Eighteen

There's a bush to my right, maybe ten feet away, and Sadie's hands are pulling it down, her face peering through, as if she's crouched there, spying on us.

I blink hard. That face will disappear. It must, because I am hallucinating. I am lying on a rock watching Kit climb as a storm whips up, with my friend's body somewhere out there in the lake. I cannot be hearing her whisper. I cannot be feeling whatever I felt. I sure as hell cannot be seeing her. I will blink, and she will be gone.

She is not gone.

Sadie is right there. Staring at me. And her face…

Something is wrong with her face.

"Kit?" I say, the sound coming strangled.

Sadie pulls back. She does not disappear. The leaves spring back as she releases them, and she withdraws. Then there's a blur of motion through the thin branches as she takes off.

I leap to my feet and run after her.

"Laney!" Kit yells.

I don't turn back to him. I can see the undergrowth moving ahead, and it tells me where she is, and I don't dare look away. I wave over my head for him to follow me. Then I steer inland, farther from the treacherous rocks.

I reach the bush just as Kit catches up.

"Sadie!" I shout, the word snatched up by the wind.

I've lost sight of her. She's past the patch of undergrowth and somewhere farther down. I take a second to turn to Kit.

"I saw her!" I yell. "I saw Sadie."

His lips form a curse, and he bears down to run alongside me. We keep going until we're past that undergrowth. Then I stop and peer around. There's nothing here. It's rock with some shrubby trees.

I didn't see her. I couldn't have. There's no place for her to—

"There!" Kit shouts.

I follow his finger. He's pointing past the edge of the rock. It drops off to a bit of stone-covered shore, and I catch a blur of movement down there in the shadows.

We run to the edge. The rocks jut only five feet above the rocky strip, and we scramble down easily.

We're on the west side of the island now. The wind is driving from the east, and this cove is quiet, the water only lapping at the stones. I can barely see, though, and I look up to see black clouds rolling in fast, shoving aside the gray ones.

Kit turns on his flashlight, and I do the same with the one I'd grabbed from our stash. There's no sign of movement, but there are dozens of places to hide along here, where the water has worn into the rock, leaving tiny pockets and caves, each of them black as night.

"I saw her," I say. "I'm sure it was her. I could see her face."

He nods. "I only caught a glimpse of someone moving, but if it wasn't Sadie, it was her doppelg?nger."

I exhale. We are agreed then. Nothing to prove. No need to hedge in case I was mistaken.

We walk along the shore with our flashlight beams crisscrossing as we check each cave-like divot big enough to hide a person. When Kit spots something, it's a piece of fiberglass with looping script on it. A single word: "Wicked."

The Wicked Witch of the North.That was the name of our boat, a joke between us.

We continue. We'll reach the end soon, just after the shoreline curves to our right. We take one step around that curve and a figure appears.

It's Sadie. Undoubtedly Sadie.

She's poised on a rock. Perched like a gremlin, knees bent and splayed, arms hanging down. One arm hangs wrong, the palm unnaturally facing out, as if her shoulder is dislocated.

We can't see her face under the shadows of an overhang, but it's her, from the pale heart-shaped face to the heavy pendant necklace to the sopping-wet blond hair. There's something on her cheek. Something red and ugly. With a gasp, I realize her cheek is torn open to the bone.

"Sadie!"

I leap forward. She turns and takes off, and I stop, blinking. The way she's running, bent over in a lurching lope… It's like the uncanny valley of movement, where I see what looks like a person moving but my brain screams it's not right. The muscles, the bones, nothing is moving the way it should.

She's hurt. I can see that arm swinging, and I'm sure the shoulder is dislocated. One of her legs keeps buckling too. And her cheek—dear God, it was ripped open. She is badly injured and has suffered some kind of head injury that numbs her to what should be agonizing pain.

Despite her horrendous injuries, she clambers up the rock and disappears as we race after her.

"She's hurt," Kit says, as if we've been thinking in tandem. "She's badly hurt, and she's confused."

I nod. "We have to get to her. She needs help."

She needs a doctor. She needs a hospital. And how the hell am I going to give her that?

Someone blew up the boat, and she was on it. She heard or saw something and had time to jump, but not enough time to escape the concussive wave of force.

I start climbing the rocks.

Kit catches my arm. "Be careful, Laney. Please. We will get to her. We will help her. But she's not thinking straight."

"I know."

I scrabble on the rocks, and nearly fall, and Kit has to boost me. Then I need to help him. The rocks are loose and lichen-slick. How the hell did Sadie get up in her condition?

Because she's not thinking. She's not pausing and worrying and taking the easiest path.

We reach the top. It's forest up here, and I stop to search the trees with my flashlight beam. Thunder rumbles, and I fall back, only to have Kit brace me. He reaches past my elbow to silently point, and when he does, I see a patch of white.

Sadie's long-sleeved white jersey. She'd changed into it before the campfire. As I watch the spot, it moves as she shifts. She's hunkered down, and although I can't see her face, I know she's watching us.

I take a step, but again, Kit stops me. He leans down to my ear.

"She can see us," I whisper before he speaks.

"I know."

She spotted me at the cliff edge. I know she did, and she must have heard our shouts, down in the cove, away from the howling wind.

"She's hiding," he says.

"Hiding and running." I swallow. "From us."

"She's confused. Really confused. The last thing she did was argue with both of us. She might not remember that but…"

"She senses she's upset with us, and she's hiding. She's scared. Of us."

"I think so."

"Would it help to get Garrett? One of us keep an eye on her while the other gets him?"

A firm shake of his head. "We are not splitting up. If that means we need to go back together and bring him, that's what we do."

"Or if it means we catch her? Bring her in? Whether she wants it or not?"

He hesitates.

"You're right," I say. "She's traumatized, and we can't traumatize her more."

He gives a shaky laugh. "I was thinking she might attack us if we try. She's given you more reason than anyone to write her off, but you can't."

I pull at my sweatshirt sleeves. "I'm naive."

He kisses the top of my head. "I was thinking good. Kind. A hundred other things, none of them naive. You're also right. Not about traumatizing her. I don't think we can worry about that. But if we have her in our sights and we walk away, you won't forgive yourself if anything happens." He pauses. "We both won't."

"So we have to catch her."

I look at that spot, where the white patch keeps moving. She's too far to hear us—we can barely hear each other with our mouths at the other's ear—but she can see us, and she is not moving until we do.

"Who do you think she's less angry with?"

He gives another strained laugh. "I don't dare guess."

"One of us is going to have to slip up behind her, and whoever stays here should be the one she's less worried about. The one who'll make her less nervous."

"If it's a matter of who'll make her less nervous, I'm going to guess it's never the Black guy."

I make a face.

"Not true?" he says.

"Sadly agree in general, but not with Sadie."

"Not with the Sadie in her right mind. Forget that part, though. In general, a guy is always going to be more frightening than a woman, right?"

"Granted, but she also likes you better. Whatever anger she has toward you, it's temporary. I'm the source of her deep-seated…"

"Jealousy?"

"More like anger. Resentment. Whatever it is, I have a feeling she'll stay if you do."

The corner of his mouth lifts. "You could just say you want to do the sneaking up."

"I didn't until I thought it through." I squeeze his arm. "I will be careful, and I will stay where you can see me. I'll pretend I'm going back for help. Whether she's in any mental condition to understand or not, she will see me leaving."

"And then?"

"I sneak up behind her, and when I am close enough to cut off her escape—but not close enough to be in danger—I'll signal for you and we'll trap her."

"Together?"

"Absolutely together. But remember, please, that she's badly hurt. Even if she attacked me, there's a limit to what she can do."

"Yeah, but there's also a limit to what you'd do to her when she's already hurt."

"I'll be careful."