by Tessa Wegert
“You think you invited us here?” My voice was high, my ears under pressure. I swallowed to clear them, but no dice. I felt like I was underwater.
“That’s not how this works,” Tim said. His hands were up like he was miming the act of holding us back. Tim had more than enough muscle to contain Flynn, but he just stood there doing nothing. Small-town detectives are pathetic.
“Your brother’s gone,” I said. “All that’s left of him is a bloodstain the size of a goddamn garden pond.”
“Watch your mouth,” said Bebe, “you’re in the presence of an innocent child.” She tried to wrap a protective arm around Jade’s shoulder. The kid recoiled from her touch.
“That child dumped boiling water on my hand for her own entertainment.” Even before the words left my mouth, I was sure. The spill was deliberate, and Jade was as sadistic as the rest of them. “Jade’s a long way from innocent. Are you aware she’s obsessed with her uncle? Or that her gossiping may have gotten him killed?”
“Shana,” Tim muttered, startling me. He’d broken character, undermined me by using my first name. I ignored him and blinked hard. The walls of the hallway were closing in.
“How dare you,” Bebe shouted as Jade’s eyes filled with tears. “I’ll have you fired for this!”
Something happened to her then. As I watched, Bebe Sinclair changed. Her features became a collection of bloated, oversized parts. I knew it was an illusion, a quadrant of my brain adjusting her face to match the person I now knew her to be, but the effect was alarming. Breathe, I told myself. Let these images go and connect with the breath. But my mind was a zoo with the gates flung open, my thoughts stampeding like underfed beasts. There were skeletons in every closet here, hidden by people who shuffled grudges like playing cards, their diamonds with edges like blades. In the game this family played, the only hearts dealt out were bloodied and beaten until there wasn’t a beat left. In that moment, my perspective shifted. These people all looked like monsters to me.
I listened to Carson’s voice inside my head.
In your case, Shay, I believe you’re under extreme psychological stress. What happened with Bram, it messed with your mind. To put it simply, you’re no longer able to separate fact from fiction. We call this cognitive dissonance. Your beliefs are in conflict, fighting against each other, and that impacts your ability to make value judgments. You can’t trust yourself to know right from wrong. You’ll feel fear when you’re safe, see a threat where there’s none. And you’ll experience the aftereffects of this debilitating condition for a long, long time to come.
“Was it you?” I scrutinized Bebe’s hideous face. “Did you hold a pillow over his mouth when you stabbed him, or did you jump at the chance to watch him die?”
She gasped. Near the stairs, Abella wiped her mouth on her sleeve and swayed in place. My chest constricted under my shirt. No, not my shirt—Camilla’s. A million ants zigzagged over my arms, and when I clawed at the fabric I swear I felt their globular bodies pop and ooze under my nails. Hours and hours I’d been on the island. The incubation period was almost up. These people were sick, I was at risk of contamination, and nothing, not even my clothing, felt safe. Under the gauze my hand throbbed. They did this to me, I thought. They caused all of this.
“This is outrageous!” Flynn strained against Tim to reach me. His voice was deafening.
“Or was it you?” I said, staring up at him. I had to know. I needed to hear I wasn’t insane, that Jasper was dead and they’d killed him. “How does it feel to know you’ll never have to compete with your perfect little brother again? I’ll find Jasper like Camilla asked me to, don’t you worry. He’s in the river, Mr. Sinclair. Right where you put him.”
Several things happened at once. Flynn shoved Tim aside and lunged at me. One of the women screamed. Before I could stop myself I drew my weapon, found my target, and squeezed the trigger.
The sound of the gunshot in the hall was tremendous. There was a moment of silence, and then all hell broke loose. Flynn’s body hit the hardwood with a mighty thud. There were cries and wails. Tim, on the floor next to him, shouted orders. His hands were already streaked with blood such a vibrant shade of red it hurt my eyes.
Without thinking, I ran. Down the hall.
Out the front door.
Into the storm.
TWENTY-TWO
Flynn was dead, I was sure of it. I was trained to make a shot count. The bullet had ripped through the man’s thick chest, just as I’d intended.
Flynn’s a suspect, I told myself. He’s dangerous. I had no choice.
You have no proof he killed Jasper. You don’t even know if Jasper’s dead.
I had no destination. All I wanted was to escape from the house, and everyone in it. Outside, a row of exterior lights illuminated a winding pathway to the steep stairs that led down to the water, a vast black hole at the base of the hill. That’s where I headed, taking the slick steps two at a time and praying my boots would find traction on the rocky treads. Without my raincoat, which still hung in the mudroom, Camilla’s shirt was soaked through in seconds. The way it clung to my skin made me want to scream.
Far below me a wave crashed against the stone wall and exploded with a sound like thunder. McIntyre was wrong to trust me with this job. Why didn’t I just listen to Carson? I should have known I couldn’t trust myself after I drew my weapon on Ned. I saw a killer in every face, a motive in every story. I wasn’t just a mess, I was a menace. What made me think I could recover from what Bram did to me? He’d rearranged my instincts and emotions like a kid tossing a puzzle in the air and laughing as the pieces rained down around him. He might as well have killed me in that cellar. The person I used to be—competent, steadfast, true—was dead.
By the time I got to the boathouse, my face was numb and the bandage on my hand was drenched. I stopped to unwrap the gauze. The last layer had fused itself to my seeping skin, but I ripped it off anyway. Savored the intensity of the pain.
The shirt came off next. I tore it open, struggled out, and threw the ball of wet fabric onto the rocks. I wanted to rid myself of everything belonging to the Sinclairs, but it wasn’t as easy as ditching Norton’s bandage and Camilla’s borrowed clothes. Just like Bram, they’d found a way inside my head. My only escape from the madness was to get off Tern Island.
The boathouse was dark. Even through the rain I picked up the rank smell of rotted fish abandoned by minks that couldn’t be trapped. I didn’t have the keys to the police boat and couldn’t have driven it if I did, but I didn’t think about any of that when, standing in my wet bra, I groped at the rough interior wall for the light.
“Shana!”
Tim’s voice was barely audible over the rumble of the river and torrential rain. He moved faster than he should have been able to on those irregular, rainwashed steps. How had he caught up with me so quickly? Tim didn’t have his jacket either. His wet shirt was molded to the contours of his chest.
When he reached me he planted his hands on his knees and took a series of long, wheezy breaths. “What the hell, Shana?” he gasped. “What the fuck?”
“You have to take me back to the mainland.” It didn’t seem like an unreasonable request. Whatever Tim’s association with the family, he should want me gone as much as the others. It was leave now or wait for backup to haul me away in cuffs. Tim would have to answer for his offenses—whatever arrangement he had with the family would come out in the end—but it was me who’d take the heat for this case going to shit. The Sinclairs would sue. No paid desk duty for me; I’d be charged with involuntary manslaughter. Would Carson wait for me while I was in prison? All he’d asked was that I leave police work behind so we could be a normal, happy couple like everyone else. Well, he didn’t have to worry about me working ever again, and I’d have plenty of free time to plan the wedding. The irony of the situation was almost enough to make me laugh.
“I
’ll turn myself in when we get there. Just take me back.” My voice was steadier than I’d expected. I took some comfort in that.
“What in God’s name are you talking about?”
“I killed a witness. Was he your friend? Did I kill your friend, Tim?”
“Have you lost your fucking mind?” Tim looked down at my chest and saw the rain coursing over my near-naked breasts. His eyes got very round. “Where the hell is your shirt?”
“You were right. There isn’t a shred of proof out here that Jasper Sinclair was murdered. But you knew that from the start, didn’t you? I bet you know exactly where he is.”
Tim reached for my bare arm, but I yanked it away. “What’s wrong with you?” he said, voice rising. “Can’t you see I’m trying to help?”
“You can help by getting me out of here. Nothing’s wrong,” I said. “I finally get it.”
“No, you don’t. For starters, Flynn’s not dead.”
“What?”
“Lucky for you, your burn fucked up your aim.”
No. I’d seen the blood. The shot was true. “You’re lying.”
“You grazed his shoulder. He’ll be fine.” He paused and gave me a hard look. “It was self-defense.”
Flynn was angry and verbally abusive, but I didn’t remember him threatening me. I’d had no cause to draw my weapon, none at all. “But—”
“I’ll testify to that.”
Why would Tim defend me? It was a trap, it had to be. “Is this the part where you throw me in the river? How much are they paying you to cover up their crimes?”
“Shana,” said Tim, sounding exhausted. “Please.”
“Carson tried to warn me about you. God, I wish I’d listened.”
“Carson what?” Tim’s tone changed then. I couldn’t discern what that meant. “That makes perfect sense, actually.” He said it with a bitter laugh. “How does he manage to fuck me over even when he’s not around?”
“Carson’s just the messenger. You brought this on yourself.”
“For the love of Pete, Shana, help me understand. What is it that you think I did?”
My mouth worked ineffectually. “The Sinclairs,” I stammered. “You know them. They trust you.”
“I know of them,” said Tim. “Everybody around here does. And if they trust me, then I did my job. Earlier, while you were interviewing Bebe and Miles? Jade told me her grandmother lived here—right here, in A-Bay—before moving to New York. Doesn’t that strike you as a weird coincidence? And while you were talking to Ned, Bebe said Jasper used to beg to go to Antigua with his dad but he always refused to take the kids. Baldwin never even took Rachel until their last trip, the one they didn’t make it home from alive.”
I couldn’t concentrate on what he was saying. All the evidence I’d gathered against Tim flooded my mind. “But you let Jade leave the parlor. You were supposed to watch them.”
“The kid said she had to pee. How was I to know she’s a lying little shit?”
“Abella was about to tell me something about Jasper. You sent her away.”
“I was worried about you! You disappeared for almost an hour, and when you showed up again your hand was wrapped up like a mummy. I wanted to make sure you were okay.” Tim dropped to his haunches, head in his hands. “I don’t know what this is. I thought we trusted each other. What happened, Shane?”
Hearing the nickname, his way of ribbing me like a friend, left me gutted. Again I reached inside the boathouse in search of the switch. I couldn’t stand to be this close to him, couldn’t bear the look of disappointment in his eyes. “Nothing happened,” I said as I fumbled for the light. “You just don’t know me. Not at all.”
He stood up. “You’re goddamn right I don’t. Man, to think I actually considered trying to talk you out of marrying Carson Gates. I get it now. You two deserve each other.”
“What the hell does that mean?”
“It means you’re as crazy as he is.”
I dropped my hand to my side. “Carson’s a psychologist. He’s dedicated his life to helping people who’ve endured unspeakable things, suffered in ways you can’t imagine.”
“How long have you known him?”
“Long enough,” I said.
“Long enough to know Carson’s favorite pastime as a kid was pinning all his transgressions on me?” Tim’s body went rigid and he closed his eyes. When they opened he fixed me with a cold stare. “When Carson stole money from my mom’s purse, I got the blame. He egged the school, and I got suspended. I was with him when he set a porta potty on fire just for kicks. As luck would have it, a cop drove by. When we ran, Carson tripped me so I’d be the one who got caught.”
I thought back to breakfast, Carson laughing at that same memory. Except it wasn’t the same, not at all.
Tim’s hands were fists, his knuckles white. Even sheltered as he was by the overhang of the boathouse roof, his wet clothes whipped in the wind. “The town tried to charge me with second-degree arson. My parents had to hire an attorney. They spent half their savings to get me off the hook, and if they hadn’t there’s no way I could have joined the force. Carson tried to ruin my life, and almost succeeded. And the crazy thing is he acted like nothing happened, like we were still best buds. My parents had the school put me in a different class. I worked my ass off avoiding him all through high school, couldn’t wait until graduation. The day I heard he was moving to New York was one of the happiest of my life, because I thought I’d never have to see that shithead ever again.”
I told myself the nausea I felt was due to the smell, all those fish left to rot. Carson’s family had told me stories about his childhood. Everyone described him as a good kid who loved to help others, a healer to the core. “That’s ridiculous. You and Carson were friends.”
“I thought we were friends. I wanted us to be. I didn’t have a lot of them back then. He was a conniving jerk, and I was a tool. Carson’s a user, Shana. You’re lucky he hasn’t done the same to you.”
He’s not a good person. Please believe me. It’s the truth. “But he wanted to invite you to our wedding,” I said, still refusing to accept it, still fighting. “It was his idea.”
“Of course it was. He’s still playing mind games, even now. If there’s a way to humiliate me, he’ll find it.” The toe of Tim’s boot made contact with a stone and he sent it flying toward the river. It disappeared into the mist. “He called me when he moved back to town, you know that? ‘Heard you’re a cop,’ he said. He told me he was marrying a detective from the city, made sure to stress how inconsequential my life is compared to his. ‘My girl left the NYPD for me,’ he said, ‘but hey, don’t worry, Timmy, maybe you’ll find a lonely cashier and settle down in a nice backcountry trailer park.’”
My legs felt weak. Tim gave me a pitying look. “All of this comes as a complete shock, doesn’t it? Classic Carson.”
I pictured Carson the way he’d looked that morning. Thought back to our early days together, when he was my appointed therapist. We’d been dating less than a year, but I knew him, didn’t I? I couldn’t imagine him concealing this from me.
Can’t you? I asked myself. What about the secret you’ve been keeping from him?
“You want proof?” Tim said. “Talk to the other kids in our class. Interview my parents, for all I care—and when you get home, be sure to ask Carson about Moonshine Phil.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Just another person Carson screwed over. I finally realized where I know Norton from. When I saw him with that wine bottle, I remembered. Back in high school Carson used to filch booze from my folks. They found out, they hid the bottles, I lost my driving privileges—but Carson wasn’t about to give up. He found a new supplier, a guy who worked at the liquor store in town. Moonshine Phil—that’s what Carson used to call him. He thought Norton was a dumb hick and saw his chance to t
ake advantage.”
“Are you trying to tell me you’ve known Norton since you were a kid?”
“I wouldn’t say I knew him. He and Carson had a business relationship. I was just the errand boy. Carson threw him a few extra bucks, Norton sold us cheap liquor through the back door—but Carson realized he could turn around and sell it to our friends at a markup. It wasn’t long before Norton’s boss found out and he got canned. Guess we know where he went to work after that.”
I felt stunned and sick to my stomach. The person Tim was describing sounded nothing like the Carson I knew. Tim’s childhood friend was manipulative and cruel. Carson couldn’t be that person now . . . could he?
“Look,” Tim said with a sigh, “I don’t expect you to side with me on this. Think whatever you want. But right now we’re working this case together, and we have to finish it.”
“I can’t.” Hike back up to the house to face that family? The idea was unbearable. I needed time to process what Tim said, to make sense of the huge warning sign he just slapped on my future. “If you want to stay, stay. I’m going home.”
“And how do you plan to do that? You don’t know how to drive the boat. You couldn’t get back in the best of weather, let alone this.”
“The thing is, Tim, I don’t need your permission. Give me the keys.”
“The hell I will.”
Again I felt along the wall for the light I knew must be there. Tim reached for my arm, and this time he caught it.
“That scene up there?” He nodded at the house and water flew from his hair in a perfect arc. “That was not okay. Pulling a weapon on a witness? Walking out on a roomful of volatile people? You need to tell me what’s going on with you, Shana, or you’re going to get us both killed.”
I was shaking so hard my teeth hurt. Tim unbuttoned his shirt, pulled it off to reveal a white undershirt, and handed it to me. Robotically, I slipped in my arms and folded the shirt over my bare chest. Even sopping wet, it was warm against my skin.
