Tosh never liked the drive to Atascadero. The winding road stretched long and lonely through the hills, giving him far too much time to think. He wasn’t sure why he’d agreed to the visit. Closure, maybe. Guilt, definitely. Probably both. And honestly, because unfinished things had a way of rotting if ignored.
Three months had passed since Torie had been escorted out of that courtroom—three months since he’d last seen the woman he once thought he could save. Life had moved on. He’d left the island for a month. Cass and Harmony had gone as well, but they were coming back for a visit next week.
Mary had returned for good and looked . . . lighter. She was freer, somehow. Tosh wasn’t sure why, but whatever she was doing, it was working.
Zach had spent the least time away. He bounced back and forth so often that the island didn’t seem able to cling to him the way it clung to the rest of them. But Tosh still carried the weight of everything. He didn’t know if he’d ever put it down. And somepart of him wondered if the deputies, especially Ciscel, would ever stop watching them. Sure, it was his job, but they’d been cleared. The responsible person had been convicted.
The psychiatric facility loomed in front of him—white, sterile, humming behind its gates, and far too haunting. It was too still. It was a place where time stalled and never restarted. Even the clocks were silent.
He took a long breath before stepping out of the car.
He walked inside like he was being forced, which he sort of was. He owed this to Torie even if she’d turned into a monster. Who was to say they weren’t all just as bad? Just because they hadn’t acted didn’t change who they were.
Inside, the receptionist handed him a visitor’s badge. The hallway smelled like bleach and lavender—some attempt to soften the edges of horror. Somewhere, a patient hummed tunelessly. Somewhere else, a patient screamed. The combination raised goosebumps along Tosh’s arms.
He couldn’t imagine a worse fate than being locked in a place like this forever.
They led him to a glass-walled visiting room.
Torie sat inside, unrestrained, her hair clean and brushed, her clothes neat. She looked almost . . . normal.
That was, until she turned and saw him.
That smile—too slow, too sweet, too knowing—slithered under his skin. The glint in her eyes was the stuff of nightmares. He knew instantly he’d never want to be alone in the dark with her again.
“Hello, Tosh,” she said, her voice syrupy sweet.
He sat slowly. “You look . . . different.”
“They’re giving me a cocktail of pills multiple times a day,” she said. “Morning, noon, and night. Everything feels dull. I miss the voices. They were honest. They spoke such sweet poetry before the drugs took them away.”
He didn’t know how to react to that. He swallowed. “I guess that’s . . . good.”
“Is it?” She tilted her head, considering him the way a cat considers a dying mouse. She stared long enough that he nearly shifted in his chair.
“I can still see it all, you know,” she whispered. “I see the fire. I see the blood. I see their faces.”
A cold shiver clawed up his spine. “Whose faces do you see?”
She giggled—high, breathy, childlike. “Oh, you know the faces.”
He shook his head. “Honestly, I don’t know what’s going through your mind anymore,” he said. Sadness overwhelmed him.
She leaned forward until her breath fogged the glass. Her eyes glittered with delight, as if she’d been waiting for this.
“One face stands out above the others.”
There was a flicker in her eyes then—lucid, sharp, terrifyingly coherent. It lasted only a heartbeat, but Tosh felt it like a blade pressed to the base of his spine. But then she smiled, the look manic. He wasn’t sure he wanted to hear anything else. She didn’t wait for him to ask again.
“Her face,” she whispered.
“Who?” Tosh asked.
“Harmony’s,” Torie said at last, savoring the name. “I see it morning, noon, and night.”
Tosh froze, his blood turning to ice. That wasn’t what he’d been expecting.
“Why Harmony?”
