Page 133 of The House Beyond the Dunes

A lot has happened in the last five months. Kyle Iverson’s death was ruled an accident. I’m officially graduated. PhD. Dr.Lane McCord. Devon is out of the hospital and in jail awaiting trial. She has trouble talking, and her face will always be disfigured. Reece was buried in a public cemetery next to Jeb and Zeke.

The sheriff found two bodies on the woodland property. One has been identified as Marsha Davis, a.k.a. Nikki Kane. She was from Raleigh, North Carolina, and was twenty-five when she died.

The second set of remains doesn’t belong to Amy Grimes, the other missing woman Becker hoped to find, and had to be declared unknown. The cops believe the female victim has been dead about five years and are hoping DNA pulled from her bones and teeth will match someone eventually. I think about Amy and that unidentified woman often. Is anyone searching for them, or are they so deeply wedged in the cracks they’ve been forgotten?

I’ve found a new therapist. I can’t afford lots of sessions, but the hope is a new job with benefits will present itself soon. I’ve had several job interviews. Fingers crossed.

I was afraid to tell my therapist about Stevie. It sounded so crazy, and I know dissociative identity disorder is a rare condition. After a few sessions, however, I was finally able to tell her about the possibility of an alter personality. As expected, she didn’t buy it. And for a couple more sessions, I doubted it myself. I didn’t want to believe Stevie and I are the same. After all, all this is based on a letter Sully gave me.

But each time I told myself Stevie didn’t exist, I felt a surge of rage.

Finally, I showed my therapist Stevie’s journal, and I also presented her with my pediatric medical records. Those records contained reports describing bruises on my legs, a broken wrist, and phrases likevaginal tearing. I still can’t speak about those injuries without crying or flying into a rage. Jesus, how could anyone assault such a young child?

My therapist accepted both and spent the next week reading it all. She still isn’t 100 percent convinced that I might have an alter, but she’s researching the subject. That’s a sign to me—she suspects I could be right.

Just the fact that she might believe me is a relief, but I’m still struggling with it all. I think about all the sleepwalking and missing time. Was that all Stevie? And what had she been doing?

I know how treatment for this kind of disorder goes. I have to integrate and accept Stevie as part of me. But that’ll mean knowing all her memories and experiencing her fury and anger.

As much as I don’t want to peer into the darkness, I owe it to Stevie to try. She stepped forward to protect me and shield me from so much pain. Maybe it’s time for me to share her burden. Maybe then we can be whole.

Today I’m driving to Nags Head. It’s a beautiful day and I’ve texted Becker, but not heard back. I’m not sure if he wants to see me. We’ve not communicated since he told me about the discovery of the bodies.

Either way, I need this trip. I’m making the drive right before the summer season kicks off, so tourist traffic isn’t terrible. My first stop is Joey’s. Kyle and Jeb first saw Stevie beside Joey’s, and that’s where they grabbed her. It explains why Stevie returned here over and over.

I’ve scanned a decade’s worth of old calendars and found blocks of days in July that I can’t account for. Maybe I was here in Norfolk working, and there was no reason to indicate the day’s agenda. Maybe I was Stevie, searching for the men who’d assaulted her. Since January, I’ve been making daily video logs of me as a way of proving I’m here. So far, no messages from Stevie of any kind.

I park outside Joey’s and don’t move for several long minutes as I watch patrons coming and going. Do I remember the place or the streets around it? Maybe not specific details, but the longer I stare at the freshly painted aqua cinder block building, the tighter my chest feels. I’m really tempted to leave and forget about all this. Maybe best to leave well enough alone.

But if Stevie has taught me anything, it’s not to hide or run from trouble. I can almost imagine her now telling me not to be a baby.

I take several deep breaths and get out of the car. As I push into the dimly lit bar, I feel a strong sense of familiarity. The waitress scrambling from table to table, the music, and the neonBEERsign behind the bar are echoes of a different life. This moment is akin to a sort of coming home, maybe not for me but for Stevie. It’s a closing of a circle.

I see a large man moving behind the bar serving drinks. He wears a black T-shirt that readsJOEY’Son the back. His muscled arms sport tattoos that start at his wrist and snake up under his shirtsleeves. Deeply tanned skin sets off gray hair bound back in a thinning ponytail. Without anyone telling me, I know that’s Joey.

“You should go talk to him.” Becker’s voice is right behind me.

I face him. His hair is sun streaked, has grown longer, and now brushes the top of his shirt collar. He looks like he’s lived here forever.

It’s good to see him, and I can’t help but smile. “You got my text.”

His stony features seem to soften despite whatever he thinks or doesn’t think about me. “Just read it an hour ago. I was kayaking on the sound and didn’t have my phone with me.”

“You’ve never looked better.” It feels oddly natural to tease him. “What’s with the hair? That’s not regulation.”

He stabs fingers through his hair. “I decided it’s time to let my past life go.”

“Change is good sometimes, isn’t it, Sully?”

His head cocks slightly at the sound of his name. “Sully?”

“In this bar, it feels like I should be calling you Sully. But for the record, I’m still Lane,” I say.

He leans a little closer, as if he’s sharing a secret. “I know. And it doesn’t matter.”

Becker is tied to Kyle’s death. Sully connects with something better, more positive. “You okay? Are you doing well?”

“I’m more than okay.” He’s standing close to me but makes no move to touch. He clears his throat. “I really can introduce you to Joey.”

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