Page 61 of Dead of Summer
“I’m afraid that even if you did expose him, a man like Geoffrey would find a way to worm himself out of any sort of punishment,” Henry says bitterly.
“He nearly got away with it again,” Faith says. “He would have killed Gemma just like Alice.”
He looks at her in surprise. “Geoffrey Clarke didn’t kill Alice.”
“What do you mean?” Faith asks, staring at him with open surprise on her face. “Who did?”
But Henry’s jaw has dropped open. He is looking across the water at the Gallo house. The door on the front porch is flung wide open. And above, in the upstairs window, a light flickers, illuminating the waifish shape of a woman in a sparkling dress.
ORLA
There was never a body. That was always the problem. With no body there could be no closure. Not for Orla, anyway. Not ever again. There was always Alice. She was everywhere Orla went. In the halls at school. Every time a car passed her house at night, sending its headlights though Orla’s curtains. And most of all in the water, her legs and arms moving below the swells, her hair tangled up with the seaweed.
Orla thought she could escape her by moving away to New York. But she saw Alice there too. Waiting on subway platforms as Orla’s train sped by, eyeing her on the periphery of parties, drink in hand. Sometimes Orla would approach, cautiously, only to realize that it wasn’t her. It was someone else. Someone who really didn’t look anything like her at all.
After a while Alice’s presence almost became a normal part of Orla’s existence. Her friend’s ghostly appearances reminding her of her guilt. It was part of the reason Orla could never let go, never fully relax. At night her heart would pump with fear.She’s dead, she would remind herself then.
But now Alice is standing right in front of Orla. So stunningly beautiful and alive that Orla feels like she is dreaming. She is wearing adress that looks almost exactly like the one she wore that last night. The sequins shimmer like liquid as she steps out of the corner toward them.
“I can’t believe you’re real. How are you real?” Orla starts toward Alice, her body flooding with relief. This is her chance to fix everything. She can still make things right. Her eyes sting with tears. “All this time I’ve lived with you inside my head, praying there was some way that you made it, that you were okay. And look at you here, alive.” Tears are spilling down her cheeks as she reaches out to embrace her best friend.
But Alice’s face doesn’t soften at her remorse. Her body stiffens and she looks Orla dead in the eye.
“Are you sure of that, Orla? Or do you want to make sureyou’reokay? You want me to tell you I forgive you? I don’t.” Orla draws back, stunned. “And David, of course. Lucky little rich boy almost got away with murder, huh?” Alice says now, walking toward them across her rotting bedroom.
“Alice—” David starts, putting a hand up as though to stop her from continuing. But she merely looks at him, amused.
“You had plenty of chances to come clean about that night. You could have told the reporters the truth. Wouldn’t it have been better for you to face the consequences? Maybe you could have saved yourself then, disconnected yourself from your father, David. But the both of you were so selfish. It took me so long to trust anyone again. To find another friend.”
“You have to help me,” Alice said when Orla came to, a throbbing pain behind her eyes as she took stock of where she was. Still on the yacht, lying down on one of the long sofas the men had been hanging out on. She looked to the floor, where the nearly empty bottle of gin was tipped on its side.
“I need to get out of here,” Alice said, sounding far away. Orla’s eyelids were still so heavy. She forced herself to look in the direction ofher friend’s voice. Alice stood in the doorway at the far end of the room in her sparkly dress. It was torn at the bottom, Orla noticed, a jagged rip that went up one side and exposed her leg. It was then Orla realized that Alice wasn’t talking to her. She was talking to David who stood just in front of her, his arm stretched across the doorway blocking her path.
“He’s Dad’s friend. You can’t just leave.”
Alice had lowered her voice then. It shook with fear. “No, David. He is messed up. Please.”
“What did you think was going to happen?” David sneered. “You said you wanted this. You were flirting with them all night.”
Orla shoved herself up onto her elbows. Her head hurt like it had been split in two as she tried to focus on them.Wanted what?
“No, I—I thought they were going to help me. They said they were going to take me to New York, take my art around to some galleries. I thought it was just drinks. A party. I didn’t realize.” Her voice was growing desperate.
“Alice?” Orla’s voice stuck in her throat. They didn’t hear her. Her body was slow and heavy as she pulled herself to stand. The gentle movement of the boat sent her careening into the wall. She moved along the side toward the doorway. David was still blocking Alice’s path.
“These guys are sick,” Alice said, starting to cry. “They say I owe them.”
“This was your choice,” David repeated, unmoved. Orla hadn’t ever heard him sound that way, like all the emotion had been drained from him. Later she told herself that he was drunk, too, that this might just have been his way of responding to too much alcohol.
“If you don’t help me get out of here, I am going to tell everyone that your dad did this to me. He can’t get away with this.”
“No, you’re fucking not,” David murmured. His voice had become disturbingly calm. Now Orla was running with shaky footsteps toward them.
Alice registered Orla there, and a look of relief spread across her face just as David’s hand came down on her shoulders.
“What are you doing?” Orla cried as David drove Alice back into the guardrail.
“Don’t you ever fucking threaten me.” His newly broad shoulders flexed menacingly.
