I moved my leg under Violet and levered myself up. Dodie hadgrabbed her, too, and was leaning back with her full weight. We pulled her toward the stairs.
Violet’s face broke the surface of the water, and she gasped in a breath. She was dragged under again.
We pulled, Dodie and me. I dove down and pushed Violet upward. She broke the surface and gasped again.
Dodie picked up her club, gripped it in both hands like she was holding a stake, and stabbed it down into the water, hard. Violet squirmed as the grip on her loosened. Dodie stabbed down again, and I pulled Violet toward the stairs.
“Go!” Dodie screamed, stabbing down again. There was the sound of her hitting something solid. “Hurry!”
Violet flung an arm around my neck, and we were almost to the foot of the stairs when she was yanked out of my grip. She lurched onto her knees on a lower step, her hands grasping for purchase on the rotting wood of the stairs.
I turned to find Dodie struggling, slashing with the club. I took a step back, holding out my hand, and she grasped it hard. I pulled. I still gripped the bat in my other hand.
There was a long hiss, a click, and something rose out of the water.
She was oily black, an inky shadow. A wretched smell came from her as she pushed up. She was between me and Violet, with her back to me. She was fixed on Violet. I had never seen my sister’s face like that—blank with terror, helpless. She stared into Sister’s face transfixed, and then she tried to scramble up the stairs.
Sister took a step toward Violet, reaching an arm out, a bony hand.
I let go of Dodie’s hand and gripped the baseball bat with both hands. I swung with all of my strength. There was acrackas the bat connected with the back of Sister’s skull.
Sister reeled, snapping around, raising her arms, but Dodie wasfaster. She hit Sister just as she swiveled, the golf club catching Sister’s jaw.
Sister screamed.
Behind her, Lisette scrambled down the stairs and reached out to Violet. In her hand was the hatchet. Violet took it.
Before Sister could turn again, Violet stood, grasped Sister by her lank, slimy hair, and swung the hatchet.
Again. And again.
There was no blood. Sister stopped screaming. I held her icy bones while Violet kept swinging. In the end, it was like breaking an old, dead twig.
Sister’s head rolled into the water and sank. No bubbles rose to the surface.
The rest of her body collapsed, and then it was gone.
44
Dodie
New York, New York
One year later
September 1990
When I first came to New York, I spent a lot of time in Central Park. I had taken a waitressing job to pay the bills, because I had no modeling work yet and I wasn’t old enough to get my trust fund. I lived in a tiny apartment with two awful roommates. We hated each other. I loved it. It felt like home.
Still, I was broke and Central Park was free, even though it was dangerous, so on days when the weather was nice and I had an unscheduled hour, I’d go. I’d walk, or I’d lie on the grass of the lawn and stare at the sky. No one knew or cared where I was. I didn’t matter. I didn’twantto matter. I wanted to be no one.
“You’re pretty,” my first agent said to me frankly after she’d signed me. “I have this shampoo thing here, you’d be good for that, but we could market your face. You’d have to learn to smile more.”
“No, thank you,” I told her politely. “Hair is just fine.”
She looked doubtful. “It’s just a shot of the back of your head. You get that, right? It’s a start, but—”
“The back of my head sounds great,” I said.
