Page 203 of Secrets Along the Shore
I didn’t want to believe that. I still held onto hope that the memories would return. But the more I unraveled, the more questions I had. All I knew was how obvious it became that all of us who came to that lodge had been handpicked. We all arrived after Scanlon took charge of the school.
And now, they were all dead.
All except me.
My throat tightened. I felt like a stain had spread across my skin, invisible but inescapable.
Scarlett red.
Tainted and marked forever.
I picked at the edge of my sleeve, grounding myself in the feeling of the fabric between my fingers.
What had Livvie said to me that night? What had she wanted me to know? Becca had said there were notebooks. I needed them.
I reached the stairs and called out as I took the first step.
“Becca?” I waited for her to appear. Counted to ten. “Becca,” I called again, louder this time.
Maybe she had gone to bed. Maybe she thought I would leave. Maybe she didn’t care anymore.
I took each step slowly and carefully. The light at the top cast long shadows that danced with every flicker of the wind through the windows. The first bedroom was empty, still made up like someone expected a guest who never came.
The second was darker. The curtains drawn. A bookshelf stood crooked in one corner. A long-abandoned hairbrush rested on the vanity.
The third door was open.
I found her there.
Becca sat in an old rocking chair near the window. The curtains behind her billowed, dancing around her. Her arms were wrappedtightly around a doll—one I vaguely remembered Livvie carrying in summers past. A hand-stitched face. A pink dress stained with time.
Becca’s eyes were closed.
The chair rocked.
Slow. Methodical. Back and forth.
She wasn’t asleep. I could feel her tension from the doorway, the way her fingers clutched the doll too tight, the way her shoulders shook ever so slightly.
I stepped forward, my voice soft. “Becca.”
Her eyes flew open. Vacant eyes.
She shot to her feet as if pulled by wires, the doll tumbling to the floor.
“You killed her!” she screamed, her face sharp and raw and instantly red. She must have shouted so loudly, because I felt the vibrations hit me in the chest. “You killed her! Get out!”
She bared her teeth and came for me.
I stumbled back, stunned. Her face was twisted with grief, with fury—but worse than that, with certainty.
I had killed her sister.
I didn’t have to hear the rest. Her mouth kept moving, and even without the sound, I knew she was still screaming.
I ran.
Down the hall. Down the stairs. Through the front door, leaving it wide open.
