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“After we found that hand, we’d go straight for the gun. They couldn’t take that chance, so they’ve removed it. Logical?”
“Yep. They rented the house the first time to check out the island, make sure it lived up to expectations. Which it would—it’s exactly what you claim it is: the perfect luxury getaway. They drew the hex circle and figured out the security system while hoping they wouldn’t need either.”
“Because two weeks later, they sent a lowball offer through the wife’s company. Being spooked, I’d naturally agree. Instead I refused to even negotiate. So they got serious. Came for another weekend and upped their game with the wind chimes and the boathouse staging. Oh, Kit and I found something else in the boathouse earlier, too. That’d be part three, along with scratches in the closet.”
“Only when they staged part three, Nate was here,” Jayla says. “They misjudged their timing, and he caught them. There’s a fight. He dies… and they go full out. Use his body. Destroy the small watercraft. You show up with a team of friends to investigate, and they try to trap us here—making you realize how isolated and dangerous this place is. They set a bomb on the boat, except Sadie decided to abandon us, and was on the boat and is now badly injured.” Jayla crosses her arms. “These bastards are going away for a very long time.”
Is that the real story? Does it explain everything that’s going on here? A couple of investors got in over their heads, intent on their prize, and the more things went wrong, the further they were willing to go? In for a penny, in for a pound.
There’s more to this. You know there is.
Should I point out the parts that don’t make sense? Like what I saw in Sadie’s eyes? What she said to me? How the hell she’s running with bone sticking out of her leg and donottell me that’s from brain trauma.
Jayla and Madison don’t know any of that. I should tell them. Just casually say it and get their impressions.
Are you fucking kidding me, Laney? You’re going to “casually” tell Madison about Sadie’s leg? If you think that is at all appropriate, turn in your guardianship papers right now.
Jayla then. Take her aside and get her read on it.
I consider that. Then I see Madison’s face as she looks at me. No, as shewatchesme. Watches for a sign that I doubt the story Jayla is telling.
Madison needs me to believe it. She trusts me, and she relies on me to keep her safe, and it doesn’t matter what’s actually happening out there. What matters is that she feels I have this under control.
I do have it under control. I’ve changed the security codes. We are safely in the house, and the guys will be back at any moment. With any luck, they’ll have Sadie, and everyone can judge the situation for themselves.
“We need to get ready for Sadie,” I say as I slap shut the security panel. “She’s badly injured, and we have no immediate way off this island, so we need to care for her.”
“What are her injuries?” Jayla says.
I hesitate. Then I plow on. “A dislocated shoulder. A cheek in need of stitches. A compound fracture on her leg.”
“Compound?” Madison frowns.
“Badly broken,” I say. “All the bathrooms have first-aid kits. Let’sstart gathering those. We also need clean clothing, towels, and hot water.”
We divvy up the tasks and set to work.
I’m in the laundry room looking for my sewing kit. I know I have one here somewhere, and it might not be the best idea for stitching up Sadie, but we’re going to need something. Sanitize the needles. Clean the thread. Pray it’s better than leaving an open wound.
Now if only I could find the damned kit. The problem is that, well, I’m not a seamstress. I can barely thread a needle. But I am a bit of a squirrel when it comes to freebies. That’s how I was raised. We were comfortably middle-class, but my parents had ascended there from childhoods where every penny counted. On vacation, if we opened a bottle of hotel shampoo, we took it home. And if it was a fancy hotel, we’d reason that the amenities were included in the price and take home the unopened ones, too. All this is to say that my “sewing kit” is actually a box of mini sewing kits from hotels. Because someday, I’m going to need to fix a button or whatever.
Now I need to stitch up my former friend’s gaping wounds… and I have no idea where I stashed that box. I only know that it exists and it’s in the laundry room. Somewhere.
I’m searching a cupboard when I catch a glimpse of movement out the window. I slap the door shut so I can look past it.
I’m hoping to see Kit, to know he’s okay. Yes, after what he said in the forest, I… I’m not sure how I’ll deal with that. But it doesn’t change the fact that I’m worried about him out there with a woman who thinks he’s responsible for her horrific injuries.
Let it be Kit, and let him have Sadie.
It’s gotten dark again, and for a second, I think the day has passed into night. It certainly seems as if it’s been that long. It’s barely past noon, though. The darkness is the clouds reminding us that the storm hasn’t dissipated yet.
I squint and lift my hand to shield the reflection from the laundry-room lights. Someone lurches from the forest. Even before I see a figure, that movement tells me who it is.
Sadie.
She’s stumbling now, barely able to stay upright. She’s at the west side of the house, where the forest comes up to the patio.
Where we found Nate’s hand.
