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I’m having a slow-motion panic attack. Each beat of my heart is a seizure, the muscle squeezing so hard it feels like it will never relax.
It can’t be true, it can’t be true, it can’t be true…
But is it?
“I didn’t do this.” My voice comes out croaky and unsure. “I didn’t trap any animals. I didn’t put those drawings on the wall.”
“Just like you didn’t flood the kitchen?” Jude shakes his head, his expression pitying.
“I didn’t do this,” I repeat. “None of this is my fault…”
Isn’t it, though? Who else could be responsible…
“Remi…” Jude’s voice is silky and soothing. Encouraging even. “Be serious. It’s time to come clean. About everything. There’s no ghost playing the piano. There’s no one breaking into our house. Gideon didn’t go missing…”
“What are you saying?”
“You know what I’m saying.”
“No. I don’t.” I cross my arms stubbornly over my chest. The rotting, coppery scent of the dangling traps makes my stomach churn. I’m surprised Jude can even stand there. He’s always been terrified by the sight of blood.
Or at least…he’s always had a strong reaction.
You see what you want to see…
“Where were you just now?” I ask my brother.
“What do you mean?” He blinks. “I was in bed. Asleep.”
But I already know that isn’t true.
Sometimes you need just one more piece of the puzzle for the rest to make sense.
For me, it was remembering the nails in the doorframe of theSeadreamer…
All those little silvery nails, their jagged tips pointing in every direction when my dad ripped open his bedroom door…
Why were they there?
Because his door was nailed shut. Nailed all the way around the frame like a coffin, to take my parents to their watery grave.
Piece after piece clicks into place:
The life jacket under Jude’s coat.
The grease on his hands.
The grogginess, when I could barely lift my eyelids…
The glazed look on my dad’s face…
“You drugged us,” I whisper.
Jude blinks again, so fast it’s barely more than a flutter of his pale lashes.
That’s always been his tell.
“What do you mean?” he says sharply.
