Page 81 of Tourist Season
With a final frown at my sleeping friend, I send Arthur a text incase he wakes and checks his phone, and then I leave, taking the Jaguar to venture into the fog. From Lancaster Manor, I first head toward the inn where I’ll be able to turn left and progress straight west to Spruce Road, the cemetery only three blocks away.
I slow as I reach the Capeside Inn. The mist is a little clearer here with the breeze that rolls across the waves to climb the cliffs. I stop the vehicle at the entrance to the parking lot, where I can see all the spaces. It’s nearly full, but Nolan’s rental is nowhere in sight.
The unease that creeps through me starts to churn, rolling through my guts like a twisting serpent.
I turn and head west toward Spruce Road and the Cape Carnage Cemetery. The streets are empty. The mist is thick, a silver shroud that blankets my headlights. As I drive through the quiet streets, I couldn’t be more grateful for its oppressive haze. Especially when I arrive at the graveyard to find one of the gates still open, the chain dangling from the wrought iron vines.
I swallow and take my foot off the brake, letting the car creep forward until I nudge the gate open farther and roll onto the unlit drive.
The road winds through elms and oaks and sculpted hedges, past statues of angels and crosses, some tilting at angles. It snakes to the top of the hill, where a low fence of black metal spearheads encloses the private gravesite. I roll to a stop and turn off the car, opening the door to the scent of the sea air heavy in the mist. I listen, but nothing comes. No rustle. No whisper. Not even my own exhalations, my breath trapped in my chest.
It feels like I’m walking in slow motion. I already know what I’ll find when I push the low gate open and step into the Lancaster family plot.
A man’s body, lying on the ground. Right where we left it.
Air rushes from my lungs and I gulp it back down like I’m drowning all over again. I scan the darkness around me, but there’s no sign of Nolan. There’s nothing to indicate he was ever here.
He wasn’t at the inn.
He never returned to the cemetery.
And he has his book. All the evidence I held against him. I told him I trusted him and gave it all back.
I thread my fingers into my hair and lower to a squat, as though I could curl myself into another dimension. Tears sting my eyes. How could he just leave? I don’t want to believe he could simply disappear, not after everything he said. His words had burrowed right into me when he made me a promise.You’re mine, he’d said.I’ll never let anyone take you from me.
It felt so …real. I was sure it was the truth. How could I be so wrong …?
It takes a long moment before I raise my eyes from the earth. My gaze lands on the familiar headstone a few feet away, its unusual half-circle shape easily distinguishable from the other monuments. I can’t see the swirls of green in the jade marble, but the bracelets glint in the dim light where they hang from tiny hooks beneath the curve of the carved crescent moon.
I force myself to stand, my vision wavering behind tears as I stop in front of the headstone that was a gift from Arthur, one he gave me in the first few months of our friendship. I didn’t have a body to lay here. Only memories. Just a name. Adam Cunningham.
I let my finger coast across the trinkets that dangle from the hooks. One of them is missing—the engraved silver bracelet. I realize that this is the first time I’ve thought of Adam withoutfeeling the sting of loss or the crush of guilt. Instead, my first thought is about how lovely it is that Morpheus brought it back to me. A wild creature, ferrying memories across the town. Maybe he’s put that bracelet where it will return to the strata of time. And that thought doesn’t bring me sadness. Somehow, it brings merelief.
I can’t pinpoint the exact moment when that loss finally started to transform, even just a little. But I know the reason why. Ever since Nolan came to Cape Carnage, I’ve wanted more than to just survive in the shadows. I want to bloom in them. Even if Nolan is gone. Even if his promise was just a brittle illusion, maybe that’s all I really needed. A little bit of its glow, like a lantern in the night.
With a swipe of my knuckles beneath my damp lashes, I rise. Nolan’s promise might have been a fragile vow. But mine isn’t. I will not let Arthur down.
I head toward the corpse that’s cooling on the ground. It’s already been nearly two hours since Arthur killed him, so I probably won’t have too much longer before his limbs start to stiffen. My frown deepens as I look to the car. I don’t have the equipment to make this easier. I hang my head and let out a deep sigh, then remove the man’s shoes.
“I realize this is very undignified,” I say, checking the pockets of his pants, all of which are empty. Next I unfasten his belt and undo his button and zipper. “But I don’t have many options here. And you probably did hit Arthur, after all, so let’s just say you deserve it.”
I start tugging his trousers over his hips and down his legs, yanking them off. Once they’re free, I twist the pant legs to create a makeshift rope that I knot around his ankles. Grabbing the freeend, I start dragging him toward the waiting car. “This is not really how either of us intended to spend our night,” I whisper between grunts and tugs. “I thought I’d maybe have a glass of wine and some super-hot sex with my serial killer almost-boyfriend. Not getting ghosted and cleaning up bodies. You tourists really do have to ruin everything.”
I keep tugging, a mist of sweat coating my skin, breaths sawing from my lungs with the exertion of dragging a limp-bodied man across uneven ground. Once I’ve got him through the gate, I give him a shove to roll him down the little slope. He lurches to a halt in the shallow ditch, and then I’m dragging him once more until I’m at the rear driver’s-side door of the sedan. When I’ve got his feet and lower legs positioned in the footwell, I get into the car and start tugging him inside.
“You could make things a little easier on me,” I tell him, grabbing his floppy arms to pull his torso upright. “Stiffen up a bit already.”
With a little rearranging and more than one attempt, I manage to embrace his torso and heave him across the footwells of the rear seats. I take a minute to let my heart rate settle, and then I stride to the trunk to grab a pair of Arthur’s beloved Burberry wool blankets to spread over the body.
As soon as I’m done, we head back to the Capeside Inn.
I know I should be focused on more important things, like perhaps ensuring Arthur doesn’t go on more murdery escapades. Or maybe getting rid of this unknown tourist’s body should be a priority. But I can’t help it. Part of me knows the logical explanation is that Nolan left now that he has what he wants from me. But another part of me just can’t believe it. The words he said the other night didn’t feel like counterfeit promises made in the heatof the moment. I refuse to believe that rational voice in my head. Not until I see it with my own eyes.
I roll to a stop close to the entrance of the Capeside Inn parking lot, but I don’t go in. I park on the street instead, in the shadows of the unlit section of the road. With a final check to ensure the body is covered behind me, I get out of the car and walk toward the hotel.
Nolan’s car is still missing from its spot. Most of the other spaces are full. When I enter the lobby, there’s no one there, not even Irene. I pause only long enough to confirm she’s not snoring in her darkened room, and then I keep going, headed for the corridor that leads to Nolan’s room.
I listen at the door. Nothing comes from the other side. I give it three light knocks on the wood. No one comes to answer. Then I slide my key into the lock and step inside.
