by Laura Wolfe
“Jenna!” I yelled. “Make a noise so I can find you.” I stood at the top of the stairs, listening for any sign that my friend was nearby—a bang, a knock, or a yelp. Only silence surrounded me. With the blade pointed in front of me, I crept down the stairs into the living room. The Uno cards sat in a neat pile on the coffee table, exactly as we’d left them. I willed the deer on the wall to speak to me, to tell me what it had seen. Charlotte must have forced Jenna outside. I hoped Jenna was strong enough to fight back or smart enough to figure a way to escape.
With my clothes dripping, I hovered next to the couch, debating whether to barricade myself inside the cabin or run toward the road. Not searching for Jenna was unbearable. I hurried back to my bedroom to gather a few supplies. The numbers glowed from the alarm clock—2:49 a.m. Daylight was still a few hours away. It would be dumb to stay here alone. I’d be a sitting duck for Charlotte when she returned. She would anticipate me running toward the main road to look for help. I imagined her waiting in the woods, ready to pounce.
Several terrible options spun through my head as I thought of the abandoned summer camp across the lake. I could hide out in one of the cabins for the remainder of the night, then head toward the road in the morning. Hiking over to the camp in the dark would be treacherous, especially with the muddy conditions. I remembered the first morning when we hiked down to the desolate beach below the cabin. I’d discovered a rusty old canoe hidden under the brush—a new plan formed in my head. I grabbed my nylon backpack and shoved a couple more pairs of dry socks inside. I rushed downstairs, filling my water bottle and dropping the last few power bars inside the pack. The newspaper lay on the floor, and I stuffed that inside my bag too in case Charlotte returned. It was better if she didn’t know I’d discovered the truth.
I escaped from the cabin with the pack on my back and the knife and flashlight in my hands. The rain had let up, but darkness swallowed me when I clicked off the light. Not even the moon was visible behind the blackened clouds. Quietly, I stepped across the deck and down the steps, pressing myself against the wooden siding. I craned my ear toward the woods, listening for a struggle between Charlotte and Jenna. Only the screech of an owl and the lull of the waves interrupted the silence. I gritted my teeth and stumbled down the cliff toward the lake. I fell twice, sliding through the mud down the slippery incline until I could grab onto a tree. At last, my foot sunk into the sand as I reached level ground.
The lake stretched out before me like a black hole. I fumbled for my flashlight, turning it on and hoping the vegetation hid me enough that the light wouldn’t draw Charlotte’s attention. I edged along the shoreline and aimed my light at the overgrown brush. Thorns punctured my skin as I yanked back a branch, revealing the dull metal siding of the canoe. I exhaled. The boat was still there. My shaking fingers released the flashlight and the knife. I used both hands to grip the aluminum edge and pull. The canoe slid forward across the wet sand, and the corner of an oar poked out beneath the boat. I gasped. In my desperation to get to the canoe, I hadn’t considered how I would paddle. Thankfully, whoever had abandoned the canoe here had thought it through. Once away from the brush, I flipped over the boat and loaded my meager belongings inside, ignoring the spiderwebs clinging to my arm. I grabbed the paddle and pushed off, soaking one of my shoes again.
The water felt thick as oil as I propelled through the darkness. I couldn’t see to the other side of the lake, and I hoped I had aimed toward the camp’s beach. I dipped the oar into the lake, again and again, pulling with all my strength and occasionally switching sides. A brisk wind brushed against my cheeks as the water churned and splashed around the canoe. I moved my foot, causing an even closer sloshing noise. My eyes adjusted to the night. I looked down, finding a puddle of water surrounding my shoes. The liquid hadn’t been there a few minutes ago.
“Shit! Shit! Shit!” I said under my breath as my muscles seized. There was a hole in the boat. I paddled faster. A faint wall of trees appeared on the lake’s far side, slightly blacker than the sky above them. The foreboding sensation of watching eyes sent a shiver across the back of my neck. Wherever Charlotte was, I hoped she couldn’t see me. Coyotes yipped in the distance, and a new terror surged through me. I hadn’t considered the nocturnal animals that stalked the woods at night. I wished I could stay in the canoe until daybreak. At least nothing could reach me out here. But the water continued to seep inside the boat, the rising liquid having the same effect as a ticking bomb. I had to survive. There was no other option. Jenna’s statement from the other night—that coyotes ate rodents—allowed me to catch my breath. I refocused on paddling. I could make it to shore before the canoe sank.
It seemed like I’d been battling the current for hours by the time I reached the opposite shore, but it had only been twenty minutes. The boat missed the beach by about a hundred feet. It was close enough. Lake water rose around my ankles as I exited the canoe, but it only took a few steps to reach dry ground. I slid the knife into a side pocket of my pack and hoisted it onto my shoulders, setting down the flashlight while I pulled the canoe toward me. Dense vegetation grew across the shoreline next to the beach and provided a decent hiding place. I shoved the canoe under the overgrown bush to cover my tracks. With the light angled down, I turned on the beam again. My feet edged around protruding branches and along the water until I reached the camp’s beach. An uneven stairway constructed from logs led me to the grassy area that housed the camp’s buildings. I kept my head down and trotted toward the far cabins, remembering their unlocked doors and rows of bunk beds.
I had the sensation of floating above my body and watching myself, a hawk circling a terrorized mouse. How had I gotten here? We could have avoided the whole thing. That was the worst part. Only a minor change here or there would have done the trick—a few minutes more spent researching before booking the trip or a different decision made last week or twenty years ago. Instead, every choice led to this terrifying place. My breath heaved from my lungs. My soaking shoes tumbled over each other as I scurried across the uneven ground, searching for a hiding place. The night was silent and black around me, the air so filled with terror that even the stars hid behind the clouds. Never ignore your instincts. That’s what I always told my clients, but I hadn’t followed my own advice. I’d been pushing away the tightness in my chest and pangs in my gut for days. Now my body’s animalistic instincts consumed me, muscles contracting, and fear exploding through every cell. I could barely see where my next footstep would land, but my legs stretched forward, again and again. Sturdy tree trunks materialized from the shadows like strangers waiting to capture me. I kept running.
A twig snapped through the darkness, and my feet stopped, my throat constricting. The faces of the dead flashed in my mind. Even the release of breath might give me away.
My thoughts spun toward alternate realities as I darted into the cover of the trees. Why hadn’t I made up an excuse to stay home with my family? It would have been easy enough to lie. Or I could have insisted on hosting the get-together at my house in the safety of suburbia. Or twenty-two years earlier, the people at campus housing could have placed the incoming freshmen in different dorms and hallways than the ones they’d chosen for us. Then I would have made another group of friends, friends who would have insisted on meeting at a less remote location and who steered clear of reckless decisions. They might have been friends who, when we hugged, could have detected the sour odor of festering secrets.
I paused beside a tree, gathering my wits. I couldn’t dwell on what could have been because my life was in danger right now. I listened for approaching footsteps or any sign of a struggle, but only the hum of cicadas rose above the lapping waves. After two minutes of relative silence, I turned on my light and continued skittering toward the cabins.
Six utilitarian huts stood in a row. I chose the third one in, reasoning that if Charlotte looked for me here, she’d start at one end of the row or the other. I might have a chance to hear her approach. I stepped from t
he rain-soaked ground and up the two wooden steps. My hand pressed against the door and it creaked open, revealing a shadowy bunkroom. My light scanned the room. No one else was there. I crept to the furthest bed in the corner and sat on the lower bunk. I released the breath I’d been holding and closed my eyes. I envisioned the staff cabins located through the path in the woods and realized there must have been a road for the counselors to access their living quarters. There must be a parking area somewhere behind those cabins. Where else would they have left their cars? Maybe there was a road that led out to the main road from there. That was the direction I’d head in at daybreak.
My feet were soaked and cold inside my shoes. I untied them and set them on the floor to air out, replacing my socks with dry ones. I tried to be thankful for the small luxury but couldn’t feel anything beyond my hyper-aware state. My stomach growled. The slice of pizza I’d eaten several hours earlier wasn’t enough to get me through. I set the flashlight on the mattress and took off my backpack, removing a power bar and unwrapping it. I choked it down in four large bites, followed by some water. I’d save the other bars for the morning. It was impossible to know how many miles I’d have to travel before my phone would work, or I found someone to help me. The shiny edge of my phone caught my eye, and I pulled it out, checking for any hint of reception. There were zero bars. Cursing under my breath, I zipped the phone back into my bag and removed the knife, placing it on the bed next to me. Creating a makeshift pillow, I propped the bag behind my head. My legs stretched across the bare mattress. I kept my wet shoes untied next to me in case I needed to run.
I moved the ring of light around the walls of the cabin, careful not to shine it near the windows. The inspirational messages painted across the walls seemed to mock me. Someone had painted the words: Keep smiling! in hot pink around a yellow-and-white daisy. The next one read: We can do hard things! Beyond that, purple words encircling a yellow star read: Positive thoughts plus positive actions equal a positive life! A bitter laugh escaped my lips. I wondered if Frida had chosen those slogans. Had Frida helped paint the bright words across the walls before Charlotte bashed in her head?
My chest swelled at my tainted memories of Frida. I’d gotten her all wrong. I’d been too quick to judge. Frida King had been a strong and determined woman who had overcome the odds, getting an education, and separating herself from her strange and abusive parents. She’d made it her mission to help others, maybe kids like herself, who’d had unhappy childhoods. In my memory, her eerie and unflinching eyes had always been watching, staring, leering. But now, the filter shifted on my dark perception of Frida’s mannerisms. I realized she had only been observing—learning how people who lived normal, happy lives looked and acted. I’d been too immature back in college to notice the difference. And that night in the Mexican restaurant when Frida had seen me kissing Pete, she’d never told anyone—at least, as far as I knew. I’d run into her several times after that, and she’d never mentioned it. She’d only smiled and asked benign questions, like “Are you enjoying the weather?” or “How are your classes going?” Charlotte had never even hinted at my indiscretion with Pete. Neither had Jenna. I was sure Frida hadn’t told them. I wouldn’t have been capable of keeping the same secret on her behalf. Frida had been a better person than me. She hadn’t owed me anything, but she’d been loyal to me anyway. And now she was dead.
My thumb slid the switch of the flashlight backward and I sunk into the darkness again. “I’m sorry, Frida,” I said under my breath as tears leaked from eyes. I pulled my knees into my chest and rubbed my toes through my cotton socks. Despite my current situation, I silently repeated the advice written on the walls. They were messages from Frida. I had the strange feeling she was helping me again, reaching out from the grave to give me hope, even though I didn’t deserve it. I had to focus on a positive outcome if I wanted to get out of here alive. I didn’t know for sure what had happened to Jenna. Maybe she woke up and saw that I was gone and went looking for me. There was still a chance I could save her.
I envisioned myself running down a camp road in only a few hours, stumbling upon a clear and easy path to the main road. A police car would drive past and stop for me. We’d find Jenna—tired and hungry—but otherwise fine. Twenty-four hours from now, I’d be home with Marnie, Wyatt, and Andrew. That’s how it would go—only positive thoughts. I was safe here. Soon, this would all be over. I lowered my eyelids.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
A floorboard creaked near my ear. Even before I opened my eyes, I heard ragged breathing and smelled the earthy scent of another person. My body bolted upright in the bunk bed, my hand fumbling for the knife but coming up empty. Muted light slipped through the window. It was morning. I couldn’t believe I’d let myself fall asleep. Charlotte loomed over me, pointing a rifle at my face.
“I took your knife.” Deranged satisfaction gleamed in her dark eyes as the corner of her mouth twitched.
I held my hands up, feeling like I might throw up. Charlotte looked sickly. Her skin was waxen, her lips dry and cracked. Despite the fullness of her cheeks, her eyes sank into purplish hollows. Any speck of doubt that remained as to whether she was responsible for Sam and Kaitlyn’s deaths dissolved at the sight of her.
My muscles coiled like a cornered dog. I fought the urge to attack her, to call her a psychopath. I could tell she was in a fragile emotional state. I forced myself to forget about what she’d done, and pretended she was a distressed client who needed my help. Yelling at her would only cause her to become defensive and lash out.
I locked eyes with her. “Charlotte, please. You don’t need to point a gun at me. I’m your friend.”
“Ha. Right. Just like Sam and Kaitlyn and Frida were my friends?”
“Yes. They were your friends, too.” I noticed she hadn’t mentioned Jenna and wondered if that meant Jenna was still alive.
Charlotte scowled and held the gun steady.
“I don’t understand.” I fluttered my eyelashes. “Have we wronged you in some way?”
“That’s the understatement of the century. The five of you destroyed my life.”
I maintained eye contact with her. “But you have a great life, a beautiful life. Think of Oliver and Reed. Think about how hard you’ve worked to become a physical therapist.” I bit my tongue, regretting the words almost as soon as they’d left my mouth.
“I lost my job six months ago. They said I was rude to one of the patients, that I hit her. That bitch filed a complaint against me.”
My mouth opened, but I hid my shock. I remembered Charlotte’s confessions about her emotionally abusive and sometimes violent upbringing, and I wasn’t entirely surprised she’d lashed out at a patient. “I didn’t know you lost your job.” I kept my voice steady to cover the lie. “I’m sorry. That must have been difficult. I wish you’d told me.”
Charlotte glared at me.
“Why did you bring us all here?” I braced myself against the bed, afraid to hear the answer.
“To expose your lies.”
“What lies?”
“Our friendship is a lie.” Charlotte’s upper lip snarled. “You’re not the great friends you’ve always pretended to be. At least, not to me.”
I swallowed but didn’t respond.
She stomped her foot against the wooden floor. “Your actions have consequences.”
My heart slammed against my ribcage. I wasn’t entirely sure what Charlotte was getting at, but I needed to keep her talking. I couldn’t let her escalate the situation. As long as she was talking, she wasn’t killing me.
“What happened before we got here, Charlotte? Why did we meet at this place?”
“I found the cabin because of Frida. She bought Camp Eventide five years ago and turned it into a retreat for troubled teens. I knew about her camp from Facebook.”
“What happened to Frida?” I forced the squeaky words from my throat.
Charlotte’s opaque eyes stared past me. “It took me weeks to find a lead
on a new job, but neither of my previous employers would give me a referral. I emailed Frida for a recommendation, but she never responded. Then I called her, but she still wouldn’t stand up for me. She said she didn’t feel comfortable.”
“Why did you ask Frida for a recommendation?”
Charlotte lowered her chin. “No one else would step out on a limb for me. Frida used to be my supervisor when we volunteered together at the hospital. I thought she would vouch for me, considering I was her only real friend in college.”
I nodded as the blood drained from my face. Charlotte and Frida hadn’t worked together since before Oliver was born, at least fifteen years ago. Of course, Frida wouldn’t feel comfortable writing a professional recommendation. They didn’t even work in the same field.
“I knew I wouldn’t get the job without a recommendation, so I drove up here a few months ago and surprised Frida with a visit. Travis’s cabin was pretty much the only place to stay.”
My chest seized. The story Charlotte was telling me matched what I’d discovered in Travis’s box of papers.
Charlotte continued talking as if I wasn’t there. “I sneaked into the camp and followed Frida to her cabin while the others were eating dinner in the mess hall. She was so shocked to see me. I thought she wouldn’t be able to turn down an in-person request for a recommendation, especially after I’d driven all the way up here. But she did. Even after everything I’d done for her.” Charlotte pinched her colorless lips together. “I couldn’t believe how she could betray me so easily. I saw my entire future falling away. When Frida tried to give me a hug, I shoved her away from me as hard as I could. She fell backward and hit her head on the metal corner of the table. There was a lot of blood. I didn’t mean to kill her, but I didn’t help her either. With a camp full of troubled teens, I figured no one would suspect me.”
