by Riley Sager
I take my tray to what’s already become known as the adults’ table. It’s a full house tonight, with every counselor and instructor present, including Becca. She sits at a slight remove from the others, her eyes glued to her phone. I get the feeling she thinks there’s nothing left to say to me. I think otherwise.
I head to the opposite end of the table, where Casey is listening to the counselors play a game of Do, Dump, or Marry. I remember it well, having played it fifteen years ago with Vivian, Natalie, and Allison. Only Vivian had given it a more brutal name—Fuck, Marry, Kill.
As the counselors choose between the men at Camp Nightingale, I sneak a glance at Casey, as if to say, Isn’t this such a silly, sexist game? Yet I suspect Casey is mulling the choices, just like I secretly am.
“I’d do Chet, dump the janitor, and marry Theo,” the counselor named Kim or Danica announces.
“I think he’s technically a maintenance man,” another one says.
“Groundskeeper,” Casey tells them. “He’s worked for the family for years. He’s kind of creepy but also kind of hot. He’d be my Do.”
Both counselors look scandalized, their mouths forming twin ovals of shock. “Over Chet and Theo?”
“I’m being realistic here. There’s no way Mindy’s going to let Chet out of her sight.” Casey nudges me with an elbow. “And Emma’s already got her hooks into Theo.”
“Definitely not,” I say. “He’s all yours, ladies.”
“But the rumor is the two of you had a picnic lunch in the woods.”
Across the table, Becca looks up, clearly surprised. She stares at me a second too long before returning her gaze to her phone.
“We were just catching up,” I say. “It’s been years since we last saw each other.”
“Of course,” Casey says before leaning closer and whispering, “You can tell me all the sordid details later tonight.”
On the other side of the mess hall, I see Mindy enter and make a beeline for our table. She’s smiling, which doesn’t necessarily mean good news. I’ve come to realize Mindy’s the kind of girl who wields a smile like a scythe.
“Hi, Emma,” she says without a hint of friendliness. “Next time you decide to vanish for an entire afternoon, I’d appreciate it if you told someone. Franny would, too. She was distressed to hear that you left with a group of campers without telling anyone where you were going.”
“I didn’t know that was a requirement.”
“It’s not,” Mindy says. “But it certainly would have been a courtesy.”
“I went canoeing with the girls from my cabin. In case you’re keeping a record of my whereabouts.”
I assume Mindy knows about the camera. And everything else, for that matter. Especially when she says, “It’s just very noticeable when a group of campers goes missing. As you well know.”
She stands there, pleased with herself, her next move predicated on how I react. I know because it’s right out of the Vivian playbook. I opt for a curveball.
“Sit with us,” I say, my voice chirpy, so unlike my natural tone. “Have some fries. They’re so good.”
I hold out a fry, the end sagging, its tip dripping grease. Mindy stares at it with thinly veiled repulsion. I suspect she hasn’t consumed a trans fat since junior high.
“No, thanks. I have to get back to the Lodge.”
“Not even one fry?” I say. “If it’s calories you’re worried about, don’t be. You look . . . fine.”
* * *
—
Later in the night, I wait until the girls leave for the campfire before reclining in my bunk with the meager collection of snacks from my backpack. Gnawing absently on the granola bar, I open the book Vivian had left behind.
On the first page, I see a date written in her hand.
The first day of camp. Fifteen years ago.
This is a diary.
Vivian’s diary.
I suck in a breath, exhale it back out, and begin to read.
June 22,
Well, here I am, back at Camp Nightmare for another six weeks. I can’t say I’m thrilled to be back, unlike The Senator and Mrs. Senator, who were ECSTATIC when I told them I wanted to spend the summer here and not slutting my way through Europe with Brittney, Patricia, and Kelly. If they only knew that I would absolutely love to be in Amsterdam with those bitches, sucking face with some stubbled douchebag wannabe deejay just for the weed.
Everyone seems to think I adore this place. That couldn’t be further from the truth. It creeps me out. It has ever since I first got here. There’s something not right about it.
But here is where I need to be. Just for one more summer. As they say in those shitty movies The Senator likes to watch, I’ve got unfinished business. But will I finish it? That’s the big question hanging over this whole summer. Before I left, I asked it to Katherine’s stupid Magic 8 Ball that she loved so much. All signs pointed to yes.
In the meantime, tomorrow I’ll get the pleasure of hearing F give that goddamn speech for the umpteenth time. It’s so pathetic how she goes out of her way trying to sound folksy when the rest of us know she’s worth a billion dollars. You are not fucking fooling us! At least, not for long.
Nat and Ali are here, of course. Fourth camper to be announced. I hope that bottom bunk stays empty. It’ll make things easier for all of us, but mostly me. If not, I’ll settle for Theodore. I’d sleep on top of him any damn day of the week. My God, he’s looking fine. Don’t get me wrong, he’s always looked fine. But I’m talking FINE. Worthy even of a dozen lame exclamation points.
!!!!!!!!!!!!
Pull it together, Viv. Don’t get distracted by all that fineness. You’re on a mission. Theo isn’t part of it. Unless he needs to be. Sweet Jesus Lord I hope he needs to be.
Update: It’s after dinner. No fourth camper has arrived. Fingers crossed she never does.
Update #2: The fourth camper just came in. A new girl. Time to either terrorize her or befriend her. I haven’t decided which one it’ll be.
June 23,
Today I showed New Girl the ropes. Someone had to. This place is not for the faint of heart.
New Girl has a name, by the way. It’s Emma. Cute, right? And she is. So young and innocent and shaky. Like a newborn kitten. She reminds me of when I was that age, mostly because, underneath that My Little Pony exterior, I think she might actually be a bitch in training. She stood up to me last night, which took major ovaries. I was duly impressed. No one has stood up to me since Katherine died. I missed that feeling of being put in my place. It’s tough being the only alpha female in the pack.
But, like Theo’s divine handsomeness, I can’t let New Girl distract me too much. Mission first. Friendship second. You-know-who learned that the hard way.
At least I got to roam a little bit after archery. I scoped out all the places I haven’t looked yet, including the Big L. I almost made it inside before Casey caught me sniffing around the place. With any other counselor, I would have tried to sneak in anyway. But not her. She’s weirdly devoted to this place. I mean, a former camper coming back as a counselor for two summers in a row? I can’t think of anything more pathetic.
My guess is she’s obsessed with Theo. It’s obvious she’s got the hots for him. She throws herself at him every chance she can get. Last year she caught me flirting with Theo and got all huffy, like she fucking owned him or something. Ever since, she’s been dying to get me kicked out. Hence the extra attention I receive during cabin check.
Like I said—pathetic.
June 24,
On her second night at camp, poor Emma had her VERY. FIRST. PERIOD. She woke me up last night with blood on her fingers like Carrie White. I felt so bad for her. I remember my first period. It was awful. I swear, the only thing that kept me sane was Katherine, who’d been through it all by that point. And where was Mrs. Senator, y
ou ask? Gone, of course. Oblivious. She didn’t even know I was menstruating until the maid told her six months later.
So I did for Em what Kath did for me. Which means, in Carrie terms, I’m Sue Snell in this scenario. Wait, I guess that actually makes me the gym teacher. No, I refuse to be that bore. I’m sticking with Sue.
She survived.
June 26,
I almost drowned this afternoon.
Well, pretended to drown, which isn’t quite the same thing. It wasn’t planned. I just spontaneously decided to do it. Still, I deserve an Oscar for that performance. Or at least a Golden Globe. Best Performance of Drowning by a Regional Champion in the 100-Meter Butterfly. The gulping-down-lake-water part sucked, though. There’s probably some creepy water-borne microbe swimming in my stomach as I write this. But it was worth it. I got the reaction I was looking for.
While I’m on the subject of drowning, let’s talk about Franny’s husband for a sec. Don’t you think it’s strange that a dude who almost made it to the Olympics drowned? I sure as fuck do.
June 28,
Holy shit holy shit holy shit.
I made it into the Big L. At last! I went during lunch when I knew all the campers and counselors would be in the mess hall and F and her entourage would be dining on the back deck. That gave me enough time to slip in through the front door without anyone noticing. And wow, was it worth the wait. I knew F was hiding something in there. And, sure enough, she was. Several somethings. I managed to steal one before Lottie caught me in the study. She acted all cool about it, but I think she was seriously pissed to find me there. And now I’m freaking out because she’s going to tell F. I just know it.
Not fucking good, diary.
My reading is interrupted by a sudden, startling rap on the cabin door. I’d fallen so far down the rabbit hole of Vivian’s thoughts that the real world melted away, unnoticed. Now it’s back, making me look up from the page and call out in a trembling voice, “Who is it?”
“Emma, it’s Chet. Is everything okay?”
I slam the diary shut, stuff it under my pillow, and take a quick, calming breath before saying, “Yeah, I’m fine.”
The door opens a crack, and Chet peers inside, his hair a swoosh over his eyes. He pushes it away and says, “Can I come in?”
“Make yourself at home.”
He steps inside and takes a seat on my hickory trunk, his long legs extended, arms crossed. Although he and Theo aren’t biologically related, the two nevertheless share some traits. Both have the height and physique that makes everything they wear seem perfectly tailored. Both move with athletic grace. And both radiate that laid-back, carefree vibe that comes from being to the manor born. Or, in their case, adopted.
“I noticed you weren’t at the campfire,” Chet says. “I wondered if something was wrong. You know, after what happened at lunch.”
“Which one of them sent you? Your mother or your brother?”
“Neither, actually. I came on my own. I wanted to clear up a few things. About the camera and why my mother invited you back here. Both were my idea.”
I sit up in surprise. Yesterday, I had wondered if Chet even remembered who I was. Clearly, he did.
“I had assumed both were Franny’s idea.”
“Technically, they were. But I’m the one who instigated them.” Chet gives me a grin. It’s a great smile. Another thing he and his brother have in common. “The camera was just a precaution. Theo and my mother had nothing to do with it. I thought it would be a good idea to monitor your cabin. Not that I expect anything bad to happen. But it doesn’t hurt to be prepared in case it does.”
It’s a polite way of saying that he, too, knows about my fragile mental state after my first stay here. At this rate, it’ll be common knowledge among every camper and kitchen worker by the end of the week.
“Please don’t be offended,” Chet says. “I understand why you felt unfairly targeted, and I’m sorry. We all are. And if you want it taken down, I’ll get Ben to do it first thing tomorrow morning.”
I’m tempted to demand that it be dismantled right this instant. But, oddly, I also understand the need for caution. After what happened in the shower this morning—or, more accurately, what might have happened—it’s not a bad idea to monitor the camp.
“It can stay,” I tell him. “For now. And only if you tell me why it was your idea to invite me back here.”
“Because of what you said back then,” Chet says. “About Theo.”
There’s no need for him to elaborate. I know he’s referring to how I told police Theo had something to do with the girls’ disappearance and never took it back. Both are actions I’ve come to regret. The former because of why I blamed him. The latter because it would mean admitting to all that I’m a liar.
Two truths I’m not yet ready to face.
“I can’t change what I did back then,” I say. “All I can do is tell you that I regret it and that I’m sorry.”
Chet raises a hand to stop me. “Getting an apology isn’t why I told my mother she should invite you back here. I did it because your presence says more than any apology ever could.”
So that’s why Franny was so eager to have me return to Camp Nightingale. She had pitched it as a way to show that the camp was a safe, happy place again. In truth, my being here is a silent retraction of what I said about Theo fifteen years ago.
“Because I’m here again, it means I think Theo is innocent,” I say.
“Exactly,” Chet says. “But it’s more than that. It’s an opportunity for closure.”
“That’s why I decided to come.”
“Actually, I was talking about Theo. I thought having you here would be a chance to make amends. That it would do him some good. God knows, he needs it.”
“Why?” It’s the only thing I can think to say. Theo is handsome, wealthy, and successful. What else could he possibly need?
“Theo’s not as put together as he looks,” Chet says. “He had a rough time after what happened here. Not that I can blame him. The police kept questioning him. Vivian’s father said some awful stuff about him, as did the press. And Theo couldn’t take it. Dropped out of school. Went heavy on the drugs and alcohol. Rock bottom came on the Fourth of July. A year after the disappearance. Theo went to a party in Newport, got lit, borrowed someone’s Ferrari, and smashed it into a tree a mile down the road.”
I shudder, recalling the scar on Theo’s cheek.
“It’s a miracle he survived,” Chet continues. “Theo got lucky, I guess. But the thing is, I’m pretty sure he didn’t plan to survive that crash. He’s never come out and admitted he was trying to kill himself, but that’s my theory. For months he had certainly acted like someone with a death wish. Things got better after that. My mother made sure of it. Theo spent six months in rehab, went back to Harvard, finally became a doctor, although two years later than he had planned. Because everything eventually went back to normal, none of us talk about that time. I guess my mother and Theo think I was too young to remember. But I do. It’s hard to forget watching your only brother go through something like that.”
He stops talking, takes a deep breath, lets out a long, sad sigh.
“I’m so sorry,” I say, even though it’s meaningless. It doesn’t change what happened. It can’t erase the pale line that now runs down Theo’s cheek.
“I don’t know why you accused him,” Chet says. “I don’t need to know. What matters is that you don’t believe it now; otherwise you wouldn’t be here. I don’t want you to feel bad.”
But I feel worse than bad. Truly villainous. I can’t even will myself to look at Chet. Instead, I stare at the floor, mute and guilt-ridden.
“Don’t beat yourself up over it,” Chet says as he stands to leave. “That’s the last thing any of us want. It’s time to let go of the past. That’s why you’re here. It’s why we’re all
here. And I hope it’ll do everyone some good.”
18
I wait a full five minutes after Chet leaves before diving back into Vivian’s diary. It stays under my pillow as I count the seconds. I’m not worried about him returning to interrupt me once again. It’s more of a moment to decompress after what he said about Theo. Even though he told me not to beat myself up, I can’t help it.
Theo spent six months in rehab. Probably at the same time I was being treated for my own problems. Our first years after Camp Nightingale were almost identical. The only difference was the demons we faced.
Mine looked like Vivian.
Theo’s looked like me.
Again, I know I can’t repair the damage I’ve caused him. That opportunity passed fifteen years ago. But I can prevent further damage if I find out more about what happened to Vivian, Natalie, and Allison. He’ll no longer have suspicion trailing after him like a shadow.
He’ll be free.
And if it happens to him, it could also happen to me.
When the five minutes have elapsed, I remove Vivian’s diary from under my pillow, flip to where I had left off, and dive in once more.
June 29,
It turns out I was right. Lottie told F, who pulled me aside after lunch and basically went apeshit on me. She threatened to call The Senator, as if he’d fucking care. She also said I needed to respect personal boundaries. I felt like telling her to shove those personal boundaries up her dusty twat. I didn’t because I need to keep my head down. I can’t rock that damn boat until it must be capsized.
So, to recap:
Bad news: She definitely suspects something.
Good news: I’m close to finding out her dirty little secret.
July 1,
I’m thinking about telling Emma.
Someone needs to know in case something happens to me.
July 2,
Well, that sucked.
I decided not to tell Em the whole truth about what I’m doing. It’s safer for her that way. Instead, I opted to hint at it by taking her to my secret stash in the woods. You guessed it, THE BOX. The thing that started this whole investigation when I found it last summer.
