The reply was a soft, mewling whimper. Like a hurt kitten. Except I’d never seen a cat or kitten on this island.
“Girls, I’ll be right back,” my dad said, fumbling for a flashlight from the nearest drawer. “You stay here.”
“Dad, no. You’re not gonna be able to help. You can’t see anything,” I protested.
“Seriously, Dad,” Darcy added. “You can’t—”
“Just stay here,” he repeated. And then he vanished.
For a long moment we stood there on the threshold between crisp kitchen air and moist, warm mist. I heard my father barrel down the steps, shouting out, but after that, nothing. The mewling sound had stopped, and all I could hear was the incessant, menacing hiss of the fog, the pounding of my own heart, the sound of Darcy’s broken breath.
“Where is he?” Darcy’s voice was shrill.
“I’m sure he’s fine,” I said automatically.
“What if Steven Nell’s out there?”
I froze. “What?”
“What if he followed us?” Darcy asked, her eyes desperate. “What if he’s just been watching us? Waiting for a chance to lure one of us out? What if he’s out there right now, stalking Dad?”
“Darcy, he’s not,” I said, trying for a soothing voice, wishing I could tell her why I knew this to be true. “Trust me. There’s no way he—”
“Dad!” Darcy shouted into the swirling mist. There was no reply. “Dad! Answer me!”
Nothing. I looked at Darcy. Darcy looked at me. Then something changed in her face. Something hardened. “Screw this.”
Before I could even blink, she’d turned and dived into the fog. “Dad!” Already, her voice sounded distant. “Daddy! Where are you?”
I cursed under my breath and followed, my heart slamming against my ribs as I groped for the stairs and the handrail.
“Darcy!” I cried. “Dad!”
Someone laughed. The exact same laugh I’d heard coming through the phone line in Aaron’s roo
m. A mocking voice echoed back my plea: “Dad!”
I stumbled down the steps, clinging to the railing for dear life. I misjudged how far I’d come, and where I’d thought there’d be one more step, there was nothing. My stomach swooped as I tipped forward and fell face-first into the sand. Pain radiated through my skull and down my spine, and zipped up my arms. Another laugh, but farther away this time.
“Dad!” I shouted, scrambling to my knees.
“Rory?” he sounded impossibly far off, his voice a mere croak.
“Dad? Are you hurt?” I asked, whirling around, blind. “Where’s Darcy?”
A dry finger grazed my cheek. I reached up and slapped at it, my skin burning from the violence of my own hand.
“Stop it!” I shouted as loud as I could. “Stop screwing with me! Where’s my family?”
Another sound behind me. “What are you—?” my dad said.
There was the unmistakable sound of a punch hitting home. A cry of pain. “Dad?” I cried, terrified, desperate. I felt around in front of me blindly, looking for someone, anyone, in the mist.
There was a struggle. A tear. A crack. I whirled toward the sound, catching my breath again and again. Nothing but gray.
“Get off him!” Darcy shouted.
Another crack.