I lunge for the revolver, but Jill is swift and grabs my right arm. And she’s strong. She squeezes it hard, so hard I feel like she might snap the bone. With her free hand, she slides the gun out and aims it at my head.
Fury overtakes me, and I use my left hand to strike against her wrist. She fires a shot but it lands in the water, and with as much strength as I can muster, I elbow Jill square in the nose.
“Bitch!” she screams, her voice echoing off the lake.
And before I can duck, she socks me in the lips with the butt of the revolver, the taste of blood filling my mouth, before holding me at gunpoint and ordering me off the boat.
With one hand gripping my shoulder and shoving me forward while the other one holds the gun at my temple, Jill steers me to the clearing where we used to shoot skeet.
“Get down on your knees,” she orders.
I obey. Jill releases the gun from my temple and circles me until she’s standing directly in front of me, aiming the nose of the revolver at my forehead.
I can’t believe I’m going out like this. Red-hot grief rips through me, and I silently say Jack’s and Graham’s names over and over again in my head while Jill stands over me, looking demonically possessed.
“You don’t have to do this. I won’t tell anybody, I promise. I’ll move away from here—you’ll never hear from me—”
But she whips the gun across my face again, hitting my jaw this time, sending scorching pain up the side of my head.
“Shut up!” she screams.
Just underneath the sound of her screams, I hear another squealing sound. Sirens in the distance. Jill freezes, her face a mask of terror, and she momentarily takes her gaze off me. I plant my hands on the ground and get on one foot, but she turns back to me, hands shaking as she trains the gun again on my forehead.
C’mon, Flynn, get here. Just get here.
Jill still seems to be sorting out what to do when I catch a glimpse of a figure moving through the forest behind her. I’m hoping beyond all hope that it’s Flynn, but then I see the mane of frosty blond hair, the skinny jeans tucked into knee-high boots.
Callie.
Callie walking toward us with a shotgun. And I know that this is now the end. I get back down on both knees and brace for the shot. Images of my baby and my husband flood through my mind—our lives together in an insta-reel—and my heart lurches. My body is rigid with adrenaline and I look up at Callie, expecting to see her customary sneer, but to my utter surprise, she lifts a finger to her lips. She slows her pace until she’s just upon Jill. Then she jams the nose of the shotgun into Jill’s back.
“What the fuck?” Jill says.
“Don’t move an inch,” she says to Jill through clenched teeth.
Somehow, she knows Jill killed Margot.
The sound of blood coursing through my temples is overridden by the loud screech of sirens and tires skidding and the crackling of CBs and the blissful sound of Detective Flynn’s voice as he calls out through a bullhorn for us all to remain still.
69
Two Months Later
Sunday, July 1, 2018
IT’S MORNING. I’Mout in the garden, or what’s left of it.
These past couple of months have turned brutally hot and the sun has torched all my plants, turning them into Shrinky Dinks.
It’s my first time out here since moving back into the house, and I’m crouched over the scrunched-up plants, digging their limp bodies from the parched soil that crumbles in my gloved hands.
Today marks the two-month anniversary of when it all happened, when I was down on my knees, bracing for a shot to the head.
When Flynn’s voice bellowed out over the bullhorn, ordering us all to stand still, that’s exactly what Callie, Jill, and I did. We all froze until he reached us, with backup in tow, and pried the revolver from Jill’s white-knuckled hands.
An officer placed an arm around my shoulder and led me up toward the back of an ambulance that was apparently waiting to receive me, dead or alive. The EMT wrapped me in a wool blanket, which I was grateful for. Even though it was still warm out, my body was racked by shivers; I couldn’t stop shaking. They cleaned the wounds on my face as we rode to the hospital fromwhere I’d soon be released with a few bandages and instructions to take Tylenol for the pain.
Flynn had phoned Graham and he was there, in the lobby, waiting for me. He’d dropped Jack off at Erin and Ryan’s place (I still haven’t heard from Erin but I’m determined to make amends with her and hopefully restart our friendship) before heading over.
