by Eva Robinson
“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” said Hannah.
With a rising sense of panic, she reached for Rowan’s phone, but Rowan yanked it away.
Forty
Rowan turned away from them, trying to focus as the pressure built up in her mind. Veins of rot crawled around the fissures of her brain. Does she really think this will be enough? the voices asked. She’s already a grotesque corpse. It’s too late.
She needed them out of her head.
She continued typing her caption in Instagram, under the photo of her and Hannah together.
Everything in my life is a lie.
I don’t know who stole my laptop, but you can’t expose my secrets anyway. Because I’ll let them all out first.
You want to know how I got into Harvard, when I pulled straight Cs in high school?
Father pledged to donate $2.5 million the year before I applied. We paid someone to take the SATs for me. I never graduated. I could have—without even a ton of effort—but I was high for my entire senior year, and, frankly, I didn’t really care. It didn’t matter. I don’t need the degree. I don’t need a real job. It only mattered that I had the right image. The right branding. Branding, the demanding branding, landing, sadness in poetry… Rotten. Strangeness is a necessary ingredient—
She’d lost the thread of what she was doing, what she was trying to stay. There was something important. Why was everyone screaming around her? For the love of all that was holy, they needed to be quiet.
And yet—already, she could feel the vines receding a little, but it was so hard to focus on the words.
A hand grabbed at her arm, and only then did she hear the shouts rising around her. The hysteria. She elbowed the body out of the way, then started pacing on the deck.
“Rowan!” Hannah shouted. “Will you stop it, please? Not everything has to go on social media.”
“Shut up!” Rowan snapped. Because it was working now, wasn’t it? She could feel the corruption slipping away.
Hannah tried to grab her arm again, and Rowan jerked it away, anger rising.
She tuned out Luke’s irritatingly soothing voice and Stella’s rising panic. But her heart was still racing, and she turned back to type out her confession. “Think clearly, Rowan,” she said.
Marc. They all wanted to know about Marc. How had she screwed up the best thing in her life?
It was an easy answer.
Pacing, she started dictating into her phone.
“Marc dumped me because I stole his writing and passed it off as my own. Most of Fairytale Wanderings is his work, not mine. I stole journal entries off his laptop without him realizing, then hoped he’d forgive me, like he always did. But it was too much to forgive. I submitted it to my publisher. I did not have a ghostwriter. If I’d thought of a ghostwriter, it would’ve been a better idea.
“A writer who is a ghost. A dead writer. Bloated, grey, skin that turns into bone—”
Her thoughts had gotten knotted up again, and she had to unthread them. Why was it so hard to think?
“And then there was Peter.”
Someone grabbed her wrist, hard. They were trying to stop her. They wanted her to decay, to succumb to it. They wanted the vines to pull her six feet under the earth. Before they could take her phone away, she hit Share.
As soon as she did, a wild euphoria rippled through her. She was nearly free now, the ropes of decay receding from her skull. Wild laughter bubbled up. She was coming alive again, wasn’t she? Everyone would know. They’d screenshot the image right away.
But she wasn’t done yet, because she still had to confess about Peter. Hannah didn’t want her to do this, but it was for her own good, wasn’t it? Because you couldn’t hide forever. Rowan knew that better than anyone.
The screaming behind her was drowning out her ability to dictate.
Hannah reached for her phone. “Think about what you’re doing, Rowan.”
Rowan smacked Hannah’s hand away. “Get away from me.”
She scrolled through her photos and found a selfie taken in the sun a few days ago. Everyone was still shouting around her—Hannah’s screams were a distraction. But Rowan had to stay focused, for both their sakes. Hannah would understand at some point.
Rowan was screaming into her phone.
“Last week, we did something terrible. I don’t know how he died, but I helped cover it up because I was scared of what people would say, because I hear all your voices around me, noticing everything. And you’d think I murdered him. I didn’t, but we dragged his body—”
But the shouting ripped through her thoughts. Hannah wanted her to stop.
A sharp blow splintered the back of her head, and pain shot through her skull.
Stunned with the blinding pain, she stared out across the garden. The hit from behind had been a pure shock to her system, robbing her of rational thought. Vaguely, she wondered if she was ruining the party somehow.
She opened her mouth to scream, but she wasn’t sure if she was making a sound.
Gripping the railing, she tried to make sense of the world around her. A labyrinthine garden sprawled out beneath the old wooden deck. It stretched all the way to Fresh Pond, where dark water glittered in the distance. It should be peaceful here, but pain was ripping her head open. Someone screamed.
Only now did she realize she’d dropped her phone onto the gravel path two stories below. It lay there, shattered.
Was she screaming, or was it someone else?
She nearly lost her balance over the railing, and she gripped it harder. The feel of the rough wood sharpened her senses, and her thoughts crystallized.
Her friend wanted to kill her.
And if she didn’t get away right now, if she didn’t flee from this old mansion, she would die. Right here, right now, her blood on the stones.
But before she could turn to run, thin fingers gripped her shoulders, so hard that they were digging into her flesh.
Run, run, run.
Her blood roared in her ears.
“Wait—” she cried out, but the word came out garbled.
A sharp, angry shove pushed her forward, and she flew over the edge of the railing, wind whipping over her. The rush of the fall sent panic exploding in her mind.
A single thought rang out, everything else falling away.
I don’t want to die.
When she hit the path, pain rocketed through her bones, through her head. She couldn’t breathe…
I don’t want to die.
But she couldn’t feel her legs anymore, couldn’t move them. She felt only the shattering pain in her head, in her ribs, her arms. When she sucked in a breath, it was like a knife had pierced her lungs.
On the gravel path, she tried to pull herself forward, fingers digging in between the little rocks. An agonized grunt escaped her, an inhuman noise as she inched forward. Her legs weren’t working, but her fingers, her arms could pull…
Fractured with pain, her head lolled forward.
She couldn’t do it. Her body wasn’t working properly, and the pain was too much.
Quiet. Be very quiet, and maybe they won’t find you.
Someone still screamed above, shouting her name. Warm blood dripped from her ears, her nose… What if they thought she was dead? Maybe they’d leave her here.
How could she be quiet when her breath was so loud?
Quiet like a mouse. That was what her teacher had said long ago, when they’d hide behind bookshelves or under desks. The lockdown drills had scared her so much back then, when the principal would walk through the halls with the bullhorn. He’d pretend to be the killer. They’d hide from the bad man, listening only to the sound of breathing, arms wrapped around knees, eyes closed. Dark rooms and death stalking the halls. Quiet like a mouse. That was how you survived. If you couldn’t run, you hid in the dark and hoped he never found you.
But death wouldn’t come in the form of a strange man stalking the halls. It was coming from a friend on a Georgian deck
surrounded by fairy lights and colored lanterns.
She just had to block out the pain and hide in the shadows. Maybe someone would come for her when her friends left.
She lifted her head a little, her gaze catching on the little gold bracelet. The fleur-de-lis charm glinted in the moonlight, engraved with S&O ‘09, and her thoughts started to drift back to the past. She’d known from day she got it, in high school, that she’d never take it off. It marked her out as a member of an elite tribe. She’d been destined for great things.
The sound of screaming pulled her back to the present, to the danger.
Did her friends know she was still alive down here? Should she be quiet, or try to move?
Something was wrong with both of her arms. The sound of a river rushed in her ears. For a dazed moment, she thought of her mom.
No, it wasn’t her mom she wanted…
It was Marc. Always Marc.
Maybe she should try to pull herself forward again, so she could see him. Maybe she could get to him if she could move. But shadows filled her mind.
At least the voices are all gone now, she thought, then everything went silent.
Forty-One
Luke’s hand was clamped tight over Hannah’s mouth, and one of his arms pinned hers to her sides. She screamed into his fingers, terror racing through her brain.
Stella had just attacked Rowan, pushing her off the balcony, and they were going to kill Hannah next.
She had peered over the edge, and then she’d just started screaming. Rowan was still moving down there. Blood spilled on the gravel, and Rowan made the most disturbing, inhuman noises Hannah had ever heard as she tried to pull herself forward. Hannah couldn’t stop herself from screaming and screaming.
And now Luke had a tight grip on Hannah, trying to shut her up.
Frantically, she tried to bring to mind something from the self-defense class she’d taken in high school. Something about shins… She couldn’t remember.
Instead, she bit Luke’s fingers as hard as she could. He barked a swear into her ear and dropped his grip on her.
Whirling, Hannah swung for his face. But she’d never punched anyone before, and her fist sailed wildly past his jaw. She nearly lost her balance, but she gripped the railing.
It was only at that point that she noticed the gun pointed at her, in Stella’s gloved hands. “Stop.” Stella’s voice was shaking—her hands too. “I don’t want to hurt people, but I’m not letting anyone ruin my life. I’m not going to prison. I don’t belong in prison, obviously. And neither does Luke.”
The flowers in her hair dangled, wilting in the heat.
“We’re going to need you to calm down, Hannah,” Luke said again. “Because I’ve done this for you and Nora.”
“You killed people?”
“It’s like I said. Everyone is trying to get ahead for their family. It’s not like you earn enough to put Nora through college; you won’t even be able to pay off your own loans. The cost of tuition is outrageous. The cost of housing in Cambridge is mind-boggling, and now it’s spreading to Arlington, Somerville… She’ll need AP classes in high school. She’ll need extra tutoring. And she’ll need a lot of money for college, obviously.”
They’d just murdered Rowan right in front of her, Stella was holding a gun to her head, and Luke was standing here talking about the cost of housing and tuition like they were at a freaking garden party.
It was slowly dawning on Hannah why he was always so calm, so rational.
None of this rattled him. Psychopaths didn’t feel anxiety.
“So if I want to look after Nora,” he went on, “which, frankly, is my job as a father—if we want to be good parents, we have to help her get the competitive edge, or she’ll fall behind. We both know that. All I’ve done is find a way to earn extra money to put it aside for her. She’s going to do great things, Hannah. We’re all in this together.”
She stared at him, the blood roaring in her ears. “Did you kill Arabella?”
“No.” But his eyes shifted quickly to Stella.
The gun shook in Stella’s hands, but from the determined set of her jaw, it looked like she meant business.
If Stella shot her, Nora would end up being raised by a monster. Hannah couldn’t let that happen.
She raised her hands. “Think about what you’re doing, Luke. You don’t need to do this.”
Luke steepled his fingers, then pressed them to his lips. “Look, Annie. I didn’t want to kill you. I just wanted full custody of Nora, and I didn’t think you’d give it to me.”
Hannah stared at him. “Of course I wouldn’t. But why would you want full custody? You have a job.”
“I’m going to help him,” said Stella. “He told me you’re not a good mom.”
“Nora takes after me,” said Luke. “You can tell she’s inherited my cognitive skills. If I raise her correctly, she can turn out just like me. A PhD. Everything. I’m afraid you won’t do an adequate job. You’ve been falling apart emotionally as it is.” He wrinkled his nose. “You’re a mess, Annie. I’m not sure you’ve been a great parent to Nora lately. And being around you is sort of… depressing. I want her to reach her full potential. Any parent would want that.”
“Have you been doing something to me? Have you been… Luke, I’ve been feeling like I’m going insane. I never sleep. And I was sure I was poisoned. Have you been doing it to me somehow?”
He sighed. “Maybe it was a bad idea to turn me down, Annie. It seems you’re not functioning very well without my help, are you? You’re psychotic; you can’t keep a job. You passed out drunk around a dead body. Maybe you’ve learned your lesson now, but somehow I’m not sure.”
Her legs were going weak. “Have you been messing with me out of revenge? Because I turned you down?”
“I mean, you were already losing your mind, Annie. I hardly had to do anything.”
“What did you do?” Hannah yelled. “I thought someone was drugging me!”
Stella’s hands were now shaking wildly. “He had to make sure the courts would see it his way. He wanted to make sure he could give Nora a good life, just like I want to give my kids a good life. And I’m sorry, but you’re not a good mom. He’s going to move in with me. We’ll raise our kids together, make sure they get the best. Everyone wants the best for their kids, right? We’re all just parents here.”
Hannah wanted to throw up. She couldn’t let Nora anywhere near Luke ever again. “Are you out of your mind? He’s using you. He has no intention of moving in with you.” Hannah’s fists clenched, and rage crackled through her nerve endings, burning away some of the fear. A shrieking whistle started to rise in the hollows of her mind. “Luke, you are a psychopath.”
“Am I?” He pulled out his phone and started typing, as if he didn’t have a care in the world. “I haven’t actually hurt anyone, so I think that’s more than a little melodramatic.”
She stole a glance at Stella, slowly piecing it together. The way he’d looked at her when she’d brought up the murders… Luke hadn’t killed anyone—but Stella had. The shaking in her hands suggested that, unlike Luke, she wasn’t a psychopath. But she was his pawn.
Maybe Hannah could appeal to Stella instead.
“I won’t tell anyone,” Hannah said quietly. “I’m just like you. We’re single moms, looking after our kids, right? We’re in this together.” She pointed at Luke. “He’s using you. He’s getting you to do everything risky for him. You’re the one holding the gun. You pushed Rowan. He’s getting you to take the fall.”
“We have a life planned together. Arabella was a threat to it. And Peter, too. It’s just like he said,” Stella stammered. “Everyone is trying to look out for their own families. There’s nothing wrong with that, is there?”
There is if you kill people, you lunatic.
“And anyone is capable of doing terrible things,” Stella went on. “We all are. Luke explained it all to me. He’s so brilliant, you know. He’s really so brilliant. That’s wh
y he needs to raise Nora alone. She’ll be just like him.”
Over my dead body.
Luke had his iPhone out, typing casually on it. “Stella, you need to end this. She’s going to ruin our lives. Our families’ lives.”
“Wait!” Hannah shouted. “Stella, how are you looking after your family by going to jail? What are you going to do with two more dead bodies at your house? I’m sure the police are already looking at you as a suspect. Luke’s arranging all this to keep his hands clean. He’s going to let you take the fall for everything. That should be obvious.”
Luke looked up from his phone, locking eyes with Stella. When he held up the phone, Hannah recognized the midnight-blue case as her own. “It’s fine, Stella. You won’t be taking the fall for anything. I’m writing the suicide note from Hannah. She poisoned Arabella to get close to Rowan, then Peter. But Rowan didn’t love her back, so she pushed her, then turned the gun on herself.” He flashed her a crooked smile. “Facebook, I think, which is a bit embarrassing, really, but it’s the social media of choice for sad moms.”
Hot rage split her mind open, and she rushed for Luke, but the force of the bullet slammed her backward over the railing.
Forty-Two
Ciara gripped the wheel tight and pressed her foot on the gas.
At this point, she didn’t know exactly what was happening. She only knew that Michael had seen a post on Instagram, and then started shouting that they needed to get to Stella’s house now.
“Can you go faster?” Michael asked as she turned the corner sharply onto Mass Avenue.
“Okay, explain now, please.”
“Rowan is with Stella now, at her house. And she’s in trouble.”
Fingers pressed against the wheel, she took a hard left.
“How do you know?”
“Rowan said her laptop was stolen, so maybe they think she’s uncovered the fraud. She posted something that sounded like she’s had a complete psychotic break. She’s risky to them now, and she won’t be keeping secrets. Then when I blew up her photo, I saw Stella there in the background behind her and Hannah—wearing the cat sweater, just like in the video. It was her who stole the laptop. First she went for Arabella, then Peter, now Rowan.”
