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I stop, feet nearly flying out from under me. I’m on the other side of the chimes now, closer to them, out of the glare of the overcast skies. I’m staring at the minnows tied to the end of the strings of kelp. From the other angle, they’d seemed gray, almost silvery. From this one, they are pink and white, with red tips.
I take a slow step, my gaze fixed on those chimes. With each step,my brain screams for me to run. Just run. Tell myself they are minnows, and get the hell out of here.
I can’t do that. I must know what I’m seeing. I must confirm what I think I’m seeing.
I stop as the smell hits me. The stink of rot. My hand flies to my mouth as my gorge rises.
They aren’t minnows. They’re long, thin, pale fingers with red nail polish. A woman’s fingers, ragged, as if ripped off—
I double over, choking on bile. Then I grit my teeth. I need to get back to the house. I brush my hair back as I straighten, and I train my gaze past the fingers, not seeing them, not thinking about them. Move past the chimes and see only the frame—
My hand slams to my mouth as a scream bubbles up in me. I stare, unable to wrench my gaze away, as much as my brain shrieks for me to do exactly that. Don’t see. Don’t think. Don’t process. Don’t even try to understand what I am seeing.
I’m looking at the frame of the wind chimes. From a distance, I’d seen rough-hewn sticks covered in dark bark. They are not sticks. They are ribs. Rib bones, streaked with blood and dotted with gore. And the pale kelp hanging from the end of those ribs? It’s intestines.
My brain keeps shrieking at me. Telling me I am not seeing what I am seeing. It’s sticks and kelp and minnows.
Kelp? Minnows? What the hell kind of sense does that make?
What kind of sense doesthismake?
I am looking at the remains of a woman. I know that. There is not one second when I can honestly tell myself I’m imagining this. A woman has died, and I am seeing what is left of her.
Partof what is left.
Another image flashes. That bloodied hair on Sadie’s pillow. Not her hair. We’d told ourselves it might be Nate’s but now I know it is not.
Get back to the house.
Get back to the housenow.
I can’t move. I’m rooted to this spot, staring at this thing. This thing that used to be a woman.
I don’t understand. I do not understand, and I don’t want to understand. I don’t know who this woman is. I don’t want to think of what happened to her. I cannot comprehend what kind of person did this to her. I only know that I need to get back to the house, because whoever did this to her is out here.
Get back to the goddamned house, Laney!
I can’t move. I can’t—
Madison! Madison is in the house, and you have to get back to her. Get back and put her someplace safe, make absolutely certain she does not set foot outside. Get in the house and lock the doors and stay there. Just stay there until someone realizes you’re all missing and comes for you.
Get to Madison.
Take care of Madison.
That’s what finally does it. I think of Madison, and the spell breaks, and I’m turning—
One of the fingers moves.
No. It’s the wind. Just the wind. Now move—
There is no wind. It’s gone. Completely gone, leaving the bluff in still silence.
I turn toward the wind chimes. One finger twitches. I stare at it. Then I step toward it.
What the hell? What the absolute fucking hell are you doing, Laney?
I need to know. I need to understand, because if there is a chance—even the faintest chance—that I am actually seeing that finger move, without wind or insects or any plausible explanation, then it is not a person who did this.
