"Gotta get up. Gotta get up. Gotta get up."
The mantra repeated under her breath, hands shaking as she kept turning the underwear over.
"Amy?"
She stopped and looked up, and I braced myself to see my cousin one last time. But the face that rose into the moonlight wasn't Amy's. It was mine.
Chapter Thirty
I backpedaled. Arms encircled me. When I screamed, a hand clamped over my mouth. I bit down, catching a fold of skin. A gasped curse, the hand instinctively jerking away, but then slapping back, too flat to bite, though I tried, kicking and flailing, the arm around me hugging me, arms pinned to my sides.
"Nadia."
I jabbed my elbow back. A grunt, but the arm only clasped me tighter. I kicked, foot making contact.
"Nadia!"
A wrench. I flew off my feet, the world toppling into darkness, then, in one bright second, slamming into focus. I was staring at a life jacket, the orange so harsh I blinked. After a moment, I managed to pull my gaze away from that blaze of color and look around. Life jackets hung on hooks. Oars and paddles leaned against the wall. A faded Boating Safety poster, with phrases highlighted and extra rules written in spidery strokes. My handwriting. My boathouse.
The overhead light beamed down, as bright as the life jacket. A cold breeze blew in from the open door. The hand over my mouth had vanished, but the arm still held me. I looked down, catching sight of a broad, square hand as it moved to my shoulder.
A squeeze. "You okay?"
I turned and looked up at Jack. A hard blink, my brain still foggy.
"You had a nightmare," he said. "About Amy."
"I thought I was…" I swallowed, rubbing my throat, and looked around. The boathouse… "How did I get here?"
"Sleepwalking. Wasn't sure at first. Then…" He shrugged. "They say someone's sleepwalking? Don't wake them. Not sure why. Didn't want to chance it. Just followed."
"You heard me from the house?" I stiffened and swung toward the open door. "Did I wake Emma? The guests – did they hear -?"
"No one heard anything. That's why I…" He looked at his hand and I thought I saw a red mark on his palm.
"Did I bite -?"
"Nah." He shoved the hand into his pocket. "When you screamed. I tried to block it. Knew you wouldn't want…" He nodded in the direction of the lodge. "Anyone hearing."
"I-I saw the cabin. The one where he took us. Amy and me. I saw…" I stared at the spot where the sleeping bag had been, then shook it off. "Sorry. Sleepwalking, huh? I've never done that." A harsh laugh. "Something new to add to the repertoire. Oh, happy day."
I stepped away, but my gaze swung back to that spot under the life jackets.
"What'd you see?" Jack asked.
"Hmm?"
He gestured at the floor, that shadowy corner from my dream, now just a bare spot, brightly lit.
"Myself," I murmured. "Or me, as a girl. It just… threw me. I thought it was Amy. She was getting dressed. Trying to escape, I guess."
"You."
"No, not me. Amy."
"Thought you said – "
"It looked like me, but it was Amy or what I imagine, after…" I swallowed, rubbed my throat again. "I've had the dream before. I've never sleepwalked during it, thank God. I dream I'm in the cabin again and I see Amy. She's trying to get dressed after Drew Aldrich…" I shook my head. "It's what I picture, but I know it didn't happen like that. She didn't have time to do anything. The coroner figured he strangled her while he raped her, probably trying to subdue her when she fought back. The dream is my guilt talking, I guess."
"So it's Amy you see?"
"Yes, it's Amy." I heard the exasperation in my voice and tried to squelch it. It was like anytime you explain a dream to someone – it makes perfect sense to you, and zero to everyone else. "Usually when I dream it, I see Amy. This time, it was me. You know how dreams are. Last week, I dreamed I came downstairs, and instead of finding Emma serving breakfast to my guests, it was my mother. Now that was a nightmare."
I headed for the door. "Anyway, I apologize for waking you – yet again."
"You didn't. I was still up."
"So how did you find – " I stopped, hand on the door frame. "You followed me from the house. You knew I wasn't going to bed."
"Think I'm stupid?"
"Jack, you don't have to – "
"Wasn't sleeping anyway. Let's get you a drink. And shoes."
I tried, with increasing insistence, to persuade Jack that I didn't need him to sit up with me. At one point, I even threw up my hands and headed for the stairs, saying I was going to bed and he could suit himself. He only retrieved my sneakers from the back hall, handed them to me, and said he'd be waiting outside my window.
So I humored him.
We returned to the lake, this time in the gazebo with the heater blasting.
"I'm handing the case over to the police," I said.
"Huh."
He stirred his cocoa, submerging a mini marshmallow and watching it resurface. Not quite the response I'd expected. He probably thought it was stress and exhaustion talking, and come morning I'd be right back at it, bashing my head against the wall pursuing "justice."
"They've got a body now – the girl at the wreckers. Quinn can advise me on how to link that, anonymously, with Sammi's disappearance and nudge them to her body."
"Huh."
"It's time for me to admit I'm not the right person for the job. That I'm being selfish by claiming I'm doing it for Sammi."
"When did you say that?"
"It was implied."
"Huh."
"Anyway, we both know the real reason. The same reason I shot Wayne Franco. The same reason I was so quick to join you to go after Wilkes, and equally quick to take chances catching him. By killing these guys, I think somehow I can set the balance straight. Selfish and pathetic."
A slow nod. "Yeah. Guess so. Killing Franco? Wilkes? Fenniger? Oughtta be ashamed of yourself."
I bristled, hands tightening around my mug as I lifted it. "You don't need to be sarcastic."
"And you don't need to be stupid."
I sputtered chocolate, then swiped my hand over my lips. "Stupid? I'm confessing – "
"That it's all about you? You don't give a shit about the victims? Yeah. That's why you're shivering in the forest. Running from ghosts. Right after that girl died. Must be coincidence."
I smacked the mug down, table shaking from the impact. "She died because I was too wrapped up in my revenge, my… absolution, to even realize she was there."
"No. She died because Fenniger decided she'd die. He didn't know we were tailing him. Didn't speed up because of it. Just followed his schedule. And we happened to be there. That was the coincidence."
"I could have taken him out before he got to that door."
"So now you're beating yourself up. Because you can't foresee the future." He shook his head and fingered a cookie, turning it over, thumb running along the edge. "You wanna blame someone, Nadia? Blame me. I could see her. Door opened. Girl was right there. But the angle? Wrong. Shoot, kill both. Tried to move. Get a better position. Too late. Fucking foot slowed me down. Maybe I should have taken the shot. So go ahead. Blame me."
"I'm not trying to blame anyone. I went after Fenniger because I didn't trust the police to do their job."
"You still planned to tell them. After you got more – " He rubbed his mouth. "Go on."
"I didn't trust them, and now I realize maybe that's just an excuse, which is why I'm stepping aside."
"You want out? Fine. Talk to Quinn and turn it over. If the cops fuck up and don't see the connection? If the trail goes cold and the case gets shelved? There's gonna be a lotta long nights in this forest. If you sleepwalk down by the lake again, make sure you don't wander in. I won't be here to save you."
"God, you can be a jerk." I pushed away from the table, spoon falling with a clatter. "Maybe you're grumpy because I'm keeping you up after a long night. Maybe you're sick of dealing with my shit. That's fine. But don't forget that I never asked you to deal with it. I came out here to handle it alone. You followed me. You insisted on coming back out now. You wanted me to talk. So here I am, talking, sharing this… epiphany with you, and what do I get? Sarcasm and mockery."