought he knew his guests. But maybe you never really know anyone. Not from their online presence. It only went so deep, and people had so many layers.
He thought about May who was waiting for him, laid bare, offering everything and asking very little.
There were loud voices, shouting. He heard the blades of a helicopter above. In the distance, the whine of sirens.
And then he was alone in the Overlook.
Bracken stood, breathing heavily. Relief washing through him. He had no intention of getting involved in the mess his guests had made.
Bracken set about dismantling his surveillance equipment. He didn’t need to watch anymore. He’d seen enough. Now, maybe, it was time to live.
45
Hannah
The silence in the room expanded; the wind howled outside. That wailing. Were there sirens? Or was that just her ears ringing? The moment seemed frozen, as if time had slowed and warped.
Hannah looked over to see Bruce sitting on top of Joshua, the other man bloodied and dazed. Another glance revealed Cricket holding the gun, arms outstretched, face a mask of shock and horror.
Pieces of the Tilt-A-Whirl moment came together. Hannah felt the breath in her lungs, electricity on her skin.
Cricket released a sob but kept the gun pointed in front of her. “Did I hit anything? Hannah, say something.”
Trina’s weight was heavy, unmoving on top of Hannah. Hannah rolled out from beneath her and the other woman fell hard to the ground. Hannah scrambled to get away. But when she looked at Trina, the other woman’s face was a mask of blood. An open black wound gaped in the side of her head. Trina’s dark eyes stared, as empty and seemingly bottomless as Tearwater Lake. Hannah felt a shock move through her—terror, regret, nausea. She was dead. Trina was dead.
Cricket dropped the gun, hands flying to her mouth. After a long moment, she started to wail, falling to her knees.
“I killed her,” she managed between sobs. “I killed her.”
Hannah felt nothing, numb, shock moving through her like flu. She and Bruce locked eyes. There was so much there—love, fear, relief. Something else.
Outside, Hannah heard voices, footfalls. Or was it just the storm?
Mako had never moved from where he held Liza. He slumped over her.
When Bruce climbed off Joshua, Joshua crawled to Trina’s dead and bloodied body. He, too, started to wail, issuing a great keening sound of grief. He reached for her, pulling her to him. Hannah wouldn’t have expected to see so much tenderness there.
“Cat,” he sobbed. “Catrina.”
She heard the pitch of his sadness, his loss. She felt it in her bones. But all she could think about was Gigi, her little girl and getting back to her.
Remember that you must die.
But not today. Today, she was going home to her child.
Hannah was about to go to Bruce when there was a terrible explosion of light and sound. The storm?
No, instead, loud voices and heavy footfalls. Men dressed all in black, brandishing weapons. It was a dream. A nightmare.
Cricket started screaming and Bruce was yelling at them to get down, get down.
Hannah dropped to the floor, putting her hands behind her head. Then she locked eyes with her brother. His gaze was blank and cold, lidded, the way they were after Libby. Her brother. Someone she loved deeply, truly.
Maybe she never knew him at all. All this time, her brother has been a stranger.
