My smile falls, and my hands shake as I read the email. For a few seconds, everything in me goes quiet. Not still.Quiet. Like the air before a tornado touches down and destroys everything in its path.
From:Elijah Kendall
To:Jackson Ellis
Subject:(no subject)
Jackson,
I know you don’t know me, but I know you careabout my brother. Meet me at Harrow Bridge tonight. 10pm. Isaac deserves to know the truth about what happened there.
Iknow the truth immediately.
That’s not Elijah.
I’m not fucking stupid.
Or, at least…I’m not going to be this time.
Isaac’s brother hasn’t been back in this town since his parents and sister died at that bridge. He sure as hell isn’t emailing me out of nowhere. This is someone pretending to be him.
This is Professor Grant.
A sour taste creeps up my throat. The room tilts a little, like my body already knows this is a trap.
He’s luring me there because he’s desperate.
Because he lost.
I think about ignoring the email. Deleting it. Blocking the address like I did Dylan’s. I think about driving straight to Isaac and never looking back.
But Grant isn’t going to stop. He’s not done with me. He’s definitely not done with Isaac. My dad said he’d take care of it, but what could he possibly do without proof?
If I don’t show up, who will Grant go after next?
I close my eyes. Breathe.
I spend the next couple of hours pacing, trying to decide what to do, to come up with a plan. I go inside the main house and into my dad’s study, glad that he’s working late today and isn’t here. I find what I was looking for before going back out to the guesthouse to wait a little longer, unable to sit still the entire time.
Before I leave, I send Isaac a text, asking him to meet me at the bridge fifteen minutes after I’m supposed to meetElijah, hoping that’ll be enough time to do what I need to do.
My pulse skitters as I leave the house, fear and resolve braided tight in my chest.
This time, I have a plan.
I only hope it’s a good one.
The snow from last nightlies in thin sheets across the asphalt, the river below a hard, seamless stretch of frozen black. The water doesn’t rush and roar like it did last time I was here. It’s quiet, buried and hushed by the ice.
My breath escapes in white bursts as I slowly approach the bridge, every instinct begging me to turn around, to get back in my car and wait for Isaac.
But I can’t. The only way this will work is if I can be strong enough to face this alone.
Just long enough.
Like last time, I parked my car about a quarter mile back, and by the time I get close to the bridge, I’m already trembling from the cold air biting at me through the layers of my clothes.
A figure stands near the railing, the glow of a cigarette flaring just enough to illuminate the sharp cut of his jaw. Professor Grant turns toward me slowly as though he’s got all the time in the world, not surprised to see that I actually showed up.
