The Engagement Party, page 12
Mitch and Sierra held hands as they glanced around the shed. With a nod from Mitch, they approached the tarp, tiptoeing around the pools of blood, and let go of each other to stand on opposite sides of the table. Bungee cords held the material on, binding the object into a shape that mimicked a folded body.
Tyler’s killer wanted to torture them. Move the dead body around, keep them guessing. Every confusing move chipped away at their feeling of security until they doubted and bickered. Ruthie’s skin itched at the thought of a killer watching them even now, plotting and wallowing in their fear.
Sierra clenched and unclenched her hands at her sides before unfastening the end of the cord on her side. She and Mitch shared a look before they loosened the binding and freed the tarp. Mitch pulled it back.
A head rolled off the table and onto the floor.
Human. Very human.
Sierra tried to take a step back but in the small space fell against the workbench. A second later she doubled over again and dry heaved.
Ruthie watched the horror unfold and grabbed the door for support. A body on his back with legs curled to one side. A hole in his chest. Not the same clothes as the guy in the trunk. And the head. Ruthie didn’t look at it as she silently begged the universe for forgiveness for starting all of this. Please let that be a mannequin or . . . anything but a headless human being.
The sound of Sierra’s retching filled the small room. The horrid noise touched off Ruthie’s gag reflex.
All of the color left Mitch’s face as he stared at the floor. Focused on the closed eyes and matted hair. “Son of a bitch.”
“Please . . .” Will sounded unsteady. “T-tell me that’s not a person.”
“Not anymore.” Mitch visibly inhaled as he reached for something tucked into the pocket of the guy’s shirt. Ruthie didn’t realize it was another note until Mitch turned the paper around for them to read it.
tick tock
Ruthie almost screamed again when Mitch crouched down to take a closer look at the head. “What are you doing?”
He stood up again with a look of pure despair on his face. “He’s not missing.”
Ruthie didn’t get it. “What are you talking about?”
Mitch glanced at the floor one more time. “That’s Jake.”
Chapter Thirty-One
Book Notes: Emily’s Friends
It’s impossible to investigate Emily’s death without looking into the people who mattered to her while she was alive. A deep dive into her social media and diary focused the search. She obsessed about a certain professor early senior year. The poor bastard got an unexpected visit from the police during a midday lecture in a packed hall. Whispers about an affair started right after, but it turned out he had no clue about Emily’s interest and had a solid alibi that included being out of the country for a family wedding at the time of her death.
The other players in the game of Who Knew Emily Best neatly matched the list of people she spent time with during her last hours alive. A finite list of best friends. One other woman and four men. Will Mayer, Mitch Andersen, Alex Greene, Jake Parker, and Cassie Holder, now Cassie Greene. An indivisible group that for four years traveled as a pack and shared most meals. They met in classes or bricks, the nickname for first-year housing at Bowdoin. In later years, they spent weekends hanging out either at each other’s apartments, in town, or on weekend getaways.
They came from different backgrounds and had varying dreams. Anyone who knew the members of this little group viewed them as inseparable. But the look from outside the window rarely reflects the reality behind the walls. Friendships, like expensive houses, have an outward shine. Get an invitation inside and you’ll see the imperfections. Dig around and you’ll find the cracks.
With this friend group, every flaw and every argument took on the heightened ferociousness reserved for twenty-somethings looking at an uncertain road ahead without a map to guide them. Technically adults but vulnerable from their four-year cocoon in an environment meant to shelter, educate, and launch them.
Emily loved with a fierce sense of loyalty. Between the pages of the diary she thought no one would ever read, she described her friends both with terms of awe and disdain. In language that could be overly dramatic and romantic, or empathetic and mature, depending on her mood, she set out her thoughts, letting them form the final, biting statement about the person she was.
I told Cassie I’d been thinking about Mitch, about that dream I had, and she jumped all over me. Told me to leave him alone. Why does she get to decide? I guess turning Alex from a hottie to a simpering loser who all but wipes her ass makes her think she’s in control of every other guy on campus. I get it. She has this big life plan. With her, it’s all about a job and money but SHUT THE FUCK UP, CAS. Nobody cares about your sad mom or your sister who turned out to be a washed-up teen mother with three kids, living in a trailer at twenty. I love you but you’re exhausting!
With every line, Emily slashed into her friends to reveal what she viewed as their faults, at times embellishing them and at others forgiving them. She examined every hurt inflicted on her and others in the group both petty and significant. She assessed these moments through a black-and-white lens because she hadn’t yet experienced the world of gray.
I’ve decided! Mitch and Jake are the most attractive of our group. I was watching them the other day. Jake does this thing where he has to be the funny one, but he’s messed up. Can’t blame him. My brothers make me want to hide in my room, but I can’t imagine losing one because my drunk ass mom drove a car into a lake. And Mitch. He had no chance of being ok with that mom.
If the police hadn’t focused on a killer so early, been so determined to put a period on the report that wrapped up the investigation, some of Emily’s words could have been twisted. Inferences could have been made. Leaps taken. All of which might have pushed the search for the murderer in another direction and back to the original one. To a search of Emily’s inner circle.
Maybe I just find guys with a dark side sexy. It’s tempting to push them and see how far you can go. Discover how bad they really are underneath it all. Imagine trying to contain that!
Chapter Thirty-Two
Sierra
Sierra wiped the back of her hand over her mouth as she stood up from a second round of vomiting. The quick change of direction knocked her off-balance and sent the small room spinning around her again. Between the dizziness, lack of fresh air, and suffocating closeness, her equilibrium vanished. She gripped the side of the table for support. Her fingers landed so close to the dead body.
The hours of fear and uncertainty had caught up with her. Her personal motto of I can get through this and thrive faltered. Any momentum, every ounce of calm, abandoned her.
“I have to get off this island.” She didn’t wait for agreement or an argument. She didn’t want to see questioning looks, or worse, faces that showed only a mild discomfort at the sight of a decapitated person.
She raced around the other side of the table and grabbed the end of the rowboat while the others watched in stunned silence. Her sneakers slipped on the blood and the strain of pulling the thing burned through her energy reserves. She thought a few tugs would get it moving, but it weighed more than she thought. It bumped along, smacking against the concrete floor as she yanked with each fumbling step.
“Sierra, no.” Mitch put a hand on the boat, stopping what little forward movement she’d accomplished.
“Don’t just stand there. Help me.” Her arms ached and her muscles clenched. What felt like a permanent case of airsickness buzzed through her, but she kept pulling, trying to maneuver the boat to the door. “We can use this.”
That was the new plan. No details or set destination. Just get in and leave. Figure out the next move once they were in the water and away from the pile of dead bodies.
A head rolled onto the floor.
She would never be able to unsee that.
“There’s still a storm,” Ruthie said.
Sierra would take her chances on the choppy water. “It’s not safe in here.”
Her cell phone. The thought popped into her head. She didn’t have it with her because she couldn’t get a signal. She hadn’t eaten in hours and didn’t have food or supplies. Alex’s keys to the rental car could be anywhere. The weight of what she lacked nearly knocked her over.
“For now, we need to get back to the house.” Mitch gestured somewhere behind her.
His expression was stark but he sounded so reasonable. So reassuring. But she couldn’t trust anything right now. Fear held her in a stranglehold. She had to suck in big gulps of air just to stay on her feet. She’d never experienced a panic attack . . . until now.
She let the words floating through her head tumble out. “I’m not going in that house. I’m not staying on this island another second.”
“I know we have to get away but not like this. Not in a panic in the dark.” This time Mitch put a hand on her shoulder. “We’ll go in the morning, low tide or not.”
She wanted to scream at him, to shrug off his calming touch, but the last of her energy drained out of her. “Please. I can’t wait.”
The wind whistled through the shed’s wooden boards. Another reminder of the dangers waiting to devour her on this island. Sick, winded, terrified. She needed to harness all of those into an adrenaline rush that might save her.
“Is a rowboat strong enough to get us off this island?” Ruthie asked.
A potential ally. Not a trustworthy one but right now Sierra didn’t care. “It should float.”
“Stop,” Mitch snapped at Ruthie. “Don’t encourage her.”
“No, she’s the only other person thinking around here.” The revving inside Sierra wouldn’t slow. She dropped the boat and pleaded with Mitch to listen. “If we use the location of the causeway as a guide, we’ll be fine.”
He looked at her like he thought she’d lost all sense. “It’s flooded. Totally underwater.”
“We have a general idea of the area. We can figure it out.” The words flowed out of her now. Some of them made sense. Most of them didn’t. “The water won’t be as deep in that area. We’ll travel and have the causeway a few feet under us for protection.”
The actual depth and the temperature of the water were unknowns. A rampaging killer . . . that head . . . gave her no choice but to abandon logic and run.
“You know that won’t work,” Will said.
Fine. She’d rescue herself then come up with a way to rescue them later. But she needed Mitch with her. Needed him safe and away from this life-sucking crowd. She could barely stand without her sore knee thumping, but they’d manage.
Survive. The word played over and over in her head.
She picked up the rowboat again and yanked it toward her. The tip slammed into her chest, but she kept shuffling and dragging. A rough inside edge of the fiberglass dug into her palms. A nail or screw—something sharp—cut into her skin. She’d barely gone three more steps when Mitch shifted to stand behind her.
“Sierra, stop. God, please.”
The tiny flicker of hope inside her danced as it closed in on extinction. She ignored his pleading and expressions of concern. Refused to look at Ruthie again to see her confusion or Will’s skepticism. They could all rot here.
Sierra’s muscles begged for mercy even as her mind continued to race. All logic gone, she moved on pure will. She dropped the rowboat and it landed with a crack. “I’m leaving.”
Swim. So dangerous. The worst option and the least likely to work. Blackouts and notes, dead bodies and stupid games. Had they really been on the island for less than a day? Memories ran together in her head, crowding out every thought until only one remained. Go!
She pivoted around Mitch. Ignored the bile rushing up her throat and the way her sneakers slipped and slid. She ran out of the shed and into the night. The darkness closed in on her, but she could breathe again.
The driving rain had her turned around and twisted. “Which way?”
Mitch’s voice rose over the howling wind. “No!”
“Stop her,” Ruthie said at the same time.
Sierra zigged and zagged. She’d read somewhere about not running in a straight line if you’re being attacked. Her eyes adjusted to the lack of light. The whole world plunged into a deep navy blue, filled with shadows and shifting shapes. She could smell the grass and the trees. The air carried the intoxicating scent of nature cleansing itself. Cold but clean.
Footsteps thundered behind her as she grabbed on to a tree trunk and used it to navigate a hill. One step then another. She picked up speed, but one unbalanced choice and her feet flew out from under her. Instinct told her to curl to the side to protect her sore knee. She smacked against the ground on her hip. Her body all but bounced down the slope.
Not knowing if her leg would hold her, she slithered from there. Kept her body close to the ground and used her elbows to move as Mitch called out behind her. Every thud against the muddy earth vibrated through her.
“Sierra, stop!”
The grass got swampier and the yelling behind her grew louder. Another wiggle and shift and gravel dug into the fleshy part of her palm. Water lapped and roared around her. She was close enough to dip her fingers into the bay or ocean . . . she didn’t even know where they were anymore.
Mitch swooped in. Her body lifted off the ground and landed on his lap. She tried to squirm out of his hold, but he yanked her against his chest as he sat there in the mud.
Freedom loomed just out of her grasp. A sense of failure crept in. Rain pounded on her head and all around her. Desperate for relief, she buried her face in the folds of his wet shirt and cried as his arms closed around her.
“I can’t . . .” She didn’t even know how to finish the sentence.
“I’m so sorry.”
“I should have listened to you.” Stayed away. Never met these people or walked down the road to their shared and sordid past. She sensed Ruthie and Will huddled behind them. Sierra said the truth anyway. “We’re going to die out here.”
Mitch rocked her in his arms, as if oblivious to the downpour. “We’re leaving as soon as the storm breaks and the sun comes up. We’ll swim if we have to.”
She didn’t believe him. “Please don’t let them kill me.”
Chapter Thirty-Three
Ruthie
Watching something as painful and intimate as Sierra’s unraveling and Mitch’s gentle coaxing started an ache thumping inside Ruthie. Seeing practical and determined Sierra brought to her knees, willing to risk drowning rather than be hunted, ripped the last of Ruthie’s control away. Screw her plans and all that time spent dissecting them, crawling through their histories, and stepping through their collected lies. Survival was the ultimate goal now.
The way the head dropped. It had been unreal and horrifying, and every time she thought about it her mind blanked. Probably a protective mechanism her brain created to help her survive, and she was thankful for the brief reprieve from reality.
Will and Mitch lifted Sierra to her feet. She didn’t fight them. She didn’t say anything as she limped her first few steps.
The wind had died down to a normal storm-like heavy breeze. Annoying but it no longer knocked Ruthie sideways or held her in its grip. The rain continued to fall but they were already drenched so trying to outrun the drops seemed futile. They needed to keep Sierra up and moving. Between the limp and unruly wind-tossed hair, the clothes caked with mud and patches of blood, she looked feral. Eyes wild and searching the area with every step.
Ruthie fought to find normal. Her muscles shook and her dry throat made it tough to swallow. Danger lurked all around them. She didn’t know where or when it would strike, but she understood the inevitability of another round. The faceless attacker was on a killing streak. He wouldn’t just slink away. Not until he had what he wanted.
“We’ll go inside and dry off. Check on Alex.” She’d almost forgotten about his injuries while they were out collecting new ones. Every time they ventured away from the relative safety of the kitchen something huge happened. They’d been stumbling over dead bodies and strained explanations all day. Trying to make the inexplicable, the horrifying, understandable.
Will joined her at the head of the pack, constantly scanning the landscape for trouble. “Are you okay?”
He didn’t sound shocked or scared. How was that possible? She wondered if he schooled his emotions or if he didn’t have any at all. “No.”
He continued as if he hadn’t heard her. “We should look for the electrical panel. We assumed the worst when the power went out but maybe the storm tripped the breaker.”
Ruthie didn’t believe that. She still blamed intentional human interference. A deliberate attempt to shake them up and keep them off-balance.
“If it’s innocent then explain the body,” Mitch said from right behind her. “Actually, bodies. Plural.”
“I don’t understand who would want to kill Jake. And like that . . . it was brutal.” Will made the comment in a faraway voice, as if his mental wanderings had slipped out.
He and Mitch hadn’t had a second to mourn for their friend or reason out the why behind his violent death, but now was not the time for this discussion. Not while they were out in the open.
Ruthie was about to make that declaration when Mitch answered. “The real question is who wants to kill all of us?”
“I can’t believe our engagement party weekend turned into this.” Will tangled his fingers in hers. “I’m sorry.”
She didn’t want comfort from him. The voice in her head whispered to keep her hands free just in case, so she let go of his hand. “Inside.”
