Thirty-Two

Garrett stands at the door. Stands there just as he did when he stormed back demanding to know why we were all inside and not out searching for Sadie. For a second, I'm sure it's a phantom doppelg?nger. Then I see the blood. That's why I couldn't make out his pale face without the flashlight beam. It's awash in blood, streaked over his skin and soaking his clothing.

My gaze falls to his feet. I know I'd seen—

My gorge rises. I'd seen the vine sever his foot, and it is still severed. He's standing on bone, the flesh shredded and filthy with dirt. Intestines bulge from his torn stomach.

He lifts one hand to pound on the window. Where his other arm should be, there's ragged flesh and bone below the humerus.

His shirt is slashed open, as if vines had cut into his torso. His head cants to one side. His neck has been sliced, and his head tilts, the remaining muscles no longer enough to keep it upright.

Kit lets the flashlight beam fall back to the floor, and he grips my arm tighter as he forces us back a step.

"It's not him," he whispers. "Remember that. He's not alive. He—"

"Let me in," Garrett says, his voice gravelly and nearly indistinct, like he's talking from under a mountain of rocks.

Kit steers me back another step.

Garrett pounds the door hard enough to make us jump. "Let me in, you fuckers! You left me out here to die! You let me in this house now!"

"We didn't—"

I stop myself. Is this Garrett? Some part of him lingering? Or is it the entity, using his memories and his voice?

If it really were Garrett, I'd want to say something, to tell him how sorry I am that this happened. Whatever he's done, he did not deserve this. His family does not deserve this. But there isn't time to alleviate my own guilt. I didn't bring him here. I tried to warn him—over and over I tried to warn him.

"I want to talk to the other one," I say, my voice firming with each word. "Let me speak to it, please."

His lip curls. "What the fuck are you talking about, Laney?"

Kit says, "We need to speak to—"

Garrett pounds on the door. "You'll speak to me, asshole. Stop pretending I'm not here. Stop treating me like something you scraped off your fucking shoe. You think I don't see that? You and that dyke sister of yours act like you're so much better than me."

That is Garrett. Not some entity manipulating his voice. That ranting should harden my heart, but all I can think is that Garrett is in there, trapped in that mangled body.

Does he know what's happened to him? Is he even aware of it? From the way he's standing, the way he's pounding, I don't think he does. Like Sadie, he doesn't seem to register his injuries, and that is a blessing. It's horrible to witness, but it is a blessing.

"We need to speak to whoever is doing this," Kit says, his voice as calm as if he'd just waited through a spate of pleasantries. "We need—"

"Kit!" Jayla shouts.

Madison. Something must be happening with Madison.

I wheel to run back to the great room. Then I see what Jayla does. Sadie stands at the bank of great-room windows, and there's just enough moonlight for me to be sure it's her and not a vision of her. Dark avian shapes still dot the deck railing, silent and still and seeming to watch Sadie as she stands, equally silent and still at the window.

I take a few steps that way, and Sadie's head snaps up, an almost crow-like movement, unnaturally sharp. Jayla lifts her flashlight to shine on Sadie, and then drops the beam fast as she makes a noise of revulsion. I don't see Sadie's injuries, though. Oh, they're there—I can tell by the crooked outline of her form—but all I see is her eyes. Black gleaming eyes. Her head jerks from me to Jayla and then back, those birdlike movements, quick and darting.

Then her mouth opens, and the other voice comes out. The one that is somehow quiet and booming at the same time, like a whisper that pounds in my skull. The sound seems to come from everywhere, and when I turn around, Garrett has gone still, his eyes now black holes, his mouth open as he speaks the same words.

"You made an oath. You broke that oath."

"No," I say. "There's been a mistake. I didn't make any oath."

"This is your island."

"Yes, but I didn't make the oath, whatever it was."

Jayla's on her feet now. "Laney is not responsible for—"

"Silence!" The entire house shakes with the force of that single word. "I am not speaking to you."

Those bird eyes turn my way again. "You are responsible for what they did because you made the oath."

"I didn't make any—"

"Who are you?" Kit says. "What are you?"

Those eyes swing his way, mouth opening, but he lifts his hands.

"Yes, you aren't talking to me," he says. "But I'm not arguing. I'm trying to clarify. Laney can't understand what's happening if she doesn't know what you are."

"I am me," Sadie and Garrett snarl together. "I am me."

"But what—"

"Do you want pretty words? I could say them in a dozen languages long forgotten." The voice spits a stream of indecipherable words. "Does that help? All of them are me, and none of them are me. I am me. I am not a word."

"Did someone bring you here?" I ask.

A sound between a snort and a snarl. "Bring me here? To myself? I am here. This is me."

"This isn't getting us—" Jayla mutters, but at a look from Kit, she stops.

I replay the words, how they were said, the emphasis.

I am here?

No.

I am here.

No.

Iam here.

Thisis me.

A sick feeling settles into my gut.

"Now you remember," the voice says. "You remember the oath."

Jayla turns my way. Kit only gives me a sidelong glance, as if a straight-on look might seem like an accusation.

Before I can speak, the thing continues, speaking through Garrett and Sadie together in that reverberating voice that is everywhere and nowhere at once. "Did you not wonder why no one has stayed on this island since before you were born?"

"It was bought by a company," I say. "They couldn't find a buyer."

The thing gives its mocking snarl of a laugh. "For all that time?"

"It's a remote island. People—"

"You are not the first to live on this island," it says. "It has been here forever. I have been here forever. People have come since you humans first emerged, toddling infants barely able to communicate. They came, and if I wished, they stayed. I would sleep, and I would have peace until they were gone, their firefly lives snuffed out. Then more would come, and I would say no. No, you are not right. No, you may not stay. No, you may not have my island. There are many ways to stop humans. To send them away gibbering in terror, or to make sure they never return, their bodies never found… or if they are found…"

A thump from both sides of the house as Garrett and Sadie slam into the glass as if they are puppets. As if they are props, making a point.

The entity continues, "Fear is the most powerful weapon I have against invasion. The fears whispered from mother to child, brother to brother. Do not set foot on that island. There's something wrong with that island. Stay away from that island. That is why there was no one here. People came. I said no."

"You frightened them off," I whisper. "No one told us that. They made up explanations and excuses for why no one lived here."

"Of course they did. I have been here for an eternity, and I have watched you humans. I have slid into your bodies, into your thoughts. Someone sold you a dream. That is the word, yes? Sold it to you? An exchange of goods? One must never let a silly superstition stand in the way of the exchange of goods, whether it is animal furs or shining coins."

"Why didn't you frighten us off, when we visited?"

"Because you brought him."

"Brought…" I think back. "Nate?"

Kit nods. "Nate brought us out the first time to show us around. I knew his family once owned the property, and so I asked to talk to him— Well, I was trying to talk to his father but ended up speaking to Nate. He met with us and brought us out."

"Yes."

That's all the thing says. Yes. The word sets my mind racing as Kit continues.

"I bought the island," Kit says. "This is on me."

"It is hers, is it not?" The entity doesn't let him answer. "It has always been hers. A dream bought for her, and an oath made by her."

Now Kit turns to me, and in his eyes, there's no accusation, just understanding. "The construction problems. We came out to investigate… and then it stopped."

"Wait," Jayla says. "What construction problems?"

"Accidents and issues," I say. "Tools disappeared. Wood caught on fire. A worker nearly drowned. It was endless. Workers started joking about curses. Then they weren't joking—they were threatening to quit. Kit and I came out to see what we could do. While he was talking to the crew, I wandered around the island and…"

"Spoke to me," the entity says.

"It wasn't like—" I cut myself off. "I was wandering around and… I already loved this island. I was thinking we might not be able to build here after all and grieving for that dream. I had favorite places, and I was going to all of them and just…"

"Reaching out to me," the entity says.

I throw up my arms. "Not like that. It wasn't as if I thought there was something here to communicate with. I just felt…" My cheeks heat at the memory. "I started to feel like the island was angry, rightfully so. We'd invaded a pristine wilderness and started building, and that felt wrong, but at the same time…" Another flail. "I wanted to be here, if she'd allow it. I wasn't thinking that there was actually someone—something—here. Just a general sense of nature. That we were intruding on her territory, and I recognized that and the responsibility that came with it."

"You made an oath," the entity says.

"It wasn't like—" Anger rises in me. "It wasn't as if I knelt and made a blood oath to the island. It was a whim."

"Not a whim."

"Fine, it was a promise to myself. A promise that I wouldn't forget my responsibilities. That I would respect the nature of this island and intrude as little as possible."

"That you would care for it. Be its guardian."

"I guess? If that's how you interpreted it."

"You lied."

"What?" Kit says. "Laney did not lie. I remember this now. Laney joked that the island didn't like the intrusion. Joking and not joking. I agreed. We wanted to do right. Laney made changes to the construction plans. Working with the land. Intruding as little as possible. Raising buildings that didn't permanently change the island. Laney hasn't planted a single flower that isn't indigenous to this island. She kept her promise."

"She did not."

"The renters," I whisper. "I let others on this island. They did things to it. Disrespected it."

"So?" Jayla says. "What the hell does that have to do with you?"

"She made an oath!" the entity shouts, and there is a boom, like an explosion. Kit pushes me down. Something hits my cheek. Hot blood wells up, and I lift my hand, and sharp pain flashes as my finger touches something embedded in my cheek. I yank it out and stare down at a shard of glass.

"Kit!" Jayla shouts.

My head whips up. Glass everywhere, shards of it all around us, scattered over the floor. I scramble up and wheel toward the wall of windows. Wind blows through it. The glass is gone.

Allthe glass is gone.

"Madison!" I run for her, Kit at my heels.

A shriek sounds at my ear. A crow dives. A wing smacks my face. I duck and keep running.

Jayla is already at Madison's side, scooping her up. Caws and shrieks fill the air. The crows swoop and swarm around us, but I bat them off as if they're blackflies.

What matters is Madison. What always matters is Madison.

Kit takes her from Jayla.

"The crawlspace!" I shout to be heard over the cacophony. "Get her to the crawlspace!"

"Open it for me!" Kit calls back.

A crow pecks at my face. I slam it hard enough to send it smacking into others.

"It's not locked!" I say.

"Yes, it is. Madison was worried."

Shit! The hatch has a combination lock, a complicated one after a renter's bored kids got the last one open.

And why the hell do you have renters, Laney? That's what this is all about. You abdicated your responsibility. You let strangers onto the island.

Let them? It wasn't like I got greedy.

Yes, it was. I wanted to keep this island. I wanted it so bad. The one thing I wanted to keep.

I have given up so much in my life, and for once, I saw the chance to fight back.

I lost my friends, and I told myself it was my fault. I lost my husband, and I told myself I didn't deserve him. I lost my baby—

Tears sting.

My baby.

I've said that I never once regretted giving Madison to Anna, and that is true. I loved my sister, and I wanted her to be happy.

And me? What about me?

I'd felt as if I'd "let myself" get pregnant. I'd gone to a party with a boy when I knew I shouldn't. I drank when I knew I shouldn't. I couldn't even be one hundred percent certain that I hadn't—in a drugged stupor—consented to sex.

I could not keep my baby. I already wasn't a good mother. Anna would be. Anna was.

That was the start. I don't deserve Madison. I'm not good enough for Madison. Then Sadie and Jayla. Then Kit.

I didn't deserve any of that, however much I wanted it. So I would have this. My island. No one would take it from me.

Was that wrong?

Was it really wrong?

It doesn't matter anymore. All that matters is Madison and Kit and Jayla.

And you?that little voice whispers. What about you?

I don't answer. I just keep fighting my way through the birds, heading for the hatch in the laundry room. A crow grabs my hair, and I barely notice until it yanks hard enough to make the tears in my eyes spill out. Then I wheel and beat at it, all my anger exploding.

The crow shrieks, and I stop as I see blood on my hand.

"I'm sorry," I whisper. "I'm sorry."

I'm apologizing to a crow. To a damn bird.

Because that bird is real. It's not some puppet. It's a real creature that has been drawn into this, and it doesn't deserve to be hurt, because that isn't fair.

I give a shit, even about a bird that's attacking me. I have paid attention to this island. I've live-trapped invading mice and released them. I've fed a fox that was too injured to hunt. I haven't fed anything that I shouldn't because that is as wrong as letting the fox starve.

I promised to look after this island, and I did it to the best of my ability, and this is not fair.

It is not fair!

None of that matters. I'm not facing a person. I'm not even facing an evil entity. I know that. Whatever this spirit is, it goes beyond good or evil. It is above good and evil. It is nature, and its justice is blind. I broke my word, and this is my punishment.

I fumble with the lock as the crows beat and peck at me. Blood drips from my scalp and my face and my hands and my arms.

Keep going.

Just get the hatch—

A hand grabs my upper arm.

"Almost done!" I say. "I'm almost—"

The hand wrenches me off my feet. I twist to see who has me, and it isn't Kit. It isn't Jayla.

It's Garrett.

Garrett has me in his grip, his face lowered to mine. His eyes aren't black anymore. They're blue. Garrett's eyes.

"You did this to me," he says, his face twisted with rage. "You brought me here."

"The fuck I did," I snap.

I'm dimly aware of the horror of his ravaged body. Of his sliced neck, his severed arm. But I don't care. I no longer give a fuck about Garrett. I am no longer afraid of Garrett. He might be holding me so tight I could gasp with the pain, but he is dead, and I am sorry for that but I am not afraid of him anymore.

"You ruined my life," he says, his voice that gravelly distant sound, as if that's all he can manage with his torn neck. "All for one night. Less than a fucking hour. My girlfriend dumped me. My dad disowned me. He took away my college money, and I had to drop out. For what? For what? No one made you get in my car. You chose to get in, and you chose to go to that party."

"Because I thought it would be fun," I say. "I was fifteen, and a college boy—a boy I trusted—was inviting me to a party, and I wanted to have fun."

"And you did. I helped you relax, and I gave you what you wanted. A little fun."

A little fun?

Seventeen years of tamped-down rage erupts in a single howl, and I lash out with both hands, pummeling him with everything I have. One fist hits his jaw. His head snaps sideways, and there's a terrible ripping sound. The sound of flesh tearing.

I don't see what I've done. I don't care. I only care that his hand releases me, and I shove and kick at his mangled body until I am free of it. Then I drop to the crawlspace, spin the lock one more time, and throw open the hatch. When someone nudges my shoulder, I start to swing. Then I see Kit with Madison.

Kit's gaze drops to Garrett's body. It's on the floor, twisting and contorting. Kit yanks his gaze away and prods me into the crawlspace. I jump down and take Madison, lowering her to the bottom as gently as I can.

When Kit scrambles in and starts to close the door, I shout, "Where's Jayla?"

He goes still. So completely still. Then his gaze swings past me, into the inky darkness of the crawlspace.

"She was right behind you," he says. "I was getting Madison, and she ran to help you and—"

He doesn't finish. He's already shoving open the hatch to leave. "Stay here. Whatever happens, stay—"

A scream. An earsplitting scream of pain and rage that could come from only one person.

Jayla.