by A. S. Green
I clench my hands into fists and run, my eyes dry. I will not think on any of this. Not until I can be assured that I am alone. Someplace quiet to think. That’s all I need. That’s all I need. Because I can’t make sense of any of it! Not yet.
Bennet’s last name was supposed to be Mitchell. How could I have been so stupid? But then, he didn’t tell me that. Natalie did, months ago. And I had never questioned it…even though newcomers’ names have held little interest for islanders…apparently even those who stuff P.O. boxes.
I slow to a walk and let the hem of my toga fall to my ankles. I need to get back to the lighthouse and figure out what to do. I need a plan. A plan has never deceived me. Yes, that’s it. That’s it.
“Today is Saturday,” I say, mumbling to myself. I match the rhythm of my footsteps to my thoughts. “Check Lucy for ticks.” I never got to it today. Calloway won’t like that. He’s paid me a lot of money. I shouldn’t let my duties slide.
But it’s not enough to distract me. My throat tightens when I remember Natalie and Bennet earlier this morning. The stack of letters she shoved into his hands. Natalie had figured it out, and still she said nothing.
How did I not see it? Why hadn’t I thought to ask them what was going on? No, wait. I did ask, and Bennet said they were talking about a freakin’ birthday surprise. Bastard!
Doesn’t matter. What I really need to do is tidy up the lighthouse before Calloway gets back. It should look the way he left it.
There will be dirty dishes in the sink. They’ve been there since yesterday. Bennet ate his sandwich on one of the plates. The image hits me like a stab to the gut. Now I have to go back and see the happy evidence sitting there.
Why didn’t I wash them earlier? It’s not like me to leave a mess. I clench my teeth. It’s a problem that is easily fixed. A little soap.
I trip and stagger forward, catching myself against a tree. “Ow! Dammit!” I look at my palm, now covered in sap and a fine line of red.
Hands. Bennet had Andrew’s letter in his hand. He saw his photograph, too! He’s known for weeks. I was a pawn in some sicko family feud. The whole time he’d been making love to me, he’d really been fucking over his brother.
I stomp forward. A strange sound, wild and animalistic, erupts from me. It scares me so badly I shut it down.
I love you. I-forever.
How dare he tell me he loves me? He had to know how much it meant to me to hear those words, and now I learn it was all part of an act—an elaborate revenge.
I’ve been an idiot, first class.
No more.
The woods are quiet. There’s only the soft hush of pines in the breeze. It’s the peace I’ve been looking for. I shouldn’t ruin it now with noisy thoughts. And that’s when I step into the clearing.
Calloway’s tiny village lies spread before me in a beam of moonlight. My heart accelerates at the sight, pounding in my ears. I’m glad I got to share this place with you, D’Arcy. You know I want to share a lot more with you.
I blink my eyes to stem the tears. I don’t belong on this island. How could I have thought I wanted something other than to go straight home? It’s all so clear now. For a second—one torturous second—I think I’m going to lose it, but I hitch up my toga and keep marching forward. The lighthouse tower is there, visible through the trees, black against a charcoal sky.
Calloway will want to see his house put back the way it was. I’ll need to hurry. He’ll want his knickknacks back on the shelf and his curtains back on the windows.
I stop again, a sudden thought rooting me where I am.
But wait! What if Bennet got Calloway’s message wrong?
Or…maybe…what if I simply misinterpreted what he was saying?
It is possible. In fact, it’s very possible. I grasp at hope. Maybe Calloway isn’t coming back so soon, after all. Maybe I have more time in my house. More time with Lu. More time to process this whole terrible mess.
And then…if I got it wrong when Bennet was talking about Calloway…maybe it’s not the only thing I got wrong! I suck in a lungful of air.
Bennet is calling for me, far in the distance. He’s going to tell me it’s all been one huge misunderstanding.
My chest swells, and I turn in the direction of his voice. I don’t have to go back to the lighthouse yet.
There’s time.
There’s as much time as I want.
I blink to clear my mind as much as my eyes, and I am startled to see Sam and Lucy. Their feet tear at the ground as they race through the woods toward me. The hair on their backs stands up as if brushed against the grain. Their lips curl back over their teeth, snarling. It’s a terrifying sound, and all hope leaves me. I put up my hands, palms forward.
Surely they won’t attack me, but Samson looks demonic. His massive body seems nearly double in size, and his muscles ripple as he runs. “Sam. Samson, it’s okay, boy, it’s okay. It’s just me.” He growls in response.
Then there is a huffing sound.
It’s behind me. Another animal? Terror is coming at me from both sides. I whirl around as Lucy and Sam blow past.
The first thing I see is the bear cub scrambling up the trunk of a pine tree, bark scaling off. And on the ground, directly below the cub, is the thing that has the dogs reacting so strongly. My subconscious knows what it is before my eyes can focus. I should have expected it. How stupid of me to hope that this night could be redeemed.
The beast lunges left and right, its huge black head swaying, measuring out its next move. My thoughts are racing, but I can’t get one of them to settle in long enough to consider it rationally. I remember a TV episode on the National Geographic channel—something about bears being really good climbers… But this bear doesn’t climb the tree after her cub. And she doesn’t run. Shouldn’t she run when, this time, it’s two dogs against one? But then, she wouldn’t leave her cub behind.
Lucy is circling and growling, the hair on her shoulders raised. The bear looks only mildly irritated at her show of strength.
“Lu! Sam!” I scream. “Go home!” They don’t seem to hear me. They are still growling, low and guttural, as they circle.
The bear stands up on its hind legs—at least eight feet tall—and takes a few steps forward before dropping again onto all fours. Lucy snaps at her back leg, and the bear whirls around, swiping at Lucy with her right paw, sending Lu flying through the air. She hits a tree with a thud and slumps to the ground.
“Lucy!” I scream.
The bear charges at Sam with startling speed, her mouth open and claws exposed, and Sam turns. But he’s up against the thicket, and there’s nowhere for him to go. There is nothing but bear. I can’t see Sam at all. Black against black.
I’m screaming. I know that I am. But there’s no noise in my head. It’s as if I’m watching a silent movie. “Bennet! Help!” I mean to yell. I hope I have.
The bear turns away from Sam and refocuses on me with a hoarse grunt. I step backward and trip. As I fall, I catch myself with my hands and land on a stick that cuts into my palm. I crab-walk backward, my arms collapsing a few more times. My mind is screaming, Play dead, play dead, but the adrenaline is too strong. I can’t stay still. I have to get away. I have to get the dogs away. But there’s nowhere to go. I’m trapped. We’re trapped. Bennet! Oh God, Bennet!
A change in air pressure catches my attention and causes me to look over my shoulder. My shifting weight sends a scattering of pebbles to tumble over the cliff edge, less than a foot from my shoulder. Thirty feet below, the lake crashes, and churns yellow foam against the craggy rocks. This has to be some kind of a joke. If my stomach hadn’t permanently settled over my larynx, I might have laughed—that hysterical kind of laugh one makes right before being hauled off in a fancy white jacket.
Lucy is back and bites at the bear’s leg, and the bear spins away from me, charging after Lucy.
“D’Arcy!” Bennet yells my name and drops one of Mr. March’s rifles on the ground by my shoulder. He f
alls to his knees and tries to lift me.
“Bennet,” I say with a gasp.
“Hurry. Get up,” he says, trying to drag me away from the cliff edge.
But I’m too slow. Despite being outnumbered, the bear charges back toward us and swipes at Bennet, tearing its claws through his shirt and tossing him aside.
“Bennet!” The pulse in my ears drowns out my voice in my head, each beat coming on top of the other.
The bear stands on its hind legs again, and from my perspective on the ground, it is enormous, towering, terrifying.
Callisto, I think.
Samson is nowhere. Where is he? I can’t hear him, but Lucy is back, biting at the bear’s heels again. I can smell its sour breath as it vaporizes in the cool night air. Its gums are pink and spotted black. Saliva hangs in strings and gobs from its tan muzzle. Burrs and pine sap are matted in its hair. Its eyes are small obsidian jewels, shiny in the dusky light. All these details are magnified. There is no passage of time.
And none of it matters. Not Andrew’s surprise appearance on the island. Not the sound of Bennet yelling my name. Nothing has come of this experiment in self-discovery because I am going to die. I am going to die. And I’ve done nothing with my life.
The bear glances over her shoulder. I roll to my left to try to escape. The cold sting of the gun barrel is against my bare shoulder.
I twist and lurch, grab and point, closing my eyes before I squeeze the trigger and a single sound breaks through the chaos.
BANG!
The rifle drops from my stinging hands, landing on my stomach, and the bear is lunging—falling—toward me. I bring up my right arm, instinctively protecting my face. I know it will do nothing, but it’s the only shield I have. There is a rush of air, a vacuum that sucks my hair up and over my cheeks as the bear falls toward me.
A loud crash sounds in my ears as the bear meets the ground. My foot is under its chest, and it’s warm. A spreading wetness soaks through my shoe. I open my eyes with a gasp in my throat.
There is noise. Lots of noise.
Bennet crawls to my side, and I’m relieved that he looks unhurt. Seconds later, Mr. Tremblay is there, as is Bruce and Rachel. Natalie rushes up, stopping behind Doyle who is on his knees, lifting Sam’s limp body off the ground. He drapes the dead dog across the cradle of his arms.
Oh, God. Oh, God. Does Bennet see? His eyes are on me. He doesn’t know.
Another second passes, and we are surrounded by at least a dozen others, including Mr. March, who arrives with his own gun a few seconds too late, and Andrew, who looks bloodless and as pale as his sheet.
Bennet pushes my hair off my face. “Oh, God. Oh, dear Jesus. Baby, are you okay? Please tell me you’re okay.” His hands are held palms flat, scanning my body, touching every inch of me as he searches for injury. His face is contorted. His lips white. “Are you hurt? Oh, Jesus.”
“Bennet.” My voice is rough and cracking. My arms are scraped and bleeding. My palms still reverberate from firing the gun, but I don’t care about any of that. “Sam,” I croak. “Sam.”
Bennet glances over his shoulder, and I see the moment he understands. A lump the size of a walnut moves up then down his throat, then he turns back toward me, his jaw tight.
He drags my feet out from under the weight of the bear. My body convulses as steam rises from the animal, so much smaller now in death. Her cub bellows weakly in the treetop above me.
Andrew emerges from the crowd and steps to my side. He helps me to my feet as Alli helps Bennet to his. Bennet and I make eye contact. What do you want? his eyes seem to ask. What do you need from me?
I want him to scoop me up and run away. I want him to rewind time.
Andrew wraps his arm around my waist. My legs are so weak it doesn’t take more than the slightest pressure for me to step into him. Bennet’s eyes go to Andrew’s hand at my hip then back to my eyes.
I wait. He’ll fight for me. He’ll fight for us.
Bennet studies my face, then he bows his head. A second later, he steps back.
Andrew’s back straightens. He ushers me away.
As we pass through the crowd, I look over my shoulder. Bennet is a stone pillar. The rifle hangs at his right side. Alli is on his left. Bennet’s eyes aren’t on me. They’re where they should be. They’re on Sam.
Chapter Fifty-Four
KATHERINE
Andrew and I are almost back to the lighthouse when my legs finally collapse under me. Andrew, as he always has been, is there to catch me when I fall. He lifts me into his arms.
“Your skin is ice cold,” he says, which comes as a surprise because my face is drenched with sweat. Thin strands of hair stick to my neck.
A glint of light shatters off the lighthouse tower’s metal frame. Andrew huffs in relief and takes a hurried step, but the ground is rutted and uneven, and he stumbles in the growing darkness. He curses. My shoes slip from my feet and hit the ground with a soft thud-thud. He readjusts his grip on me but leaves the shoes. A few yards more to go. What do shoes matter now?
The ground comes up to meet me as Andrew sets me carefully on my feet outside the door. I sway. My perception is distorted, as if I have been drinking all night and have to be directed: told where to go, what to say, what to do.
The door leans toward me at a precarious angle, and Andrew’s arms form a protective barrier just before I fall, face forward. He pushes the door open with his foot.
Inside, the house is eerily quiet. Andrew ushers me toward the couch. I stagger again. Then I fall onto the worn cushions, letting out the most god-awful sound.
He crouches over me. “Katherine. Shit. Settle down, settle down,” he says, trying to soothe me, though his voice cracks and betrays him. He runs his hand over my hair. “My God, your lips are blue…”
My heart stutters at the memory of Bennet’s face, pleading, What do you need from me? My body convulses. I have a vague understanding that Andrew is stripping off my blood-spattered toga, then racing around the room, opening and shutting doors, cabinets, closets. He comes back and wraps me in several layers of blankets.
He’ll come for me. Any minute, Bennet will be here.
“You’re okay now,” Andrew says. “Everything’s going to be all right.” But it sounds like he’s trying to convince himself as much as me. He needn’t bother. I know full well that it’s another lie. Everything is a lie. Nothing will ever be all right.
He tucks the blankets tightly around my body, stabbing with his fingertips until I am straightjacketed. It warms me a little—though it does nothing to stop my teeth from chattering.
Andrew rubs his hands vigorously up and down my arms, over the blankets. Then he’s gone.
There’s a clanking in the kitchen. Water is running. He comes back and squats on the floor beside the couch, one arm thrown over me. A hot, wet towel is pressed against my neck. His forehead rests against my shoulder.
“Katherine. Jesus. Say something. Please. Just say something.”
My head fills with random flashes and images. Sounds. Some words, but none that work together. I know I need to say something. Something important. There are several beats of silence before the words finally come to me.
“You told me your brother was dead.”
Andrew rears back in surprise. “N-No, I didn’t.”
I turn my head slowly. My eyes lock with his. I wet my lips. They are dried parchment under my tongue. He doesn’t say anything more, so I look back up at the ceiling.
“In high school.” My voice is rough. “You cried on my shoulder. You told me how much you still missed him. Your parents were still grieving.”
Andrew hesitates, then he nods and sits on the floor. He finds my hand under the blanket. “I did. I used to miss him, but Katherine…I never said he was dead.”
I turn my head and hold his gaze. I’m about to protest. That’s not the way I remember it at all. I think of all the times I’ve been to the Masons’ perfect, tidy house. Seeing Andrew’s school po
rtraits lined up in silver frames across the fireplace mantle. No other son’s. I’d always believed their pain was too raw to keep a visual reminder of their loss.
But no. That wasn’t it. They chose to erase Bennet, their living son, from their lives. How could anyone be so cruel? It makes me sick. I thought I knew the Masons. Turns out, I didn’t know anything.
When I sit up, still sideways on the couch, I press the heels of my hands against my eyes and begin to rock rhythmically. The cushions behind me compress with weight. The room spins. I am as disconnected from my body as a kite that’s lost its string.
Andrew’s warm hand is on my shoulder. He turns me so I’m sitting the way I should be. He pulls me close against his chest. It’s nice. Solid. Permanent. There’s been so much loss tonight; I want something to stay.
“Shhh,” he says. “Just breathe.”
I take a deep breath and my body starts to settle. My heartbeat evens out. My mind slowly clears.
“I’m sorry,” he says softly against my hair. “Benny has always taken exactly what he wants, without any thought for anyone else.”
Yes, I think. Bennet was once going to leave here. Leave Doyle—leave Samson—at his agent’s first mention of a better place.
But no. No. That’s not how it was. Was it? Bennet loved that dog. Oh, Samson! My stomach constricts, and Andrew tightens his hold.
“I see that now,” he continues. “I couldn’t when I was younger. Benny kept telling me that he had to go, but the truth is he chose to leave us. He abandoned our family. You don’t know how much he made my parents suffer.”
“But your dad,” I whisper. I’m afraid to ask the question. To think that he may have been abusing Andrew, too, all those years, without me ever knowing. The thought is too much to bear, but I have to know. “Did he hurt you?”
“Hurt me?” he asks, pulling away so he can better see my face. “Why would he? What kind of bullshit did Benny feed you?”
“His finger…”
Andrew sighs. “The two of them could get into it, but Benny always knew how to push Dad’s buttons. All he had to do was toe the line, but no, not him. Whatever went down between them, it was a mutual thing.”
