I swallow, but it’s hard to be scared in the bright light of morning. Especially when I wasn’t all that scared last night.
An idea hits me, then. Probably a stupid one. But if he’s over here, on this side of the lake?—
What’s stopping me from taking this boat tohisside of the lake?
My heart pounds against my ribcage. If he’s watching me, he might try to stop me from taking the boat. Then I can get him on the phone with Penelope and Callie. But if he isn’t here, if he isn’t paying attention, it’s a chance for me to snoop around. To learn more about him.
It’s stupid, I know. But I’m going to do it anyway.
I slide down to the waterline and drag the boat out into the open, then step inside. The whole time, my skin prickles, and I glance over my shoulder, expecting him to emerge out of the shadows like he did last night, staring at me through his long, pale hair. But he doesn’t. The trees watch me. There’s no sign of anyone else.
I settle down on the bench and pluck at the rope until it comes loose. Then I push myself off with one of the oars, hard enough that a wave catches me and drags me out to the water. I row toward the peninsula, the oars rising and falling. I glance over my shoulder again, but there’s no sign of him. There’s no sign of anyone.
Even though this boat is older and bigger and heavier than Oliver’s, I have a better sense of how to work the oars now, and I make good time to the peninsula. When I slide up into the shallows, I step into the water and drag the boat up onto the shore, grateful that I threw on flip flops instead of real shoeswhen I came outside this morning. That gratefulness is short-lived, though, as I turn toward the trees.
“Fuck,” I murmur, walking sideways along the treeline. Everything is so dense and overgrown, and I think back to what my realtor told me. Ticks. Rattlesnakes.
Unkillable murderers.
I don’t turn back, though. I mean, I’m here now, and some dark, throbbing curiosity pushes me forward until I find that barely-there path to the cemetery. I figure that’s a good place to start. Oliver said Theo lived in a cabin, and it would make sense that this old trail would lead there.
Still, it’s not easy getting to the cemetery again. My flip flops snag on the overgrowth, and I keep feeling the forest whisper across my skin. But I push on, and when I catch sight of the clearing and the rough, overgrown graveyard, I breathe a sigh of relief.
I pick my way through the grass until I find Theo Shorn’s grave. The name is there, clear in the dappled sunlight. So are the dates:1943-1960. I do the math backward in my head. He would actually be 82 this year.
My skin prickles again, and I run my fingers over the rough stone, my chest tight. Penelope did explain a little bit of it to me, what Callie is. How she’s not really human, how she can die and come back to life, something she’s already done once.A perfect predator, Penelope told me the night of the attack, holding me while I sobbed and shook in the apartment bathtub.You don’t have to be scared of her. But there are others out there. And you should stay far, far away from them.
Clearly, I’m not good at following instructions.
I rise up to standing and spin around slowly. Then I see it. A small gap in the trees. Another path, this one a little clearer than the one that brought me here.
It may be more defined, but it’s darker, the way it weaves into the woods. The trees are thicker overhead and block out any of the warming light of the sun I felt in the cemetery. But since it’s easier to walk, I move more quickly, ducking under wayward branches and pushing aside loops of ropy vines.
Then I feel something. A presence.
I stop, my heart hammering. The woods ripple around me, but I don’t hear anything. No footsteps. No breaths. Well, aside from my own.
It can’t be him. I took his boat.
Can’t it?
I push forward, more slowly this time. My footsteps sound like thunder. And I still feel it, that presence. That prickling on the back of my neck like someone’s watching.
“Hello?” I call out, my voice low and tremulous. “Theo?”
I stop in the middle of the trail and listen. Tree branches blow around overhead, getting entangled with each other. Warning signals go off in my body:this is stupid why did you steal his boat you didn’t even bring your phone you fucking idiot you need to get out of here
I whirl around to go back the way I came?—
And there he is, his huge form blocking the path.
I shriek and stumble backward and slam into a nearby tree. Theo watches me with his icy blue eyes. He’s swept his hair back into a ponytail at the base of his neck, which just highlights the sharp lines of his cheekbones.
“I’m s-sorry,” I stammer. “I was—I just?—”
His eyes burn into me.
“I brought your boat back,” I say. Then, remembering myself, I sign it too.
