Chapter Sixty-Seven Maya

Chapter Sixty-Seven

Maya

August 2023

An hour later, maybe more, I wake to the sound of rain and blink my eyes open. It’s impossible to tell the time of day because outside is gray and bleak, rain streaking the glass. Everything is out of focus, a jackhammer pummeling the inside of my skull. Slowly, I remember the car ride, the bitter taste of the water. Then the room around me comes into view: wood beams on a high ceiling, massive fireplace, floor-to-ceiling windows. Where am I?

I try to push myself up, but I can’t move my arms. Adrenaline surges through me, every nerve in my body firing. What’s wrong with my arms? Beneath me, I feel something cold and smooth. I’m on the floor, a hardwood floor. And…something isn’t right. My mouth hurts and I can’t breathe because there’s something keeping it shut. Twisting my hands, I realize they’re tied in my lap with rope.

What the hell?

My heart is racing as I try to free myself from the restraints, but there’s something wrong with my head. I try to scream, to cry out for help, but no one’s there.

Oh god.

I look up. The familiar moose head stares down at me from the wall, its beady eyes watching me. The large chandelier made of antlers over the foyer. It’s the Greystone cabin. I squeeze my eyes shut. This isn’t happening.

My stomach clenches and I heave, but nothing comes out.

“Oh, you’re up,” Cecily says, walking into the room with a cup of coffee like nothing’s wrong. “I made some coffee, do you want some? It might help with the hangover.”

Anger shoots through me. What’s wrong with you? I want to scream, but I can’t. The tape is cutting into the sides of my mouth. Instead, I slam my foot against the coffee table, nostrils flaring as I struggle to free my hands from the rope.

“Stop. You’re going to hurt yourself.” Cecily calmly leans over and rips the tape off my mouth. It comes off with an unexpected sharp sting of pain. “What was that you were saying?”

“ Cecily… ” I say through my teeth, voice shaking with anger. Adrenaline surges through me. “ How could you? ” From the ground, I try to reach for her, but she takes a step back, and I collapse onto the floor.

“Oh…no. Don’t do that.” She turns and paces to the window. Holds her cup of coffee to her lips. “I loved Naomi, you know that. Don’t you remember how much I did for her. For you?”

“I don’t understand.” My head is still spinning from the drugs. “Why would you help Matthew?”

Cecily’s eyes flick to mine, and for a brief second she looks like herself again—the twenty-one-year-old Cecily, the one who was confident and full of life and always knew what to do. The Cecily I considered family for the past ten years. “Why did you do it?” I ask, desperate for an explanation.

She looks down at the cup of coffee, picks at a tiny chip in the mug with her nail.

And that’s when it dawns on me: the second part of Daisy’s message. Had Cecily really been with Matthew since college? I think back to how long ago that was, how young we were then. That would mean they started dating when he was nearly twice her age, when she was still practically a child. I feel fury churning within me. He’d groomed her. He’d done this. I start to shake. “Naomi found evidence about that night, you know, about Lila. He would have gone to prison. She was trying to put away a murderer. ” My voice sounds strange, choked, like it belongs to someone else.

“That’s exactly the problem,” Cecily says abruptly. She’s standing very straight, very still. “I wanted to get her to stop. The article. The investigation. Could you imagine what that would’ve done? Not only would it have sent Matthew to prison, but it would have collapsed Theo’s investment fund, bankrupted Sterling and Greystone, and destroyed the very foundation we’ve all built our lives on, yourself included. So when she came to me, I had to stop her. I had no other choice.”

“So you drugged her with ketamine ? A girl you’ve treated like a sister for the past ten years? You dumped her body in the lake? ” I feel like I’m choking on the words.

“Well, she wasn’t supposed to die ! I meant to just buy us some time to figure out what to do, but then…”

It feels like the wind has been knocked from my lungs. My vision starts to go.

Cecily sets down the cup, shakes her head; she can’t look me in the eye. “I didn’t know what else to do. And when she stopped breathing and wouldn’t wake up, I called Matthew.” She’s crying now, talking quickly. “It was his idea to bring her to the lake, make it look like an accident.” Her voice falters, and when she closes her eyes, a tear escapes and meanders down the side of her face.

Rage swells within me, hot as a burning flame, expanding in my chest, snaking up my throat. “How could you? Naomi loved you.” This woman is not the Cecily I know. The smart, fun young woman I met in college, the friend who’s been by my side for all these years.

“Matthew has meant everything to me for the past ten years,” she says quietly. She rubs a hand over her forehead. “I was trying to protect him. To protect all of us. I didn’t have another option.”

“You had a choice.”

“No. I didn’t.” She turns to me, eyes flashing, and I stop. “I married Theodore because my mother wanted me to, despite the fact that he was awful to me. He wasn’t faithful, not ever. Not for a day. He was horrible to me, and he controlled the majority of our finances.” She pauses. “But it was okay, because I had someone else. Someone better. Our love was the only thing keeping me sane. I had this whole plan to leave him. To file for divorce. But then—” Cecily blinks fast, turning away again, as if trying to hide her tears. “You lost someone you loved…but so did I.”

I look around the room. Come on. Think. All I can do to buy myself more time is to keep her talking. That’s when I see it: by the fireplace are a set of tools, a heavy iron poker.

With all my strength, I slide toward the fireplace. I’m so dizzy, it’s hard to move. If only I could reach them with my foot and knock them over. I concentrate on the iron rod. All it would take is one hard kick.

“I’m sorry it happened the way it did.” She begins to turn. “I didn’t—” Cecily stops when she sees me.

I squeeze my eyes shut and kick the stand. The tools clatter to the floor with a loud metallic crash. Cecily rushes over, but as she is reaching for the poker, I bring my foot into her knee with all my strength.

She yells out in pain.

It’s enough of a distraction for me to grab the iron rod. I hold it in front of me, my hands bound, as she grips her knee on the floor. I’m unsteady on my feet, but I finally have a chance.

“You’re going to let me go,” I say, speaking slowly, willing my voice to be strong. “I won’t turn you in. I just want to go home.”

There’s got to be some ounce of her left in there. Some part of her that regrets what she’s done. That understands that Matthew was a monster, that he manipulated her just like he manipulated every single student that passed through Greystone. He never cared about any of us, only what we could do for him. The edge of her mouth quivers, and for a brief moment, I wonder if I’ve gotten through toher.

But instead, she laughs, a cruel sound that echoes through the cabin. “With the amount of drugs in your system, I’d be surprised if you could raise that over your head, much less hurt me with it.”

She’s right, I realize. It feels as if the floor is shifting under me. I can’t see straight, and despite the adrenaline, the iron rod feels heavy in my hand. “And…can you smell that?” She sniffs the air. “Is there something on the stove?”

And that’s when I smell it. Gasoline, sharp and acrid, and burning rubber. Oh god. What has she done?

Cecily shrugs. “It makes sense you’d come back here to hide from the police…to destroy everything associated with Greystone.” And now I see it. I’m the one the police are after, not her. I’m the one accused of killing Matthew. I hadn’t slept well since my sister died. This is exactly the type of thing a woman in my position might do.

She’s going to make it look like I’d completely lost it, burned down the Greystone cabins in a fit of rage, with myself inside, thinking that I was about to be caught and tried for murder. The fire would ensure there was no evidence, no thread to follow.

A trail of smoke drifts into the room, winding its way across the wall like something alive. The sound of crackling flames. My stomach sinks as I lose hope. I want to run after her, but it’s too late. The front door slams, and I realize Cecily is gone.

—

The cabin is filling with smoke, and it’s getting harder to breathe. I start coughing and can’t stop. I’m choking on the fumes, particles of smoke lodging in my throat. Using the fireplace tools, I manage to loosen the rope enough to free my hands. Dropping down to all fours, I crawl for the front door.

My eyes sting, tearing up so much I can’t see. How could I have been so na?ve? How could I not see what was in front of me for ten years?

I think of Naomi and rage shudders through me. I won’t let it end this way. I won’t let Cecily get away with this.

When I try the front door, it’s locked. Behind me the smoke is piling higher on the ceiling, a gray mass of ash and soot. An angry gust of heat rushes my face, searing my skin. A loud bang comes from somewhere in the house and the sound of glass shattering. My heart races as I look for another exit.

Pulling my shirt over my mouth, I crawl toward the bedrooms. Maybe I can escape out a window. The heat burns my back, sweat trickling down every inch of my face, my neck.

But when I reach the bedroom, the window is stuck. Bolted down. And as much as I struggle to yank it open, it won’t budge.

Coughing, eyes stinging, I run back into the living room and try not to inhale as I seize the iron poker and rush back to the bedroom.

With all my strength I hurl it again and again at the glass until it breaks. Once I’ve cleared out the broken glass, I squeeze my body through the opening, cringing as the jagged glass cuts into my sides, before falling into the bushes below.

—

It takes a moment to clear my lungs and catch my breath, and when I look down, my stomach is bleeding, badly, pain radiating up my sides and down my legs. Blood rushes down my waist where the glass has cut into my skin.

And yet I am relieved to be out here, alive, sucking in lungfuls of clean air, rather than inside that burning cabin.

The roof has caught fire and plumes of black smoke fill the air.

Out here, though, it’s freezing. The rain is coming down harder now, and I don’t see any sign of Cecily.

When I start walking, my ankle gives way and I cry out in pain. I must have sprained it when I jumped from the window. My choices don’t look great: the road, winding and narrow, or the forest itself, dark and ominous. The closest cabin is on the other side of the mountain, but it’s the best chance I have at getting help. I’m running out of time.

On the off chance someone might be driving this way—I choose the road.

—

Thirty minutes later, I’m limping down the center of the empty road through the pouring rain. I’m colder than I’ve ever been, like the cold has penetrated my bones, but grateful to be surrounded by darkness. Safe. Hidden. From her. I’m shivering violently when a light flashes in the distance, and hope rises in my chest. Headlights! A car bending around the curve. Could someone have seen the smoke? Called for help?

It’s hard to see in all this rain. But I make out the shape of someone behind the wheel.

I wave my hands overhead and yell out. But instead of pulling up next to me, the car crawls slowly forward before stopping in front of me. I take a step back. It’s an old gray van. The kind electricians or plumbers drive. Or…people with worse intentions. Suddenly, my hope vanishes, replaced by panic.

Behind me, a door slams shut. Quick footsteps. I turn, bracing myself, but I can’t see a thing. I’m blinded by a second pair of bright headlights, cutting directly into my eyes. But through the painful glare, I can make out someone approaching, a dark shape. Heart beating faster, I raise my arm to shield my eyes.

It’s too late.

A loud thud, followed by a sharp pain on the side of my temple. And everything retreats into darkness.

—

I wake to a strange scraping sound—a pain on the back of my skull—and it takes a moment to realize I’m moving, sliding, someone dragging me by my legs, small rocks in the dirt scraping the back of my head and neck. The rain has slowed to a drizzle, and I look up at the pine trees overhead, shivering in the wind. Run. My brain is saying run. But my muscles refuse to cooperate. With a rush of movement, I’m sliding down, down some muddy embankment, mind going in and out of consciousness.

She’s not going to stop until she kills me. It’s a sobering thought and sends a chill right through me. This is where Lila died. This is where they buried her. I wonder if this was the last thing my sister saw before she died too, a blur of feathery pines rushing past overhead, the rain needling her eyes.

Cecily pauses and looks down at me, and I squeeze my eyes shut once again, pretend I’m still passed out. She’s breathing hard, probably from dragging me all this way.

“How’s it going?” Cecily asks. “Is it ready?” Who is she talking to?

A familiar voice answers. “Good, almost done.” It’s Marta. Marta. And I hear sounds of metal on dirt, digging. And a harrowing realization: she’s digging my grave.

I feel the betrayal like a bitterness on my tongue, a knife in my side. How could she do this? Hadn’t Marta been the one to give the video to Naomi? Wasn’t she trying to help? I knew Marta had worked for the St. Clairs when Cecily was a kid. Her family had gotten Marta the job at Sterling Club. Was she sponsored by the St. Clairs, employed by the St. Clairs, loyal until the very end?

I want to push myself to my feet and run. Get as far away from Cecily as possible. But with all of the drugs in my system, I know I won’t make it far. And who knows what weapon she might have with her. She wouldn’t let me get away.

The scrape of the shovel on the dirt is a grating rhythm. Crfft shhh crfft shhh crfft. And my heart is beating so hard I might pass out.

No, hold on. Stay with it. I have to escape. I will not die here.

“Okay, that’s enough,” Cecily says in a commanding tone. “Enough,” she says louder, when Marta doesn’t stop.

I open my eyes a sliver, and through my eyelashes I can see Marta with the shovel. She wipes her eyes with her sleeve, smearing tears and dirt on her cheeks. Cecily snatches the shovel from her, and as Marta turns away, our eyes meet for a split second. I squeeze my eyes shut again and hold my breath, praying she won’t tell Cecily.

I’m about to open my eyes again when I feel cold metal against my neck. My heart flutters rapidly.

“Get up,” Cecily says. “I know you’re awake.”

I struggle to my feet, careful not to lean into the blade of the knife. I glance over at Marta, but she looks away, arms folded over her chest.

“Get in. Let’s go,” Cecily says, but I know there’s no way I’ll get out of there alive. I freeze, feet planted to the ground. “Move!” Cecily shouts, forcing the knife into my back until it nearly breaks the skin.

I take one step toward the ditch, and another, breathing hard, heart thrashing in my ears. The rain is coming down harder now, beating on the ground. And I’m freezing, my clothes soaked through and dripping, every muscle sore and shivering. When we reach the grave, someone shoves me hard, and I fall forward. My head collides with the side of the ditch, pain shooting through my skull.

“Marta! Help. You have to help me!” I scream, struggling to turn around. Above me, Cecily stands with an awful smirk. She reaches into her pocket and pulls out a gun. No!

I claw at the walls of the grave, panic shooting through me as my hands slip in the mud, nails scratching at dirt, bending painfully. But there’s nowhere to go and it’s too steep to climb out. The gun is pointed right at my chest.

“I’m so sorry, Maya. I really am.” Her hands are shaking as her finger closes slowly on the trigger, and in the final seconds, I squeeze my eyes shut. An image of Dani appears behind my eyelids: she’s running toward me, laughing, arms spread wide. All I want is to hold her one more time. To have one more hour with her.

There’s a loud metallic bang. I try to hold on to that image of Dani, but it’s fading. Everything is fading, slipping away like melting snow.

I hold my breath, wait for the pain to sting my chest, the blood to fill my lungs. I wait, and wait, but nothing happens.

I inhale. The air entering my lungs is cold. I feel no pain. Maybe this is what it feels like to be shot. Painless, numb, time stretching in those last moments before death.

When I finally open my eyes, I see Marta standing overhead holding the shovel. Cecily is crumpled in a heap at her feet, blood dripping from her head, her torso hanging over the edge of the grave. The bang hadn’t been a gunshot; it had been Marta’s shovel colliding with Cecily’s skull.