It’s only a moment. It happens so fast that it’s not surprising I missed it. It’s during the attack when the shark goes for her head. There’s an eerie lull as she bobs in the water, part of her jaw ripped off.
I hold the phone to my ear.
And listen as hard I can.
And there it is.
The missing clue. I rewind it, breathless, pausing the attack just after her jaw is ripped away. Underneath the rush of water and the white muffled noise, something clear rings out.
Laughter.
The person filming the video is laughing.
And I know that laugh.
I know who’s filming.
Shaking, I pull the phone away from my ear and place it on my knee. I stare stupidly at the video, shaking my head over and over. I know who it is. And I can’t believe I didn’t realize sooner.
For a long moment, I pause in the dark, shocked. There’s a heaviness in my stomach. A sudden coldness that breaks out over my skin.
But this time, it’s not the video. It’s something else. Something’s wrong. My body goes rigid when I realize what it is.
Jessie.
She’s not on my bed.
I stare blankly at the empty space where my dog sleeps. Jessie never gets up during the night. It’s like a warning repeating over and over:Jessie never gets up during the night. Jessie never gets up during the night.
Where is she?
I throw the covers back, muscles tense, skin clammy. Jessie. I grasp my phone, flick the flashlight on, slide my feet to the floor, breath coming out in panicked gasps. Jessie!
I bolt to the door.
And I hear her.
Whining. It’s coming from the backyard. I rush out my bedroom and reach the kitchen, panting. I fling myself to the back sliding door, and shine my light against the glass, praying I’ll see her there.
But she’s not there.
Something else is.
The sliding door rushes open, and a shadow flashes in my vision. It reaches out with two hands, dragging me outside. I swing around so fast I lose my balance. As I go down, I aim my light toward the shadow, but the person kicks my phone away, and I grunt as the phone spins free of my grip. I flounder, struggling to get myself upright, kicking and kicking. Panic flashes through me and I strike out in fear, swinging my fists. I scream, and a hand clamps around my mouth, the other hand yanking me back violently. My skull hitsthe ground, hard. Gasping, I flatten my palms on the dirt, try to heave myself up.
Jessie.
The blow comes from above, striking the back of my head so hard my cheek slams onto the dirt. I flip over to my back.
And I watch a heavy fist come raining down.
THEN
Blood drips down the black tip of his fishing knife, and the ocean roars, “More!”
The blackwood branches sprawl out like arms, casting dappled shadows across Donny’s dead body. The last of the sunlight flickers on his face through the leaves. His hands are still, one leg bent, dirt smudged along his forearms. Blood gushing from the slit in his throat.
Everything around him is quiet. But it’s too heavy, like the Wicked Woods themselves are waiting to see what he’ll do next.
