Page 36 of The Last Time I Lied

That someone was Theo. Still in the shower. I heard the rush of water and his faint humming of a Green Day tune.

How do you know about this?I asked.

Vivian grinned from ear to ear.Found it last year. No one knows about it but me.

And you want me to spy on Theo?

No,Vivian replied.Idareyou to spy on him.

But it’s wrong.

Go on. Take a look. He’ll never know.

I swallowed hard, my throat suddenly parched. I edged closer to the wall, wanting to get a better look, ashamed by that want. Even more shameful was my need to please Vivian.

It’s fine,Vivian whispered.When you get an opportunity to look, you’re a fool not to take it.

So I looked. Even though I knew it was wrong. I leaned in and placed an eye to the crack in the wall, at first seeing nothing but steam and the water-specked shower wall. Then Theo appeared. Skin slick. Body smooth in some places, matted with dark hair in others. It was the most beautiful, frightening thing I had ever seen.

I didn’t watch him for very long. After a few seconds, the wrongness of the situation crashed over me and I turned away, red-faced and dizzy. Vivian stood behind me, shaking her head in such a way that I couldn’t tell if she thought I had looked too much or not enough.

Well, how was it?she asked as we headed back to the cabin.

Gross,I said.

Right.She bumped my hip with hers.Totally gross.

I’m halfway to the cabins when a strange, sudden noise gets my attention. It’s a rustling sound. Like someone walking through the grass to my left.

My thoughts turn instantly to Casey’s story about the victims of Lake Midnight. When something appears on the edge of my vision, I think for a split second it’s one of the ghosts, ready to drag me to a watery grave. Or one of the rumored survivors’ grandsons wielding an ax. I switch on the flashlight and swing it toward the noise.

It turns out to be a fox slinking toward the forest. Something is in its mouth—an unknown creature, now dead. All I can make out is blood-slicked fur. The fox pauses in the flashlight’s glare, its bodycoiled, eyes glowing greenish white as it stares at me, deciding if I’m a threat. I’m not. Even the fox can see that. It trots on, unconcerned, a dead limb of whatever’s in its mouth flopping as it vanishes into the forest.

I, too, resume walking, feeling a little bit frightened and a lot foolish. The mood persists as I reach Dogwood. Because that’s when I notice something out of the ordinary as I reach for the doorknob.

A light. Tiny and red. Flaring like the tip of a cigarette.

It glows from the back wall of the cabin in front of ours. Red Oak, I think. Or maybe Sycamore. I aim the flashlight at it and see a black rectangle tucked into the nook where the two sides of the roof connect. A slim cord drips down the wall to the ground.

A surveillance camera. The kind you see in the corners of convenience stores.

I turn off the flashlight and stare at the camera’s lens, which shimmers slightly in the darkness. I don’t move a muscle.

The red light snaps off.

I wait five seconds before waving the flashlight over my head.

The red light flicks on again, triggered by the motion. I assume it does this every time someone enters or exits the cabin.

I have no idea how long the camera’s been doing this. Or why it’s there. Or if there are others scattered throughout camp. All I know is that Franny or Theo or someone involved with Camp Nightingale decided it was a good idea to keep an eye on the cabin.

The irony of the situation unsettles me.

Fifteen years later, I’m the one being watched.

11

Inside, I’m unable to go back to sleep. I change into my bathing suit and a brightly patterned silk robe bought during a long-ago trip to Cozumel. I then grab a towel from my trunk and slip quietly out of the cabin. On my way out the door, I will myself not to look at the camera. I don’t want to see its red light switch on. Nor do I want to face the lens’ prying eye. I walk past it quickly, face averted, pretending I don’t know it’s there, just in case someone is watching.

---