I take another step back, getting closer to that edge, Freddie keeping pace with me. My entire body trembles, and I swallow down the fear that’s gathered like a lump in my throat. “What’s the point of making this easy for you? And why do you think I’d believe for even one second that you’ll let Connor live if I jump? You’ll just keep beating him, or you’ll push him over the side, too.”
The thought of Connor dying has tears streaking down my face. I can’t imagine him gone. I can’t imagine me gone, either, but here I am. On the edge of a cliff with a killer. Everyone knows that history repeats itself, but somehow I never saw this coming. In this story, the end result is always the same, no matter how much time passes.
Someone dies.
Freddie makes a tsking noise, as if he’s disappointed in me. “Come on now, Billie. That would be a bit too suspicious, don’t you think? The heroic whistleblower’s son dies with the traitor’s son nearby? I may have lost almost everything, but that still leaves something for me to build from. And I wouldn’t thrive in prison.”
“If you leave him alone, Connor will eventually wake up and tell the police everything,” I remind him, my brain scrambling. Reasoning with a boy who’s completely out of his mind isn’t easy.
“Oh, don’t worry. I won’tkillhim, but I suspect he’ll suffer the kind of head injury that leaves his testimony extremely unreliable. After all, when I first ran out here, I saw the two of you arguing. Lovers’ quarrel, you know? It went from sweetly romantic tovery dramaticin a matter of minutes. You attacked him, and I did everything I could to intervene, but my goodness, you’re a violent little thing. Typical American. Anyway, we all three tussled, you smashed the side of Connor’s head with your big stick, then when you realized what you’d done, you threw yourself over the side. It was very tragic. I’ll probably need therapy.”
His laughter fills me with anger. “That’s completely ridiculous. You can’t guarantee Connor won’t remember—”
The laughter stops. “You’re right. Guess I’ll beat him until he’s in a coma, too. Like Isla. A perfectly matched set—maybe they could share a hospital room. I’ll definitely leave him alive, Belinda. It’s the only guarantee I’m willing to make.” He lifts the branch over his shoulder with a wince. “But I’m done talking now. You have five seconds to fulfill your life’s highest purpose by shutting up and jumping already. Five …”
I take another step closer to the edge and glance over my shoulder, shuddering. The wind is stronger here, whipping my hair across my face and making it difficult to see. The angry roar of the sea below reminds me of a wild creature with its mouth gaping open, eager to swallow me whole.
Am I really going to die like this?
“Four,” Freddie calls, the glee in his voice obvious. He’s enjoying every minute of this, and I hate him for it. I hate him for everything he’s done.
I think of sweet Isla. How she was only trying to helpme. Look where it got her. I’d give anything to see her wake up again. My poor, guilt-ridden mother, who can barely live with the weight of what she knows all these years later. I hope she gets the help she deserves. And then there’s my dad and Whitney. Will they be okay if I die? No. They won’t. Just when we were getting closer, any chance at being a real family will be gone. Banished for good.
Connor’s face flashes in my mind, and I’m sobbing. He could have had such a beautiful life, and maybe he would have, if I hadn’t walked into it. But now he’s like me, at the mercy of a drunken madman. Because I’m sure there is nothing about Freddie that’s grounded in reality anymore.
That might be why he never thought to look behind him, toward the road that leads to the Harrington estate.
“Three …” Now Freddie sounds annoyed. “You’re taking too fucking long, Belinda.”
I take another step.
If he had looked behind him, maybe he would’ve seen the faint blue-and-red sheen of police lights coming closer. Heard the wail of their sirens just above the roar of the wind. They’re not going to get here in time to save me, but chances are good they’ll arrive before Freddie can do any more damage to Connor.
“Two, one,go!” Freddie’s eyes are wide, and he raises the branch in front of him. I take a step back, the ground soft and crumbling beneath my feet. My hair flies across my mouth with the wind. Our gazes lock.
“Freddie?” My voice is soft. Calm. I brush my hair away with a trembling hand.
“What?!” he snaps.
“When Connor wakes up, will you tell him I love him? Please. Could you at least do that for me?”
Freddie smirks and shakes his head. “You mean, will I rub salt in the wound? With absolute pleasure, Belinda. Now you’ve delayed this as long as you could. Your time is up.”
He runs toward me, holding the branch straight out, poised to push me right off the edge. When he’s close enough that I can feel his movements disrupt the air around me …
I jump.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Freddie believes I’m weak. That I’ll listen to his maniacal nonsense and jump to my death merely because he says I should.
I don’t think so, Fred.
What I’ve learned so far in my life—and especially the last two weeks here at Wickham—is that more often than not, you have to stare down what’s coming for you and get right in its face. If my mom and dad had confronted the truth instead of running from it that fateful night at their ten-year reunion, my life—and Isla’s—would be so much different.
Connor’s father stared corruption dead in the eye and made the difficult choice to take action, even at the expense of his family’s well-being.
It feels like a lifetime ago, but just this morning, Whitney said she’s done ignoring Mom’s disease and the way it’s robbing me of my own life.
