Page 68 of The Weekend Getaway

Alex shook his head. “Nothing. The point is … don’t cry for Phil, okay? What we’re going to do to his father is nothing compared to what his father has done to the thousands of people who toil at his companies, day after day, for pennies on the dollar, with nothing to show for their labor except debt and depression.”

Sarah sighed. She understood the perpetual plight of the poor, which caused the rich to flourish, and other theories of socio-economic disparity, but still … she also believed that two wrongs didn’t make a right. And Phil hadn’t really done anything wrong.

Alex stared at her. “Can I count on you?”

Wary of going against him, Sarah asked, “What if Phil’s dad refuses to pay?”

“He’ll pay me … or else …”

Sarah hadn’t asked him, or else what? She’d let the subject drop, and turned away from him, wrapping herself in the thin, sweaty sheets, hating her cowardice and complicity. But she’d been excited about the money, as well, though she told herself she didn’t want it. Her grandfather, who had helped raise her and was devoutly religious, would call it filthy lucre. Unclean money.

But when Alex gave her the cut she’d earned, Sarah felt deserving of the cash. She’d had to compromise her morals and ethics, she’d told herself at the time, to accept the money.

“Sarah …”

Startled, Sarah glanced up.

Jason said, “There’s something you need to see.”

Sarah frowned. “What?”

“Follow me … ”

Several minutes later, she stood in the middle of Mia’s bedroom, staring at Mia’s severed head propped against the pillows.

Sarah screamed.

CHAPTER 61

SARAH

Sarah dragged her suitcase from the closet and heaved it onto the bed.

She wiped her cheeks, raw and itchy, from her tears, then took a deep breath.

It was quiet in the room.

But inside her head, she was still screaming.

Moments ago, staring at Mia’s disembodied head, Sarah had wondered if she would ever stop screaming. She could still hear the mournful howls that burst from her mouth, rising from the depths of her gut, escaping her lips. Sarah screamed and screamed until Jason slapped her, grabbing her by the shoulders, shaking her hard enough to dislodge something within her. Hard enough to disassemble everything she’d thought was put together. Broken and jostled, plaguedby the image of Mia’s severed head in her mind, she’d wept in Jason’s arms.

Crossing the room, she hurried to the wardrobe, throwing open the doors. When had she unpacked, she wondered, yanking clothes from the silked padded hangers. She hardly remembered. Time seemed fractured. Oblivious. Pointless. How long had she been on the island? When had she arrived? Two days ago? Three? Did it even matter now?

All that mattered was leaving.

Tossing clothes into the suitcase, she berated herself for coming to this damn island. Hated herself for falling victim to Mia’s sly manipulation. But had she really been manipulated? She’d known she couldn’t trust Mia.

Not that she could ever trust Mia.

Even in college, Sarah had known to be wary. Doubtful if not outright suspicious. Mia was not her friend. She never had been. Sarah was certain of that after a brunch date with Grace a few years ago.

Laughing and tipsy, recalling old times, some good, some bad, Sarah had asked why Mia hadn’t joined them.

Rolling her eyes, Grace said, “She made some excuse. Who cares? Be glad she’s not here to drug you again.”

Nearly choking on the mimosa she’d just swallowed, Sarah sputtered. “What?”

Grace stared at her, wide-eyed, bright splotches of pink breaking out across her skin. “Nothing …”

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