The door slammed behind me. I jumped, spinning as the bolt whammed shut. The sound echoed in my ears.
"Gawd, it reeks," Amy said, gagging for effect. "Don't you guys ever clean this place?"
I inhaled. Mildew, rotting wood, and mouse droppings. Take-out wrappers and beer bottles littered the wooden floor. In the corner, a blue heap. A sleeping bag. I stared at that bag, heart beating faster.
"You girls go on in. There's a couch in the next room."
Footsteps. A pause. Then a sharp click. I lifted my head to see a padlock, swinging against the wood.
"You girls ever smoke grass before?" Aldrich called as his voice receded.
Amy's laugh rippled through the room, as if it was a silly question. I followed the sound and her voice as she answered, but the farther I walked, the farther they seemed to float away. The floor suddenly dipped. I grabbed for the wall, but it shimmered, my hand sliding through the wood.
A whisper. So soft I swore it was only the leaves against the roof, but the sound drummed in my skull, a steady beat becoming words.
"Gotta get up."
I followed the voice back to the front room. Dark now, the only light the faint glimmer of moon through a window. In the corner, a girl crouched on the open sleeping bag, her face hidden in shadow, only her legs visible. Bare legs smeared with blood. More trickled from a cut on her neck. She was unwinding a rope from her ankles.
"Gotta get up," she whispered.
She dropped the rope and picked up something white, glowing in darkness. Fabric. She turned it over in her hands, over and over, and the shape became clear. Panties. One leg hole torn through, and she kept turning it, as if confused by the new configuration, trying to figure out how to put them back on.
"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.